I fucking love The Smiths. If the title of the blog wasn't obvious enough you now know. This is despite Morrissey denying me a battered sausage in my drunken state by banning any of the catering stalls selling meat when i saw him in Marley Park in August 2006, i've just about forgiven him.
After the game on Sunday we had 7 hours to spend in Manchester. Our bus wasn't heading back to Hollyhead until as late that night as possible. If you've ever had to spend an hour in Hollyhead you will know why. Departing 11pm it was then.
After drowning our sorrows for what felt like too long in, the Bray Supporters Clubs local haunt, 'The Tollgate' just bedside Old Trafford we decided to head down 'The Curry Mile' in Rusholme. Passing the neon jungle of curry houses on our bus ride back from the city centre on Saturday night left an impression on Anto's stomach and his suggestion was greeted with much approval.
We took a cab via the infamous Moss Side of Manchester and jumped out for a lap of the mile, hoping to find a restaurant that'd meet our needs sooner rather later. After One lap and discovering that Kev's recommended eatery was closed we settled on a place that was offering 15% discount and free pompadons. Good times!
After the meal and still with 3 hours to spare i suggested, to what i thought would be in vain, that we go find the Salford Lads Club and get a photo outside the iconic building. Suprisingly enough Kev immediately agreed and Anto was whether he liked it or not, thankfully the former, bound to join us on our spontaneous pilgrimage.
We hailed a cab and asked him to take us to the club. He just about knew where Salford was so said he'd drop us off at the University. We thought that was fair enough, we'll hit a student bar, ask where the club is, how hard could it be??
Salford was like a ghost town when we got there, the only place between the towers of flats and motorway that seemed to have any life in it was 'The Woolpack' a pub so 'exclusive' we had to ring a preventative buzzer before we could even enter the place!
When we finally gained entrance we were greeted to what i had always imagined pub life in 'Little Britain'(not the show) to be like, an inescapable place where the Octogenarian's singing karaoke, would only be replaced by the other people in the pub, who in turn would only procreate so as to have someone else who could sing 'Nothing compares to you' in a couple of decades time. What only made it more depressing was that the twentysomething's there seemed to know this fate.
Notwithstanding that we did get a nice pint and get chatting to a friendly local who after consolidating our disgust about the match admitted he knew where the Salfords Lads Club was! He only lived around the corner from it! Excellent! "Can we walk it?" Not really, came the reply , "but i can sort ya out wiv a taxi" good enough for me!
After a few phone calls it became clear that the likelihood of me getting to arch a quiff in honour of 'the Mozfather' was becoming less and less likely tonight. He couldn't get a cab despite trying a few numbers. Just as well, as my gel was on the bus. We finished our beers and went back out into the cold, disheartened but still not defeated.
We wandered into the night and only then did it dawn on his just how dodgy Salford was. It was no Moss Side but it certainly wasn't far off. Thankfully the free roaming Pit Bull that crossed our path didn't seem too concerned with us and we dropped into the 'Salford Chippy' in the hope that they could either point us in the right direction or call us a cab. Turned out the guy working there while not Irish himself had lived in Dublin for a few years and was more than happy to help us out. After we had convinced him that 'Salford Lad's Club' wasn't a gay club though his directions had changed and with time against us, i knew it was over as we decided to get back to the Toll Gate in time to make it home. It was still a great random night though.
I will get that photo one day!!!
