I spent the morning with an eligible bachelor, ate toast, and then walked home in the nippy Manchester sun. On returning home I received a message detailing that my friend's girlfriend is about to have gender reassignment surgery, which came as a slight shock to me. I thought about it some more and felt sort of fuzzy inside that these miraculous miracles can occur, and I was excited and afraid for him and how hard it will be, and whether it'd be like a beautiful but terrifying sci-fi adventure. Then I made a veggie chili and went to see another old flatmate who's visiting. We drank a bottle of Lidl Amaretto and chavved danced to Mc Bouncin's 'Metty Mission' and the sounds of our Tyneside public transport youth with the home crowd in that rancid flat. Once we'd polished off our sickly sweet hooch we went to see Crystal Stilts. They were boring, and everyone was too drunk. The midnight hours were spent power walking to Salford, ogling the magic around me, desperately hoping I could remember the way there. I did, and arrived at my favourite place in the whole of the silly, luminous city, the Islington mill. Met up with the guys. John Maus wandered onto the stage dressed like a supply teacher in an anorak, geek trainers and suitably ill fitting shirt and jeans. He started up with Maniac so ferociously that I was very nearly headbutted from my perilous position at the very front. It was something special, I can tell you that.
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