Ah Manchester.

I’ve lived here since coming to university a decade ago now, and the city never ceases to amaze me. Since Manchester is home to three huge universities, as well as a few smaller academic institutions, there’s a big student vibe to the place. Not only that, but since the student population numbers somewhere around a hundred thousand, the summer months are a completely different world.

I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to live in a place that doesn’t have tides of students flooding the city in September, and leaving parts of it virtually empty in the summer. Of course, this is the best way around it – I’d rather have fewer people competing for space in the beer gardens when it’s gloriously hot, wouldn’t you?

But this isn’t about that Manchester, where beer gardens in converted Victorian warehouses overlook gently flowing canals, built to cater to many more residents than are in the city at the time. No, this is about the other Manchester on the other side of the tide, where thousands of eighteen year olds, freed from the yoke of their parents for the first time, arrive in the city simultaneously and proceed to get spectacularly plastered.

I can’t begrudge them for that – I did much the same myself – and it does eventually calm down. But for the first few weeks of new student arrivals? The student-heavy areas of the city are a sea of vomit and broken glass, and the bus routes are jam packed full of hammered idiots who haven’t the faintest idea how either buses or money work.

But you know what? I wouldn’t trade this for any other city. They turn up, they go nuts, and eventually they become a proper part of this living, breathing organism of a city.