readers will take their own view as to whether the manufacturer is seeking to poison imaginations as well as metabolisms by replacing one magical reindeer-drawn conveyance of the popular mind with their own spray-painted shit-mobile. The heart-melting story about the young boy given a hat by a stranger at this week’s truck-worshipping ceremony certainly clears the bar for our local media mind control file. So who knows? Maybe watching your local newspaper bend over for Coca Cola will become a festive institution?
Back home, as the Premiership shapes up to be a three-way shootout between City, Liverpool and Chelsea the form team appears to be Liverpool, even if they do lie second. It’s been said that this year’s vintage could turn out to be one of the most egalitarian sides of Guardiola’s career, with no single shining star for the manager to build the side around. For all the cut glass combination play, though, it’s the number 9 question around which doubts coalesce. Is a striker needed? Or will Grealish step up to the plate? Or can city make do without settling the question definitively?
A fine piece in the Quietus about DIY artist, musician and comic Louise Woodcock who died suddenly last week. To those who knew her a great eccentric and creative life force. To those who didn’t – or those coming into Manchester’s music and art worlds from the outside – an outlier in a thriving landscape sometimes overlooked by the mainstream. The DIY and avant-garde scenes based around Islington Mill, the White Hotel and the Strangeways district have been an engine of the city’s cultural life for some time now. In what is quite a unique twilight world Woodcock was, as Fergal Kinney’s obituary reflects, every bit the much-loved star. RIP.