I’ve lived in Manchester. It was for 6 short months, but I, too, got fed up with the buses and the constant drizzle. I, too, ate at Picadilly Gardens at lunch time. I, too, shopped in the Arndale more than I should have.
I also sat outside in my bare uncared for garden when the sun shone that one day last summer. I went to Asda to buy camping chairs and everything.
It was a turning point in my life, living in Manchester… I made some pretty big decisions there.
I also met amazing people. People from all walks of life, from all over the world, but most importantly, with big, beautiful hearts.
When I heard the news, and when I hear the news still, my heart drops into my stomach with a lurch, and I bite my lip to hold back tears.
These things always hurt, but they hurt more when it happened in your old backyard. It hurts because I was frantically checking Facebook for people to mark themselves as safe, racking my brain for anyone that I might have missed.
I’m so proud of Manchester and its people. Like every city, you have good eggs and bad eggs. But this week, the good eggs really showed the world something. The good eggs came out of their shells, and shone the bright light of unity and love for all the world to see.
Take that, you selfish jerks. Manchester has got good eggs, a whole lot of them, and you can’t stop them. You can’t stop them from spreading love instead of hate. You can’t stop them from winning over you.