mightaswell.

As I promised (warned, that is) you last week, I went on a little trip to Levenshulme. As a loyal reader* of the South Manchester Reporter, I was aware of the existence of this area of Manchester, but could never really pin down what exactly constituted Levenshulme. Or what was happening there. Or who lived there. In order to battle my ignorance, the fab Helen from Love Levenshulme volunteered to put up with me for an afternoon and give me an introduction to the wonderful world of Levenshulme.

On a very lovely and very sunny Sunday, I climbed the stairs to the top deck of the 192, leaving behind Piccadilly and slowly moving down Stockport Road, past teenagers in sleeping bags camping outside the Apollo, through Ardwick and Longsight, finally getting off at Levenshulme rail station to meet my guide for the day. Our first stop was the absolutely brilliant POD deli which had its name from its location – a former post office! (Yeah that kind of stuff does get me quite excited.)

We spent almost two hours at POD, stuffing our little faces with delicious food and chatting away with Helen and her “almost next door neighbours”. “There are lots of families in Levenshulme!” they said, pointing at the children and prams squeezed into the tiny café. “Oh really?”, I replied. “I just thought it was well dodgy!”. I learned that, while certainly having its slightly more grubby areas, Levenshulme was full of families, a large student population, parks, and a lovely little creative scene, which was proved by the handmade cards and brooches displayed at POD.

We only just managed to drag ourselves off the chairs at POD and move further down the road, past a phone box that looked like it had been the location of a very long and potentially very interesting phone call, containing six emtpy cans of Skol Super - a 9% lager. Welcome to Levenshulme!

We arrived at the mysterious “Antiques Village”, which, as it turned out, wasn’t an actual village, but an old council building that had been turned into an antiques shopping mall. We explored the little museum-like shops that had bits and bobs crammed in up to the ceiling, including a creepy self-inflating Michelin man, discovered the amazing Agaphantus Antiques shop (ooh! Shiny!) that Helen had only just mentioned on Love Levenshulme, and had a cup of tea from the little café in the village. And that’s where my trip to Levenshulme ended – distracted by lovely food, lovely chats, and shiny things, I didn’t actually manage to explore the dingy backstreets I had been hoping for. I suppose there is only one way to solve this (terrible, teeeerrrible) problem: I have to come back to Levy as soon as possible!

Special notice: Love Levenshulme are running a photo competition titled “Levenshulme Loves”. The deadline is on Wednesday 3rd November, so I recommend you pay a visit to Levy, snap some awesome pictures (i.e. better than what you see below…) and send them in as soon as you can. Fame awaits you!

* When we first moved down here, we used to put the South Manchester Reporter in the bathroom as toilet reading material. Now it just goes straight into the recycling.

Aah, yes, public transport. My favourite topic to talk about in Manchester, always worth a good rant. In this case however, it’s less of a rant and more of an astonished and incredulous account of the most bizarre bus adventure I have had in the two years living in this city. It was so bizarre, I even created a new “Bizarre” category for it.*

And it came to pass in those days that a festival was taking place on the green pastures of Platt Field’s park, and the lone traveller (that’s me! Hello!) embarked on a long and eventful journey from Southern Suburbia into the heart of the Sacred City…

Up until Fallowfield, people getting on the bus were the usual Saturday night crowd, i.e.  hordes of loud and drunk students. We were joined by a group of families who had just come from the Lacrosse tournament where Canada had been beaten by the US. Due to unforeseen circumstances (“What do you mean? Thousands of people at a festival at Platt Field’s could cause a traffic chaos? Naahhh…”) the bus got stuck at a traffic light just at the far end of the park. And this is where it all started…

“Mate, I’m not being funny, but you’ve got the biggest car in the road. Just drive!” was the first advice the slightly intoxicated gentleman in one of the front seats gave the bus driver, only seconds before the young men in the car next to us started blowing a vuvuzela. The gentleman on the bus decided to answer this call for his attention by climbing on the bus seat, pulling down his trousers and exposing his pale backside to our neighbours, gently rubbing it on the bus windows. The bus driver, surrendering himself to the fate of having to drive the Wilmslow Road route on a Saturday night, simply acknowledged this stunt with a gentle laugh, silently awaiting the end of his shift. As we had been stuck at the traffic light for almost ten minutes, the gentleman, now wearing his trousers in the right place and obviously having filled his bladder with  several pints of liquids before the bus journey, asked the bus driver if he could open the doors for him to jump out and relieve himself in the wild.

On returning to the bus, he engaged in a conversation with the girls on the seats behind him (one of whom was wearing slippers because “it hurt. And… it hurt!”), only to rise again after a few minutes and announce: “Ladies and gentlemen! It’s Melissa’s birthday today! While we’re stuck on the bus, we might as well sing happy birthday for her!”, which lead to the entire bus, first cautiously, then enthusiastically singing a birthday song for our fellow traveller.

10 minutes and 10 metres later, the bus opened the door for another wee break. This time however, the gentlemen returning to the bus and running upstairs to the top deck did not resemble the two travellers that had been with us all night. “Oh GREAT we’re getting burgled on the bus because that guy had to go for a wee!” was my first thought. Turned out that, as the two chaps were kind enough to explain on exiting the bus, the drunk students on the top deck had been “shouting abuse” at them and they wanted to give them a slap on the wrist – fortunately, only figuratively. The worried bus driver was kind enough to ask the gentlemen who were returning from their toilet trip to check upstairs if “everything was ok up there”. They descended from the top deck with an “everything ok” and two cans of beer in their hands, which they happily opened and consumed straight away.

By the time we had passed the traffic jam on the infamous curry mile, everyone on the bus was either drunk and engaging in lively conversation / singing / further drinking, or mildly shocked and silently shaking their heads.

As we approached the final bus stop, a group of students coming downstairs quickly identified the families in the back as supporters of the Canadian Lacrosse team, which lead one of them to a weak attempt at consoling the Canadians for their loss by praising their magnificent country. And so the Finglands 41 service pulled into Piccadilly Gardens, accompanied by dozens of students singing the Canadian national anthem. The bus stopped. The doors opened. It was all over.

* Things like that get me very excited sometimes. The excitement lasts for about 7 seconds until I realise that I’m a sad, sad geek.

[Photo: "Iwouldstay"]

Continuing with my version of Urban Exploration (bus, cups of tea and charity shops rather than climbing, tunnels and building sites), I am going to explore Levenshulme next week! Helen* from Love Levenshulme offered to show me around on Sunday 24 October – and, us being all Web 2.0 and stuff, we’re going to crowd source our itinerary for the trip!

Send us to the cosiest cafes, the best bars, the fanciest shops and tastiest sandwich places. Or, if you’ve been thinking “GOSH that Sam person annoys the HELL out of me” for a while now, take the opportunity and direct me to the grubby grimey places and the dodgy pubs. All welcome. Email Helen your suggestions or pop over to Love Levenshulme and comment on the post. I’ll report back from our adventures after the 24th!

* Responsible for twitter gems like “Someone next door is either having really loud sex or currently giving birth. Probably both. Only in Levenshulme…”