August 2025. Stratford-upon-Avon.
You’ll know this blog hasn’t been too kind to Stratford-upon-Avon over the years, calling it “an irredeemable dump” in 2023, a Northern Midland Maidenhead if you like.
But I hadn’t actually visited the town in over a decade, so when Mrs RM wanted to get material for post on steam punk sites (honest) I thought I’d tag along.
She took the bus to Shakespeare’s House;
I walked through the northern industrial estates to McDonalds.
It’s a tourist town, to be sure, perhaps a little less so than 30 years ago, but the staff in McDonalds and Lloyds were friendly and charming.
And the pedestrianised heart of town was a floral delight,
with the timber lovingly maintained.
It was all happening on Henley Street (PRESS PLAY),
where Morris Men competed with the Mother of the Bride.
I normally detest sort of thing, but it somehow made Stratford seem more “normal” than I remembered.
So, what did I do, apart from reel from shock at the Morris Men’s bawdy humour and admire the beams. Well, definitely nothing to do with Shakey, that’s for sure.
“Fancy a pint in the Garrick ?”.
retiredmartin 