retiredmartin

19th February 2023.

Two Sunday ticks, sort of, but I was more interested in persuading Mrs RM of the charms of Stockton before we headed home.

She hadn’t warmed to a town centre whose main drag was in the middle of being demolished,

but you should never judge a town on its indoor shopping centre, and the plans for the new riverside looked as impressive as the restored Globe theatre.

But it was the Stockton Flyer that Blackpool Jane had been enthusing about we came to see.

At 1pm every day, SOMETHING HAPPENS. No idea what, steam punk I think. Mrs RM braved a chilly day to join a trio of Asian tourists who’d come to see it (or perhaps the banked Bass across the road).

Inside the Flyer is what I assume is an early autovac machine, but I’m no beer expert.

1pm came and went. Was this a con ?

And then it started (press PLAY).

Once again, the centre seemed virtually deserted on a Sunday. But these things change, and I shall continue to promote Stockton’s marvellous art.

Mrs RM finally succumbed to the beauty of the yards down which lie micropubs,

and obscure Beatles references.

We nipped in the Spoons for a wee to admire the ceiling,

and it was at this point that Mrs RM told me that the day before a drunk bloke had hurled himself from the Thomas Sheraton, missing his booked taxi by 3 feet. And, rather than filming this episode, she’d helped him into his Uber.

She make make a nice human being, but she’ll never make a blogger.