retiredmartin

July 2025, Macclesfield.

It wasn’t even 5pm and Mrs RM was already winding down the pub crawl round Macclesfield. Unlike some folk I could name, she hadn’t started at 9am, either.

Shamefully, she was about to call an Uber, an Uber !, to take her us back to Sutton Hall, but only once she’d seen the Castle.

Now, I reckon the re-opened Castle is a tourist attraction in its own right, and I was determined Mrs RM should see the room on the left, one of our great pub rooms.

Instead, she plonked herself in the snug.

Now, I should admire this; I’d never get a seat in the snug, and it’s a great place to observe a steady stream of cask (mostly Wincle today).

Beartown (3.5) for us, thrillingly paired with chocolate fudge brownie from the sort of plastic container usually housing cheese and onion cobs baps.

Mrs RM never does get to see the Castle, that Uber tipping up outside the Waters Green with minutes of the order.

The next morning we skip the expensive Brunning & Price breakfast in favour of a somewhat cheaper offer in Spoons, and I consider asking the ale suggestion box (looking suspiciously like Lord Buckethead) to stock Bass for £1.99 (pre-voucher).

And then we head into the post bit of Macc on the B5087 up towards where footballers live.

Mrs RM wants to tick Hare Hill, the National Trust equivalent of pinking in Ye Olde George & Dragon.

A solid bit of old parkland surrounding a decaying walled garden, the most middle-class book shelf in Cheshire,

and one of those completely unnecessary “Worry Boxes” dreamed up the Trust’s Assistant Deputy Director of Fluff.

STOP WITH THE WORDS !!!

More words just up the road at the actual edge of Alderley Edge, champagne capital of the UK, but at least they’re describing different walking routes for your Emily and Charlie to wander.

“Don’t go any closer to the edge !” shrieks Charlie’s mum.