February 2026. Timperley. Greater Manchester.
On Saturday I dropped Mrs RM off at Manchester Airport after an exciting trip through Wynatt’s Pass and less absorbing trek along the A555, which let me tell you in no A57.
Mrs RM was off on another planet-killing trip with a very famous pub blogger, but it wasn’t me (no spoilers !), as I had more important work to attend to.
A 20 minute metro hop on the posh Manc line brings you from Piccadilly to Timperley, for the first time on this blog.
To say I was shaking with excitement would be a gross understatement.
Chat GPT listened attentively to my request for “essential Timperley”, and suggested, well, not a lot. “A 3-5 minute walk from the metro to the one unmissable sight“, it says. But Chat GPT clearly has duff info; it probably gets the facts off my blog.
It’s 20 minutes of dull suburbia along Park Road from metro to village centre,
but I like dull suburbia, particularly interspersed with a bit of unloved community garden,
and spiky Holy Cross church (“good for teddy bears picnic” – Google).
At the crossroads you get a Greene King pub gearing up for Rugby Union (ugh),
a betting shop, Costa and “Street Food“, which turns out to be a spectacularly unfussy little (3 tables) Asian cafe,
where the Hot & Sour Beef is as lethally spicy as you could wish,
and I spend 20 minutes wondering whether I should eat the plums in the jasmine tea (YES, but not the stones, idiot). Superb value, too.
“I’ll come back” I tell the Chinese owner, but I really won’t, unless the Stonemasons Arms gets in the Guide, and these days who can tell ?
Oh, there he is;
Timperley has a rich musical history, the Stone Roses (no, me neither) have roots here, but you’ll know it for Frank Sidebottom (above) and his mate Chris Sievey, whose John Peel favourite remains a classic.
But what of the pubs ? I knew you’d ask.
retiredmartin 