I went up to Manchester at the weekend and I LOVED IT. I didn't get annoyed by Hugh at all. In fact I think I began to feel my rock hard, steely heart soften a little. Ooh err.

I don't really know what it is, I've always had a massive fondness for the north of this country and while I was there it was like a black cloud lifted from above my head and everything was alright again. It's not that things HAVEN'T been alright, but...I don't know, I guess I've felt a bit dissatisfied the past few weeks and had a 'meh' sort of attitude to everything.

I know one of the reasons for this is my job, which sounds ridiculous as I enjoy it, but while I was training I had an aim and something to strive towards and now I've done all that it's like 'Ok, well what's next?' and there is no next, because I am paid to take down what happens in court proceedings and can't bloody well go and ask to be promoted to a barrister or high court judge or anything. I think I would secretly love to be a barrister though.

And just bollocks like that really.

So yeah, going to Manchester made me happy again (except for being robbed blind at Manchester Piccadilly station, having to pay 30p to use the toilet!). Hugh took me to some bars in the Northern Quarter and it wasn't the last chance saloon as I thought it might be.

We said we'll see each other again in a couple or weeks or so, even though he asked me how I felt about the distance (like I said, 180 frigging miles) and I replied with...well, I could have said, 'It's quite a way but it feels worth it,' or 'Trains are quick these days and I can see this going somewhere,' or something along those lines. But no, my choice of words were:

'Not great.'

I'm clearly embracing my inner stoic.

Or I'm in denial about how I feel towards him.

Meh.

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