Manchester Christmas Markets November 2022

A pre-birthday shopping trip with my daughter found us in the thick of astonishing crowds at the Manchester Christmas Markets. Progress was a slow museum shuffle following the tide up and down Market Street, in and out of the Arndale, Exchange Square and St Anne's Square. The chalets vending Christmas cheer were packed with drinkers, and if you could quantify bratwurst sales by the winding queues waiting to be served, it might be enough to lift the present national economic gloom following Chancellor Hunt's mini budget. The Christmas markets, at least, were booming. Everyone, it seemed, felt it was time to throw caution to the winds. There were various drum-led dancing groups beckoning shoppers to join in and at one point, it seemed Oasis were performing impromptu at the bottom of Market street, but it was just a chap with maraccas bouncing about while belting out their songs through a vast amplifier. I question whether Amy Winehouse's 'Back to Black' playing out over the speakers of the Exchange Square market quite caught the festive mood, but judging by all the people happily going about in the pictures below, it had not dampened anybody's day. The atmosphere overall was quite amazing. And now thanks to a new win on local transport, it was only £2 to get home again on the bus!

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Two teddies are now

Both in my keeping,

Gifts to toddler grandchildren, us.

When new, Bruin was purple, larger,

With a deep growl.

My brother's.

Teddy was smaller, fawn,

Mine.

He lost his growl after an unfortunate fall

And a sink bath.

I loved Teddy with a depth which included emotional guilt.

I was jealous because Bruin was bigger and purple

And my own ted must never know of that.

I was the oldest but the girl.

Perhaps that played into who got which bear.

Bruin is no longer purple,

Faded after decades on my brother's windowsills,

At home and in his flat.

For a few years now, both have looked down from

The high shelf beside my daughter's childhood raised bed.

They leaned together, slightly forward,

As if wanting to come down.

I climbed up to get them the other day and soon saw why.

Both lambswool, moths have pecked their back legs into small

bald patches.

It's been a poignant time as my mother has lately died too.

I felt I had let them down, the two teds,

Neglected while cherished still.

I've dusted them off and put them on the coverlet

Of the single bed below,

Where they seem more contented, two old men together.

Better now, their worn little faces seem to say.