what the hell time is it anyway

Oooofff. I'm at that stage of tiredness that I'm nauseous and shaky, hungry and confused all at once. After wandering around Manchester looking for my hostel, I checked in, washed up and - finally! - laid down (smacking my head on the ceiling in the process. Damn bunk beds.) for a bit. But only for a bit, because the hostel staff burst in and declared that I was lying on a dirty bed and that I had to move. Then they took off all the sheets and disappeared. Hmmmph. I should probably go out and do something anyway. Maybe I'll take the tram over to Old Trafford and see if I can get on a tour.

Oh yes, I peaked out the window of my room to find: a kebab/pizza/burger joint attached to a XXX adult store attached to what appears to be a club - based on the DJ equipment visible in the window - that has two doors without handles or knobs. How does one get in? Then I watched a bus driver read the paper over the steering wheel while breezing through the intersection.

I guess the point of this post is to say that I'm officially in Manchester, but too tired to make much sense.