In Manchester and environs a day and a half doesn't mean 36 hours. It's a statement of a day being both packed and delightfully fulfilling.
I've just experienced one. It began, of course, with a certain victory in Russia 2018 that wasn't at all certain until the final kick, resulting in various moments of mindless celebration on my part in the course of the hours following. It then encompassed a great deal of idiot giggling in a rehearsal for the 2 Cheeky Chappies (of which I'm likely to have more to say as the next week and a half go by.) A meeting with old chum and comrade-in-arms Deepak, the first for over eleven years, made for a memorable afternoon of non-stop conversation in which we had so much to say we somehow astonishingly forgot to discuss Man U's fortunes over that period. And the day's to be rounded off by the return of the Missus, which means that Mak must be bearing up, at least for now.
It doesn't get much better. Though it might if England continue to make progress, eh?!