At hideously-early o’clock (8.55) yesterday morning, a knock on the door awoke me from my slumber. Not expecting delivery of anything or anyone, I couldn’t be bothered getting up to answer since it was likely to be a spammer (we get lots of annoying salespeople around here). But, like with the cats I so utterly adore, curiosity got the better of me eventually. By that time though, there was a “we missed you” Royal Mail card on the doormat and the postman was halfway down the street and I had to chase after him barefoot and in my pyjamas. That was fun.

Anyway, the registered letter of horrid-awakening-and-cold-feet turned out to be my Manhattans Reunion tickets: the pieces of card which will whisk Andrew and me ten years back in time. I am still intrigued but nervous about this little event but on the whole looking forward to it.

For anyone that cares (and I know a number of people have come this blog recently through searching “manhattans reunion” or the like, so they might even if no one else does), that photo-booth picture up there is what I looked like when I frequented the ‘hattans all those years ago (mid-1995 to end-of-1997). Looking at it from this angle, I’m the one of the left; my right hand man, of course, being Andrew. Actually, that isn’t really what we looked like at Manhattans: that’s what we looked like at about 3am on a Monday morning at the Hartshead Moor services on the way back from V97 in Leeds after 48+ hours without sleep. We still went to Manhattans that night.

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