“Manchester, would I were stedfast as thou art—”

"Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art—”

Under cloudy skies you took me

Welcoming as ever,

And watching, with Northern lids apart,

Let kids with Midlands hearts find their place

Somewhere away from home.

Twenty-four and hopeful,

Those early months were tiring.

I remember, in a room above Khawaja Bros, 

Dreaming anxiously of the day real cigs would have to give way to rolled tobacco,

And when that day came,

It wasn’t so bad after all.

Because pouches are to be shared,

And so we shared, like children do, 

And when the whiskey ran out,

One of us walked in the dark,

The half-mile or so,

To Bargain Booze,

And on the good nights, we played piano and smoked indoors and it felt like the decade wouldn’t end. 

But end it did (as it always does),

And in different houses,

You welcomed us again.

In Whalley Range,

I learnt my craft,

At kitchen tables strewn with cans,

Then fell asleep in a bed that wasn’t my own,

With a girl who’d shape my life forever.

Agency jobs, for zero hours, turned to careers.

Not quite what we dreamt of,

But permanent nonetheless,

And better than before.

We worked then came home,

Showered,

Covered ourselves in cheap cologne,

Then went out again,

To a pub with pies

and minted peas

and all the people who make life worth living.

One day, a line across a barroom:

“I’ve heard you like Only Fools...”

And just like that,

(just like it always is)

Life wouldn’t ever be the same again.

Real friends, like old ones, arrive unannounced.

Then (because it matters),

One afternoon,

In April, 2013,

Drinking coffee in the late morning (or early afternoon)

a man appears and pronounces to an empty barroom:

“I swore long ago that when she died, I’d go into the nearest pub and buy everyone in it a pint.”

And so the three of us toasted halves of Flat Cap bitter,

And shared stories of the way she killed everything we hold dear

With a steady voice that couldn’t quite disguise the fact we knew it was for power.

That same year,

Outside that same bar,

We vowed to make a film

And so we did (then two more)

Not ‘cause we should

But because we could,

On the backs of talents you’d go a long way to find

Through BFI workshops or funding streams.

Jimmy drove a van,

All day and then again at night,

Then wrote a score,

And when Sky arrived to shoot Mount Pleasant the morning that we wrapped

They looked at us with envy because we didn’t want to go to bed,

So we drank Guinness ‘til it was time

To stagger home and sleep,

Knowing what was on the cutting floor

Was more than what we’d ever hoped for.

And then,

In the last flat I had with Dora,

The world fell apart

And in the absence of everything we'd tried to build,

You took me in again.

This time it was harder,

And sometimes, it felt like those cloudy skies were falling.

Later still,

Those chance encounters kept on keeping on.

In the Font bar, one night,

Quite unaware,

I was swept away by the guy with the dark eyes

Who wanted only to talk about how Jimmy Gandolfini was the best screen actor of all time.

So we did,

For half a decade,

And still are, as recently as tonight,

And will continue to do so,

Forever,

Until one of us dies,

Or it is enshrined in law

(Whichever comes first).

All the while

In Rusholme classrooms

Countless kids came and went,

Some of whom were nightmares when they came

But because we loved them, left, to start again afresh

At universities

Or with some sense of direction

As to what they wanted to do.

You only get one shot at this.

You’d better make it count.

And so they do.

I met my love there too,

On Corkland Road (though I had to check)

And it was well before we got together,

But when we did--

Well, what place in the world would offer salvation twice?

Manchester.

That’s who.

In Levenshulme,

A new life.

Mavis, in her house since 1965,

Turning seventy-eight this week,

Tells me on WhatsApp

That once upon a time the coal man delivered to Mitchells at the end of the street,

Then sacked up coal for every house,

And though we’re gone for now,

“There’s a To-Let sign on Gloucester Ave, if you’re interested...”

Sometimes,

Even here,

In a basement suite in Vancouver,

Or in the lane behind the house, at midnight,

When everyone else is asleep,

I look at the stars and know

That despite our distance

We still the share the same skies,

And if a part of you is me,

Then a greater part of me is yours.

So, Manchester,

Would I were stedfast as thou art—

I’d be quite alright,

Forever.