retiredmartin

June 2025. Scunthorpe.

One of these days I will spend 24 hours at home. But not today.

In this endless English Summer, Sheffield is on the first train for the coast. Or at least, the train to Scunthorpe where a bus replacement service awaits.

This is the first time I’ve seen “Scunthorpe” as the end destination for a train, and it’s a town I’ve completely overlooked since moving North. And that’s despite Retired Martin celebrating it’s charms. A posh lady from North Wales (probably Bangor) asks me if we’ve arrived, and we briefly bond over a shared experience; our first ever time at Scunthorpe Station.

It’s 2:40pm on a Monday. What to do ? I’d asked my best mate for ideas;

The suggestions weren’t great, two parks and two museums,

and 20-21 was closed, so I’ll have to go back, like Jack in Lost.

Never mind, North Lincs Museum is just outside the station.

If there’s one thing the UK does pretty well it’s little social history museums like this,

where you’re greeted by the remains of the last person to take their mobile phone out in the Berkeley Hotel.

The usual mix of palaeontology, industrial unrest,

local customs,

in this case the mysterious Haxey Hood,

and recreations of life in the typical 1970s semi.

OK, there’s not much interactive, and nothing about Scunny’s football, pubs or Chinese takeaways, but in all other aspects it’s a rambling delight.

Enough culture, let’s explore the craft offer.