Merely a few weeks into my stay, I was robbed of my iPhone in plain sight. I was texting at the bus stop when a kid cycled past me and snatched it clean out of my hands. Nothing quite makes you appreciate travel insurance until shit happens. I don’t talk to God often but that day I incessantly thanked Him for NTUC Income.

Nothing also endears you to the city like having strangers stop their cars in the middle of the street, get out and lend you their phone to call the police, a ride in a police van chasing a snatch thief and then giving a statement at the local police station. Manchester’s force is lovely and hospitable and painfully honest (high chance you won’t be seeing your phone again, they admitted) and I appreciated every little thing.

This mishap turned out to be a blessing in disguise — besides getting an insurance payout worth more than I paid for my iPhone, I ended up purchasing a few disposable cameras to document my stay. Film is extra precious because you can’t shoot and delete. You have a finite number of clicks. I needed to pick the sights I wanted to remember. Every place, every angle, every frame I hit the shutter button on had to be deliberate.

I wanted to remember Manchester in its sporadic moments of sunshine, when the rays hit at a certain angle and soak its cobbled streets in beautiful harsh light. The rawness and saturated colours present in film bathed every ordinary corner in a filter of nostalgia, making every memory seem rosier than it was.

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