Well, I really feel you’re with me on this “Hunt for a House : The X rated Northern Edition“.
Thanks for all your really helpful advice about North/Midlands dividing lines and 1974 CAMRA boundaries; it’s really informing Mrs RM’s choice.
Mrs RM had drunk 3 pints by now and was starting to say things like “Is Leigh nice ?”.
Now I know she’s been talking about “Hunkering down for the apocalyspe” since Lockdown, but surely in Leigh she’d be permanently living in it ?
We ended our house hunting on Saturday in Ordsall (pr. Od-sal), where youngest lad lives in a flat overlooking the Quays and M*n U****d.
My extensive research (Quosh and the Man City forum) suggested that Ordsall was relatively safe these days, but a bit dull.
Great parks, and a mix of historic redbrick buildings beloved of Morrissey miserabalists and ’80s housing beloved of Merseyside satellite towns.
Despite the looming presence of the media, there’s a dearth of quinoa sourdough and grapefruit murk; one of the last two remaining pubs in the residential streets is more Mark. E. Smith than Tim Burgess (stuff your tediious Twitter listening parties).
I couldn’t persuade her in for a pint of keg Lees. She’s no Tand. Of course, if I lived here I would join local CAMRA and campaign to get cask back. Yeah, right.
Instead we headed along Trafford Road, thinking what nice flats the Dock Office would make. Perhaps they already are.
Matt had a burst of cutting activity on the Glorious 4th, but trade has levelled off with central Manchester still a wasteland at the moment. Goodness knows how the pubs will survive, let alone the barbers.
Being unsure whether we’re even allowed to pop on the tram into Peter Street, we ordered our BrewDog burgers via Deliveroo, which is anathema to me.
No pictures of their wonderful burgers, but here’s the pet giant snail.
We left Salford, undecided on our future home.