The clocks have recently sprung forward and the later twilight promises Manchester a summer. Again warmth. Again the plastic cups for iced lattes overflowing the rubbish bins along Piccadilly, heavy for the rubbish collectors. Again sodden bags slopping like dead jellyfish scraped out onto landfill at Sandfold.

The clocks have not been wound on long enough for the man who uses the name Douglas Johnson to be warm, but the sun stays on shift longer than people are used to and that changes the atmosphere. On the structure that horseshoes one side of Piccadilly Gardens a light is flashing. A flat, spaceship-like disk set into the step of ceiling hanging over the