Mrs RM reminds me that we moved north to have trips into the Peaks on our doorstep, and last Friday we set off on the A57 Snake Pass to walk Kinder Scout get a GBG tick after a modest walk in the hills.

Parked up east of town, an hour’s walk along the edge of Shire Hill give you views that you don’t get from the mound outside Shire Hall in Cambridge.

But it’s a bit steep, even with Mrs RM in appropriate footwear.

Down the hill in Old Glossop, the pubs are buzzing mid-afternoon, and only 37 minutes into our stroll Mrs RM urges me to join the throngs at the Queen’s Head,

but I push on to explore a place that would be getting coach loads of septuagenarians from Skipton if it was in North Yorkshire. Holmfirth on the cheap, perhaps.

Even though it’s NOT in the GBG, I let Mrs RM have a comfort break and gorgeous pint of Jaipur at the Queen’s Head, last visited 6 years ago when it was pouring down. Suddenly her appetite for cask returned.

Mrs RM did a thorough review of Glossop’s housing options before we settled on Sheffield last summer, but it lacked the town centre 2 bedroom place with space for a campervan we needed.

But it’s still as appealing as ever, and if we had moved here the new Guide entry Bar 2 would have been a very decent local.

Very much a micro in the North-West community pub style (lager, “Same Old Song” playing, customers below 60), rather than the “pale microbrews for my mates drunk on high tables” model, the bar was filling up with locals on date night when we got there.

Wonderfully friendly and efficient service from what seemed to be a mum-and-daughter team, and a lovely bit of Bradfield Blonde and Seabrook matching from Mrs RM.

Of course, Glossop has never been the same since it lost the Crown Carvery near the football ground.

You can see the affection for the Wren’s Nest by the touching tributes laid outside the walls.


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