The Hacienda.
World-renowned meat-packing-factory-cum-niteclub type venue funded by the money New Order made when Hooky shaved off his beard for charity. The 12” Blue Monday allegedly also played a part. The ‘Doof, doof, dud-u-dud-u-dud-u-dud-u-dud-u Doof Doof’, kick drum sound was inspired by the bailiffs knocking at Barney’s door when he ‘accidentally forgot’ to pay the £24.99 for the Argos drum machine he’d got ‘on tick’ from Big Tony Shuttleworth in The British Protection pub, Salford.
Infamous for the ‘Hot’ nights which occurred on a Tuesday evening. Health and safety officers clearly not consulted due to the large paddling pool taking up half the dance floor. Cue lots of slipping, mild electrocutions and verrucas. Bouncers dressed as lifeguards, dancers dressed as Manchuria Desperados, and if you laid from end to end everyone who claimed to have been there on those amazing nights they’d reach the fookin’ stars baby!
Many believe the Hacienda to have been the best nightclub ever. They are in fact wrong.
It was better than that.
Chorlton-cum-Hardy
If you’ve ever wondered where Danger Mouse got his insouciant swagger and why Chorlton from Chorlton and the Wheelies was able to say to the evil witch, “The past was yours but the future’s mine little old lady.” you need look no further than Cosgrove Hall, home to the animation company where John Squire worked for a time. Penfold – quite clearly a gay black man in a gasfitter’s body - was voiced by Terry, from Terry and June possibly a sly dig at cockneys.
The Boardwalk
Many a world conquering band played their first gigs here. Northside, Paris Angels and Ken Barlow’s Knob.
Central Library.
Lots of Books here. Also famous for the infamous ‘Stone Roses’ graffiti incident where the band’s name was scrawled across the building’s white stone masonry visible for all to see. They endeared themselves to rebels everywhere but unfortunately Ian Brown’s Book, ‘Banksy, My Part In His Downfall’ will never be held on the shelves or microfiche in here.
Football
There are two football clubs in Greater Manchester. Manchester City and Stockport County.
Afflecks Palace
A vast car boot fair housed within a dark satanic Victorian mill. ‘And did those feet in ancient times walk upon badly varnished floorboards in search of chunky knitted Arran cardigans with buttons like Walnut Whips?’ Famous for the ‘Identity’ T-shirt Company bearing the logos, ‘And on the Sixth Day God Created Manchester’ and ‘Ey up Bollocks Our Kid Giz a Toot on Yer Tizer Bokkle.’ Afflecks has over the years been home to the Joy Mac Division, the Gladioli Smiths Miserablists and the Day-glo Flappy Kek Brigade. Now a favoured hang out of Rainy Goth Spawn who swap grave digging tips over a cup of milky splosh and the odd blood capsule.
The Fall
“Manchester? Fook off, we’re from Salford!”
Dry Bar
Another New Order venture paid for this time when Gillian grew a beard for charity. Telegraph poles, slate flooring, card, and shabby velvet curtains gave this place a feel of a tramp’s hostel, especially when The Happy Mondays and their entourage were in the place. Once upon a time it was ‘the’ place to be seen. Now it is ‘the’ place to be seen if Ladbrookes is closed.
G-Mex
Former Central Station and former dank central car park becomes Manchester’s gig and trade fair central. Cooped up for far too long indoors, G-Mex is haunted by the ghosts of nightmarish Car park attendants with built up feet and Daily Mail bigotry. They ruthlessly sweep from the rafters dispatching truckloads of tickets to 808 State In Yer Face Turbo ravers on a weekly basis.
James played G-Mex once and everybody sat down. “BAAAAAAAA!”
Burnage
Home to Noel and ‘our kid’ until fame spirited them away. Famous for Sifters Records as in ‘Mr Sifter sold me songs when I was just sixteen, now he stops at traffic liiiiights but only when they’re greeeeeen’. Clearly Mr Sifter’s copy of The Highway Code is buried underneath his ‘two for one pound bargain bucket’.
Paradise Factory
Seminal club in former Factory Records office block. Homosexuality is really gay according to moronic Tabloid readers but not at the Paradise Factory where it was de rigueur. Straight men were known to snog each other openly in order to prove to the door whore that they deserved, ahem ‘entry’. Bordering ‘The Village’ a popular area for middle aged married men who enjoy nothing better at the weekend than dressing as Rambo or Scarlet O’Hara and singing along drunkenly to 'Heiraten'. Wags would often steal the letter ‘C’ from the Canal Street road sign.
The Arndale Centre
Constructed by sadistic aliens from the planet Lego Brick this soulless hell hole is best avoided. The ceaseless mendacity of consumerism, the unforgiving plastic interior, the ruthless lighting and the herd like mentality of the shoppers is said to have sent Bez mad when he worked here. Employed as a professional scallywag by Manchester City Council to provide rougish local colour, he would wander the complex looking like he was swimming through invisible glue. He would approach American and Japanese tourists and say, ‘Top one nice one get sorted’ and ‘No I’m not from Easter Island’ before retiring to his Little Hulton palatial squat for a squirrel Pot Noodle.
Eastern Bloc
Once the coolest record shop on the planet with the best in House, Hip hop, Balearic, Soul, and Funk. Pete Waterman owns it now so expect, Mel and Kim, Rick Astley and Angry Anderson in the racks.
Rushholme
Full of ruffians and the ‘Curry-door’ a mile long strip of the finest eating establishments this side of Matlock Bath and (cherry) Bakewell (tart). Fantastic array of restaurants illuminated like a Blackpool tram, full of students on ‘Eat As Much As You Can Tuesday Morning’ (7-7.15am).
Joe Bloggs
Shami Ahmed (The ‘Mr Big Keks’ of Baggy) was a child prodigy who could translate Thucydides on sight. This however didn’t stop him opening a market stall with voluminous trousers for sale. He eventually pushed the envelope out a little too far with the thirty inch flare. The wearer would shuffle around with fetid tendrils of cotton fabric flapping around their ankle whilst soaking up every puddle in sight like a sponge bob flared pants.
Palatine Road
Road out of town to studentsville and Cheshire. If you’ve not been on the 2am ‘battle bus’ towards Wilmslow Road you ain’t never lived.
**Please note. If any other cities would like one million sunsets to review them please step up. All that is required to be provided is a return flight ticket, food drinks and accommodation for the week. New York, Paris and Sydney we await your call.**
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