It doesn’t appear to be selling anything, and I find that pleasant.

Maybe books got sexy today. Maybe people just can’t get enough reading. Maybe books have been banned and are now subversive and cool.

Anyhow, outside the Waterstones with the glass lift near the bull ring there was a queue, I thought that was odd but carried on up New Street minding my own business. I passed the other branch, this is one of my favourite shops. The Waterstones near my home is all white and shiny and cool and totally wrong. Bookshops should be cosy, bookshops should have hush, bookshops should be sacred portals to a million other impossible, fantastical and reachable worlds. You should feel that possibilty when you walk through the door. There should be chairs. You should be left alone to look at the pictures in the knitting books, run your fingers down the spines of books, sniff the ink… er… Maybe that’s just me. New Street Waterstones has corners, it has levels, it has a fabulous sweeping staircase going up the middle of it. And today, all the way up the staircase and out of the door into the street; teenagers. Please don’t tell me why, I like to wonder.

It was an odd way to experience my own neighbourhood. I stayed in the flat for my own safety, watching video footage from twitter of the streets around, taken by neighbours I will probably never meet. It raises questions for me about where my community is, how I connect with people, where I get information I trust. Largely the online conversation was comforting, making me feel connected.

Today a friend sent me an invitation to a Vigil and Prayer for Peace in Piccadilly Gardens and I thought I’d pop by on my way home from work. I hadn’t read the invite properly and was delighted to find that it was an interfaith vigil organised by the Faith Network 4 Manchester.

Many different faiths were represented and people from different faiths led prayers, songs and chants. I took this picture while some women from the fabulous Buddhist centre were leading the group in a mediative  chant. The atmosphere became very peaceful, on the other side of the square some lads were sharing their chips with the pigeons, resulting in a flock of them flying to them, the sunlight catching their wings in an unexpected moment of beauty. Some young women in a lot of make up and tiny shorts came over to look at us and giggle and then seemed oddly quietened by the chanting, stood around smiling shyly at the group.

The photo doesn’t capture the scale or the diversity of the gathering, at one point the group spontaneously decided to form a circle and join hands, the circle spanned one of the green areas on the Gardens. I saw Jews wearing Kippah, Sikhs with their headcoverings, many Christian clergy, I chatted to a scientologist and an interfaith minister. A Muslim man was offering round a box of dates, a gesture which is only properly appreciated when you consider that he has been fasting all day and would not eat till nearly 10 o clock tonight. My thanks was heartfelt.

Some of the very many police officers around got talking to us, we asked how they were, had any of their colleagues been hurt? They said no, no one they knew. They were on duty tonight, we wished them luck and hoped it was boring for them, they agreed. “You know what’s been amazing?” they said, “you don’t get a lot of thanks in this job but for the last two days loads of people have been coming up to us and saying thanks and asking us to pass it on to our colleagues.” they shook their heads in amazement. “I was watching it on the news in London” one said “and saying to my wife, this country is going to the dogs. But seeing the public with us next morning and the clean up volunteers… this country is a fine country.”

Saturday was an example of this. I met up with Rachel from Artyarn and That Roger and spent three hours wandering the streets of Salford decorating lamposts with flowers.

Photos by Artyarn

Us knitters at The Kings Arms had been asked by Sounds from the Other City if we would decorate the streets outside their venues with something woolly. Roger made an astonishing quantity of green knitted vines and the rest of us made a lot of flowers with pins on the back. Festival goers were invited to take a flower and decorate themselves. I hope you are wearing one.

* going about my everyday business: like the time (many years ago, before blogs) I decided I liked a rocking chair I had seen in a junk shop and me and my Dad carried it between us for nearly half a mile. Every time we saw someone, my Dad put the chair down and told them they could sit in it for a while for tenpence.

On Kent St Birmingham, originally uploaded by ms_lilith.

I’m hoping this is Brum’s gay community being loud and proud and not someone being derogatory about Birmingham’s gay quarter.

And is it the same person who takes the C out of Manchester’s Canal Street?

“Och, well if he is no gonna winkle on the floor, he can”

My first and only ‘Och’ of my stay in Scotland. Brilliant! And yes, we called it winkle for the rest of the holiday.

No photo tho. Would have been a bit rude of me, I thought.

What is on the top of this moo-van?
I think it is a sock stretcher for giant socks but I’m open to other ideas