I’ve a yearning for the pulse, the rhythm, the flow. To hook up with a mate. These things to fix, some place to go.

I don’t live in town or city, just quiet village with a gallows pole for any street shooters. I have no valid excuse to break the rules of lockdown and visit somewhere busier, more populated, where I’m just one of thousands; for the most part unnoticed.

So, here I am, like so many, reflecting on a time before. A time when much of what I saw translated into black and white.

Manchester, moods and moments...

• Kids, spirits high, excitable, the school day done. Passer by perhaps not so full of beans as his bag would have you believe.

• Lovers talking earnestly, at quiet juncture.

• A local band getting a cover shot for their latest release.

• All kinds of people crossing busy streets, all kinds of fashion on show.

• Young kid enjoying the freedom, the grownupness of being out of the pushchair.

• Stylish dude waiting for the bus, his young son alert to camera.

• A smile through the glass of bank, from a lady who’s life feels in balance.

• Graffiti telling of irony and dissent.

• A couple’s conversation interrupted as she can’t help but smile for the camera.

• People waiting for the tram, the working day over, the shopping complete.

• Many the legs and faces of people traversing this world, but lost in their own.

• Friends who’ve met up, cool and relaxed, cigarettes and chat. Another spies the camera.

• Guy finished with his paper, his paper cup and pay per call. A melancholy gaze out of window. Looking for all the world like some blues legend.

• Young woman, bike parked, bench seated and waiting. Music the company for now, til rendezvous calls for headphones removed. 

• The girlfriend of graffiti artist clutching tight the rollers he’ll use to blank new canvas.

• A cold hug of acquaintances or friends with differences perhaps.

All these stories, saw I, and more. Profound or profane, does it matter? Some background stories known through the asking or mate telling; others merely guessed at. It really doesn’t matter. 

In black and white, so to speak, the city gave me mood, it gave me moments.

But then I saw in colour, something more. 

I’ve seen quite a few street performers and noted the response from the passers by. More noticeable, of course, is the reaction of those that stop. Couples may hold each other tighter, on occasion. She may squeeze his arm. A knowing look into each other’s eyes perhaps. That’s their special song.

But rarely have I seen street performers elicit the response I witnessed that day with The Piccadilly Rats. Four guys set up in front of a wall they’d festooned with flags of the world, football banners, things that spoke to them of their lives.

Not your typical ensemble of street performers. A guitarist/ singer, drummer and two dancers. Well, one dancer and a guy in a policeman’s helmet; who remained pretty much rooted to the spot. Real characters and small time local celebs. Gaz on guitar, nameless on drums. Then there’s Tommy, the one sporting police helmet. A star of Judge Rinder. He’d been had up in some TV courtroom show for wearing a mankini at an open air gig they played. Seems he’d put it on back to front! Ohhhh. And finally, there was Ray, the more energetic dancer. At least, he used to be. Sadly, he got run down by one of the city’s trams about a year later.

These characters were a part of Manchester’s vibrance for me that day. Many would simply walk by, untouched by the vibe, the music. Others would stop. Listen. Perhaps make comment to a friend behind a cupped hand. A joke, a smile.

On this occasion, three girls in a celebratory mood, made themselves honorary members of the group for ten, maybe fifteen minutes. Adding colour, stilettos, makeup and more. It was a joy. Not the finest rendition of “Wonderwall” I’ve ever heard but they added something to the day. Gaiety, life and a passionate display. Quite possibly fuelled by a midday drink. Who knows, who cares. They were fun. Kept me fixed to the spot for the duration. 

I love the streets. For these things, I yearn. These things and more.

I’ve booked my ticket, so to speak. I’m just waiting for day to arrive. For now I’ll love from a safe distance. Uffaaaa ! Patience may be a virtue, but it ain’t my middle name.