Logans run

We arrived in town in excitement and relief, booked into the B&B - a large pub with larger screens to watch footie and a motel out back. We phoned our sons and establishing that they were both otherwise occupied for the evening we strolled out in search of nourishment - or failing that entertainment of the palate.
The streets were a shock of colour - males and females in four or six-packs danced up the street in labcoats and devils horns. They cackled to each other in joyous anticipation of the night ahead.
It wasn't just my fur hat with ear flaps and waterproof jacket which made me feel out of place.

We sought refuge in a room which had some similarities to a restaurant. It had waitresses and served food for money - after that common factors were fewer. After waiting for 5 minutes for two people to leave we were ushered to the end bench where two opposing gaps had appeared like the red sea parting. We were kindly assited by our close neighbours in the tricks of getting into the seats without falling flat on your arse.
The food was good - oriental- and the conversation excellent. That is - the conversation of the extremely loud guy two rows behind me. It was far too loud for us to hear each other.

The it dawned on me - that feeling of special strangeness that one gets in a foreign country - but this was England - not one I had seen before - not one I should be allowed to see again.
There was only one possible explanation.
This was Manchester - studenty Manchester - the place where all the over 20's had been slaughtered!