mightaswell.

If you put England in a big rectangular box, you may find that Nottingham is pretty much exactly in the centre of this box. Well, maybe after chopping after off some pointy ends… sorry Northumberland, but your north half is history… you too, Cornwall… and take Devon with you… Oh, just go with me on that one.

While I’m still not the biggest fan of Manchester (cue ORLY owl here), I have started to fall in love with this country, or at least, some parts of it. Mainly the green ones. Pair beautiful nature, lakes, some woods and breathtaking views with a slightly pathological passion for outdoor activities* and you’re guaranteed some amazing weekends walking up and down hills, almost necessarily followed by yet another popular activity: pub.

For exactly this purpose, and to escape the only mildly appealing February weather in Manchester, I went on a rather spontaneous trip to the north western part of the Lake District. Due to a BBC documentary on Wainwright walks, I was intrigued by a fell named Catbells, situated on the shores of Derwentwater near Keswick, which the presenter was walking up in her perfectly shiny and neat hiking outfit. I only ever managed to watch that one episode, so I wasn’t particularly adventurous when planning the trip and decided to go for the obvious: up Catbells. Conveniently, there’s a YHA situated just on the opposite site of Derwentwater, which promised charming bunk beds, a waterfall at the rear of the building, and local ales. I booked instantly.

Highlights of the drive to Keswick included me gradually realising I had left walking boots, compass, spare socks, the camera battery as well as the SD card, and my phone charger at home, stumbling across a tiny little red book with  walks ‘from the easy to the adventurous’ in the Northern Lakes, buying Kendal mint cake (novelty!) and Borrowdale tea cake, and listening to Therapy. After a short detour to one of the many hiking shops in Keswick to replace equipment, we found the YHA and walked back along the lake into town for Saturday night entertainment: pies and pints. Veggie for me and giant ‘cow pie’ for my companion. Awesome!

8.30 on Sunday morning, pies and pints suddenly didn’t seem like such an awesome idea anymore. My head was hosting a samba party, the rain was pouring down outside, and the sofas in the lounge had actually been very comfortable the previous night. Nonetheless, we were there for walking, so we did what we had to do: walk. The little red book from the service station had told us about an ‘alternative Catbells‘ that promised a ’satisfying’ 4 hour walk from the south west shores of Derwentwater, over Maiden Moor and Bull Crag up to Catbells.

Thanks to my excellent map reading skills, the missing compass and zero visibility we only got lost twice on the route, which caused me to first panic quite a bit, then feel like kissing the path once we found it after an hour of dragging ourselves up a hill. As we got to the top at Maiden Moor, the clouds cleared all of a sudden and we got some amazing views over the valley west of the fells. The last part of the walk was downhill apart from the short ascend to Catbells, which offered some good views over the lake, but felt much less spectacular and heroic than our previous odyssey through the mist.

On the drive home, we took the scenic route down the A road to Windermere rather than the motorway, past majestic fells, flooded lakes and through adorable little towns. Back in Manchester, it was raining.

When in doubt, eat. (Ancient German proverb.)

* I have observed that every British citizen needs to have a minimum of three pairs of special occasion shoes in their possession: wellies (for festivals, farming or simply crap weather), football boots (because everyone plays football… or ultimate frisbee), and a pair of hiking boots (for the odd trip to Wales, the Peaks or the Lakes).

I never realised I actually enjoyed going to the theatre. To be completely honest, I think I watched not more than four or five plays while I was living in Germany, including the two I actually acted in.* And all of a sudden, as soon as I had moved to Manchester, this just rocketed: maybe thanks to the cheap tickets for young people, maybe because I’m getting older, soon too old to classify as a young person anymore. Now that’s what I call a dilemma.

My theatrical excursions began early in 2010 with a trip to the Library Theatre to see Grimm Tales, a performance piece with music and dance, but far from being a musical. I loved the Library Theatre, the fact that you had to go down the stairs just right after the library entrance hall to end up in this subterranean playhouse, the red seats, the tiny little bar, and the ice cream vendors during the interval. Carol Ann Duffy’s adaptation was a dark and fascinating interpretation of the Brother Grimm’s tales, the performance was thoroughly enjoyable, and the set design had been crafted with love for detail. Solid.

My next trip was an introduction into the wonderful world of Gilbert & Sullivan, two names I had never heard of before witnessing the beginning of a rehearsal of the University’s G&S society. Lacking chairs in the rehearsal room, one of the members dramatically exclaimed ‘No more chairs! NO more CHAIRS!!’ which prompted an even more dramatical performance from the other actors. I kind of new what to expect then when buying tickets for The Pirates of Penzance: over-the-top singing from a 40 piece choir, dance choreographies, meticulous costumes and an enormously huge set. It was the night of the elections, and it seemed to me that – in preparation for the grim days to come – the troupe was singing for their lives, one last time. Impressive.

Shortly before or after that I saw The Comedy of Errors at the Royal Exchange Theatre, the theatre I seem to visit fairly frequently. My first ever live Shakespeare, and, as expected, I had serious trouble understanding the words – it didn’t help that one of the main characters was Scottish. I get modern day northern accents, and that’s about it. Don’t understand southerners, let alone any kind of old-fashioned English. Fortunately, I was at least vaguely familiar with the story and could follow to an extent that made it not completely unpleasant. Call me uneducated, but I still don’t find Shakespeare’s comedies particularly appealing. Unsurprising.

In June I saw one of my favourite plays – Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest, again at the Library Theatre. My non-existing knowledge of English literature borders onto embarrassing, but I had neither read nor seen the play before. I spent the next two hours giggling in my chair, marveling at the costumes, getting excited about every single one of Lady Bracknell’s appearances on stage, and shaking my head at the characters’ stupidity – oh how I loved it! I really enjoyed watching this lovely ‘making of’ Earnest and a review of 60 years of Library Theatre. Marvellous.

It being summer, we engaged in the Great British tradition of outdoors theatre and picnic, as we went to see yet another Shakespeare – A Midsummer Night’s Dream – at Heaton Park. While our rug and M&S nibbles combo seemed satisfying at first, it looked rather pale compared to our neighbours’ picnic table, chairs, cutlery, wine glasses(!) and home made delicacies. You people know how to do a picnic. The weather was surprisingly nice, you could even say mild and sunny, the play was just as, well, mild, spiked with the ever present sexual innuendos, but enjoyable. The audience got involved to some extent, as we had our grapes stolen by an actor, while Puck – played by a young lady in a sequined showgirl-outfit – made herself comfortable on a gentleman’s lap. Summery.

Following a summer break, I went to see my last play of 2010 at the Royal Exchange, something I had been looking forward to for quite a while: Dr Faustus, a play by Christopher Marlowe, based on a German folk tale, which, pretty much exactly 200 years later, had been adapted by the greatest of our writers, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. It was great to look at indeed, the devil’s little monsters were pretty scary in all their dancing and fighting, the acrobatic acts impressive, but it just lacked… something. The tragical side of the story seemed somewhat neglected in favour of effects, and I actually think I did a little power nap at some point. Epic.

What was your favourite play last year? Which one is your favourite theatre in Manchester?

* As a servant and a poet if you’re interested. One of the best things I’ve ever done, and I still find it astonishing what human beings are capable of when it comes to learning text. I can’t even remember other people’s names, but I easily memorized a one page monologue and recited it without errors over the course of several weeks.