You left me in the warm cosiness of the Unicorn, waiting for my Chinese takeaway (which will remain anonymous).
This is always the high point of an evening away, the anticipation of the crispy beef, the dilemma of whether to do one last pub visit I’ll instantly regret.
But I resist the walk out to Burslem; my Singapore rice would be cold when I got back, and instead wandered south,
placing my precious foot in the hole on the pavement (US : sidewalk) and nearly ruining my status as the fastest ticker in town.
The joy of staying in a Premier Inn is you can make as much mess as you like in your room, eating rice with a teaspoon while I read your blog comments.
Not the greatest crispy beef (NCTSS 3), to be honest, but then my benchmark takeaway sets a high standard.
In the morning I did Stoke’s Cultural Quarter. You might not think such a thing exists, but there’s even a cafe called Quarter that does breakfast pizza (NBPSS 4.5) with one of those little cutters, which sounds pretty cultured to me.
Across the road, there’s a statue of BRAPA looking at his GBG for an alternative to the Colmore, which had just refused him entry on spurious grounds.
Street art is in its infancy in Hanley, but I enjoyed the way the girl on the wall looks like she’s pushing the shopping trolley.
The landlord at the Coachmakers was very proud of Stoke’s industrial heritage, and if you ever get bored of the pubs you should do the art trail that leads to the Potteries Museum,
which used to entertain our lads for free digging up golden hoards or something a decade ago.
Now it displays one of the last Spitfires in the country.
You can probably get oatcakes in the cafe. I’d recommend that.