35 years living in the same house in south Manchester is something I never imagined when we moved in here on 5th December 1986. Before then we’d lived Bristol and Bath, then in Reading for a couple of years, travelling north every six weeks or so to see family with our very small daughter to whom travelling long distance in a car was a clear form of torture. Both Northerners, we are now moving even farther north, away from the mainly Fylde-based wider clan but closer to where our children are putting down their roots.
In the last few days we’ve been going places “for the last time”, but these are places we’ve lost attachment to as this city has changed. On Thursday morning we walked around Sale Water Park with our very tall son. The January morning light was especially beautiful in the hanging mist, and it felt like a parting gift – part of the process. On Friday morning we spent time with our now much taller and quite thin daughter, partner, and the twin baby girls. Part of the reason we are moving north is because they acquired some land in the Borders where they are to build a house and hopefully a workshop.

It has felt in recent years like Manchester’s spirit of independence and general arseyness has been systematically undermined. A lot of good people have done a lot of good things during our time here, but there’s a sense now of exasperation at losing some of its characteristic regional control. Apart from the first time when it was safe Conservative (and thanks to Boundary changes), every time we’ve voted here we’ve helped to vote in a long-standing Labour MP in a safe seat. Our move takes us into true blue territory, where our votes will once again be used in true opposition. We are moving to a place which is known throughout history for its independence and arsey qualities, and a Tory MP who simply has to go.
There are of course other people we’ll miss dearly, and for it will be a real wrench to not be able to pop round to Ali Karim’s and spontaneously create music. We’ve known each other since late 2015, and my music journey would not have developed without his patience and extreme skill. But he knows he can leap on a train for 5 hours and be 10 minutes’ walk from our new house at the other end of the line. Our work together has only just begun.
I know there will be high emotions leaving here on Tuesday. Our small family is ingrained in the fabric of this house. We are only the third occupants of this 1928 semi-detached, in a road where there has been little change in personnel. We know some of the neighbours we care about will be out to see us off. Our next door neighbours moved in the year before we did, and they’ve been amazing, but all of them know where we will be. The tortuous conveyancing process that has led us to this point only reaffirmed our decision to start a new adventure elsewhere. It was awful. And as we grope towards Tuesday amid dismantled shelving units, piles of books, and equipment and instruments in bags, the parting gifts keep on coming, from the beautiful dawn around the Water Park on Thursday to today’s appearance of our resident fox in broad daylight sniffing around our garden for a place to dig another hole. We leave a garden behind that has attracted wildlife of all kinds, and we look forward to doing the same with our new one.
Peace
John









