Now I’m all for modernity, but some things are just wrong. And urinals with swirling, changing, colours are one of them. I’ve tried, but I’m not warming to them. The scene of this affront to human decency? Barca, a trendy bar in the Castlefield basin of Manchester. Famously once owned by Mick Hucknall, it has recently returned to the cask beer fold and so is now back on the real ale map of Manchester.
Together with the nearby Dukes 92 (3 casks on), it offers a rare opportunity to sup a pint in or out (luckily it never rains in Mncr) surrounded by young, posh, totty. What more could a man ask for? Or, indeed, let’s not be sexist, any self respecting lipstick lesbian.
Now obviously this pleasure doesn’t come without a price. You can expect to pay around £3 or more for your indulgence. And for those prices, you don’t expect to be overwhelmed by some LSD 60s’ vision. Not when you’re having a pee, anyway.
Picture the scene-you’ve had a few beers, you enter (a very clean, nicely tiled) dimly lit toilet. You’re in position and let rip. Next thing you know, your senses are being assaulted by flashing blue, red and er, green, lights. It can be quite disconcerting. Indeed, the WHB was so put out of sorts; he may never be able to go to the toilet ever again.
Modern life: it ain’t always easy.