A good thyme

'Even though it's good for the planet, paper straws are shit.' Hard to argue with the sister about the effectiveness of paper straws on a shopping and boozing day to Manchester. It's convenient from Stoke, so she's a regular, and took me to some of her favourite haunts.

My nan, who spent most of her life in nearby Wigan, would be staggered at Manchester's gentrification. This photo was taken at an expensive cocktail bar where the barman blowtorched the thyme that garnished my drink, and my sister's cocktail had purple flowers encased inside the ice.

I lived in Manchester with Clare and Tim in a house that smelt of potatoes during 2005-06 when doing my masters degree. The city has transformed itself since. I can't remember swanky gelateries in Piccadilly Gardens or gift shops in the Northern Quarter selling novelty fridge magnets that double as plant pots.

I should say *certain areas* of the city have transformed themselves. In a recent article I read, of people categorised as 'falling into destitution' in the UK, Manchester was one of the hotspots (along with Liverpool and Middlesbrough). It's very much a city of two halves.

On the train back to Stoke in the evening, some classic Potteries 'bants' between a load of pissheads we were sat near. A woman was getting gip from a group of guys, for no discernible reason. The insults were phenomenally sophisticated; 'you smell', 'where are you from, Bentilee?' and 'where are you from, Abbey Hulton?', in reference to two rougher areas of Stoke.

She retorted well, telling everyone she was the daughter of Alan Bloor, which we all heard as Alan Ball, the former footballer who was part of the 1966 World Cup winning squad. That bought her some misogyny credits and shut the men up for a while, although we then ascertained she was saying Bloor not Ball once we'd waded through the fact that in a thick Stoke accent Bloor is pronounced more like Bluh-er. Alan Bloor is a much capped former Stoke City player.

As we got off we gave her a thumbs up for handling drunk Stokies. She laughed and said that although her dad is called Alan Bloor, he isn't the same Alan Bloor who played for Stoke. Fair play. Whatever ammo is needed to counter train dickheads, I suppose. Bloor is a common name in Stoke.

In the end my sister and I were happy to get off the train and go for another quiet cider.