I decide to have some breakfast at a little place on Cheetham Hill Rd. It’s a cafe called ‘Nibbles’, it has a 60’s/70s feel about the design, and though I know the décor is more modern, that’s just how it feels to me, it’s ‘old school' Manchester.
I find a seat with a good vantage point for doing some people-watching, a favourite pastime as you will no doubt already know if you’ve read this far. Directly opposite me is a branch of Ladbrokes Bookmakers, a ‘Bookies’, as we know it in the local vernacular, and as a betting man I’m always curious 're the possibilities inherent therein. Following in my Mother’s footsteps I’ve worked and gambled and met some great characters in the world of ‘The Bookies’. There’s a homeless guy sleeping in the Ladbroke’s doorway and it's raining heavily. At least he's sheltered in there, it’s such a massive issue nowadays, and, unlike in my younger days, there are so many young people out there. I’d bet this guy’s only around 30 years old. He walks towards my car, which is parked very close to his domain. I remember I've left my rucksack exposed in the boot, and immediately go to stand up; it’s unusual for me to be so lax. I think the promise of a fried breakfast overtook my customary caution. I stop myself going back to the car, thinking, hold on, this is not only judgemental but lazy, (although understandable), thinking on my part, I’m judging him with suspicion purely because he's homeless. I decide against going out, I feel too guilty now and I want to trust that there’s a bit of trust left to trust. I need that kind of hope fulfillment at the moment. The expensively suited businessman next to me is complaining to the cafe proprietor,
“I didn't think she'd let me down like this though, I've been good to her with her holidays and time to look after the kids etc. Well, just goes to show doesn't it? People eh? Well, we'll see"
The proprietor asks him about his son, at least I think that’s what she asked, she’s quiet and I can't hear what she’s saying clearly. The businessman continues,
“Oh yes, he's got some properties now, yes, he's got to sell them, so we'll see. Yes, 22 properties now, mostly the flats in town, so we'll see. I thought she'd at least have phoned me. Well just goes to show. People. Well, we'll see".
The homeless guy now has a friend with him. I order a small breakfast, for £3.40, including 2 toast and a cup of tea, a very reasonable price. As I eat, the homeless guys collect litter from around the immediate vicinity of the Bookies; do they have some kind of deal with the manager I wonder? Maybe they’re allowed to sleep there hassle-free if they tidy up the area? Who knows? People eh? We’re often good to each other too. The breakfast was great, I’m not bloated, and good enough to put 'Nibbles' on my recommended list; keep it quiet though, we don't want to have to queue behind loads of New Manchester Hipsters whom have found a true 'local' breakfast spot to form a queue at do we?
The businessman continues,
"Well we'll see”.
I go out and give the homeless guys a pound each, they are polite and thankful. In the car it’s over to Frank again, Francis Albert Sinatra, let's see what he’s singing about now, “Moon River, wider than a mile” It’s a great Vignette moment, with the rain and Strangeways Prison Tower dead ahead, surrounded by old brick and stone and watched over by a heavy, Grey-scaled shady Northern sky. I take in the view and It’s all so very, very Manchester. Sometimes these moments in this city can be beautiful.
By A.K. McAllister akamaka.co
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