As the dust settled after this week’s horror, the true Manchester spirit – its rich humanity, its caring and sharing of pain – was plain for all to see, says a daughter of the city / By Joanna Moorhead

Not long ago I was back in the north, having a drink with my clever, amusing, down-to-earth, young Mancunian cousin. I was doing that thing Londoners do – although I was born in Manchester, I have lived longer in London and I guess I have picked up some of the southern habits – of assuming that because she is so talented, she would do well to think of moving to the metropolis.

She heard me out, nodded her head, listened hard. But when I finished she told me straight: yes, London might hold more opportunities for her. Yes, she knew that making her mark there would put her on the national map.  “But the thing is,” she explained, “I just couldn’t live without the friendliness of Manchester.  It just is different here. I know there are things I’d love about London, but I’d miss the people of Manchester too much to leave.”