retiredmartin

December 2025. Manchester.

Normally I meet Matt in Manchester near Piccadilly before a City game, but last Saturday I just fancied getting to the Etihad early and jumped off at Ashbury’s.

Note, map above, the astonishing number of sports stadia in East Manchester, a legacy of the Commonwealth Games of 2002 and the totally above board Abu Dhabi investment.

Note, map below, the astonishing paucity of pubs near the Etihad. I was talking to a couple of Everton fans, lovely lads, and they reckon there’s more places to drink near their new ground by the Mersey than at City.

CAMRA’s pub section reckons the Ardwick (hospitality, I reckon) at the ground sells Holt and Lees; I don’t know anyone who’s ever got in there to find out.

Fans, including a fair few Hammers, head for Beswick and Bradford estate pubs like the Townley, but frankly far more drink Asahi for a bargain fiver on the concourse of the Etihad. Matt does when he goes.

Matt would think it a bit “soft” to watch the City team coach applauded into the ground by a crowd of half-and-half wearing Asian tourists, but they’re the reason we can afford to pay Haaland Lord Pannick a million quid a week to defend us against the 115, which sounds like a Spartan epic.

My youngest lad has also worked out the quickest walk back to town after the final whistle (never a second before), and after battering the weakest West Ham team in years I sprinted along the Ashton canal.

I should count my lucky stars that, despite my terrible diet and the last 3 years scuppering my exercise plans, I can outpace anyone on that 30 minute walk to Piccadilly. Put me on a flat track and no-one will match my pace, a bit like Stafford Paul when there’s a pub round that dark corner.

Worryingly, put me at the foot of the hill and I start to feel my age. Just don’t tell Will that.