History is his story, her story, your story, my story, our story. Maybe, this blog will never be read, perhaps my story will never be told, your story, his story, her story may never see the light of day but somehow our story will survive and someone somewhere, somehow, in a future day will read it.
My day’s coming to an end, I’m tired and I’m ready for bed. My day has been an ordinary insignificant one. I could bore you about the housework I did this morning, enlighten you about the timesaving gadgets that I used. I could tell you about the price of fuel, the price of bread or the price of eating out, but I’m sure that these things are well documented elsewhere. Anyway, didn’t Oscar Wilde (whose birthday it was yesterday) say something about knowing the price of everything and the value of nothing?
I needed some cash to buy things from the local corner shop, the shopkeeper doesn’t take credit or debit cards so I had to take a short ride on my mountain bike to the cash machine outside the bank on the corner of Claremont Road and Lloyd St. There was no point in driving the gas guzzling thing parked outside my house and besides I needed the exercise. So many people never do any exercise in the city, they drive everywhere and park on the pavements, I guess they’ve got no respect for themselves so they don’t respect anybody else’s space.
The bank is in shouting distance of the site of the former Maine Road stadium where my boyhood hero’s Manchester City used to play. Sadly, they have moved to a new football ground called The City of Manchester Stadium, which is where the 2002 Commonwealth Games were held. I used to go to all the matches, but the ticket prices are much too expensive these days. I used to like to stand on the Kippax Street side of the ground, but those days are long gone. A different crowd go these days and the regulations for Premiership games say that the supporters must be seated. I don’t think it would suit me at all.
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