Manchester: A new Gang Member and Masur takes the bitter train
Lets have a big hand for our new gang member and President of the Manchester chapter, Mink Malone. Fabulous hair, great shoes, laughs well, perfect tour guide and all round great girl! Good for you sweetheart!
Manchester
For all of those that have suffered through my constant chatter about the fact Toronto men are boring, repressed, man-babies I apologise right now. That doesn't get the boys in this city off the hook...just that I might be a bit more forgiving in future...perhaps, just perhaps.
Off we flew to Manchester...All that planning and organising, we thought we had it all under control. We did the online research, read comments from other visitors, had the addresses and maps to the bars where we thought we could pursue our holiday objective (boys and pot) with the least amount of effort... We were almost militaristic in our various excursions to get our hair, nails and pussies fluffed, buffed, polished and waxed. My super-fabulous hair dresser gave me "come hither" hair to ensure I got as much cock action I could handle. And what happened? All I have to say is ...those fucking Victorians really did a number on the Brits. I thought Toronto was carrying the torch for that repressed, ass-clenched sort of behaviour ... apparently not. How apt we were there on Queen Victoria's birthday trying to get stoned and naked with the native sons. And no wonder we failed miserably. Well almost. I met a good man there. It has been a long time since I met one of those and I wish I could have packed him in my suitcase. But I digress ...
My first impression of Manchester? I know that this is going to sound really odd but you have to see it for yourself. What is with all the monkeys? Monkeys references everywhere. Now if you heard a Manc say monkey, sure it is always sounds funny but seriously...why monkeys? The pub down the street from our flat was called The Old Monkey...and down further was the Ape and Apple...the theatre was presenting a play The Green Monkey something-or-other...monkey monkey monkey...and yet no one we chatted to while we were there could tell us why...unless the monkey symbolism is some sort secret society like the Freemasons or something...
And in celebration of the Monkey City our first pub experience was in The Old Monkey. Which we renamed The Chimp. Old men drinking and smoking in the afternoon waiting for something to happen. And then it did. It the shape of two tall Canadian girls. When we walked in, the place stopped. We ordered pints made it perfectly clear we were CANADIAN not AMERICAN and sat at the only open table in the middle of the room. I definitely felt like the floor show - perhaps we should have started to sing about the Mounties or lumberjacks or something. We drank a few pints and then went back to our flat to sleep off the jet lag until supper. That night we headed to Mojo which we had read about online on the Manchester bar guide. The music was really very good but the bar seemed completely empty when we got there around 8:30...tells you how old we are when we think 8:30 is a reasonable time to go out. The bar didn't get going until around 11:00 and in the meantime we contented ourselves with chatting to the bar staff and trying out the cocktails.
The question of why we decided on Manchester for holiday really stumped everyone. Thank god we are both Coronation Street fans so it was a simple excuse to use rather than the truth...we can't get decent boy action in Toronto so why not cast our nets further afield...it worked like a dream in Ireland...maybe it is because they are all lapsed Catholics. The Atlantic ocean doesn't really seem that big to me ...five hours there...seven hours home...it would be like going to the cottage in bad traffic only with less bugs and warm beer. I think it actually irritated people that we were there on holiday. Quite bizarre.
That evening was a fateful one. We met Mink Malone at Mojos. A boy approached Masur and in the course of chatting her up, introduced us to Mink. I knew right away she would be a kindred spirit and I was so happy to meet her. It was an on the spot adoption and we would be taken around to various parties and bars and lounges. Masur and I owe her a huge debt. The key to Manchester is that you need to know someone there. You can't just stumble on a good time. Which is sad but a fact of life in that city. Mink is a great girl and she really made a huge effort to ensure we had a good time and even helped out with us getting hooked up with the herb. I can't believe how difficult it is to get. I think both Masur and I have single-handedly made the stoner reputation of Canadians that much more renowned. It was apparently quite wicked that we smoked it "raw" - without tobacco. It did the job and softened the lack of sexual success that became our Manchester expirience.
But all was not lost. On the Monday night, we were taken to an open mike night in the Northern Quarter. And that is where I met The Good Man. TGM was not a looker in the traditional sense... he had the bluest of blue eyes. He was a combo of Irish/Liverpool/Manchester with the sweetest demeanour that almost instantly melted my heart. TGM had a rough past and a rougher childhood yet you could see that on the inside he was pure gold. He was a session musician and was at the club to listen to the acts. Our poor ears. I don't know what was worse the really shit music or the earnst "I am a serious musican" grimace that appeared whenever they reached for that high note. For all its musical reputation, that night had to have been the shittest music I have heard since I left university. Go figure. But as luck would have it TGM was packing a joint and we went outside for a bit of a puff. Thank god. He was the first man in Manchester to seem really comfortable around me and wasn't acting terrified or like a conceited prick - which is just another jacket the chronically insecure wear on regular basis. After a bit of a chat, I just wanted to run away with him. My mission almost complete..by the end of the night I was on his sofa smoking and by dawn was messing up his satin sheets. At last! The dry spell was over!I am so glad that it was with a boy like him. After nine months of no sex..a decent seeing to! And he made me coffee in the morning. TGM was the cream (no pun intended) of Manchester.
Without knowing TGM we wouldn't have have had the musical highlight of our trip. He was playing a jam session at a place called the Junction Hotel in a dodgy end of town. When Masur and I arrived at the bar it was the first time I had seen a really mixed crowd. And the many of the brothers were in suits and pork-pie hats which was very cool. We were greeted with a joint and escorted in. I am sure we made a splash. Nothing like tall, white girls to bring a little something, something to a party. The music rocked and there was some hot rock'n'rollers to gaze at. There were some hard looking people there and I would not necessarily want to hang out there on a Saturday night but since we were there at TGM's invitation I felt completely safe.
So how would I sum up my trip? Well, in hind sight I found the bars a bit high school-ish. At times I felt like I was in the gym scene of a John Huges film. People travel in packs even at an age when I thought that would be seriously uncool (older than 15). Masur's one and only boy interest was actually cock blocked by his group of male friends. Which would never happen here. Pussy comes first ...always...at least for those worth having it. After Masur and I were chatting with this new boy, we were introduced to his gaggle of pals. Both Masur and I thought she would be the first one back at the flat making the bed squeak. Sadly, it was not the case. I think it was an example of ..."if I can't have her none of you can". They invited us to come with them to a strip bar which we obviously declined. Why would they want to go to watch unavailable women and drink watered down, expensive drinks? Especially when you have two women standing right in front of you. Ya big Pussies!!! Masur rode the bitter train all the way back over the Atlantic. How the hell did I get some and she didn't??? Fucking criminal I tell you.
Thanks to Manchester for a fun time but for the most part I was left with the impression that the men are a bit like SIXTEEN CANDLES after sixteen cocktails.
Manchester
For all of those that have suffered through my constant chatter about the fact Toronto men are boring, repressed, man-babies I apologise right now. That doesn't get the boys in this city off the hook...just that I might be a bit more forgiving in future...perhaps, just perhaps.
Off we flew to Manchester...All that planning and organising, we thought we had it all under control. We did the online research, read comments from other visitors, had the addresses and maps to the bars where we thought we could pursue our holiday objective (boys and pot) with the least amount of effort... We were almost militaristic in our various excursions to get our hair, nails and pussies fluffed, buffed, polished and waxed. My super-fabulous hair dresser gave me "come hither" hair to ensure I got as much cock action I could handle. And what happened? All I have to say is ...those fucking Victorians really did a number on the Brits. I thought Toronto was carrying the torch for that repressed, ass-clenched sort of behaviour ... apparently not. How apt we were there on Queen Victoria's birthday trying to get stoned and naked with the native sons. And no wonder we failed miserably. Well almost. I met a good man there. It has been a long time since I met one of those and I wish I could have packed him in my suitcase. But I digress ...
My first impression of Manchester? I know that this is going to sound really odd but you have to see it for yourself. What is with all the monkeys? Monkeys references everywhere. Now if you heard a Manc say monkey, sure it is always sounds funny but seriously...why monkeys? The pub down the street from our flat was called The Old Monkey...and down further was the Ape and Apple...the theatre was presenting a play The Green Monkey something-or-other...monkey monkey monkey...and yet no one we chatted to while we were there could tell us why...unless the monkey symbolism is some sort secret society like the Freemasons or something...
And in celebration of the Monkey City our first pub experience was in The Old Monkey. Which we renamed The Chimp. Old men drinking and smoking in the afternoon waiting for something to happen. And then it did. It the shape of two tall Canadian girls. When we walked in, the place stopped. We ordered pints made it perfectly clear we were CANADIAN not AMERICAN and sat at the only open table in the middle of the room. I definitely felt like the floor show - perhaps we should have started to sing about the Mounties or lumberjacks or something. We drank a few pints and then went back to our flat to sleep off the jet lag until supper. That night we headed to Mojo which we had read about online on the Manchester bar guide. The music was really very good but the bar seemed completely empty when we got there around 8:30...tells you how old we are when we think 8:30 is a reasonable time to go out. The bar didn't get going until around 11:00 and in the meantime we contented ourselves with chatting to the bar staff and trying out the cocktails.
The question of why we decided on Manchester for holiday really stumped everyone. Thank god we are both Coronation Street fans so it was a simple excuse to use rather than the truth...we can't get decent boy action in Toronto so why not cast our nets further afield...it worked like a dream in Ireland...maybe it is because they are all lapsed Catholics. The Atlantic ocean doesn't really seem that big to me ...five hours there...seven hours home...it would be like going to the cottage in bad traffic only with less bugs and warm beer. I think it actually irritated people that we were there on holiday. Quite bizarre.
That evening was a fateful one. We met Mink Malone at Mojos. A boy approached Masur and in the course of chatting her up, introduced us to Mink. I knew right away she would be a kindred spirit and I was so happy to meet her. It was an on the spot adoption and we would be taken around to various parties and bars and lounges. Masur and I owe her a huge debt. The key to Manchester is that you need to know someone there. You can't just stumble on a good time. Which is sad but a fact of life in that city. Mink is a great girl and she really made a huge effort to ensure we had a good time and even helped out with us getting hooked up with the herb. I can't believe how difficult it is to get. I think both Masur and I have single-handedly made the stoner reputation of Canadians that much more renowned. It was apparently quite wicked that we smoked it "raw" - without tobacco. It did the job and softened the lack of sexual success that became our Manchester expirience.
But all was not lost. On the Monday night, we were taken to an open mike night in the Northern Quarter. And that is where I met The Good Man. TGM was not a looker in the traditional sense... he had the bluest of blue eyes. He was a combo of Irish/Liverpool/Manchester with the sweetest demeanour that almost instantly melted my heart. TGM had a rough past and a rougher childhood yet you could see that on the inside he was pure gold. He was a session musician and was at the club to listen to the acts. Our poor ears. I don't know what was worse the really shit music or the earnst "I am a serious musican" grimace that appeared whenever they reached for that high note. For all its musical reputation, that night had to have been the shittest music I have heard since I left university. Go figure. But as luck would have it TGM was packing a joint and we went outside for a bit of a puff. Thank god. He was the first man in Manchester to seem really comfortable around me and wasn't acting terrified or like a conceited prick - which is just another jacket the chronically insecure wear on regular basis. After a bit of a chat, I just wanted to run away with him. My mission almost complete..by the end of the night I was on his sofa smoking and by dawn was messing up his satin sheets. At last! The dry spell was over!I am so glad that it was with a boy like him. After nine months of no sex..a decent seeing to! And he made me coffee in the morning. TGM was the cream (no pun intended) of Manchester.
Without knowing TGM we wouldn't have have had the musical highlight of our trip. He was playing a jam session at a place called the Junction Hotel in a dodgy end of town. When Masur and I arrived at the bar it was the first time I had seen a really mixed crowd. And the many of the brothers were in suits and pork-pie hats which was very cool. We were greeted with a joint and escorted in. I am sure we made a splash. Nothing like tall, white girls to bring a little something, something to a party. The music rocked and there was some hot rock'n'rollers to gaze at. There were some hard looking people there and I would not necessarily want to hang out there on a Saturday night but since we were there at TGM's invitation I felt completely safe.
So how would I sum up my trip? Well, in hind sight I found the bars a bit high school-ish. At times I felt like I was in the gym scene of a John Huges film. People travel in packs even at an age when I thought that would be seriously uncool (older than 15). Masur's one and only boy interest was actually cock blocked by his group of male friends. Which would never happen here. Pussy comes first ...always...at least for those worth having it. After Masur and I were chatting with this new boy, we were introduced to his gaggle of pals. Both Masur and I thought she would be the first one back at the flat making the bed squeak. Sadly, it was not the case. I think it was an example of ..."if I can't have her none of you can". They invited us to come with them to a strip bar which we obviously declined. Why would they want to go to watch unavailable women and drink watered down, expensive drinks? Especially when you have two women standing right in front of you. Ya big Pussies!!! Masur rode the bitter train all the way back over the Atlantic. How the hell did I get some and she didn't??? Fucking criminal I tell you.
Thanks to Manchester for a fun time but for the most part I was left with the impression that the men are a bit like SIXTEEN CANDLES after sixteen cocktails.
posted by Tits Malone at 6:12 p.m.
0 comments
