Shang-Hi and beyond

The other night a friend came over to Manchester and we went out, to a few pubs bars and one of the innumerable chinese buffet places near the flat. We had a good time - reminiscing, bitching, coming up with photographic projects involving dressing up as Batman and standing on rooftops, that kind of thing.

Shang-hi seems to be marginally classier than your average buffet. Before we got anywhere near the buffet they brought us (completely unbidden) some crispy duck with pancakes and various meaty dainties. Declare any vegetarianism at the door I suppose. Anyway it was pretty good but after a plate full of noodles and mains I felt like Mr Creosote and really couldn't eat any more despite really wanting to. I think the rule has to be that you should starve yourself for the rest of the day before going to such a place, one I had clearly neglected.

I felt distinctly queasy after the meal and was taking it pretty easy on the beers. We went to the very arty Sandbar off Oxford road (one of my mate's old haunts) and thence meandered up to the Northern Quarter. He had to get the train back to Macclesfield around 10 but after he had gone I hung about for a bit, missing one or two attempts at being pulled; first by a lady who was falling asleep and wanted help - what kind of help? a bed... I extracted myself from her arms. Then by some girls who were bothering the bouncers outside and shouted "coming with us?" when they got their taxi. I think on balance I'm just not in the space for such encounters yet. My mate thought a good shag would do me good. Perhaps one day.