There is only one place in Manchester that has my heart. It’s a place that actually only exists in my heart now that it has been torn down. The old Derryfield Country Club. Oh, yes, a fancier, cleaner and more expansive one has been built in its place. It’s got one of those flashing electronic display signs advertising its prime rib special and Sunday brunch. But it isn’t home.
Let me tell you about my friend, the old DCC.
I started attending reggae Sundays at the deck back in 2002 with my best friends Heather and Stacie. We’d usually be groggy, rolling out of bed after a Saturday night adventure – we’d pull my mattress out to the living room, make some mac ‘n cheese, and flop down and watch the 1 o’clock Pats game on the bed in the living room. Around 4, we would put our hair in pigtails, swap tank tops and make the short drive to the D. Continue reading