We left Ordsall at 17:30, just as our free parking expired, debating whether a tubby United fan could possibly make it from the park to the ground and back in 4 hours with a pint of IPA in the Matchstick Man on the way.
Google Maps said to take the A56 home, so we did, and I realised how little I’ve seen of Trafford in my 55 years. I must remedy that now they’ve added a metro through the business park to the shops. There’s a ’50s Holt pub (the Melville) at Trafford Park.
We flew home, bar a stop for those £1 Swedish meatballs made of horse at Uttoxeter Services, and a 20 minutes leg stretch at Rothwell.
The Sheffield maintenance man who commended James on his stoicism under Covid should know that my eldest son has had a lifetime of not moaning when forced to put up with his father’s “nipping in for a half” and “just taking a few photos of closed pubs“. It will serve him well when he has to sit through pointless meeting on Zoom.
Rothwell makes its first appearance on this blog, after 4 years of fury that neighbouring Desborough got the retiredmartin write-up first.
It’s midway in size between Waterbeach and Histon, and known (if at all) for what was supposedly the busiest McDonalds in the country, providing the only burgers on the A14 for 100 miles.
It’s a bit of a GBG desert west of Kettering these days,
despite (because) of the Rowell Charter offering 8 beers to 8 customers when it was in the Guide recently. I thought it was a cracker, and the Chinese takeaway opposite wasn’t bad either.
Rothwell looks scruffy from the outside, but like Wellingborough has some gleaming golden stone that’s almost worth your diversion from Oundle or Raunds.
James noted the unusual graveyard arrangement; he may have been humouring me.
The little market place is dominated by the Market House,
“Quite a few pubs” said James, playing along, but in truth there’s only four, and a club or two, all bunched along the main drag.
In the manner of a Long Eaton or Spalding, I’ll bet they’re all worth a visit when you-know-what is over.
Some decent restaurants for 7,000 odd (very odd) locals who can’t walk the mile to McDonalds, and a betting shop, and a little museum that I sense will struggle to match the enthusiasm of Desborough.
But do let me know if you find otherwise.