Manchester welcomed back it's official olympic and paralympic athletes today with a reception and celebration at manchester's albert square right behind the town hall. it was bloody cold and my back started to concertina as well as my balance beginning to malfunction, jim, but this is a consequence of me standing in the same spot for more than an hour. used to be able to do that. can't now. freakin' unfairness, thy name is blazed across the leaden manchester skies! as were the fireworks concluding the evening. i love firework displays, yet i hate the public buying them, as the public has it's fair share of tossers and every bonfire-night  morning after we read about the casualties caused by idiocy and thoughtlessness. who chucks fireworks about like a gorilla flinging it's faeces from it's confines? tossers, that's who. and in stockport they really ought to rename 'guy fawkes night' as 'banger up a cat's arse night'. every late summer evening when i hear the first distant pop signalling the first banger of the season i groan inwardly, and a thousand felines get sweaty paws. and anuses.
still it was good to see chris hoy, that other girl with alopecia...is it joanne trott?...and the divine sarah storey who's birthday it was and was serenaded by a truly lousy rendition of 'happy birthday'. not as creepy as the beatles or the residents, but there you go. and she's a season ticket holder at old trafford. go girl!