Since I stayed up way past my bedtime to watch late night episodes of Queer as Folk as a rampant teenage homo, Manchester has been a kind of Hollywood to me. A magical place where the streets are paved with gay and awkward young queers can blossom into beautiful butterflies.
I wanted nothing more than to bag myself the lesbian equivalent of Vince and Stuart and scream “I’m doing it, I’m really doing it” from the back of a convertible as we cruised down Canal Street. But, as a born and bred Londoner, anywhere other than Soho may as well have been the Hollywood Hills for me – as there wasn’t a chance in hell I’d make it there.
This was partly because I thought I’d found everything I needed on Old Compton Street, partly because I couldn’t afford the train fare – and maybe a little because Northerners just seemed so ‘other’ with their friendly ways and funny accents, I wasn’t sure how I’d fit in.
Ten years later and after spending so much time in London’s only lesbian night spot Candy Bar they named a cocktail after me, I felt I’d finally exhausted the scene and it was time to see what the gay capital of the north had to offer. I was older, wiser, and had enough money in my pocket to enjoy a debauched weekend and still have change for the train fare home.
After polishing off a couple of mini bottles of Cava on the journey up, by the time I arrived in Manchester at 9pm on a November Friday I was in the mood to party. Quickly dropping my bag off at the superbly located The Place hotel I headed straight out for my first big gay night up north.
Standing at the top of Canal Street, I couldn’t help but feel a little like a poncy southern fish out of water – I knew the London scene like an old friend, but I’d not been somewhere new, where there was an entire sea full of other lesbian fishies I hadn’t met, or dated before, since, well, ever.
And that was basically that. Kim took me under her sweet Mancunian wing and showed me what ‘MAD FOR IT’ really meant.
We started off with a sophisticated dinner in Velvet where we were joined by Kim’s harem of gay boys. It all went rapidly downhill – in the most fabulous way possible – from then. The boys took us to Queer bar and after a couple of pints we headed on to VIA. This is one of the quirkiest gay bars I’ve ever been to and we had a great time irritating the drag queen DJ with relentless requests for obscure UK garage songs when all she wanted was to play her ABBA medley in peace.
By 12 it was apparently time to ditch the boys and go girl gay. We made a B-line to Vanilla where I played pool with a bunch of local lesbos who genuinely seemed to find it endearing that I couldn’t pot a single ball. The vodka shots were flowing (who knew drinks could be so cheap?!) and so was the banter. I’ll say this for Manchester gals – they really do have a great sense of humour – a welcome change from London lezzers who just take themselves soooo seriously.
After Vanilla we checked out the other exclusively lesbian bar in The Village, Coyotes where we danced the night away, making a few new friends and, in a surprising turn of events for me, no new enemies.
My big gay night in Manchester had involved a number of happy firsts. It was the first time I’d got pissed for under £40, the first time I’d been able to chat to gay girls without getting evil-eyed by their girlfriends and the first time I’d had not one but two proper lesbian bars to choose from.
It was also the first time I ate chips and gravy at 3am and the first time I ended up back in my hotel room with half the cast of Hollyoaks. All in all I think the teenage me would have been proud, and while I didn’t find a Sugar Daddy (or should that be mummy) like my Queer as Folk hero did, I’d had a pretty sweet time – so sweet in fact, I think I’ll be laying off Candy Bar for a while yet.
Manchester is only 2 hours and 7 minutes from London.
Fly to Manchester in 60 minutes from London with British Airways and BMI
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