11 April 2010
7 April 2010
Such a perfect day...
Vivian Girls ft MALE BONDING - Perfect Day
(though today wasn't a perfect day at all)
(though today wasn't a perfect day at all)
6 April 2010
An update about the past week(s)
I’ve been quite busy since the holidays, maybe not in the first week back to school, but a lot has happened in the second week though.
The first week back to school was fun and it was good to be back in the class. We did 2 trips out of school again, with Ross. Not spying on people this time, but one day when we had a lesson with a ‘food’ theme, we did a competition in Sainsbury’s, the couple who could find all the items on the shopping list Ross gave us, won the competition and would get a ‘prize’. The items on the list were typical British products, like Marmite, Horlicks, mushy peas, rice pudding, custard etc. I teamed up with a German guy, and we won the competition, basically because he was very fast.
The next day we went out of class again, today’s theme revolved around anatomy and we went to the Royal Academy of Surgeons, and its Hunterian Museum, which was a scientific freak show of disfigured skeletons, fetuses in jars and weird diseases. But it was interesting, and that’s what it’s all about.
On the weekend, me and Linda went to the BBC Radio6 protest, because as you might have heard, they’re going to stop BBC Radio 6. I’m not going to pretend I’m a frequent radio listener, let alone Radio 6, but it’s still a shame on behalf of music. We stood in the rain for 2 hours, and chanted and sung when we were supposed to, even though we couldn’t hear half of the things the protest conductors said, and we were distracted by the unnerving statue above the doors of the Broadcasting House:
Come on, you have to agree this looks like an act of gruesome pedophilic rape…
When the protest was finished, we left the place with a feeling of unity in the community and decided our hard work and devotion was to be rewarded with chocolate goodness at the Chocolate Festival at the Southbank Centre. When I read the words Chocolate Festival, I instantly think of a lot of free chocolate, and chocolate rivers and statues and sculptures. Let’s say I’d have visions of Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory; this was not the case however, it was like 10 stands of chocolatiers selling their overpriced chocolate stuff, not even giving away things for free(Yes, I am Dutch indeed). Then again, being Dutchies, we couldn’t resist the sight of pancakes, and we also tried luscious marshmallows and strawberries covered in chocolate sauce, which was like eating a bit of heaven.
Last week, on Wednesday, my teacher suddenly mentioned that the day after would be his last day in Kaplan. Everyone was quite shocked by this, including me. To be honest, after the shock I was quite upset, because Ross is one of the best teachers I’ve ever had in my life, and I don’t think anyone in the school is as competent for a Higher Advanced/Proficiency class as he was. He didn’t just teach English, he also made the lessons into… a sort of sociological debate and we often did little acting things as well. He just made it challenging, because he questioned your arguments, he had strict time limits on the writings & improvising plays and he moved very fast and smoothly through the lesson material. With him gone, it feels like there’s not much left in the school for me, with him it at least felt like I would always have a bit of a challenge and I really enjoyed the lessons. Some classmates said they missed a bit of human warmth, because he didn’t really do small talk and was quite reserved, but if you’re in his class for a while, you understand that he’s not that how-was-your-weekend-kind of a person at all, and probably doesn’t want to make an effort, as most of the students leave after 2 weeks. After a while in his class though, you sort off understand his humor, the way he conducts the lessons and what he expects from you, which is interesting.
So yeah, after 3 months in his class, it’s a bit upsetting for me, it’s silly, but over the past months I’ve had different teachers in the schools in both Oxford and London, and I’ve really started to notice how important it is to have a good teacher, it makes a great difference in your progress and especially the way you enjoy the class, sometimes even whether you show up in class at all.
I don’t want to judge too early, so I hope my new teacher will be OK, but I somehow have the feeling he can’t measure up to Ross.
On Wednesday afternoon I helped Robert out, who was moving flats and needed a hand with his luggage. From now on I’m going to think twice before I promise a friend to help out, because I had a sore neck following days… Anyhow, he’s happy with his new room and about the fact that he can take the quiet Overground train to work, instead of the Underground, so that’s cool.
Thursday was film club time again, ‘horror theme’ this time, if I weren’t so devoted to film club, I wouldn’t have come, because I absolutely hate horror films and would never voluntarily watch one, unless it’s a classic or a very relevant film. It’s not just because I don’t like being or feeling scared, but also because horror films usually are just utterly ridiculous. I can see that for a lot of people it serves a great entertainment purpose, but other than that it’s just complete rubbish to me, the dialogues are silly, the acting isn’t particularly high standard and the plots are completely inconceivable. They usually just make me laugh out loud, and go ‘Yeahhhhh right…’.
If I watch a film, I often watch it for entertainment of course, but I want some artistic value as well, I want a good or interesting story and/or dialogue, relevant acting and preferably good imagery. To me, the horror somehow fails as an artistic genre within film, because of its inconceivability. If a film is scary, yet realistic, it’s usually a thriller, rather than a ‘horror’. Anyhow, that’s just what I think, feel free to prove me wrong, I’m willing to reconsider my position.
After film club I met up with Robert again and we went to The Drums instore at Rough Trade, seeing them for free sort of made up with that one time I missed half of their gig at the Brixton Academy, after oversleeping. They were pretty good live, though I had mixed feeling about it. It sounded very different live than from their recordings, but I’m not sure if it’s for the better or the worse, the singer seemed like yet another Ian Curtis imitator, not only because of his singing, but also because of his wicked dancemoves. The guitarists seemed a bit autistic, one of them not even noticing he knocked over his microphone stand.
On Friday I went on a short day trip to Brighton, with my housemate Lucie. It was great, Brighton is an awesome city; the beach, the pier, the colourful houses, the fact that it reminded me of San Francisco and the North Laines. We walked a bit on the beach, then visited the Pier, which consists of a little theme park with arcades and a lot of candyshops. Then it started to rain so we started looking for some place dry, we ended up in a café at the Laines, and we sat in a lower area in the café on cushions on the floor. We had some good entertainment that afternoon; 2 women and a man came to sit in the lower area as well, but one of the women slipped on the step and hit her head against the ceiling, resulting into a cut in her head that started bleeding excessively. The guy took of his shirt and pushed it on the wound, whereas the other woman was squeamish and started sweating and panicking. Eventually the ambulance was called, and one of the ambulance guys asked: ‘What happened’, one of her acquaintances explained: ‘She slipped on that step over there and hit her head against the ceiling’. The ambulance guy: ‘Ah over there, where it says “Please mind your head”?’
After the drama was over, it wasn’t as bad as it looked at first, me and Lucie left, because it had stopped raining. We walked around the Laines a bit more and visited the Royal Pavilion, something I wouldn’t recommend, it’s a tacky palace, and very expensive for what you get. Then we went to the Northern Laines, which is basically Camden in Brighton. Then we made our way back to the trainstation, as we were both very tired.
On Saturday, Mandy, Desi, Hidde and Mandy came over for a day, which was great fun. I was very happy to see them and I really missed this, just nonsense humor and conversations, making crisps hats, throwing each others food in a pile of horse shit, making fun of the tramp sitting behind us in a café and making fun of people in Hyde Park. Nosing around on Brick Lane and playing in the Rough Trade photobooth.
The first week back to school was fun and it was good to be back in the class. We did 2 trips out of school again, with Ross. Not spying on people this time, but one day when we had a lesson with a ‘food’ theme, we did a competition in Sainsbury’s, the couple who could find all the items on the shopping list Ross gave us, won the competition and would get a ‘prize’. The items on the list were typical British products, like Marmite, Horlicks, mushy peas, rice pudding, custard etc. I teamed up with a German guy, and we won the competition, basically because he was very fast.
The next day we went out of class again, today’s theme revolved around anatomy and we went to the Royal Academy of Surgeons, and its Hunterian Museum, which was a scientific freak show of disfigured skeletons, fetuses in jars and weird diseases. But it was interesting, and that’s what it’s all about.
On the weekend, me and Linda went to the BBC Radio6 protest, because as you might have heard, they’re going to stop BBC Radio 6. I’m not going to pretend I’m a frequent radio listener, let alone Radio 6, but it’s still a shame on behalf of music. We stood in the rain for 2 hours, and chanted and sung when we were supposed to, even though we couldn’t hear half of the things the protest conductors said, and we were distracted by the unnerving statue above the doors of the Broadcasting House:
Come on, you have to agree this looks like an act of gruesome pedophilic rape…
When the protest was finished, we left the place with a feeling of unity in the community and decided our hard work and devotion was to be rewarded with chocolate goodness at the Chocolate Festival at the Southbank Centre. When I read the words Chocolate Festival, I instantly think of a lot of free chocolate, and chocolate rivers and statues and sculptures. Let’s say I’d have visions of Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory; this was not the case however, it was like 10 stands of chocolatiers selling their overpriced chocolate stuff, not even giving away things for free(Yes, I am Dutch indeed). Then again, being Dutchies, we couldn’t resist the sight of pancakes, and we also tried luscious marshmallows and strawberries covered in chocolate sauce, which was like eating a bit of heaven.
Last week, on Wednesday, my teacher suddenly mentioned that the day after would be his last day in Kaplan. Everyone was quite shocked by this, including me. To be honest, after the shock I was quite upset, because Ross is one of the best teachers I’ve ever had in my life, and I don’t think anyone in the school is as competent for a Higher Advanced/Proficiency class as he was. He didn’t just teach English, he also made the lessons into… a sort of sociological debate and we often did little acting things as well. He just made it challenging, because he questioned your arguments, he had strict time limits on the writings & improvising plays and he moved very fast and smoothly through the lesson material. With him gone, it feels like there’s not much left in the school for me, with him it at least felt like I would always have a bit of a challenge and I really enjoyed the lessons. Some classmates said they missed a bit of human warmth, because he didn’t really do small talk and was quite reserved, but if you’re in his class for a while, you understand that he’s not that how-was-your-weekend-kind of a person at all, and probably doesn’t want to make an effort, as most of the students leave after 2 weeks. After a while in his class though, you sort off understand his humor, the way he conducts the lessons and what he expects from you, which is interesting.
So yeah, after 3 months in his class, it’s a bit upsetting for me, it’s silly, but over the past months I’ve had different teachers in the schools in both Oxford and London, and I’ve really started to notice how important it is to have a good teacher, it makes a great difference in your progress and especially the way you enjoy the class, sometimes even whether you show up in class at all.
I don’t want to judge too early, so I hope my new teacher will be OK, but I somehow have the feeling he can’t measure up to Ross.
On Wednesday afternoon I helped Robert out, who was moving flats and needed a hand with his luggage. From now on I’m going to think twice before I promise a friend to help out, because I had a sore neck following days… Anyhow, he’s happy with his new room and about the fact that he can take the quiet Overground train to work, instead of the Underground, so that’s cool.
Thursday was film club time again, ‘horror theme’ this time, if I weren’t so devoted to film club, I wouldn’t have come, because I absolutely hate horror films and would never voluntarily watch one, unless it’s a classic or a very relevant film. It’s not just because I don’t like being or feeling scared, but also because horror films usually are just utterly ridiculous. I can see that for a lot of people it serves a great entertainment purpose, but other than that it’s just complete rubbish to me, the dialogues are silly, the acting isn’t particularly high standard and the plots are completely inconceivable. They usually just make me laugh out loud, and go ‘Yeahhhhh right…’.
If I watch a film, I often watch it for entertainment of course, but I want some artistic value as well, I want a good or interesting story and/or dialogue, relevant acting and preferably good imagery. To me, the horror somehow fails as an artistic genre within film, because of its inconceivability. If a film is scary, yet realistic, it’s usually a thriller, rather than a ‘horror’. Anyhow, that’s just what I think, feel free to prove me wrong, I’m willing to reconsider my position.
After film club I met up with Robert again and we went to The Drums instore at Rough Trade, seeing them for free sort of made up with that one time I missed half of their gig at the Brixton Academy, after oversleeping. They were pretty good live, though I had mixed feeling about it. It sounded very different live than from their recordings, but I’m not sure if it’s for the better or the worse, the singer seemed like yet another Ian Curtis imitator, not only because of his singing, but also because of his wicked dancemoves. The guitarists seemed a bit autistic, one of them not even noticing he knocked over his microphone stand.
On Friday I went on a short day trip to Brighton, with my housemate Lucie. It was great, Brighton is an awesome city; the beach, the pier, the colourful houses, the fact that it reminded me of San Francisco and the North Laines. We walked a bit on the beach, then visited the Pier, which consists of a little theme park with arcades and a lot of candyshops. Then it started to rain so we started looking for some place dry, we ended up in a café at the Laines, and we sat in a lower area in the café on cushions on the floor. We had some good entertainment that afternoon; 2 women and a man came to sit in the lower area as well, but one of the women slipped on the step and hit her head against the ceiling, resulting into a cut in her head that started bleeding excessively. The guy took of his shirt and pushed it on the wound, whereas the other woman was squeamish and started sweating and panicking. Eventually the ambulance was called, and one of the ambulance guys asked: ‘What happened’, one of her acquaintances explained: ‘She slipped on that step over there and hit her head against the ceiling’. The ambulance guy: ‘Ah over there, where it says “Please mind your head”?’
After the drama was over, it wasn’t as bad as it looked at first, me and Lucie left, because it had stopped raining. We walked around the Laines a bit more and visited the Royal Pavilion, something I wouldn’t recommend, it’s a tacky palace, and very expensive for what you get. Then we went to the Northern Laines, which is basically Camden in Brighton. Then we made our way back to the trainstation, as we were both very tired.
On Saturday, Mandy, Desi, Hidde and Mandy came over for a day, which was great fun. I was very happy to see them and I really missed this, just nonsense humor and conversations, making crisps hats, throwing each others food in a pile of horse shit, making fun of the tramp sitting behind us in a café and making fun of people in Hyde Park. Nosing around on Brick Lane and playing in the Rough Trade photobooth.
Liverpool & Manchester: pictures
Liverpool
'Dont touch the Dalek. Or you will be EX-TER-MI-NA-TED'
Manchester
'Dont touch the Dalek. Or you will be EX-TER-MI-NA-TED'
Manchester
5 April 2010
Liverpool & Manchester # 2
Read #1 here
In the early morning I, and the rest of the room, were awakened by my some Asian roommate, who decided to repack all of his bags very thoroughly, during the course of one hour. Now that, was really annoying.
Around 10 I check out at the Hatters Hostel and make my way to Liverpool Lime Street Station. After a 45 minute train trip, I arrive at Manchester Picadilly Station. I try to find my way to the Hatters Hostel, through this – apparently – busier city. It also appears to be larger and more vibrant than Liverpool. Just as I have the feeling I’m starting to get lost, I find out I’m actually on the correct street. I make my way to the hostel, which seems to be housed in an even more worn down building than the one in Liverpool, like some sort of squat. I am greeted by a nice bearded Mancunian who informs me the room will be ready in 2 hours. He asks me what I want to visit, I say I’d like to visit some museums and maybe some of the Smiths landmarks. He then prints a guide and has trouble stapling the papers together, eventually half destroying my ‘the Smiths guide to Manchester’–guide. Then I’m off to explore Manchester a bit, as I can't go to my room yet.
My first impressions were that Manchester looks a bit like Rotterdam (or maybe any other big Dutch city, but I’m most familiar with Rotterdam), most likely because of the public transport system: trams. Hadn’t seen that before in England. Again, this probably proves that Manchester is larger than Liverpool.
There are more people out and about in the commercial area that is Manchester Picadilly. The people still seem very (working class) British, some chavvy and orange faced as well. Yet, Manchester also seems more racially diverse than Liverpool.
After some wandering around, I decide it’s time to check out my room. ‘You’re back’, bearded Macunian receptionist notes. I was slightly disappointed to find out I was on the second floor, ‘the Badly Drawn Boy + The Charlatans floor’, rather than on the first floor ‘the Morrissey floor’.
I am in a 10-bed female dorm this time, you can’t choose your own bed and the bathroom/toilets are not connected to the room.
After ‘settling’ in the room and making a vague plan of what I wanted to see/do, I decided to go out again, armed with my camera this time. I made my way to the Northern Quarter, which, I had read, was supposed to be a trendy hipster area for young people. It all seemed deserted, worn down buildings and dodgy people. Found a few nice second hand shops, though. I wanted to find ‘Big Pink Records’, which was supposed to be a cool recordshop, but it seemed to have disappeared. One stop on the The Smiths guide, some Moz mosaic wall near Afflecks Place, seemed to be invisible as well. Nosed around in a vinyl recordshop, and thought about giving trying to find the Kraak Gallery another go. I did and found some signs with arrows, but they led me to deserted alleyways, so I gave up.
I went back to the centre and wandered up north, browsing through interesting looking shops.
Next stop is the Urbis Art Centre, which, sth I already feared, was closed for business. After walking around the Manchester Cathedral I decide it’s pubtime, after all, today is Saint Patrick’s Day. I go to the Printworks, a large covered restaurant area. I eat fish & chips and drink a Guinness and then move on to another pub in different part of town.
I end up getting free Guinness from Norwegian guys, who invite me to sit at their table; I join them, not being sure what their intentions are, as one of them is extremely drunk. They also give me 10 pounds, because ‘you’re a student, we work’, something I reluctantly accept after they insist on me taking it and trying to shove it in my pocket. After a while, the drunk guy starts making clear that he is attracted to me, and the others agree when he states that I am beautiful. To me, all of them look post-mid-thirties, even though the drunk one says he’s 25, and I’m not interested anyway, so I politely try to make clear that I’m not impressed. I get a bunch of phone numbers ‘for going out tomorrow’ and one of them gives me a half kiss on the mouth before he leaves….. Shouldn’t have accepted that Guinness.
After a good sleep that night (beer makes me fall asleep instantly. And pee as well, as I wake up with a full blatter 3 hours later), a shower and some of the 24 hour-breakfast (consisting of toast and… toast) I go into town again. First stop is the Manchester Art Gallery, where some interesting art work is to be seen. Of course the Gallery is suddenly occupied by retards, children on school trips and art students on excursion; instant headache material.
Next stop is the Cornerhouse, an arts centre with a café, cinema, bookstore and a small art gallery. The Art Gallery features an exhibition with David Mackintosh work, but I wasn’t very impressed by it.
After a coffee I go on my way to try to find the Salford Lads Club. I walk past the Ritz, where the Smiths played their first live show. After a long search, interrupted by a visit to a Science Museum, I was very close, I could feel it, but somehow I couldn’t exactly find it.... I ended up on some weird industry area next to busy motorway. At this point I was also incredibly tired and hungry. Adding the shite weather: I got frustrated and started walking back to the centre.
I visited the People’s History Museum, a great museum featuring a display of pictures of protesters being arrested during demonstrations and they had a lot of old political campaign material etc. Afterwards I went to the John Ryland Library. The interior is strange compared to the exterior of the building, it’s a very modern building housing a very old library, the interior of the library itself reminds me of Oxford, and the buildings there.
Afterwards I go back to the hostel, and lie down on the bed for a while and have my Sainsbury’s pasta dinner. Then I started a conversation with the roommate who had been in the room the whole time since I came back. She turned out to be an Italian girl living in Glasgow and she was following her favourite band around the country, apparently she was some superfan who was in love with the singer blah blah. Expensive hobby… well, definitely more expensive than my concert-hobby, I don’t have to stay in a hostel every night and take trains all over England.
I go to some bars at Matthew Street, have a chat with some bartender and am soon bored with sitting on my own in pubs, resulting into me going back to the hostel and falling asleep again.
The next morning I have to check out at 10, but my train leaves at about 3, so in order to kill time I go shopping a bit more. I go inside Afflecks Place, which is basically like the Brick Lane Sunday Vintage Market, but still amazing, great building, like a maze where can get lost between the alternative and vintage shops. I find some more great shops, which I hadn’t found on the days before, among them another record store, vintage clothes stores and a camera shop.
On the way back to London on the train, I felt a sense happiness dawning on me, just having had nice adventure on my own, and then sitting on that train, watching the foggy British countryside which reminded me off the Adolphe Valette paintings I had seen the day before at the Manchester Art Gallery pass by, while reading ’31 Songs’ by Nick Hornby and listening to music. It was just one of those moments of pure happiness, having a feeling of complete contentment and satisfaction.
So, all in all I like both cities, they have a lot in common, but are also quite different. They seem great places to live, though I slightly prefer Manchester, and still, both are not as vibrant and fascinating as London. But I guess that’s just from the perspective of a Londoner.
If you ever find yourself in Manchester; I highly recommend the Manchester Art Gallery, Afflecks Place and the People’s History Museum and for Liverpool are the Albert Dock and Tate Liverpool must sees.
In the early morning I, and the rest of the room, were awakened by my some Asian roommate, who decided to repack all of his bags very thoroughly, during the course of one hour. Now that, was really annoying.
Around 10 I check out at the Hatters Hostel and make my way to Liverpool Lime Street Station. After a 45 minute train trip, I arrive at Manchester Picadilly Station. I try to find my way to the Hatters Hostel, through this – apparently – busier city. It also appears to be larger and more vibrant than Liverpool. Just as I have the feeling I’m starting to get lost, I find out I’m actually on the correct street. I make my way to the hostel, which seems to be housed in an even more worn down building than the one in Liverpool, like some sort of squat. I am greeted by a nice bearded Mancunian who informs me the room will be ready in 2 hours. He asks me what I want to visit, I say I’d like to visit some museums and maybe some of the Smiths landmarks. He then prints a guide and has trouble stapling the papers together, eventually half destroying my ‘the Smiths guide to Manchester’–guide. Then I’m off to explore Manchester a bit, as I can't go to my room yet.
My first impressions were that Manchester looks a bit like Rotterdam (or maybe any other big Dutch city, but I’m most familiar with Rotterdam), most likely because of the public transport system: trams. Hadn’t seen that before in England. Again, this probably proves that Manchester is larger than Liverpool.
There are more people out and about in the commercial area that is Manchester Picadilly. The people still seem very (working class) British, some chavvy and orange faced as well. Yet, Manchester also seems more racially diverse than Liverpool.
After some wandering around, I decide it’s time to check out my room. ‘You’re back’, bearded Macunian receptionist notes. I was slightly disappointed to find out I was on the second floor, ‘the Badly Drawn Boy + The Charlatans floor’, rather than on the first floor ‘the Morrissey floor’.
I am in a 10-bed female dorm this time, you can’t choose your own bed and the bathroom/toilets are not connected to the room.
After ‘settling’ in the room and making a vague plan of what I wanted to see/do, I decided to go out again, armed with my camera this time. I made my way to the Northern Quarter, which, I had read, was supposed to be a trendy hipster area for young people. It all seemed deserted, worn down buildings and dodgy people. Found a few nice second hand shops, though. I wanted to find ‘Big Pink Records’, which was supposed to be a cool recordshop, but it seemed to have disappeared. One stop on the The Smiths guide, some Moz mosaic wall near Afflecks Place, seemed to be invisible as well. Nosed around in a vinyl recordshop, and thought about giving trying to find the Kraak Gallery another go. I did and found some signs with arrows, but they led me to deserted alleyways, so I gave up.
I went back to the centre and wandered up north, browsing through interesting looking shops.
Next stop is the Urbis Art Centre, which, sth I already feared, was closed for business. After walking around the Manchester Cathedral I decide it’s pubtime, after all, today is Saint Patrick’s Day. I go to the Printworks, a large covered restaurant area. I eat fish & chips and drink a Guinness and then move on to another pub in different part of town.
I end up getting free Guinness from Norwegian guys, who invite me to sit at their table; I join them, not being sure what their intentions are, as one of them is extremely drunk. They also give me 10 pounds, because ‘you’re a student, we work’, something I reluctantly accept after they insist on me taking it and trying to shove it in my pocket. After a while, the drunk guy starts making clear that he is attracted to me, and the others agree when he states that I am beautiful. To me, all of them look post-mid-thirties, even though the drunk one says he’s 25, and I’m not interested anyway, so I politely try to make clear that I’m not impressed. I get a bunch of phone numbers ‘for going out tomorrow’ and one of them gives me a half kiss on the mouth before he leaves….. Shouldn’t have accepted that Guinness.
After a good sleep that night (beer makes me fall asleep instantly. And pee as well, as I wake up with a full blatter 3 hours later), a shower and some of the 24 hour-breakfast (consisting of toast and… toast) I go into town again. First stop is the Manchester Art Gallery, where some interesting art work is to be seen. Of course the Gallery is suddenly occupied by retards, children on school trips and art students on excursion; instant headache material.
Next stop is the Cornerhouse, an arts centre with a café, cinema, bookstore and a small art gallery. The Art Gallery features an exhibition with David Mackintosh work, but I wasn’t very impressed by it.
After a coffee I go on my way to try to find the Salford Lads Club. I walk past the Ritz, where the Smiths played their first live show. After a long search, interrupted by a visit to a Science Museum, I was very close, I could feel it, but somehow I couldn’t exactly find it.... I ended up on some weird industry area next to busy motorway. At this point I was also incredibly tired and hungry. Adding the shite weather: I got frustrated and started walking back to the centre.
I visited the People’s History Museum, a great museum featuring a display of pictures of protesters being arrested during demonstrations and they had a lot of old political campaign material etc. Afterwards I went to the John Ryland Library. The interior is strange compared to the exterior of the building, it’s a very modern building housing a very old library, the interior of the library itself reminds me of Oxford, and the buildings there.
Afterwards I go back to the hostel, and lie down on the bed for a while and have my Sainsbury’s pasta dinner. Then I started a conversation with the roommate who had been in the room the whole time since I came back. She turned out to be an Italian girl living in Glasgow and she was following her favourite band around the country, apparently she was some superfan who was in love with the singer blah blah. Expensive hobby… well, definitely more expensive than my concert-hobby, I don’t have to stay in a hostel every night and take trains all over England.
I go to some bars at Matthew Street, have a chat with some bartender and am soon bored with sitting on my own in pubs, resulting into me going back to the hostel and falling asleep again.
The next morning I have to check out at 10, but my train leaves at about 3, so in order to kill time I go shopping a bit more. I go inside Afflecks Place, which is basically like the Brick Lane Sunday Vintage Market, but still amazing, great building, like a maze where can get lost between the alternative and vintage shops. I find some more great shops, which I hadn’t found on the days before, among them another record store, vintage clothes stores and a camera shop.
On the way back to London on the train, I felt a sense happiness dawning on me, just having had nice adventure on my own, and then sitting on that train, watching the foggy British countryside which reminded me off the Adolphe Valette paintings I had seen the day before at the Manchester Art Gallery pass by, while reading ’31 Songs’ by Nick Hornby and listening to music. It was just one of those moments of pure happiness, having a feeling of complete contentment and satisfaction.
So, all in all I like both cities, they have a lot in common, but are also quite different. They seem great places to live, though I slightly prefer Manchester, and still, both are not as vibrant and fascinating as London. But I guess that’s just from the perspective of a Londoner.
If you ever find yourself in Manchester; I highly recommend the Manchester Art Gallery, Afflecks Place and the People’s History Museum and for Liverpool are the Albert Dock and Tate Liverpool must sees.
2 April 2010
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