Sportska mesta

My degree says “future scientist” but my camera roll says “chronically at the match or somewhere with a big screen”. If I’m not trekking up to the Etihad, I’m kicking a ball round Platt Fields, pretending I’m a table tennis prodigy in a basement bar, or stress-screaming at England in a warehouse full of strangers. Here’s the chaotic little circuit of places that keep me skint, sweaty and absolutely mad for it – all properly sound spots if you live anywhere near Fallowfield and care more about added time than bedtime.