May 11th 2022.
Eight pubs needed in Northern Ireland, and a nagging feeling that I hadn’t done the Antrim coast justice. meant a long weekend in Belfast.
Even better, Matt and Emma joined us, their first holiday since the You-Know-What.
We picked them up at Stockport station’s shiny new drop-off area and headed to Birkenhead terminal for a late night ferry with cabins booked in the hope of a night’s sleep before arrival in Belfast,
stopping only at Khrua Thai Orchid for tea as Matt’s tummy was rumbling.
I’d actually come off the M53 at Junction 4 and said “We’ll stop at the first place we’ll see, OK ?” and then failed to find a single pub for 3 miles. What is WRONG with the Wirral ?
Well. there’s nothing wrong with the views. Whoever Birkenhead Council employed to build that little town across the Mersey to give Tranmere Rovers fans something nice to look at did a fine job.
Matt and Emma had, I’m sure been hoping for an evening in Birkenhead’s heritage pubs before our 22:30 departure, but had to make do with a bewildering choice onboard Stena Line’s rather gorgeous Edda (Very smart, like a Premier Inn).
Lagunitas (“tastes like Punk IPA” says Mrs RM), Guinness, Heineken. Guinness under a fiver, and City demolishing Wolves on the telly. A great start to a holiday.
Mrs RM, who takes the best pictures because she has the flashiest phone, insisted I take a pic of the hairy-legged seagull taunting Scousers across the river.
So I did.