“Is your blood red or blue?” i'm asked by a person on the seat ahead of ME, because the 142 bus into Manchester’s central city continues down Wilmslow Road, his breath laced with alcohol. I answer.
“Well aforementioned son, we’ll have ‘em’ on the weekend” he says, standing able to exit at his stop in Rusholme. once the doors open he faces ME one final time and punches the air. “There is merely one team in Manchester!”