It was an ordinary Wednesday, much like any other. It was about 3pm and the sky was overcast and grey. The sun struggled though in patches, warming the air to a mild 11°C, and there was a light breeze stirring the few remaining leaves on the ground, enticing them to dance a delicate green and brown waltz.
I lazily swirled the remains of my vanilla latte around in the bottom of my cup whilst gazing out the window of the coffee shop. Dreamily, I raised the cup to my lips to knock back the rest of the caffeine I so badly needed when suddenly it hit me.
Like a tonne of bricks.
Like a grand piano falling out of the sky or an anvil landing on an unsuspecting coyote, it hit me.
Could it be?
How could this have happened?
How could I have fallen in love with this place?
The realisation made my blood run cold and stopped my heart for a second or two. I shuddered, involuntarily, as though a serial killer had just danced a jig on my grave. I looked up and saw my mother and father watching me, bemused, so I quickly pulled it together, making excuses about a sudden draft of cold air. We finished our coffees and made ready to leave. I snuck a quick glance out the window again, to check if I was mistaken. But as the city winked back at me, in all her shiny modern glory, I knew it was true.
I heart Manchester.
When I moved over here, almost a year and a half ago, I was determined not to like this place. As far as I was concerned, I was going to work here for a couple of years, get some experience and then get the flock outta here and back to Ireland. I told myself that Manchester had nothing to offer me. That it was cold and wet, that the people talked funny and dressed like Liam Gallagher. They ate pies and mushy peas, and drank lager like it was going out of fashion.
But, having spent the last four days escorting my Mum and Dad around the city and its surroundings, I've realised that I'm actually rather fond of the place. In fact, right now I can't think of anywhere else in the UK that I'd rather live. And that frightens the life out of me for, you see, I don't want to live in England. I don't want to settle down here and have a family here and grow old here and die here and be buried here. I want to go home!
But if Manchester insists on being so damn brilliant, well, I may have to reconsider.
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