The Existential Reader

The Existential Reader

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The Existential Reader
The Existential Reader
Young Mancunians
Young Mancunians

Young Mancunians

2. The Many Ghosts of Colin Wolstencroft

Craig Snelgrove, PhD's avatar
Craig Snelgrove, PhD
Jul 11, 2025
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The Existential Reader
The Existential Reader
Young Mancunians
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My first proper job was at the Asda in Radcliffe. I was always on the late shift, finishing at ten. Most of the time I would head over to the Maccies across the car park for tea because it was better than rushing through a ready meal on a half hour break, or eating one of the stale sandwiches that make up the main of a meal deal. All three options made me feel less alive somehow, like I was some kind of machine getting by on cheap fuel.

At that time of night there was normally only a handful of people in there, and the sombre atmosphere only accentuated the banality of 2000s R&B. In the beginning I would do a bit of sly people watching and listen in to the conversations, predominantly those of the couples because other than couples it was always some middle-aged guys who were always reading the Metro or something. I would wonder about all of them though; where they had been and how they had ended up alone in a Maccies at that time of night. It was a really depressing time in my life.

After eating I’d make my way home, walking forty-five minutes or so back to Whitefield. A couple of work mates would ask me all the time why I didn’t just get the met instead as it was only the one stop, and they always looked bewildered when I’d justify myself by saying that I’d rather walk than stand around waiting for public transport. Though I did actually enjoy that walk. For the most part the streets would be empty bar passing cars. There was one time some lad tried kicking off with me for no apparent reason, but he was a fat cunt so I easily outran him. But on every other walk I was able to clear my head in time for the after work spliff I’d spark once I’d reached the top of Stand Lane, and I’d gaze dreamily at the mansions on Ringley Road and sometimes I’d have a walk through the little estate, what we called Rich Man’s Estate, catching a glimpse at what felt like a world between worlds. My outstanding memory of that road, however, came a few years later when I was out with Connor, Luka, and Dylan, and Luka let off a firework from the passenger window of Connor’s car towards one of the mansions during rush hour. I’ll never know what damage was caused or how we weren’t tracked down and arrested but fuck me it was funny.

The only thing that ever stopped me walking, unsurprisingly, was the rain. One night

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