Manchester: Ouch
My internet bargain hotel was no bargain: they have big banners outside advertising my "special" rate. The lobby is being demolished and smells overpoweringly of damp plaster dust, and the reception desk is plastered with details about credit accommodation that suggests the hotel finds a number of its guests are unable or unwilling to pay their bill.
They gave me a key card; I carried my bag upstairs. It didn't work. I carried it down again; they gave me another. It didn't work. They gave me a different room: success. I took a shower, kicked the bed, and gave my toe a nasty whack. Ouch.
So, I'm jet lagged and limping through Manchester. Urbis is a cute little museum of urban design, with a nifty little show about play in the city. You couldn't do some of this in the US: the brochures on "how to arrange a flash mob" would open up too many worries about liability.
Their café makes a nice sandwich with goat cheese, pear, and sliced fig. It puts PB&J to shame.
I've got wicked jetlag.
I've got tickets to Henry V tonight, and to Private Lives (Noel Coward) tomorrow.
Sometimes, I think I do too much.