Yet another freaky Plinky coincidence.

Grand Central, favoured watering hole of the Manchester rock and metal community, was the scene tonight of one of the Battle for Bloodstock semi-finals. (Bloodstock is a metal festival; unsigned bands are competing for a slot.) Among the six bands lined up tonight were Visitor, who Pook's boyfriend Gaz plays guitar for. A whole gang of us went down to watch the show, and the night went really well.*

Now, GC is my favourite place to watch people. As you'd expect from a bar known for its heavy jukebox and regular metal gigs, the clientèle is a colourful conglomerate of extremes and alternatives. Guys that drink there often have longer hair than their female friends, and almost exclusively wear black T-shirts adorned with band names. In contrast, the girls usually make an effort to look extremely well-presented. Again, black is the colour of choice, but used to the opposite effect alongside hair of all colours and styles. The clash of scruffy, hard-looking men against perfectly-groomed, sparkly-eyed women is something you don't see in any other scene in this town.

It's always loud in GC, gig or no gig. We'll stand around playing air guitar, comparing bands and telling dirty jokes at full volume, lads and lasses alike. Here, two guys screaming in each other's faces isn't a sign of trouble - it's a greeting, usually followed by a hefty hug and another round of pints. The insanity of it all is that it's one of the least violent venues in town. I've never seen a fight break out there, despite the dark backdrop and thrashing soundtrack. You just know that the seven-foot-tall bruiser at the bar with the ponytail and the full-sleeve tattoo is a big teddy bear, just like everyone else.

Whilst I wouldn't class myself as a metalhead by any stretch of the imagination, I love the atmosphere, the music, the conversations and the people. It's the only place where I've ever been able to ask for "the usual" at the bar. Home sweet second home.

So, after milling around in the crowd, catching up with my buddies and watching the gigs all evening, I went out for a cigarette. It's then that a guy approached me, wanting to know if he could ask me an odd question.

"Did you really, honestly enjoy that gig?"

At this point, it should be noted what I was wearing: a cream skinny-strap top, long denim skirt, those brown slingback sandals (quick aside: my feet are sore, but blister-free!) and a dinky little necklace that Sharl got me for Christmas. I didn't look like I listen to metal at all. As usual, I looked like a floaty little hippy.

So I told him that, despite appearances, I live life pretty damn loud. I explained how I came to see Visitor, that I used to live with a whole metal band, and that although metal is not always my first choice of listening material, it's always a good night at GC. In turn, the guy explained to me that, because he's teetotal, he does a lot of people-watching on nights out, observing how nights like these progress as everyone gets drunker and drunker. Apparently, my presence had completely perplexed him, as I just didn't fit in with the crowd at all.

This pleased me. I take great pride in my individuality.

Anyhow, we had a chat about the bands and the scene, and eventually went our separate ways. But it was great fun to talk to someone who does exactly what I do in our beloved pub, and very amusing to know that, for once, the watcher was being watched.

*Despite a great performance, Visitor didn't make it to the final, but congratulations go to our friends in Bisonhammer, who did.