Well, I hope you enjoyed that live-blogging from a Spoons today, the Heaventeenth of May, as life returned to normal. Mostly.
But now I’ve got to bring this blog up-to-date, or I’ll get distressed and take it out on Baa Baa.
So here’s part II of the Cheadle Hulme Hop, as I look for something interesting to say about a busy Stockport suburb.
Google Maps tells you all you need know;
My notes says “nice flowers, smells nice“, which Cheadle Tourism can have free as a slogan.
I also like the styling of the Conservative Club,
and the brickwork at Pimlotts (est.1869) Butchers,
and the panini with bacon and nduja from Trattoria Express leaves a satisfying greasy smudge on my fleece which is sure to impress Quosh later.
But with towering office blocks and modernised pubs from local family brewers it’s lacks the character of Stocky or Levy.
A lot of pubs about, though most of those (upper) Cheadle ones turned us away last July.
There’s a Holt pub, a Greene King pub, and a Wetherspoons recently rescued by Stonegate; SIX GBG ticks over the years.
I headed for a half in the Hydes, cause it’s the best looking of the lot.
Like Holts, and Robbies to an extent, Hydes have moved away from their wet-led roots to operate upmarket diners like the John Millington, which I’d easily mistake for a Brunning & Price.
Compare and contrast this interior with their Jolly Angler (RIP).
I wasn’t sure that 3 beers was entirely sensible,
and when I was shown to the edge of the garden, or “pub creche” as it’s more accurately described, I soon realised that cask wasn’t king.
Not that those famous Cheshire thin glasses do anything for beer condition.
The staff are really great, happy to fit in the half-pint drinker after a warning that it might rain (rain? In Manchester?) soon, but they reckon without my righteousness, which ensures the grey cloud hovers but doesn’t dump its load till I reach the Norther Quarter.
The Original (I guess, I simply asked for a Hydes) is the epitome of NBSS 2.5+; foamy, soapy, a hint of straw but tasty enough*. Under £4 a pint, though I let them keep an unidentified amount of change.
A baby burps, he should have stayed off the Fosters. There’s more women than men here, I like that. As posh pubs go, this isn’t bad at all.
But enough of poshness, let’s head back to Piccadilly and show off my grease stains.
*Hey, does that count as beer tasting notes?!
retiredmartin 
“a busy Stockport suburb” or, in my mother and grandparent’s time, a Cheshire village. .
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Lacks a village feel these days, compared to Bramhall.
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I’d almost dare to venture that quite a few actual villages lack a village feel, compared to say, Blackheath, in That London.
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Etu,
Yes, and most villages within a dozen miles of me aren’t proper villages, and even those with a pub are little more than housing estates built in the countryside.
Hixon actually has jobs, an industrial estate, but the great majority of workers there commute in daily passing the great majority of Hixon residents who work in Stafford and other towns.
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Seems to be a lot of burping in recent posts. They should stick to cask, especially the babies. That brickwork is gorgeous. You won’t see a better wall than that.
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Reminds me of the “Wadworth. Brewer.” brickwork on the Waddies brewery in Devizes.
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Bill,
Yes and it reminds me of
THOS. TELFORD, ENGINEER 1832 on the aqueduct carrying the Shropshire Union Canal over the Watling Street
and
I. K. BRUNEL ENGINEER 1859 on the Saltash Bridge.
‘BREWER’, ‘ENGINEER’ and even ‘FAMILY BUTCHER’ meant something in those days.
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The butchers, I presume, though the John Millington is nice too.
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