Patricia Gets Ready at The Lowry (and I get on my soapbox)

Straightaway, my takeaway on this play is how there are some incredibly talented actors in this country and there is largely a huge disconnect between talent and plaudits.

Much of this, of course, as in life, is to do with how commercially viable a vehicle is. And I get that. Not everything is for consumption by the masses and nor should it be.

We wouldn’t get the dark, the taboo, the controversial, the sharp, the left field, the triggering, the hugely important art that we do if everything played to ticket sales and middle England.

But sometimes I just wish there was room in society for that spotlight and comment on talent displayed in fringe to be shared more widely.

Hey everyone. There’s a high chance you won’t see this play, probably, as it’s not for everyone and that’s ok. But just know that this actor is bloody fantastic and knocks spots off that person with an ‘interesting love life’ and an Instagram account that just won’t be quit.

Honorary Manc, on one…

Ok, too far, I know. That’s life. I just get overexcited sometimes. What I’m trying to say is…

Yasmin Dawes as Patricia – you were brilliant.

There are triggers in this play that were clearly signposted both in the literature and by the lovely people of The Lowry, encouraging us to leave and take a break at any point we needed.

Indeed the full name of the one-woman play is triggering which is why I’ve adopted the approach by the theatre to the main title of my post. The full name is:

Patricia Gets Ready (for a date with a man that used to hit her).

We’re taken on a journey by Patricia from her bedroom. And she’s funny and we wonder whether we should laugh, already primed to cry.

Then we get into it and we do laugh. Because she is funny. And she seems ok. She’s obviously had trauma but she seems to be approaching this rendezvous with humour and sass.

Then we delve deeper and she’s not ok and we’re not ok with her going on this date. And as the complexities and layered reasons for survivors of domestic abuse staying with their abusers become clear through Patricia’s flip-flopping approach to the date and seeing him again, it’s tense.

We’re with Patricia’s unseen mum, pleading with her not to go back. We’re heads bowed as she plays out a seemingly subservient role in the date. But then we’re joyous and relieved as we then realise that that didn’t play out as we see Patricia play out an empowering and ‘winning’ role in the date. And it’s going to be ok.

But then we’re back again and seeing that Patricia is beginning the date for real. But how will this play out?

And we’re tense again, hopeful, nervous, touched by the story, the sharing and the all too real knowledge that there are Patricias (and Patricks) everywhere playing out such a reunion or meeting, as often as daily each time they struggle with whether this is the day that they don’t go home and walk away forever.

Behind every great message is a great writer, in this case it’s Martha Watson Allpress. And I had to check that the writer wasn’t Yasmin herself such was the conviction with which the material was delivered. An artistic collaboration made in heaven.

Produced by Nur Khairiyah (Khai) and directed by Kaleya Baxe, it was 60 minutes of theatre that made you feel. All performed in the Lowry Studio – often the biggest and boldest stories are told in the smallest of spaces.

On for one night only in Salford, whilst not an opportunity to see on this current tour, info can be found here Summary, awards , reviews and gallery or @patgetsready on the old socials.

Find out what else is coming up at

Further details

  • Production Stage Manager – Leon Smith
  • Well-being Practitioner – Abs Sol
  • Asst Producer – Layla Madanat
  • Costume And Set Designer – Ella Clarke
  • Sound Designer – Beth Duke
  • Lighting Designer – Jessica Brigham
  • Photography and illustration – Xanthus, Greta Mitchel, Korey J Ryan & Heedayah Lockman

Salford help and support:

  • Saheli works for Asian women in Manchester through a safe space and helpline (0161 945 4187 – Mon to Fri, 9am to 5pm). Information and support is offered in Arabic, Bangla, English, Gujarati, Punjabi and Urdu.

Happy big 4-0 Hacienda! The night I entered Manc Mecca…

1982 was a very special year. My brother was born in the January, the Hacienda was born in May. And the rest is history.

That said, history came alive Saturday night when the shutters flew up on what is now the Hacienda apartments car park, and 1000 of us flooded in (note a last minute ‘glitch’ meant this ended up being 500 at a time split over two sessions , but pretty sure Tony Wilson would have had a wry smile on this face at this aptly chaotic turn of events).

Finally I could say…

I was there


Raising funds for The Legacy of War Foundation and The Christie , FAC51 Hacienda put on a huge party where thanks to Stream GM and their fabulous live…well, stream, everyone was invited!

On the early shift, 6-10.30pm (the hardcore attendees scheduled for 11pm – 2am) I rocked up about 6.30pm, obviously in broad daylight. A curious concept, and I wondered how this would translate into an evening which was designed to celebrate the wonderfully hedonistic era of Hacienda.

With an amuse bouche of a vodka and energy drink mixer in me (wild) courtesy of another Manc city centre gaffe with legendary status, (The Britons Protection), I entered the fray.

My blog is named Honorary Manc, a self bestowed title, having taken up residency here in 2000. Whilst I’ve lived and breathed the Factory Records era (granted mostly retrospectively), age and geography meant I was never to be an OG.

I did however earn some entry level stripes, having worked at Granada TV in the first half of the 2000s, which granted me first hand ‘access’ to working with hero Mr Wilson on occasion. Following him round the news room one afternoon, notebook in hand as he multi-tasked, printing and photocopying whilst regaling me with tales of wearing sarongs on holiday, I was in my element.

My element only got better as I took quotes from him as he sat in the back of studio during a commercial break on Granada Reports in 2002, having his hair quickly quiffed into a Hoxton Fin, to emulate Beckham’s famous World Cup look, all in time to leg it back behind the news desk ready for part 2.

Using this as a metaphorical passport into such hallowed turf, alongside my ‘Actual Manc plus 1’ who had regularly frequented the Hacienda in the 90s, I entered Mecca on Saturday.

Dancing to music I grew up with and loved (whilst still at an age where I didn’t have a hope in hell of getting into a licensed venue) was a dream and the fact that it was still daylight outside mattered not.

Actual Manc would go to the Hacienda every Wednesday. Looking around he was feeling the old days. Everyone was there to dance, everyone was happy. No pretension, not a single upward inflection was to be heard.

What may or may not have helped stimulate that happiness back in the 80s and 90s (“every drink was £1 including the huge displays of water”), Actual Manc theorised (theorised) that whilst the nature of a drug can contribute to or create a culture, whatever was going on back in the day, people were remembering that night exactly how they used to feel when they entered that club and heard that music.

Like a form of muscle memory, everyone around us was happy to be back, like they’d never been away (even if they’d never been before), and that feeling was infectious.

Saturday was a mood and like one I’d not experienced out in town in a long, long time.

Everyone around was interesting, full of life, nice, joyous, charismatic, dressed diversely and gloriously. Like yesterday, it was the Hacienda and to completely misquote one of Tony’s past programmes, anything goes.

Indeed we made some friends for life (at least in that moment), but I either didn’t get their names or can’t remember them and so all are ‘assumed’.

*Mabel* and friend sat with us, asking if we’d been back in the day. She shared her memories and and excitement to be back.

“It’s scary, surreal being back amongst the stripes. The concrete, the ceilings; all creating that same acoustic that I remember.”

She didn’t look old enough to remember the acoustics to that degree but I didn’t say so. I couldn’t work out whether it would come out the compliment I intended. And we were all getting on so well.

Meanwhile over in the portaloo queue some time on, Actual Manc found himself privy to chat about the fast approaching cut-off time for part 1 of the party and pending requirement to depart to make way for those attending part 2.

“I’m not leaving, no way,” postured erm *Kev*. “Nah mate me neither! “ agreed *Rob* in solidarity.

“Let none of us leave!”

Needless to say, portaloo pact aside, everyone left obediently when the lights came up and it took only 15 minutes to clear the space ready for the next shift. Most of us back to the Britons Protection beer garden. Like I say, a nice bunch.

A repeat guest star in our evening was *Daz*. Daz on occasion couldn’t find his mates and Daz was appreciative of the 90s club classics blasted out so far, but was hankering after the “mental acid house shit” you used to get. Still Daz was having a top time regardless and the three of us had a lovely bonding moment as we embraced, and sang along that it was gonna be alright. Daz? It really was.

No more so for me than when K-Klass came on and Let Me Show You kicked in and it was 1993 and that piano and that beat and I could pretend that I was here at the time rather than 14 and having to make do with tapes, CDs and my bedroom. I realised my insane grin matched those around me.

And oh here’s Actual Manc back from anther trip to the bar, the portaloo, probably both.

“Mike Sweeney’s over there.”

He was. And eh up, here comes Terry Christian. Having rubbed shoulders with him at Mcr-based festivals and events before, we took it as a positive that he didn’t recognise us as obsessive groupies and once again gifted us a pic. Which he happily exclaimed was “a good one!”

It is isn’t it?

And with a projector streaming original black and white CCTV footage from the club, a wall hosting a tapestry of pictures, flyers and posters, the place was a living, breathing, pulsating shrine to an era where a club could pull no profits yet still become part of the fabric, if not the fabric, of our wonderful wonderful city of Manchester.

Highlights vid:

The (what was) live stream from the night:

Donate here!

Read more, hear more, watch more about past, present and future streams at

It’s Thursday and I’m doing a deep dive into my ignorance levels – The White Card at HOME Mcr

In its UK debut at HOME, Claudia Rankine’s first published play, The White Card poses the question: can society progress when whiteness remains invisible?

I’m always early…

Written against a backdrop of an increasingly racially divided American and shortly before the murder of George Floyd and the Black Lives Matter protests, The White Card is as tense and uncomfortable as you might imagine.

Allow me to set the literal scene.

We have the wealthy american epitome of white privilege in Charles (Matthew Pidgeon) and Virginia (Kate Copeland). He’s a property developer (including private prisons…) he’s liberal (check out the juxtaposition of his loose fitting suit and white trainers) he and his wife collect ‘black trauma’ art and they have a pitch perfect smug art dealer friend Eric (Nick Blakeley) who has invited black artist Charlotte (Estella Daniels) to dinner at their apartment.

They are courting her, hoping to buy and add a piece of her art to their collection.

Should she allow them to.

Charles and Virginia may as well have unfurled a banner saying, ‘we hate racism, we do’, such were their efforts to identify, sympathise, prove themselves as allies.

And so we have a classic dinner party set-up, invoking thoughts of Woody Allen films (sorry), The Last Supper, the seminal Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner…it’s a well-trodden trope for a reason and one I personally relish in.

Both in theatre set-ups and in life, it’s the perfect host for polite chat, followed by passionate debate followed by all out war, truth-telling and tears in the kitchen.

There’s often a direct correlation here between how much wine is poured to how much tea is spilled, and this was no exception.

The dialogue kept the controversial and inappropriate moments coming, all of varying degrees of subtlety. Some comments blink and you almost miss them, but perhaps one person’s blink is another person’s eyes wide open stare, is another person’s eyes firmly closed.

And so the examination for the extent of my own ignorance begins…

Very early on in the dinner we had the mistaken identification of one black woman for another black woman, ‘that wasn’t me’, we had ‘no the other black author’, we had a raised eyebrow at Charlotte knowing fluent French when here was Virginia explaining the meaning to her of just one French word.

Indeed we went from Virginia black celebrity name-dropping (Serena Williams- tick, Michelle Obama – tick) to exclamations directed to Charlotte of

Put down those plates, you’re not the maid!

Oh yes. That was a ‘sharp inward take of breath’ moment in Theatre 1.

We have the son Alex (CJ Coleman) who has joined Black Lives Matter and attends Trump rallies protests…

Isn’t that a terrorist organisation?

But darling your life matters…

(The White Card – please excuse any paraphrasing)

The couple’s pursuit in collecting ‘black trauma art’ is their privileged act of alliance. And Charlotte was here to hold a mirror upto this, refusing to allow her art of recreated moments of racism to become part of this collection of canvas misfires; misfire not in the art itself, but in the intention behind the purchase and the nature of the buyers’ posturing.

The play’s conclusion, almost epilogue, turned the table and perhaps gave Charles his most important life lesson yet. He became the subject, his whiteness became the subject, his whiteness as a black trauma tourist became the subject.

And he didn’t like it. But with that he was a step closer to getting ‘it’. As were we all.

Let’s keep talking and get this sliding scale ultimately going further and further in the right direction. Because when there is an inherent comprehension of an issue, we’re less likely to ‘trip ourselves up’ and get rightly called out on what might seemingly be just a word or platitude in the wrong direction.

And I’m sure my own well-meaning rhetoric is unintentionally littered with missteps, which is why plays such as The White Card must continue to be written and seen. So we can know what we thought we did but actually didn’t after all.

I love Theatre, I do.

The White Card is showing at HOME until 21 May 2022.

Photo credits: Wasi Daniju

More details:

Written by Claudia Rankine and directed by Natalie Ibu.


Nick Blakeley Eric
C J Coleman
Kate Copeland
Estella Daniels Charlotte
Christine Gomes Charlotte
Matthew Pidgeon Charles


Essence Aikman
Ellouise Bridge
Kasur Chaudhry
Sholabomi Tinubu


Natalie Ibu Director
Claudia Rankine Writer
Debbie Duru Set & Costume Design
Roma Yagnik Sound Designer
Rajiv Pattani Lighting Design
Rachael Nanyonjo Movement Director
Wabriya King Production Dramatherapist
Eleanor Manners Dialect Coach
Rachid Sabitri Fight Director
Naomi Daley Wardrobe Supervisor
Wambui Hardcastle Assistant Director (RTYDS)
Lauren Lister BSL Interpreter

A Northern Stage, Leeds Playhouse, Birmingham Rep and Soho Theatre co-production in association with HOME Manchester.

I’m beatboxing so it must be Tuesday…Frankenstein: How to Make a Monster, Contact

Me: fancy coming to see beatboxers perform Frankenstein?

Him: (without missing a …beat)


And this reader is why I married him.

On Tuesday I found myself part of a beatbox symphony. This is the same week that I got my first pair of prescription reading glasses.

Balance redressed..

Contact theatre played host (and continues to all week) to Battersea Arts Centre’s BAC Beatbox Academy and their highly, HIGHLY entertaining production, Frankenstein: How to Make a Monster.

A reworking of Mary Shelley’s famous tale, the underpinning message of this portrayal is how society creates its own monsters. To an incredible soundtrack.

Well not ‘to’ exactly as the six talented artists are the soundtrack, as every sound, every note, every beat is provided by their own incredible voices straight into the mic.

The 2022 touring cast features emerging artists and co-creators ABH (Alexander Belgarion Hackett), Aminita (Aminita Francis),Aziza (Aziza Amari Brown), Glitch (Nadine Rose Johnson), Native The Cr8ive (Nathaniel Forder-Staple) and Wiz-RD (Tyler Worthington).

The evening was energetically …hosted? MC’d? woven together? …by beatboxer Kate Donnachie.

So what was it exactly? Was it theatre? Was it a musical? Was it a gig, opera? It was all of these with a dose of provoked thought and some really fantastic, original music.

It felt Gorillaz, it felt Morcheeba, Massive Attack…

And it was funny! At one point turning the ‘beatbox battle’ on its head as ‘Frankenstein’ took on ‘The Monster’ in the boxing ring.

And it was educational. I’ll be honest, I was in my first year of uni when we were getting our first mobile phones. No cameras and you were lucky if you had text.

And all this were fields…

But pieces such as Click Clack (containing the mantra you really shouldn’t post that) and some uncomfortable audience interaction…

(no not the part where we all beatboxed or even when we were encouraged to stand up and rave – yes I did, oh ye of little faith)

…where a spotlight was shone onto audience members to a track about tearing each other’s aesthetic apart, really drove home the challenges of the digital, life-sharing, selfie saturated age. Point truly (and rhythmically) made.

But before we even got to that, got to all that, we were thrillingly introduced to young performers from in and around Manchester, who blew us away with their first time public performances, all a product of workshops attended that week and run by BAC Beatbox Academy. Bra-vo everyone.

Another of those nights where you pinch yourself at how lucky you are to have so much on your Manchester doorstep to open your eyes and minds to.

And how a routine weekday night can lead to cheering on a beatbox battle and a whole new playlist on your Spotify…

Frankenstein: How to Make a Monster is on at Contact until Saturday 14 May. Tickets available via:

Want to know more?

The production is co-created by the wider BAC Beatbox Academy, co-directors Conrad Murray (‘High Rise eState of Mind’) and David Cumming (‘Operation Mincemeat’), and BAC. OThis means it has been co-authored by cast members at every stage, who also shape all aspects of presenting the show in its different incarnations.

The company continue to work with young talent everywhere they go. Each live show of ‘Frankenstein: How To Make a Monster’ opens with a curtain-raiser – a short performance created through workshops with local young people – and ends with a beatboxing battle. At Contact, the company will work with young people from Greater Manchester to deliver these workshops across the city.

‘Frankenstein: How To Make A Monster’ is the first professional production from the BAC Beatbox Academy, whose members have developed and adapted the production over the years.

Starting with a small-scale Scratch performance at BAC where they encouraged feedback from the audience, the company continued to build on their success. They returned with sold-out runs at BAC, winning Off West End and Total Theatre Awards, embarked on their first national tour, presented the highest-rated show at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe 2019, received rave reviews at the Adelaide Fringe Festival and released their first film which they co-created and shot during the lockdown in 2020.

BAC Beatbox Academy is BAC’s home-grown young performance collective for local artists aged 11-29 years. Since BAC created the Academy in 2008, it has pro-actively engaged harder to reach groups in areas of significant deprivation; locally, throughout the UK and internationally. Through the Academy programme of nurturing rising talent and pushing the boundaries of sound and music, the casts of ‘Frankenstein: How To Make A Monster’ have developed; from a collective of local participants into highly-accomplished performers and music leaders.

‘Frankenstein: How To Make A Monster’ is supported by Arts Council England and Youth Music.

Wuthering Heights at The Lowry

I didn’t know what to do expect from this production.

I mean I was aware of the story – it’s all love and hate and death and windy moors. But the description of this production told me it was…

Shot through with music, dance, passion and hope…

and I was admittedly reticent. This could be very good, this could be very bad. What did this mean, what level of interpretive dance could this be, will passion and hope serve us well and translate into an entertaining evening out at the theatre?

I was still pondering these questions as I arrived at the Lowry and settled into my seat. It had been a long day, this was a relatively long production (160 mins total plus interval) and I was fighting an internal voice telling me that under no circumstances should I reference Kate Bush or any Alan Partridge scenes in my coverage (and with that, I guess I win, internal voice).

To sum up…

Rescued from the Liverpool docks as a child, Heathcliff is adopted by the Earnshaws and taken to live at Wuthering Heights. He finds a kindred spirit in Catherine Earnshaw and a fierce love ignites. When forced apart, a brutal chain of events is unleashed.

The production brought by Wise Children theatre company had me at the first scene. It’s funny and it’s charismatic and it’s powerful. It’s a whole lot of things. The funny offsets the death, a whole lot of death to be honest and I feed off the macabre, but that’s on Emily Brontë.

The Yorkshire moors was/were the narrator. The dancing, singing narrator passionately led by Nandi Bhebhe. Stay with me, it really worked.

There was puppetry, a feature of a few productions I’ve seen, most recently The House with Chicken Legs, song, dance and a smart and efficient use of props, most notably the good old fashioned door which served as an entry (I know, shocking) and introduction to many a compelling scenario requiring little else other than perhaps a chair or two and a cast of incredibly talented performers, many taking on multiple roles.

Lucy McCormick as Cathy was quite simply spellbinding. Even when (spoiler) dead and a silent, spooky presence on stage, bearing tortured witness to life continuing to play out in the wake of her passing, you couldn’t take your eyes off her.

I found myself wishing that young Cathy had grown up much earlier in the depiction, such was Stephanie Hockley’s performance. As bouncy, childlike, energetic, devastating and heart-tugging as McCormick’s Cathy senior; a delight.

There were strong, steely and uncomfortably dark performances (and I only mean this positively) from Liam Tamne (Heathcliff) and Tama Phethean (Hindley Earnshaw/Hareton Earnshaw).

Offsetting all the dark and the death and the downright depressing was the comedy.

Craig Johnson in his guise as Dr Kenneth had my attention with his wonderfully biting and camp asides and bridging monologue, provided a much needed side of mirth to the bodies racking up.

Sam Archer gave a typically brilliant performance as Lockwood (and Edgar Linton) with perfect comic timing both verbally and physically.

However left, centre and right stage (all over the show in fact – I wish I had that energy) was Katy Owen (Isabella Linton/Linton Heathcliff). I have never wanted a (spoiler) character to hurry up and die as much as one Linton Heathcliff. Serving Frank Spencer realness, that snivelling, whining wretch bedecked in green ribbons about his neck and shoes (I need closure don’t I) was delivered on point and we hated him, oh how we hated him. And also laughed.

And bravo to those musicians, those talented musicians in the back right corner of the stage, those unsung heroes bringing everything to life with their celtic, folky strokes and strains (composed by Ian Ross). I see and hear you Sid Goldsmith, Nadine Lee and Renell Shaw.

And so Emma Rice as writer, director and all-round hero has gifted us this production, not least rousing me from my Wednesday night slump to boot.

That’s a huge compliment (I need to work on my praise, I know).

It was Wuthering Heights but not as we know it. But also as we know it. Just when we thought it was descending into full spoof, it smacked us round the chops with a dose of revenge and redemption as Ms Brontë intended.

But don’t take my humble word for it. You have until Saturday 7 May to see for yourselves. Visit the Lowry for tickets and details by clicking here without delay.

Photo credits: Steve Tanner

Last night of the Sea Power tour, Manchester’s own Albert Hall

Saturday 23 April was Sea Power appearing at Albert Hall, Manchester day. It was also St George’s Day.

The two things are somewhat very tenuously related. They really are, stay with me.

Last August, Sea Power announced that they were dropping the ‘British’ from their name. The reasons I completely understand, the fact that the reasons even exist are tragic.

As posted on the band’s website last August,

In recent times there’s been a rise in a certain kind of nationalism in this world – an isolationist, antagonistic nationalism that we don’t want to run any risk of being confused with. It’s become apparent that it’s possible to misapprehend the name British Sea Power, particularly if someone isn’t familiar with the band or their recordings.

We’ve always been internationalist in our mindset, something made clear in songs like Waving Flags, an anthem to pan-European idealism. We always wanted to be an internationalist band but maybe having a specific nation state in our name wasn’t the cleverest way to demonstrate that.

We very much hope the band’s audience won’t be affronted by this adjustment to the name. We’d like to make it clear that removing the word “British” does NOT indicate any aversion to the British Isles whatsoever.

You see, it is for similar reasons that the Union Jack or, indeed the English flag, immediately bring up negative connotations. Ones that I try to fight against but the terms, the flags, any sense of nationalistic ideology or iconography have been hijacked by people and organisations that are, put simply, and colloquially, the worst.

Last Saturday, I disappointingly yet automatically winced and then, in turn, winced at my wincing when seeing mention of St George’s Day and the flag in my timeline that day. I wish that knee-jerk reaction would leave me as there’s an inferred victory for the far right.

But for now, sadly, those negative connotations just aren’t going anywhere.

Let’s talk about going out in Manchester to a gig! Yeah!

The venue, a firm favourite. That vantage point, those stain-glassed windows, those fairylit pews – too good. Plus there’s always the chance Godfrey Parkes will rock up (Derek Acorah, RIP).

For those who have never been to the Albert Hall, I strongly recommend you see something, someone, anything there. If you don’t mind taking several hours to get to and from the basement loos, and eventually get the hang of the layout of the building and those staircases, it’s an absolute gem of a venue.

From the Charlatans, to John Cooper Clarke, to a screening of Psycho with live orchestra, to Jarvis Cocker, whatever I’ve seen here, it gives great backdrop.

Picking up my tickets, I was offered a giant chocolate button. Yes I was. They had me at giant chocolate button.

The drinks prices aren’t foolish either and if you find the secret bar (hiding in plain sight), you’ll have one person at most ahead of you.

And so, playing host to two great bands on Saturday, one established since 2000, one some 20 years later.

Pale Blue Eyes took command of the stage from their opening gambit, From Devon (me too, Pale Blue Eyes, me too!), I’ll throw some classic comparisons to Radiohead, early Smiths, at you.

Definitely ones to watch and listen to, perhaps starting with their single, the superbly named Dr Pong – Listen here.

For the main event, a whole lot of foliage started to build up on the stage. So far, so Sea Power.

From a band who have had a past reputation for surreal visuals, frenetic stage antics, Saturday was, I’d say, by contrast, still waters. By that I mean full of energy but no trips to A&E by band members or giant bears. Still making a splash, the band had the gig-goers in raptures, there was a fine dose of crowd-surfing, causing a magical manifestation of twitchy but responsible stewarding.

In case you missed it, that was my paragraph of sea and water puns.

But it was, as they say,

a good crowd.


With representation from the earliest album to the latest, Everything Was Forever (Feb 2022), there was much to enjoy and appreciate for those hardened Sea Power fans to those who simply appreciate great music at a venue that just won’t quit.

The band opened with It Ended on an Oily Stage, lead single from 2005 album, Open Season, right through to big hitter Carrion from debut album, The Decline of British Sea Power, back in 2003, and taking in new single Two Fingers along the way. The set finished with a hat-trick encore of Remember Me, Waving Flags and The Great Skua.

Britannia may annually rule the waves at the Royal Albert Hall, but at its commoner counterpart in Manchester, Sea Power were riding them high.