Keeping the northern faith

This weekend, I had my first taste of northern culture in 15 months and I enjoyed it muchly.

I was back in Manchester to check out my new house and ponder the future. I must confess that all this time away means that I go a bit loopy as soon as I have access to proper British food & drink. My first pub meal was a binge of steak pie, chips, ale, apple crumble and custard that caused me serious internal damage. This weekend was no exception and my attempt to drink every single beer produced by my nearest brewery could have ended in tears but was saved by tactical chips. But if you had to endure a year of drinking foul French lager that's about as classy as drinking urine out of a shoe, you probably do the same.

Manchester was it's normal self- reluctant chav husbands trawl through the shops with their wannabe WAG-wives, northern lasses with tight hair spill out of cabs and straight into the trousers of men in checked shirts, and the infamous Crazy Bus Lady preached to us on the government conspiracy involving a confusing combination of aliens and freemasons.
I was truly home.

I shall be rewarded for a year of crappy croissants. I'll have fresh wholemeal bread, afternoon tea and cricket on the village green. T'will be splendid. There won't be as many random tales of European adventures this year but it should be just as fun.

I'm going to be thinking a lot about our beloved nation over the next few weeks. What makes Britain Britain? Is it our obsession with sofa adverts? Is it Kerry Katona's face?
All shall be revealed very soon.