I stopped in a long street of a village, nondescript till you get to the eastern edge, which contains a couple of attractive looking pubs, the church, and some well marked walks.
In the Beer Guide pub It was good to see craft lager from nearby(ish) Wrexham, but I went for a Congleton classic, a brewery with outlets in Stockport’s finest suburb, but rarely seen in the free trade these days. It was too warm(NBSS 2.5), but the enthusiasm of Peter the barman made up for it. “Enjoy your nice refreshing Bitter” he said with an odd accent that could have been Arabic. He knew his beers.
I was a bit concerned at how quiet it was at 5, but by the time I returned from my walk an hour later the place was buzzing with a mainly senior clientele typical of the area’s pubs.
Towards the station you get a handful of half-timbered buildings and a pub catering for the younger crowd (under-60s).
The walk was unplanned, I just followed a well-signposted path through fields of cows towards a point of interest, immortalised by Paddy McAloon, that just seemed to get further away as I ploughed onward. Classic England.
Back on tarmac I had to dodge lycra clad senior cyclists for a mile. I thought of following a couple down a footpath marked “The Bongs” to avoid them, but didn’t want to play gooseberry.