June 2026. Preston.
A night in Preston, but an afternoon in Lytham, and that meant no pubs in one of the world’s great pub cities. No, it really is, even with the demise of the Greyfriar Moorbrook, with a proper mix of boozers (ugh).
A run of Old Vic, New Continental, Plug & Taps, NIKO’s (for Serbian wine), Black Horse and Chain House is diverse as it gets, as Mrs RM and I found (to our cost) 2 years ago.
We’ll leave the pubs (and Mick’s Mixed Grill) for the next visit, today was culture.
Yes, I know Wallace was born in Wigan, but Gromit is a Proud (and very intelligent) Prestonian.
Mrs RM has been to Preston enough times to be confused by a city at once scruffy and glorious,
and gets diverted by the Victorian splendour of Miller Arcade.
“Meet you in the Harris” I say, completely forgetting just how rambling it is.
One of our top museums, particularly after the post-COVID refresh, the building as compelling as the art.
Despite attendances doubling since that re-opening 6 months ago, it all feels very spacious,
with a refreshing lack of interpretive panels.
All of which makes the rest of the centre feel a bit of a comedown, at least till you head south to the parks.
Mrs RM remembers the photogenic Italian cafe near the station,
Preston’s version of Bewley’s ? Well, a bit cheaper, and you won’t get Manchester tart in Dublin.
retiredmartin 