Cruising through Hulme in Julie Ollerhead’s tiny silver Suzuki on a summer day with the windows wound down and little furry dice swaying in the breeze, it was hard to remember this used to be an area notorious for drugs and crime. Hulme was knocked down and rebuilt in the 1990s and today, with the sun shining, there was none of the old air of menace that used to hang about the place. Julie, who did outreach work for the Rathbone charity, had a new helper called Jack – she had been forced to give up on the previous one, Robbie, when he threatened her and then stopped returning her calls. So today Jack was in the front passenger seat, fiddling with the stereo. Julie had put on a CD of a band called the Lancashire Hotpots, but Jack was not impressed. “Well we’re not having your Boom-Boom music anyway,” she said good-naturedly as she slung the disc in the glove compartment. Jack retaliated by removing the head from the gearstick. “Look what ’e’s done! ’E’s ’ad me gearstick!” she retorted. She didn’t stop the car, though, but just took it from him, smiling, and screwed it back on again.