My previous experiences of riding the Met have been somewhat colourful.
Think - a fight, a man throwing up, a man wandering from carriage to carriage laughing hysterically to himself in such an unnerving fashion I actually got off the tram and waited for the next one, and tearaway teens using the overhead hand rails to do pull ups.
So, it was with slight trepidation I boarded the metro at Whitefield to set off on a jaunt around Manchester, armed with my £4.90 day pass to observe how friendly we are up North - and how we compare to the London Underground, where it is well documented people never, ever talk to each other.
