You can have my autograph later

This weekend, Steve and I went to Manchester. We shopped (more on that in this afternoon's post) and ate and were generally merry.

After a busy last day, wearily we made it to the station and, with an hour to kill and a temperature of -13, we made it to the slightly chavvy pub at the top of the station.

As soon as we got in there I could tell something was weird... the staff were all whispery and super smiley. We ordered drinks (to celebrate our just remembered sixth anniversary), ate some food and enjoyed ourselves, all the time with pub staff nudging each other and smiling at us manically.

About 15 minutes before our train, we started to get our stuff together (Steve is one of those people who feels the need to wait by the train for at least ten minutes), Steve went off to the bathroom.

While he was gone, one of the bar people came over to clear the glasses, she glanced up at me:

Nice Bar Lady: I hope you have a good journey.

Me: Thank you, you too! Merry Christmas! (Don't ask me where I thought she was journeying to.... although she probably doesn't live in the pub in Piccadilly station. That would be weird).

Nice Bar Lady: (Glancing around) I just wanted to say as well, we all really love you and your husband here.

Me: (Unsure of what to do): Oh.... thank you.

Then the Nice Bar Lady looked over at the other staff who were all gathered together smiling like insane people, she did a big thumbs up accompanied by a little excited dance. All the other staff waved at me, bouncing about as they did so.

Steve returned from the loos and we very quickly left.



The Steve and I, when we were a little younger and cuter



Now, apart from the Boaz Myhill incidents, there is no-one we look like. At all. Especially not as a couple.

Who on earth did they think we were?