Manchester in the sunshine is simply glorious.
Smiles are more rife than hay fever, wool coats which were worn just last week are replaced with loose linen and camisoles and restaurants open their bi-folding windowed doors, allowing life to spill onto the streets in a deliciously “summer fete” fashion.
I was working away one Friday when my phone pinged with a message from one of my dearest friends.
“Weather is too good to work! Can you meet for lunch?”
Normally when working I have some concoction ready and waiting in tuppawear to wolf down when I have a moment; but Sacha was right, it seemed EVERYONE had given up working for the day that late afternoon; and since my tuppawear had been unceremoniously left in my fridge at home and I had not yet gotten around to seeking a replacement, my rumbling tummy wholeheartedly agreed.
I grabbed my bag and…
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