I can’t resist running up stairs, particularly at tube stations.
Readers, DO do it on an empty stomach. DON’T do it on a bellyfull of curry and Bass.
Let me leave it there.
I needed a lie down, a black coffee and a phone recharge. Where better than Spoons.
Tucked in a corner, I drifted off to sleep. My battery had gone from 13% to 45%, and my coffee was chilled. No-one had nicked my GBG, note. Lancashire folk, salt of the earth.
I had a quick look round central Rochdale, got lost in the Wheatsheaf Centre, and found a route back to the station with some lovely keg Sam Smiths pubs, no doubt visited by Tandleman in his line of duty (but not by me).
Back at Victoria 20 minutes later, I was knackered.
The Mudgies, Southworths and Quosh had been “doing the classics“. I’d toyed with catching them up in the Castle, but instead recovered in Cafe Nero a few yards from their penultimate stop. Café Nero folk are good folk.
They seemed to have been in the Circus an eternity, and when I popped in at gone 6 to find Dave grilling (not literally) a young Devonian lass about life I found out why.
Paul was in fine form. Considering.
I was meeting Matt for curry at 7, so only had time for a half in the City Arms, but what a half it was.
NBSS 4 for the Plum Porter, a half that perked me up due to the magic powers of the plums.
The Lamb Handi in Sangams was sizzlin’, as the kids say, and Matt demolished a mixed grill quicker than I finished that Bass. I hope the lad is eating OK.