Manchester Piccadilly All Dayer
I raised Ā£100 on Crowdfunder recently for the purpose of spending a 9-5 āworking dayā in Manchester Piccadilly Train Station. The aim being to spend at least Ā£100 within this timeframe - give or take - on food and drink within Manchester Piccadilly. No leaving the station to pursue neighbouring better options, no. Ā£100 on the in-station chain experience. All to be consumed onsite, so no sneaking home with some premium price point ready meals from M&S. Ā£100 was the target and it actually exceeded, finally landing on Ā£124 total after a month of bidding. Some pledges bouncing along with a Crowdfunder admin fee deduction made for an endgame deposit in my bank account of around Ā£103. I was actually pleased I wasnāt landed with the full compliment, I think Iād still be there now trying to burn it off. Burn being the operative word.
Iāve wanted to do this for years. I pass through most days. Iāve seen the restaurants, Iāve seen the bars. Theyāre encouraging you to spend a while but who actually does? Why, even on the end of a sizeable train delay, would you settle to nestle amidst the premium priced chain restaurant offerings? Why would you just not leave the station and go elsewhereā¦go anywhere. You could, you know. I couldnāt, not today.
Before this started I was so up for it. So up for having the unprecedented privilege, personally, of 100 guilt-free unearned pounds to spend on consumables. When does that ever happen? Thatās some Supermarket Sweep type shit. Iām up for the confines of the station, the solitude of being a stopper within the commutersā hive. Iāve scarcely ever drawn out a hundo from a cash machine before. Would I feel free? Limitless? Would I feel nothing? Emptiness?
Iām late. Iām late for a thing that I made up. Iām already disappointed in myself. I was supposed to start this at 9am. Do I say I started at 9am? No, I have to be honest. Iām not hungry, this is alarming me. Shit. Bad start. I sleep ate a cold sausage at 5.30am. And then a Kinder Happy Hippo at 8am. I didnāt mean to do it, it just happened.
People are late to work all the time. Itās fine. Iāll just stay later. Iāll say sorry to the boss when I arrive and explain. Only thing is there is no boss and Iām not going to work. Iām not going anywhere.
Itās a Monday. I feel like Iām going on holiday. I feel excited and nervous. Itās a sunny day with wet on the ground. Iām on a short two carriage train to Piccadilly. A snub nose. It feels like going to war. Men stood like cattle in the holding area. Some reading. Others stood gazing into the middle distance with military carpet bomb precision. Am I hungry yet? No. Come on, soldier.
āFinal stop Manchester Piccadillyā. Apt that.
I withdraw one hundo from the cash pipe.
First stop wee wee town. 30p. Thatās on me. Iāll cover my potty stops today like a true nobleman. Thereās a queue for the cubes. Waiting for a cubicle to take photograph of cash. Too risky to do it in public. Toilets are more disgusting than usual. 30p, thatās on me. Stinks.
9.49am. Pret A Manger. Flat white £2.25.
Dubious authenticity. Comes in a takeaway cup for drink in. Looks like a cappuccino, looks like a latte. What even is a flat white? Rather here than Starbucks. Starbucks coffee tastes like shit. Chilling out in the back. Never been back here before. It really opens up. Quite bustling. Lots of business bods. iPads, laptops. Someone on the phone. A meeting. I can see a pen moving. Itās a hive. The great minds of this city. Lol.
The coffee is alright you know. Iām thanking my stars that itās not insanely hot. That temperature that only chain cafes can reachā¦specifically McDonaldās. Tastes pretty good. I donāt usually get flair milk-based coffees. Iād usually get a black filter. But Iām on me holidays and besides, a 99p filter coffee isnāt going to make a big enough dent in the bough of this ship.
Why would you have your business meeting in a cafe inside the train station? Surely thatās a low rent novice move. Suggests youāre a fake business person who doesnāt actually have an office. Youād take clients somewhere outside of the train station, right? Unless theyāre all waiting to go to London. Theyāre probably going to London.
Itās chill as fuck in here. This is where the professionals come. Walked past Starbucks and it was swimming with civilians. The back of āPretā (ew) is a secret circle.
Reading the Pret propaganda on the walls. One canvas of a coffee bean (styled to look like a butterfly AKA with whimsical illustrated wings) reads, "Pretās coffee is organic and it has been for yonksā¦ā. Gross. Organic and yonks, never the twain shall meet in the same sentenceā¦until now. Gronks.
Finished my coffee. Am I bored yet? No.
Wonder what WH Smith is up to. They have a surprisingly big on trend premium priced notebook selection. Ā£20 moleskine vibes. Definitely an inflated RRP on these. Train station WH Smiths are notorious price pumper uppers. Avoid at all costs unless youāre going long haul and need reading material. Angry Birds the Movie book? Was there a movie? Iām confused for a minute (later I find out that there is a forthcoming Angry Birds movie, though disappointingly not live action). I feel tired and like I might shit my pants. Not a good start.
Enter Carluccioās. It was a toss up between here and TGI Friday for breakfast. Carluccioās edged it because they had a menu outside and TGIs didnāt. Table for one. Iām feeling weird about this already. Other people are doing it. At least seven other tables of singletons. Some elderly couples. You can sit out on the station balcony but I opted for the confines of the inner sanctum. Free toilets duly noted. I order āBreakfast Magnificaā. Sausage, pancetta, mushrooms, toast, eggs, tomato. Coffee and juice included. I go for black and orange. Ā£9.95. Eyes on a Ā£5.95 Bellini brunch cocktail. 73% phone battery. What if I flood my brain with liquids today.
Iām hoping I see someone famous. I thought I saw Karen Brady in Pret earlier, it wasnāt. Viable spot tho.
One thing that is vexing me at this early stage is the advertised waiting times of dishes, what with a train station being a traditionally transitional hub and all. I donāt want speed. I want this to take as long as possible. Bollocks, itās here. I was expecting this to be bigger. Relief. I can do this. I can eat three meals like a big boy, haha. This is going to be easy. I feel underwhelmed but overwhelmed with joy. It looks a mess. Like seriously wtf Iād built this up in my mind. SautĆ©ed mushrooms are the tastiest thing on the plate. Plentiful and of pleasing variation. Different styles, stems, slivers. The pancetta isnāt crispy for shame. Oh well. The poached eggs are buoyant and flowing tho feel artificial somehow. The solitary sausage of authentic Italian pork percentage. Oh shit. Iāve finished it.
Now what? Uhhhh. Donāt make me leave. I donāt want to leave.
For a moment there I felt like a fraud. Then, as I tucked into my breakfast with perfect posture and something classically Italian (probably) playing over the speakers, I felt like Hannibal Lector. Cultured and insane. Thus begins my killing spree. My calculated rampage. Wish Iād worn a suit. Iāll probably sit out on the veranda after this. Single out my next target from afar.
Attention, Please will Inspector Sands please go to the main office. Looping over and over. Thereās a fire. Oh god, Iām going to die. Donāt make me leave, donāt make me leave. If thereās a fire, I canāt leave. I have to spend Ā£100.
I keep looking at in the departures board dead ahead of me. Like Iām going somewhere. Imagine going somewhere. No thanks. Gotta look at something though amirite.
What if someone asks where Iām off to? Oh no. Shall I think of a lie? Iām going to London. Thatās the obvious. Waiting for a friend to go to London. What are you up to in London? Um, just business. A business trip thatās right. A meeting.
Thereās someone over there who looks like Birds of a Feather. Itās not but it could be.
Thereās a man. Beige suit, rotund. Perfectly bald head. Light spots exploding lens flare bouncing everywhere. He looks like what I think I look like. A cultured businessman/head of crime organisation. Should I send him a drink over?
I just ordered a Bellini. Waiter couldnāt tell what I was saying. Bill? No. Bellini.
Bit of fizz. First sip just loosened something in my ears. Oh, itās on. No way back from here. Where do I go next? Peach juice, liqueur and Prosecco. Hope I donāt prosecctile vomit. Itās going down easy. Never had one before. Itās a famous breakfast cocktail. Someone just smashed some glasses. That could have been me. Ā£5.95.
Could have boshed an Espresso Martini. Canāt bosh one next, can I?
Itās not a great vibe in here. 6/10 at best. At best. Feels like Iām in a train station restaurant.
First two hours has flown.
11.48am
Leaving Carluccioās. Starting to realise that one hundo is a lot to spend. My head is slightly hot from first cocktail. Where to next? Need toilet. Itās going to be Yo Sushi but am I hungry? Shit. Wary of looking visibly wasted early doors. Need to pound some cocktails tho to lessen the inverted financial burden. Iām feeling the weight. Iām sat in an open seating area thinking about my future.
12.24pm
Second trip to sponsored toilets. 30p. A quantum of solace. Iāll be back here again. Stinks. This would be a great place to sit if it didnāt stink. What price solitude? 30p. Stinks.
Going to have to smash a pint in and wait to be hungry. Canāt drink more coffee yet. Bloater. Iāve gotta hit Yo Sushi about 1ish if Iām going to stay on track.
12.38pm
The Mayfield. The large pub on the upper rung that everyone mistakes for a Wetherspoons. I wish it was a Wetherspoons. Ā£4.60 pint of Guinness boosh. Robbie Williams āSheās The Oneā blares. Electric thin atmosphere. Texas āHere Comes The Summer Sunā comes on next. The quintessential shit sprawling British pub. TV screens are in gold frames and the picture keeps glitching. A discarded packet of butter on the floor under my table. Texas āInner Smileā on next. Double Texas drop. Rare. This is dregs. The last time I was in here I saw Shaun Ryder.Ā
Guinness is class though. Blank black cream. Something of a palette cleanser. Chalk water. Will it bloat? Iām after that pint hunger. I just want to be ravenous. I think Iād be mortified if I see anyone I know today. Iām kinda hiding on the upper echelons on purpose. Sleuthing it. Not the real Piccadilly though is it. Should I be slumming it on the shop floor? Look at the rats down there! Ew.
13.08pm
I am burning time. Thereās wasting time and then thereās burning time. Still in The Mayfield. Looking at some guyās exposed droopy arse. I canāt come back here. This is shank. Strongbow Heineken Stella Fosters etc. Ā£12 4 pint pitchers tho. Thatās a train station bargain at Ā£3 a pint. Ā£4 supplement for Stella. The Mayfield is a train station institution. I feel like thereās definitely people here who arenāt going anywhere. I am regretting my life choices at this stage. Feel like Iām going to be here til 8pm. Must power up somehow.
Maybe I need a premium energy bar. Gonna check out Boots. Feel like my isotopes are low.Ā
1.23pm
Iām getting out of The Mayfield. Wee wee time lol. Free boglets at The Mayfield. Score?
1.30pm
Things are heating up. TGI is booming. Yo Sushi is crushing it. I find myself sitting down in the open area again. Thought I was going straight in, turns out not.
Yo Sushi. Donāt know whatās going on.
Think I just had prawn katsu with avocado nori rolls with dried pirple shiso yukari. At a guess, lol. Could have been anything. Salmon topped octopus roll legit doesnāt taste like anything. First drops have suffered from over chill. Oh shitā¦Tuna sashimi and caviar (!) fucking lol. Tuna is dope. Top scrunty. I get bored trying to pick up the last eggs of caviar with chopsticks and bin off the rest. A little wary of going fish rich. In case it comes back to haunt. Fooled by condensation on passing squid lid into thinking itās hot when itās not. Cold squid kimchi combo. Spice. I am definitely feeling like a generous portion of cold squid is a statement right now. Plate no5 is some kind of crispy duck skin rolls. Dreading to think how much stuff is stuck in my teeth at this point. Iām a bit magnet. Ā
I find that every plate is less good than you think it might be at Yo Sushi. Like, it looks good but a lot of the rolls etc just taste like blank fridge. Wamp that wasabi on, girl. Stupid Blue Monday Ā£2.80 a plate offer. How I am supposed to get an astronomical luncheon bill when nigh on all the plates are reduced? Wonder if Iām turning green yet. I feel somewhat like a mess. Cba ordering off the hot menu even though thatās where the hot stuff and more enticing options lie. I assumed mute status long ago. One more plate, one more plate. Prefs something small and expensive. Sixth plate. Some kind of raw peppered beef situation. Wtf am I doing. Iāll be dead in the toilets at this rate. So much raw pile upon pint pile and coffee and sausage pool. I wonder if I look like Iām having fun. Lol. Raw stuff standalone best so far. The beef was v real but the tuna was the king. Ā
Still eating. Sort of. Becoming fat Piccadilly station drug lord.
Stopped eating. Nodding out looking at conveyor belt. Itās icy up at this altitude. Up in the clouds. Yo Sushi wins stuff to look at awards so far. The belt never stops even if it glitches and repeats a thousand times. Thereās a panoramic vista from my seat of the land slugs below. Iāve not dipped my toe in the common room for quite some time. Iām on some Bruce Wayne hermit tip on the top wing.
Bill comes to Ā£29.85. Iāll be honest, I was hoping for more. I should saviour this sensation, I know Iāll never feel it again.Ā
Third wee in the station. 30p. Loving it, I guess. Good to be back in the office. What are you doing shitting in my office you dirty bastard! Get out!
Still in cubicle. Getting moneyās worth. Removed bits from teeth via front facing phone camera and train ticket. Rejuvenated.
Went in Boots for about ten seconds. Same as I left it.
Low vibe in station. Quietest itās been yet. Raining lots outside. I buy Ā£1 Popcorn Tic Tacs from WH Smith.
Just been served up a Flat White in Starbucks. Unbalanced and burnt tasting. Too big. Lounge jazz infectious like you wouldnāt want to be bitten by it. I would rather go anywhere else for coffee than Starbucks. Except maybe Morrisons self service. Got Ā£43.25 left to spend. Shit.
Coffee is restoring balance to my core. I feel like a liquid person at this stage tho. This is my 8th drink since 9.38am. Need to get back on the upper deck. Itās too vibrant down here. I wish there were a nap room.
Popcorn Tic Tacs are drying my mouth out. Popped a couple. Imagine glass popcorn that turns to dust. Theyāre somehow dryer than popcorn.
All walks of life in here. Suits. Non suits. Prams. Emos.
Looking outward. Hey Bagel Factory! No one is bringing back Fridayās receipt on a Tuesday for 50% off their bill, surely. Canāt get a bagel even tho Iāve never been. Too hi density at this stage. I presume that theyāre disappointing.
Leaving Starbucks. Gonna go in Cards Galore and see whatās happening. Hilarious genuine abstract thinking card selection.
Sit down in Hourglass Cafe Bar. Need wee instantly. No toilets on site. Another 30p.
Back in the office. Think itās my favourite place in the station. Looking forward to going home, I think. Maybe Iāll miss the buzz. Saw a Cheshire-type facelift glamour puss whose cheekbones looked like they were going to burst out of her face. Sent me somewhat under. Piccadilly station toilets are the highest earning train station toilets outside of London. Ā£2 million in 3 years or some such. This is shit.
I feel nothing. Money = nothing. This was supposed to be the greatest day of my life. I feel free but trapped. I want the most secluded nook of the station. Everywhere is so open. I wish there were a level above the level that I was on. Oh to gain access to the Virgin first class lounge. I donāt even try.
Bottle of Anchor Steam in the Hourglass Cafe Bar. Weak glass game. A straight half glass. Come on, guys. Ā£4.75 for a bottle. I donāt even know what money means anymore. Just got to get rid of it.
Really want to be hungry.
Under two hours to go ātil Iāve been here for the full eight hour compliment. Kinda feels like Iāve only been here ten minutes but also ten years. Iāve had no interactions asides service based. No one has noticed Iāve been here this long. No one looks up from the shop floor. They donāt see me, the crow, sat in a booth over facing the balcony. The Hourglass is a more clement experience than the TV set feel of Britainās top crap pub, The Mayfield. But it feels like a wine bar TV set. I almost canāt say anything positive about it. It serves alcohol? 241 cocktails mon to fri 5-8pm? Ā
If I see anyone I know at this point Iām hiding from them. Iāve made it this far under the cloak of anonymity. Iām the ghost of Piccadilly station, the rat. Just looked at the Hourglass food menu, couldnāt imagine eating any of it. Iām supposed to be eating soon, oh god.
Train station hotting up now post 4pm with post work commuters. Prime time Charlies. Whereāve you been all day?
Anchor Steam is classic if unremarkable craft beer fare. Itās a solid. Itās done me a solid. I feel solid.
Thereās pigeon shit on the back of the tv. One of the best things about Piccadilly Station is the pigeons. Breaks up the sterility. Reminds one of the outside. Little squidgy pidge on the shop floor hehehehe. Itās a welcome bit of fun.
Pint of Star(opramen) at Hourglass. Dunno what plan is. Get hungry or die bloating. I need a wee wee instantly. Fuck.
Star star star. Pint pint pint. This is a slog now. The person who served me asked if I was able to claim expenses on alcohol when I asked for a receipt second time round. First lol since arrival. Girl, if you only knew the awful truth.
Pints are mint, it has to be said. Right, Iām staying longer than 5.38pm arenāt I. Ā£34.35 left to spend.
Back in the office. Quantum. Quids in. Shit. Whatās the next step. Since I arrived Iāve not thought about anything other than my next step. What have I even been doing?
Zenning out on the communal seating outside M and S. Head starting to cave. Facing TGI, my final boss. Donāt feel ready yet. Gonna go back to The Mayfield for a beer.
Back in The Mayfair. Caledonian Coast to Coast Pale Ale Ā£4.90 a pint. One of those fake perfumey craft beers with underlying taste of crap beer underneath. When oh when will I be hungry again. Served by same guy that served me 4 hours ago. Would he ever suspect? Flat atmos in The Mayfair. Vinegar smell from next door burger eater so pungent. A sign reads keep calm and drink jƤger bombs. I hadnāt anticipated today being so pint heavy but when youāre under station arrest where else is there left to turn? Thereās only so many coffees one can drink through fear of spinning out. I intended to go more cocktailcore. Keep it light, less bloat.
Not sure Iām that into consumption challenges anymore. Not keen to repeat. Miley Cyrus Wrecking Ball plays. Relating to every lyric. Eyes welling up. Is this song about me? Is every song about me?
Iām just past 8 hours now, just. The end is nigh.
The world is yours. I feel like Scarface sat in my mansion, my empire. Rooted at my desk, watching the invaders on CCTV about to break into my office.
We made it, girl! TGI Fridays. Just ordered 7oz fillet steak for 19.99 with Ā£8.80 large goldfish bowl mojito. Iām not gonna lie. Iām looking to deplete the funds and get the F out of here. Do I ever order a fillet steak? Never. My server tried to pawn me off with some two-course-for-Ā£10 incentive and I was like uh, no thanks. What do you think I am? STUPID? The mojito is a mess. Itās so sweet. Feels like a syrup rather than a drink. Itās so big I have to bow down into it. So big I have to fall down into it. Not lifting it from the table. My seating position is so exposed to the doorway. Wish theyād have buried me in the back. Donāt put the corpse in the window! Iād die (again) if anyone saw me necking this giant goblet.
Second wind!!! Mid eating steak. Wish Iād ordered onion rings. You can choose two sides with your steak. I opted for fries and salad because the only other option was mash. Mash. Throw onion rings in that line-up, you melts. The lady next to me just had some onion rings delivered. Ooh they look nice. So round and chewy. I mean crispy. Mmmā¦food. I remember food?
Reoccurring thought today - am I blowing peoples minds with my orders? Or, is that what everyone does every day. Seemingly, it is. Seems like itās just me thatās thinking, āwhat the fuck is this guy doing?ā. Money down the toilet. Theyāre all doing it. Disposable culture. Bin lickers anonymous.
I am resonating more than ever with all song lyrics. I Wanna Be Adored. Roll With It. Keep thinking Iām in a Hard Rock Cafe. Theyāre pretty similar arenāt they. In fact, is there any difference at all between Hard Rock and TGI? They both excel in middle of the road overpriced āAmericanā food. To be fair, this steak isnāt disappointing. Donāt get me wrong, it looks disappointing. I was disappointed when it was set down before me. It tastes alright though. Steak well cooked (medium), fries crunchy and fun. Side salad somewhat basic but weāll survive. Iām enjoying it.
Just asked for the bill. Iām on the way out. My server asks if Iām going home now. Hell yes Iām going home.
Wee wee at TGI. Facing self in mirror. Silently screaming. Smizing. Didnāt expect it but next thing I know Iām in Marks and Spencer(s?) holding a foil lidded plastic glass of red wine at the checkout. Never had one, always wanted to. I peel the lid off as Iām waiting for my train to peel away from the station. I daresay I didnāt need it but it tastes like victory.
My train departs. I face the station as we pull away. 9 hours 26 minutes after I arrived.Ā Well, that was weird.
Thanks to those who pledged: Amrit, Ashley, Aliyah, Bren, Ben, ChĆ©, Caroline, Dylan, Darren, Evelyn, Elin, Fliss, Hannah, Hayley, HaMo, Iwan, Jonny and Charlotte, John, Jeff, Jasmine, Jonny, John, Miriam, Anonymous, Paul, Paul, Rosalind, Ross, Sara, Vladimir, and Will. Thanks also to those that didnāt.Ā
I hate Piccadilly Station.Ā