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satisfactory magazine for him. He agreed to get another round in, then said, ‘A quick question.’ He was taking advantage of a lull at the end of the B-side debate. ‘If Woodsy was a magazine, which one would he be?’
    Given the frequent inanity of their conversations, none of Rob’s friends was the slightest bit fazed.
    ‘He’d be one of those things that come in forty-eight parts with a ring binder,’ said Ian Two.
    ‘My dad collected one about steam trains,’ chipped in Kevin.
    ‘I used to get one when I was a kid,’ added Darren. ‘It was called the Unexplained , about the paranormal and freaky stuff.’
    ‘That’s it!’ said Phil. ‘That’s Woodsy all over.’
    ‘And what about Rob?’ asked Woodsy.
    In perfect unison they all said, ‘ Women’s Weekly ,’ and sat there laughing, until Rob was reminded to get off his backside and go to the bar.
    At the end of the evening a sombre mood fell across them. The main group said goodbye, so Rob, Phil and Woodsy walked back to the house that would now be Phil and Woodsy’s, rather than Phil and Rob’s. Having spent months looking for somewhere else to live, Phil had decided that the best place for him was where he already was and promoted Woodsy from the sofa to Rob’s room.
    The next morning, Rob transferred his boxed and bin-bagged worldly goods into a hire van and said a final goodbye to Tooting and his friends.
    ‘This is it, boys,’ he said, as he climbed in.
    ‘Send us a postcard from sunny Manchester, mate,’ said Woodsy, as he waved Rob off from the front doorstep.
    ‘Take it easy, mate,’ said Phil, then he went over to the van and shook Rob’s hand. ‘Make sure you visit us soon.’

Rob’s first Monday morning in Manchester
    It was eleven o’clock on Rob’s first Monday as a fully-fledged resident of Manchester. Having decided that he wasn’t going to start work until the following week he had spent the morning setting up his new office in Ashley’s guest bedroom and registering at the local doctor’s surgery, then walking around Chorlton.
    Rob had never lived anywhere like Chorlton in his life: it bore about as much similarity to Tooting as Clacton-on-Sea might to the French Riviera. The two places just didn’t compare. Before Rob had started coming to Chorlton regularly to visit Ashley, he had never seen such a high concentration of vegan delicatessens, boutiques, café-bars, gastro pubs and restaurants outside places like Hampstead or Brighton. And, as far as he could determine, the entire area was populated chiefly by Guardian readers, actors, senior medical staff, vegans, journalists, musicians, BBC employees, Reiki healers and, that catch-all phrase for the educated and affluent, ‘young professionals’. As Rob wandered aimlessly past the shops on High Lane, taking in the cool but crisp January day, he saw two actors from Coronation Street , a man in a woolly hat whom he was sure was the musician Badly Drawn Boy, a well-known club DJ and a local TV news presenter.
    An hour later, having exhausted all of Chorlton’s must-see sights, including King Bee Records, North Star Deli and Chorlton Bookshop, he caught the 85 bus into the centre of Manchester. There, he visited Market Street, the Arndale Centre, the Triangle and the Printworks, then wandered up and down Deansgate and the area around King Street until he was exhausted.
    As he left Waterstone’s in St Anne Square, just after two o’clock, it began to rain heavily so he took shelter underneath the awning outside Dixon’s. From this vantage-point he craned his neck to stare at the slate grey sky. People walking past him looked up too, as if they were expecting to glimpse a bird or a plane or even a suicide attempt from one of the roofs of the surrounding buildings. But there was nothing to see except the rain-filled clouds. And what had started as a pause to save himself from a soaking turned into a philosophical reverie.
    He had only been in Manchester three days,