Running up inside Mancunia...

Manchester is not the first place you'd necessarily think of when rambling on about running. It's known more for Oasis, Tony Wilson and rain but just the other week myself and my man Craggsy took a lengthy journey up the country to Mancunia to take part in the city's marathon. Why? The reasons are lost in the annals of time but may have been something to ease the guilt of the hefty Christmas binge drink. Most sensible folk would give up the beer for a bit but we chose to carry on drinking and start running three times a week instead. Whoop? Whoop indeed. Especially when you're doing 16 miles after eight pints.

Massive vibes to everyone who sponsored us in our endeavours. We limped over hand in hand after 3 hours 32 minutes of pure leg gruel. Never again we said. Now we're not so sure but those short shorts are staying in the cupboard for the foreseeable. Brappppp...

5 lessons we learned in February

February's vibe was proper with time spent veering from running away from hangovers to just generally running. We've got a marathon in Manchester in April and an integral part of the training regime is to not have a hangover on the day itself. By some sort of backwards calculating, this should make running 26.2 miles easy, especially after training with a hangover for three months. As Craig David would say, 'drink like a fish, eat like a pig, train like a fairy'.

What else have we learnt?

FKA Twigs live is shite

We went to London's Roundhouse and spent the best part of the gig waiting for her to play a tune. She spent most of it dancing around and pouting. We were left disappointed.

Abbey Road Studios is not shite

We went with work to delve around in a studio at Abbey Road Studios with a mastering engineer. This isn't a euphemism for something 'torture gardens'. We spoke to this dude who it turns out is the fella who mastered New Order's Blue Monday. Fact.

Made in Chelsea actors are just like you and me. Almost

If you watch Channel 4's Made in Chelsea you're either posh and like watching fellow poshoes act posh or you hate posh people and want to find out how to destroy them. We were wandering through M&S enroute to watch Twigs and saw Jamie from Made in Chelsea rummaging through the sandwiches. Just like a normal person who's had four pints on the way home and is already done for. The only thing that made him look like a total cunt were his shoes, woven from the souls of poor people. What a cunt.

Market research can be lucrative

February's Wednesdays were spent discussing the finder points of desserts and coffee machines. Couldn't give a toss about either really but for £200 I will. Kerching.

Walkers have upped the game of crisps

Monster munch, French Fries, Wotsits and Doritoes all in the same bag. That's some game changing shit right there fam.

Take it like a man

The back of Jamie from Made in Chelsea, aka Posh Cunt

FKA Twigs not playing any tunes

Hello

Possibly the best record ever made? 

'Work'

Choosing between bombs

Monday emergency breakfast injection

Pon de plate

Our road. At dusk. 

Future crisps vibes

Speaking to heroes

2013 has been massive in many ways already - but no small reason is speaking to music makers and creative types who I'm properly into/in awe of all in the name of 'work'. That in itself is crackers.

The Durutti Column's Vini Reilly is a man who has had a varied, lengthy and very Mancunian musical career. As the first artist signed to Factory Records, he was there at the start of the story which saw lives lost, money burnt but crucially some fucking amazing music made. Vini himself has always shied away from the limelight but over the past few years, his tale has taken a tragic turn. Stricken by several strokes, he lost the ability to play the guitar and also fell foul of the benefits system meaning that by Christmas, he was unable to pay his rent.

A hurried Facebook campaign rallied round the musician and highlighted his plight, causing many well wishers to come forward and donate. I had the chance to speak to Vini in a rare interview during January and got his take on his struggles and the Factory story. It's heart wrenching stuff. Check the link below...


Read the lengthy interview with Vini Reilly here

Chic @the Warehouse Project

November nights offered up a multitude of musical riches - but perhaps the fullest aural money bags were provided by Chic at the Warehouse Project up in Manchester. We were so giddy about witnessing them that we turned down an invitation to stick cat food up our conks at a party the night before. I know. Early(ish) to bed instead of staying up all night talking shite. That’s how seriously we were taking Nile Rodgers and Chic’s showing.

And up early we were - I was prancing round our kitchen listening to Spacer at half nine in the A.M. And reading about Jeff Mills spectacularly blowing out his gig, despite being offered a fat wedge and a limo from Manchester airport to Store Street where the WHP is currently located. Our journey was always all about Chic - so we didn’t give a shit that the wizard had decided to throw a wobbler and not bother showing up.

Despite the early start, we still almost missed the train. Almost. But thankfully, when it pulled off we were ensconced in our seats discussing death and swearing very loudly within ear shot of a young child. The journey was most pleasant. Lagers and big talk. We were even greeted at the platform by our kind host and driven to his gaff where we were treated to a donner meat pizza and a full fridge of lager. This is probably the sort of treatment Mills would have received if he could have been arsed. Mate. You bit your nose off here to spite your face.

When it came to lift off we were already royally rolling - the classic donner meat, bifta, strong lager combo had set our brains at a pretty high. Once inside, it was all about Chic and poppers. Lots and lots of poppers. Losing the lid on the original bottle met we had to buy a second dose while chain sniffing the first batch until there was nothing left other than our red faces and blistered minds. So by the time Chic came on to rapturous applause, we were in the cavernous arch way going totally fucking ape.

Despite their lengthy time in the game, Nile Rodgers and crew showed no signs of age or illness (Rodgers has bee battling cancer for time) and lifted the place off its feet wrapped in a bear hug of bright lights and even brighter disco. We completely lost our shit as they ran through their best bits at break neck speed. Spacer, He’s the greatest dancer, Lost in music, We are family - all performed in a lean, medley style - Johnny Marr even came on at the end in add a touch of Mancunia to Le Freak. It was big.

The eve culminated in retiring to our chum’s gaff to listen to Bon Jovi, watch Platoon and spend the next 12 hours twitching before boarding the train and returning to the smoke. A whistle stop tour of Manc for the a real disco extravaganza. Chic smashed it. Very good times…

You can read my Resident Advisor review of the evening by clicking here - it's gushy as fuck...



#havingalovelytime



#havingaverylovelytime



#havinganevenloveliertime



Train scran



Grainy proof that we were there - in body if not in mind...