Oh, Manchester, So Much To Answer For

My occasional blogstalking continued apace last night, when I decided to track down a number for and then cold-call Geoffrey; I'm incredibly glad I did so. We bobbed and weaved around an array of topics, from the sadness of gay "life" (or should that be "gay life"?) in Pat Robertson's backyard to the deepest of deep house (go figure). The pleasure was all mine, Mr. Schramm. The next time I'm in town, we're most definitely going to Club Red - and the first round's on me.