Is there a word for experiencing nostalgia before something is over?  Manchester has never before seemed so exciting and edgy or homely and safe.  I don’t think I’ve ever before now fully appreciated the skyline, which I’ve always thought of as somewhat uninspiring; a flat cityscape, the sore thumb of the Beetham Tower sticking out of it.  The other day I found myself walking to the bus station after my German class and gazing at the higgledy-piggledy mess of buildings around me.  The sun was low in the sky, people were lounging on the yellowing patch of grass that is Piccadilly Gardens, the fountains in full plume.  I was suddenly struck by the beauty of so many different architectural styles jostling for position.  It ceased to be an ill-thought-out pile of glass, concrete, bricks, metal and tarmac, with an enormous Arndale shopping centre plonked in the middle of it like…