Hard to believe that this is a view of Salford, with Trafford Park in the background. The water in the foreground is the former dock which is now the starting point of the Great Salford Swim and the cluster of shiny new buildings is Media City, controversial northern home of a large chunk of the BBC from this summer onwards. Just out of the picture to the left are the Lowry Centre and the Imperial War Museum, both impressive and popular public buildings. The whole area's a reet big chunk of in-your-face blaggadacio. Thirty years ago all you had in this area was decay and dirty water, with the then notorious Ordsall estate across the road.
Thirty years ago was when I fetched up in Manchester, a refugee from a stalled business enterprise in the North East, looking for a fresh start. On a wet day in August I arrived with a Geordie mate and it didn't look promising. I remember my first impression was of wet, dirty redbrick buildings and chimneys and concrete and sprawl. There was no clear focal point, unlike Newcastle perched on its hill above the river. In Manchester at that time you had to thrash your way through the urban undergrowth to find the many treasures that lay beneath. Actually a few weeks ago I was taking a visitor from California to Piccadilly Station along the Mancunian Way and, as he was looking out of the car window at the hotch-potch of architecture which has grown like a culture on a petri dish from the first germination of the industrial revolution, he said 'God, this place is ugly. What do you see in it?' I felt a surge of pride and, while I can't remember exactly what my reply was, it wasn't too far away from this quote from Luke Bainbridge in The Observer today
'This is the home of the industrial revolution and the city that split the atom, the birthplace of the computer and the Guardian, the suffragette movement, the free trade movement, the co-operative movement, the anti-corn law league, vegetarianism, the nation's first free library, the world's first intercity railway and the engine room of rock'n'roll that has produced the country's best bands of the past 30 years, from Joy Division to Take That. This is not only where Morrissey met Marr, Jack met Vera and Bobby met George and Denis. It's where Engels met Marx and Rolls met Royce. I could go on… and on.'
And the best thing about it is that it feels like a big village. On my first night in Manchester I slept on the floor in a basement flat in Palatine Road and went out to a new club called The Hacienda.
Unlike nightclubs in the North East there was no dress code, the atmosphere was easygoing and when a couple of lads started dancing on the tables in the downstairs bar the doormen came and asked them to get down. The vibe was friendly, and after all these years I still occasionally bump into people from that first night. I come across surprising connections to other people that I've met over the years, whether through work, or our children's schools or activities, or chance meetings on the street. Because of the BBC's move northwards there's been a lot of London-Manchester comparison going on recently. I love London, but it's vast. Compared to it Manchester is intimate, accessible and friendly. After thirty years I've realised that it's my home. It's familiar and surprising all at the same time, and there's still new stuff to discover. A few weeks ago we went to Jodrell Bank for the first time. It is amazing, Manchester reaching out to the universe...
Jeremy Clarkson and a few others may not get it, may not be prepared to look beyond lazy northern stereotyping. Tough. It really is their loss. Here's to the next thirty years.
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