I have a dream. I have many dreams. Beyond a harmonious world and an easy to assemble Kinder Egg Toy, I have dreams. 
I remember when all of this was train track.
I dream of reading a newspaper article (analogue or digital) whose research is not a celebrity twitter feed and in which fact checking does not mean a retweet.
I dream of the time when the Pearly Princess can put on her own tights. Truly, as a man with the dexterity of the average baby this is a daily bind. Fifteen minutes spent struggling with a wriggly toddler to find they are on back to front and the heel is over one knee is soul destroying in a way that working out next to someone who keeps asking if you’re okay “…as you don’t get many people in your age” can only peck at gently.
Burns, La Tasca, Cibo, Solita. Inhabitants and the back four of FC Nido in the 2004 Champions League qualifier.
I dream of a time when each incarnation of the restaurant known as Y Fabrica (me neither, no idea) join forces. Whether it’s The Mud Crab Cafe, Felicinis or Didsbury Wine Bar, between them there is a decent menu lying in wait.
I dream of people caring about each other. Of pushy mothers in 4x4s not double parking or taking residents’ spaces when dropping their Freyas and Archies at Primary School. Of the staff at Evans being knighted for services to middle class dinner parties in South Manchester. Of Unicorns singing Stone Roses tunes as you pass the “Welcome to Greater Manchester” sign on the M56 and of a time when my first action of the day is not deciding what to do with a pull-up.
The names on the mug are in reverse order.
Alongside every act of lazy and institutionalised xenophobia we have witnessed over the last year I believe there is goodness. There are people who realise the contribution of all people whether British born or not. I thought about this as I sipped the most exquisite Sardinian-made Bloody Mary at Piccolino’s on Saturday. I remember it when it when I bump into people who remember me going for sweets on Lapwing Lane with my own Didsbury grandad. 
Rare picture of Fog Lane Park’s Pets’ Corner
I dream of a world where Coronation Street does not move so quickly that I miss a month and have no idea who Steve MacDonald has married/impregnated/saved.
Kiwi, a rare Didsbury delicacy from when Evans first opened.
I dream of a world where the city abruptly ends and the country takes over in seconds. Then I remember Stenner Lane, the perfect cut through between almost Gastropub The Didsbury and the haven of Fletcher Moss.
Ten minutes looking at the river and I don’t care who’s blocked my drive, which continent Felicini’s is pretending to be from or which toddler’s knee wakes me with a morning kidney jab. I just tap my heels together 3 times and I’m walking back from Flannagan’s with a smart haircut and a Fosters’ chippie tea in my hand.
* thanks to @craftwords for keeping me up to date with developments and great one-liners whilst I’ve been too busy navel-gazing to write a regular blog.
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A guide to the summer holidays,
America with twins,
and the dish ran away with the spoon opens in the park,
Ante-natal scan,
Back to school,
being a dad,
being Away,
Being Barry White,
Belief,
Birth,
birthdays,
Birthdays,
Blagging,
blathering on about Didsbury agsin,
blogging,
Brother of twins,
Cafe on Didsbury Park,
Campaigning for Didsbury,
caravans,
CBeebies,
Charity,
cheap advertising,
Chicken Soup,
Child labour,
Children and Magic,
Children of different ages,
Children's operations,
Chorlton,
christingle,
Christmas Dinner,
coming Home,
competitive parenting,
Cub Camp,
Daddy daughter time,
Deadly 60,
Dealing with defeat,
Depth Perception,
Despairing for humanity,
Diamond Jubilee,
Didsbury Dozen,
Didsbury Festival,
Didsbury Village bakers,
Didsbury Village farm Shop,
Didsbury Zombies,
Does santa exist,
dr Dre,
Driving through Scotland,
Eating out in Didsbury,
Eating Out in Didsbury ranked,
economically viable,
Estate Agents,
Ewan the Sheep,
Family Holidays,
Family rooms,
father Son Time,
Father's Day,
Fatherhood and its political connotations,
Fearne Cotton,
Fighting the rise of cowardly nationalism,
Flying,
Grey Hairs and Laughter Lines,
happy new year,
Hipster beards,
Hospital visits,
how nany coffee shops?,
How to travel with toddlers,
How's Karma Sutra doing?,
Institutionalised Xenophobia,
iPad,
Italian Restaurants in Manchester,
Joggers,
John Lewis Cheadle,
local Government election results,
London,
Love Life, Hate UKIP,
Male concentration,
Male pregnancy symptoms,
Marking your territory,
massage,
Massage in Didsbury,
metrolink Didsbury,
Mindfulness,
Moaning for Britain,
more coffee shops,
Moving House,
New Babies,
New medical conditions,
new twins,
Nostalgia,
other people's problems,
Parent's Evening,
Parental illnesses,
parenthood,
Parenting masterclasses,
Phishing,
playground mums,
pregnancy scan,
previous lives,
Radio Phone-Ins,
Re-incarnation,
Remenisces,
Restaurants in Didsbury,
romantic films,
Santa,
Saturday night in,
School Trips,
Scout Camp,
Sew-In,
Shops shutting,
sleep Deprivation,
sponsored blogs,
Starngers comments,
summertime,
The Art of Tea,
the Beatles and The Pope,
The Cheese Hamlet,
The cold weather,
the Generation Gap,
the joy of insoles,
The joy of snoring,
The old testament,
The presidential inauguration,
the price of fish,
The Smiths,
The Wizard at Alderley Edge,
Things I have learned,
Unconditional love,
US President James Madison,
Useless people,
Waitrose in Didsbury,
Wellbeing,
who votes for UKIP?,
Workd Peace,
working away,
World leaders,
World peace,
Year 7 Homework and tagged
"Welcome to Greater Manchester",
4x4s,
Bloody Mary,
Coronation Street,
Didsbury,
Didsbury Wine Bar,
Evans,
Felicini's,
Flannagans,
Fletcher Moss,
Fosters,
Gastropub,
Institutionalised Xenophobia,
Kinder Egg.,
Lapwing Lane,
M56,
Pearly Princess,
Piccolino Didsbury,
Primary School,
Sardinia,
Saturday,
South Manchester,
Stenner Lane,
Steve MacDonald,
Stone Roses,
The Didsbury,
The Mud Crab Cafe,
Unicorns,
Y Fabrica |
Didsbury: I Have a Dream
I have a dream. I have many dreams. Beyond a harmonious world and an easy to assemble Kinder Egg Toy, I have dreams.
I remember when all of this was train track.
I dream of reading a newspaper article (analogue or digital) whose research is not a celebrity twitter feed and in which fact checking does not mean a retweet.
I dream of the time when the Pearly Princess can put on her own tights. Truly, as a man with the dexterity of the average baby this is a daily bind. Fifteen minutes spent struggling with a wriggly toddler to find they are on back to front and the heel is over one knee is soul destroying in a way that working out next to someone who keeps asking if you’re okay “…as you don’t get many people in your age” can only peck at gently.
Burns, La Tasca, Cibo, Solita. Inhabitants and the back four of FC Nido in the 2004 Champions League qualifier.
I dream of a time when each incarnation of the restaurant known as Y Fabrica (me neither, no idea) join forces. Whether it’s The Mud Crab Cafe, Felicinis or Didsbury Wine Bar, between them there is a decent menu lying in wait.
I dream of people caring about each other. Of pushy mothers in 4x4s not double parking or taking residents’ spaces when dropping their Freyas and Archies at Primary School. Of the staff at Evans being knighted for services to middle class dinner parties in South Manchester. Of Unicorns singing Stone Roses tunes as you pass the “Welcome to Greater Manchester” sign on the M56 and of a time when my first action of the day is not deciding what to do with a pull-up.
The names on the mug are in reverse order.
Alongside every act of lazy and institutionalised xenophobia we have witnessed over the last year I believe there is goodness. There are people who realise the contribution of all people whether British born or not. I thought about this as I sipped the most exquisite Sardinian-made Bloody Mary at Piccolino’s on Saturday. I remember it when it when I bump into people who remember me going for sweets on Lapwing Lane with my own Didsbury grandad.
Rare picture of Fog Lane Park’s Pets’ Corner
I dream of a world where Coronation Street does not move so quickly that I miss a month and have no idea who Steve MacDonald has married/impregnated/saved.
Kiwi, a rare Didsbury delicacy from when Evans first opened.
I dream of a world where the city abruptly ends and the country takes over in seconds. Then I remember Stenner Lane, the perfect cut through between almost Gastropub The Didsbury and the haven of Fletcher Moss.
Ten minutes looking at the river and I don’t care who’s blocked my drive, which continent Felicini’s is pretending to be from or which toddler’s knee wakes me with a morning kidney jab. I just tap my heels together 3 times and I’m walking back from Flannagan’s with a smart haircut and a Fosters’ chippie tea in my hand.
* thanks to @craftwords for keeping me up to date with developments and great one-liners whilst I’ve been too busy navel-gazing to write a regular blog.
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