Our Welsh trip had ended, but with Matt wanting to meet up on the Sunday morning we decided to park up in Greater Stockport.

It’s one of our favourite campervan overnighters, but the exact location must remain top secret so no-one else stays there and dumps rubbish outside their van and gets the place shut down for campers.

It’s a lovely spot, country park on your doorstep,

statues of the fish finger bloke in the high street,

and Cheadle’s new micro 10 minutes walk away.

Very much High Street all-rounder rather than “ales only, Old Blokes, high table round the wall”, I loved it.

And not only because they had a special showing of United’s latest catastrophic defeat at Palace.

or a soundtrack of the whole debut Stone Roses album, which I like despite myself.

It’s sort of sectioned off into sort of booths at the back, which is OK but the booths would fit the whole of east Cheadle so you always feel like you’re hogging a table when there’s only two of you.

I had a pint of something hazy from Tiny Rebel and it was superb, NBSS 3.5/4 stuff, particularly as the 4th Palace goal went in.

We’d have stopped for a nightcap at the newish GBG entry,

but Mrs RM wanted to finish off that bottle of Malbec she’s procured in Welshpool.

So poor BRAPA, coincidentally in Cheadle AT THE VERY SAME TIME, missed out on a lift to Stockport train station from the James Watts.

And Mrs RM never did get to meet Colin. It’s a bit like “Sliding Doors”, where Colin is played by Gwyneth Paltrow.


    1. Yeah, but what if Colin got squished by the closing underground carriage doors, eh? You can’t just send for another cauliflower from the props department, you know.

      Another Gwyneth, quite possibly.

      Liked by 3 people

  1. May 7th? You’re more than three weeks behind with your blog? Scrub that. You’re almost *four* weeks behind with your blog! I only read your witterings so that you can bring me abreast of what’s happening in the world. Clearly I’ve been wasting my time.

    And I’ve been waiting for some Welsh tea cake to drop through my letter box any day, but clearly if that was going to happen, it would have already happened. (Running out of tenses, here. But you get the drift.) At least now I can stop running after my postie, shouting “Bara Brith!” He’s started looking a bit worried.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Sorry, for “witterings” read “writings”, obviously. Bloody fingers have got a mind of their own.


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