Manchesta

If you had just finished four exams within five days, felt too bored to be sleepy, and lived in a student city, what would you do? At least I own some decent boots and warm clothes to fend off the wind. Need to get out a bit more. Weekly bus pass expiring today - might as well make the most out of my two quid. (RM13.40!)

So it was People and Organisations done with, and a sadly limited budget considering I'd just blew 35.05 quid (after discounts and more discounts) in HMV. Chilly windy day, so I was wearing my black wool-mix trousers with the buttons and a long sleeved top, looking rather more formal than usual in the cream coat. Headed down to AMC to catch Memoirs of a Geisha, managed to squeeze in a trip to the public library before meeting Joo Hwee et al in St Peter's Square.

You could just fall in love with central Manchester from the top of a bus, never getting off the same draughty 142/3, just ride round and round and watch the world go by. Always faces waiting at bus stops, faces hovering on the edge of familiarity so you often reach out to smile at the stranger in the street, faces relaxing in the warmth of Europe's cafe culture, faces etched with the tension of unending bills and deadlines.

Down town, the girls seem a slightly different breed that those you encounter along the uni stretch of Oxford Road. Primark puffy jackets and glitzy bags aside, there is still that general trend of scatty clothes, too little or too much makeup, thin girls' pot bellies peeking from over hipsters. They chatter fast and high, proud Mancunian accents slightly generic, hair scraped back with Superdrug hairbands, smug from within their security groups.

Enter a different territory the moment you cross the Precinct and head towards the Curry Mile. Girls here are sleek and slim, covertable. Size Fours or Sixes that you could love and hate at the same time, brains in the top 5% of any country's population. Hair here is generally worn long and loose; natural is in, sexy. Large stylish totes hold stationary and lecture notes anchored with lip gloss, and one is left with the impression that these girls really do have it all.

So, does Sayuri have it all by the end of Memoirs? Costumes and sets were fantastic, but I found the movie a tad shallow overall, though admitedly I've not read Arthur Golden's bestselling novel or Geisha of Gion by the woman Golden's Sayuri was based upon. Had a long relaxing walk back from AMC to Jati, getting to know Joo Hwee's 2nd yr A&F bunch. Yes, there really was free food at Jati (apparently bucket-loads of ayam rendang or something like that), but the place was chock-full of people and big-shot Nazri's speech was so long-winded and disjointed (so I gathered from JJ's loose translation, me being too lazy to make the effort and dig out my rusty BM) that we trickled out early and went to have Chinese instead. Discovered a fabulous restaurant thanks to Shyan - Red Chili, tucked away at the side of Chinatown, serving the HOTTEST Szechuan chinese ever. A few beers and some tears later, I was on the bus again, riding through Mancunian darkness and streetlights to my home away from home.

P.S. yes the skin and layout's changed - inspired by dear ole Kams. Was kinda fed-up with the blue dots Blogger skin (especially since Shahril's using the same one hehe), and so here it is, my newly-revamped blog. Apologies to those who visited when it was going through about three hideous stages, but as you can see, it's all sorted now. Love the texture of the reed mat, though the main body isn't exactly the easiest to read from. Spacing and font of previous posts has been screwed up, but on the other hand not really expecting people to go back and read history. Kinda like the nostalgia of the lonely bench under the leaves after a rain - anyone fancy joining me there?