It’s as regular a night in Manchester as you are likely to find. There is evidence of rain and daytime activities have transitioned into minor night time reveries. The crimson death wagon has sped into Manchester with the grace of a drunk at an open bar. We arrive late, H.E.A.T are just about to go on stage.  Johann makes the scramble to the pit, leaving me at the bar. Apologies to Vega, domestic shenanigans and Manchester never ending roadworks hold us up.

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