A LOVE LETTER TO MPF: FROM THE BALCONY

You don’t need to know my life story, but as a disabled kid and teen I didn’t exactly know what a social life was for a long time.

When I finally found my social feet in my 20s, it was through my then-thriving stand up comedy career – and it brought me, a lad from Preston, to this city that most of us involved with MPF call home.

I probably started socialising in Manchester in around 2015. Coincidentally, although I didn’t know it existed yet, that’s when this wonderful, amazing, festival started too.

What I did know existed, however, was some piece of hype that seemed to take up almost every corner of the city.

“For twelve weeks, this city is ours”

As I walked out of the Union building on Saturday night, not long after watching The Menzingers deliver what was surely one of the greatest sets in MPF history (more on them in a second), I suddenly found myself giving a lot of thought to that slogan I saw a lot when I was wandering around this city for the first time (that would later become my home) a decade ago.

I won’t say who’s it was, or who was behind it, or how crap I generally find that organisation who peddled it, but I think it dropped into my head because of a realisation I had watching it.

They were wrong. The city was never theirs. But for a weekend a year, for the same decade, it’s been ours. Ours to love, honour, and hold. And we do. We make Manchester feel home to tons of people for a wonderful three days of incredible music and other performances. It even works for those, like me, who already live there. Because it’s for us. We have the power. And who are ‘we’?

We are everyone – the trans people looking for acceptance and solidarity, the disabled people looking to enjoy music and fun and being treated equally alongside fellow music lovers. It’s the volunteers, the stall holders, the men, the women, everyone.

If you want to blame something for this screed, blame the first song of The Menzingers’ set. As someone who suffers with both a disability and mental health issues, sometimes screaming the words “I’VE BEEN HAVING A HORRIBLE TIME” couldn’t resonate more with the inside of my soul, and I suspect I’m not the only one.

It’s only my third year of MPF, but it represented an oasis of fun in a sea of shit for me in those first few years. For all those who call people of my generation ‘entitled’, every single one of us has gone through several ‘once-in-a-lifetime’, ‘unprecedented’ events, several strains on our life, and multiple worries.

For my own path, I’ve had health issues, mental health lows, and quasi-breakdowns. I’ve seen heartbreak, death, and everything in between.

Thankfully, I could always come back to MPF.

Whether it’s bouncing around to The Menzingers, breaking chairs dancing to King Prawn, or just in a group hug with all my friends that I see every year at the festival, it was somewhere I could, finally, briefly, for a while, feel happy and feel myself.

It’s the best place in the world, the best weekend in the world, and the best festival in the world I’ll always be high on it.

I hope we bring that same feeling to you.

And, as accessibility coordinator, I hope we brought it to more of you than ever before, too.

I’ll see you next year. Seems a shame to have to wait so long before we can do it all again, but it’ll feel all the more sweeter when it comes.