Wednesday, April 4
Old Trafford, 11:50
I slept soundly and woke for the first time at 7:10 Manchester time. That felt good.
I went downstairs for an unlimited breakfast. I managed four Linda McCartney sausages with my McCain hash browns and Heinz baked beans. I shared the lift back to the fourth floor with a couple who had filled a shopping bag with packs of Kellogg breakfast cereals and spent the trip giggling and trying to work out how much they had saved.
I asked at reception about getting to Old Trafford and the young woman with the northern accent told me to get a taxi for £11 or a tram from Piccadilly station. I decided to take option two.
I got the free shuttle bus to the station and the Altrincham tram to Old Trafford. I walked to the cricket ground and asked for the football ground. I found it and bought Jani the three beanies he had asked me to get.
I walk back and take a photograph of the Lou Macari fish and chip shop which, I have reason to believe, has never had anything to fo with the actual Lou Macari, who lives in Stoke. As I do this the sky changes and, within a minute, a torrential rainstorm appears.
I will take shelter in the Bishop Blaize, a Wetherspoon pub that solves my wifi problems at a stroke. I will have a pint of Abbott and a mature cheddar sandwich and settle down to synchronise everything that needs synchronising until the rain stops.
In the early evening I will walk to the Arndale Centre and find a Spud-U-Like to my delight and surprise. I will have a baked potato, with garlic bread and a Coke Zero. I will return to the hotel to prepare my speech for tomorrow.
Later Irma will message me the details of my new card and everything will fall properly into place.