These next few posts might be a bit haphazard, coming as they do from the wet fields of Kate Rusby’s posh Barnsley folk festival.

Rather different weather in Southport last Wednesday, but I was on my own then.

Blackpool Jane had laid the path for my trip (see here), and when a fellow blogger and renowned gourmand goes to the trouble of advising you where and what to eat you should follow their lead past the colourful houses.

I’m tempted to call the Hungry Monk bistro in Cambridge Arcade a preemptive tick and claim it as one of those lost Old Monk pubs you’ve forgotten about.

But though the staff (again brilliant) read out a long beer list I could see the ultra trendy Bombardier was keg, and succumbed to a silky smooth Dortmunder which is closer to real ale than a warm pint of Landlord.

3 tapas dishes there. Calamari, duck with pancakes, and a glutinous red glop full of meatballs. Rather tremendous, and because I turned down pudding it was negative calories.

As promised by Jane, two (2) packets of Swizzels with the bill. I’m so easily pleased these days.

It was great to see Southport so busy with tourists from as far away as Ormskirk and Bamber Bridge. I guess they come to admire the stately architecture ?

No ?

Well, they weren’t there for the cheap thrills of Scarisbrick Avenue, where the penny arcades have gone, endangering Southport’s hard-won UNESCO listing.

But fear not, you can still hear Great new music on the pier. This lad is called Lennon, I think.

Press play now ;


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