Week 8 - Greg + Jordan

Jordan and I got the tram from West Didsbury into town together. We grabbed a drink at a bar on Canal Street before heading to the Where The Light Gets In pop-up at Kampus Manchester. Where The Light Gets In is usually based in Stockport, but they are having their premises refurbished, hence the pop-up in town. 

Jordan is Ben’s husband (see Week 7) and is a plastic surgeon. I always used to think of plastic surgeons as performing cosmetic, mainly elective, operations. This was until I sliced my hand open whilst washing up a cafetière. I of course called Jordan, who lives just around the corner. He came straight round and informed me that I would need surgery to repair the severed nerve in my thumb (but not before asking me who I’d had round for brunch in his absence). I had the surgery a few days later and I’m pleased to say my thumb is pretty much back to normal. 

Jordan was working as a junior doctor on 22 May 2017, the night of the Manchester Arena Bombing and had to tend to many of the victims. The experience has remained with him ever since. As well as the ordeal of the situation itself, smaller details of the night itself endure. Like the lady who had come into work on her day off just to make people cups of tea, or the consultant who had run the medical response throughout the night, but broke down at the all hands meeting the next morning. Jordan worked non-stop from 8pm in the evening to 1pm the next day and so did many others. It’s easy to lament the shortcomings of the NHS, but it’s in situations like this that you realise what a remarkable organisation it can be. I asked Jordan whether he’d been offered any counselling to help process what he’d been through and he said he had but it hadn’t ever really been followed up on.  He had difficulty sleeping for months afterwards and still thinks of the events of that evening often. It also influenced his choice of specialism as you’ll see if you keep reading. 

Jordan and I both have personal trainers. Mine is principally employed to ensure I actually haul myself out of bed and present myself at the gym. I’ve had a PT on and off for several years with varying degrees of success and now find myself in the happy position when I can go to the gym a couple of times a week unaccompanied. Jordan is an extremely driven person. He was the first person in his family to attend university and featured in the local paper when he achieved thirteen A*s in his GCSEs. He’s the sort of person who will post messages like “Does anyone fancy running this marathon next Sunday?” You may therefore ask why he requires a PT. Well, like all over-achievers, he likes to push himself (or get someone else to push him). His PT is Portuguese, ex-military, and by all accounts clinically insane. He constantly tells Jordan he hasn’t lost enough weight and when Jordan cracked a rib on the leg press, he matter-of-factly explained that it was because he was too fat. Jordan seems to like him though, aesthetics might have something to do with it. 

We arrived at the restaurant which is perched above the canal and accessed via an external fire escape. I realise that makes the setting sound less than idyllic, but it’s actually quite charming. There is an open kitchen which is somewhat closer to the coat hooks than is optimal. It did however mean we both got to continue to enjoy the ambience for a couple of days after we’d eaten. 

We had already paid for our meal when we booked, something I’m a huge fan of as it feels as though you’re getting your food for free. Drinks were to be purchased in the traditional fashion and I ordered a cocktail. Jordan wanted wine and was given a taste of a natural tipple. If you’ve never tried natural wine, then I would suggest you do, if only so you permanently exclude it from your repertoire. The idea of natural wine is that it removes all the unnecessary human interference from the wine making process. Here’s the problem, wine doesn’t naturally occur like rain, aubergines, or kittens; the grapes have to go through a process to turn them from fruit into the finished product. That process has been carefully optimised over hundreds (perhaps thousands) of years. Perhaps it has occasionally been overly meddlesome, but what results is at worst is perfectly drinkable and at best is totally delicious. The idea that you can throw all that away and still end up with something of the same calibre is as absurd as trying to travel from London and to Manchester on horseback in December and wondering why you’ve contracted frostbite. Natural wine is typified by cloudy, slightly fizzy, sour fruit juice, often with bits floating in it. You can of course get some perfectly acceptable natural wines, but you would be hard-pressed to distinguish them from the worst ones the industry has to offer. Needless to say Jordan politely opted for a carafe of something a little more conventional. 

Jordan is heading to Toronto for a year in the summer to work at a hospital called SickKids. His experience during the arena bombing and since then made him realise he wanted to specialise in children’s plastic surgery. Most surgeons who quality as consultants go on to do a fellowship at a specialist centre. SickKids is the foremost paediatric healthcare centre in the world, so it made sense for Jordan to do his fellowship there. Competition is stiff, but Jordan is more than capable, so managed to secure his spot. He will leave his husband Ben behind in Manchester, who intends to visit often. Jordan suffers from serious FOMO, possibly more than anyone I’ve ever met. His absence from the group and all the associated social engagements will therefore be a challenge. He is however also one of the most sociable people I know and will strike up a conversation with anyone. I’m therefore confident that he won’t be sitting at home staring at the walls when he’s in Toronto. His last placement was in Dundee and happened to coincide with the Covid-19 pandemic and the associated lockdowns. It would be fair to say that he didn’t have the most thrilling time while he was there and has some understandable angst about jetting off to the other side of the globe. 

Jordan mentioned that his dad has decided to retire. Apparently the idea has been mooted several times, but this time it will definitely happen. He manages the printing presses for a number of newspapers and has worked in to industry most of his working life. By all accounts he loves his job so I’m sure retirement will be something of a wrench. My father retired in his 50s while I was still at school and whilst I know that my mother enjoyed having him at home, some initial adjustments were required. He would often proclaim “What shall we do today”, negating to take into account that my mother didn’t just sit round the house waiting from him to return from the office, she had friends and hobbies and a household to be managed. He is now in his 80s and they seem to be rubbing along just fine. 

Talk of all things news led us to discuss where we had been when major news events had unfolded. I was working in a cafe on Mudeford Spit when Princess Diana died. The first any of us knew of the event was when a customer demanded to know why our flag wasn’t at half mast (a question which I believe was later asked of Buckingham Palace). I was on the computer in my father’s office when he summoned me into the sitting room informing me a plane had just hit one of the twin towers. I remember watching with horror as the second plane hit. My brother lived in New York at the time and my sister-in-law worked in Manhattan which added a different perspective to the whole event. I visited the World Trade Center Memorial when I was in New York last year and found it very moving. It seems an odd thing to recommend visiting, but I’m going to do just that. 

Jordan reads 50-75 books a year and, like most doctors, has an encyclopaedic memory. He recommended a book called Once Upon a River which I’m yet to read. We also discussed Robert Galbraith, JK Rowling’s nom-de-plume for her Strike series of detective novels. Jordan is a big fan, but I have to say that A Cuckoo Calling is one of the worst books I’ve ever read (the TV serialisation is even worse). Each to their own I guess. We discussed the Booker Prize and I mentioned that it had originally been sponsored by Booker’s cash and carry, something Jordan wasn’t aware of. Much like the Michelin restaurant guide was conceived by the Michelin tyre company as a way to get people to drive further (and presumably replace their tyres more often). It took me years to realise that the Tate art galleries are sponsored by the sugar conglomerate sharing the same name. One of my favourite literary curiosities is Margaret Atwood’s LongPen, a device that employs a robotic hand to allow an author to sign a book without being physically present at the signing. 

I’m ashamed to say that my recollection for what we ate has somewhat faded. This will of course teach me to write up my dinner dates in a more efficient manner. I do recall having a beetroot salad to start and moules marinière for my main. Pudding escapes me but it was all very tasty. Jordan had lentils with lamb Merguez as a starter, followed by pork belly for his main and a chocolate ganache for dessert. 

After dinner we ambled back to the tram stop and happened across a poster promoting Joe McElderry in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat. I was once on holiday in Key West and went into a souvenir shop to purchase a memento of my trip. I thought I recognised the music playing and happened to ask the proprietor if it was Joe McElderry. This question proved to be my downfall. It was, and it turned out he was a mega fan, verging on stalker. The next 20 minutes were filled with phrases like “What you don’t realise about Joe is…”. I made it out alive and with a Key West Conch Republic sweatshirt that I mope around the house in to this day. 

A short tram ride later we were back in Didsbury. Thanks Jordan for another lovely meal.