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About Manchester

Me? I’d be a lousy escort—green legs, no swagger. Ha! “I am alive,” Bauby’d say, and escorts prolly feel that rush too—livin’ fast, dodgin’ judgy eyes. Once met this gal, swore she escorted a ghost—some dead poet’s spirit! Spooky, right? Gave me chills, but I laughed—prolly just a drunk writer. Still, how cool’s that?

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The town's got a quirky vibe. I stroll down High Street near the seafront, all the time thinkin' “White Material, bloody brilliant!” That movie's got bits that remind me of the rough edges of life here. The harbor's always smokin' with boats and tales, like an endless tapestry of dreams and nightmares. And oh, you gotta check out the old Castle Hill—mad energy there, like the pulse of the city itself.

We venture behind the doors at Department to see what's in store after 2.4m refurb