Friday 8 May

Night starts in the Old New York Bar where Licky is with what can only be (reluctantly) described as the next generation of cotton traders. While I still consider DH, Moony and myself as young soul rebels, it is clear that despite the immense wisdom we retain between us (diluted slightly as we move to sit with Swarthy Erick; the balance restored once his better half Swervy Thelma veers in from the bar), we are no longer regarded as cutting edge. Despite the fifteen-year age difference it is nice to see Licky soon join us, as I marvel at the cheekbones, and cheek, of rival admirers. Later meeting up with Che O’Gooner, on a rare visit to Manchester, Licky further struggles to raise the average age of the gang; some of us still able to able to recall the heady days of the Plantation club and the cardboard discs so expensively produced by Call Centre records some 20 years whence. But there is little time for stories – hugs and dancing being the order of the day, as they were back then (I think).

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