We were keen to get out and talk to people. Our taxi driver made some suggestions and we headed into Spinningfields.  This wasn’t what I expected. The whole of the centre of Manchester is gripped by a building boom, and Spinningfields comprised four city blocks of new midrise towers which were full of back office operations, call centres and middle managers, all ringed by themed bars and restaurants.

It sucked the life out of me to be honest, and I found it hard to approach and talk to disinterested, busy-looking people on the Tuesday morning after a bank holiday.  Then, in an Orwellian twist, the ‘CCTV’-branded security crew set upon us after only 3 interviews and moved us on for ‘unauthorised filming’.  We gently protested, as we thought we were on a public road; but no – apparently the Allied London Corporation owns the land, the buildings, the footpaths, the restaurants and the public spaces.  On ya way then…

We wandered for a bit and spoke with a couple of great coppers. The drinking culture makes life tough for them on the weekends, and they like to head over to Liverpool for R&R.

Having not really gained a good feel for Manchester, we jumped in a cab and asked to be taken somewhere with a bit more life. Hello Curry Mile!

This felt great – what a colourful, vibrant area! As we planned which way to walk, we heard a bit of a commotion down a lane; there two girls, ex-cons, were sucking on a spray can and some beers.  I sat with them and they talked about jail and self-harm, one of them wanted to return Leeds to be with her friends and her daughter. They talked about how they hate David Cameron and the Tories. After too much of whatever she was inhaling from her sleeve the other girl got a bit jumpy and we moved on.

Something that’s interesting about this trip is that I’m learning about my own prejudices. We walked past a barber’s shop full of middle-eastern lads, George the cameraman wanted to go in.  I knew it would be interesting, but I felt a bit intimidated by this sharp-looking crew.  We did go in and we met the nicest, warmest, chattiest group of guys you could ever hope to spend time with.

I’ve reflected a lot about why I might have felt intimidated before we went in.

When in Rome, as they say; so after the interviews we asked the guys to sharpen us up a bit.  We all got haircuts, nose-hair waxing, ear-hair waxing and the most rapid and skilled tidying of our eyebrows with threading, a process where cotton is whisked around the hair, pulled tight and the hair is removed, and all within a nanosecond – I’ve even had a ‘rail’ line shaved alone my part.  They must have thought we looked like right grots before they fixed us up.

Hussein, who did my hair, left Palestine at 13. He escaped with some friends through numerous countries; some made it, some didn’t – like, really didn’t make it…. Why did they risk so much, at such a young age, to leave?  He explained that it was because they were so poor and hungry that he was only eating tissues for food – he had no other choice. Now he owns a house in Earls Court in London, has a wife and two beautiful kids and lives and works in Manchester.  He had only love and tolerance for everyone.  We talked a lot and he didn’t say one angry or resentful word about anything or anyone.

I left their shop moved and looking at least 10 years younger.