retiredmartin

June 2026. Preston.

At last ! We’re leaving Yorkshire ! I’d forgotten what it was like to be able to wake up on a Saturday morning with freedom to go anywhere I want as long as I’m home by tea so Mrs RM can check her blog clicks.

Mrs RM had bought some walking shoes that cost nearly as much as my Manchester City season ticket from a lovely little industrial estate in Whalley, near the old Calderstones learning disability “hospital” of my NHS days. Back home those shoes were deemed too heavy, and I planned a 86 mile return trip that would coincide with a pub tick or two on the edge of beautiful Bowland.

Well, at least St Wilfrids Club in Longridge isn’t a Lancashire micro, and there is mild embarassment as I confuse Wildrid’s with Winifred’s of Grandma fame,

but the only remarkable thing about this quick bargain half of Moorhouses (3) is the 11am Sunday trade.

There must be 60 people in here, and they haven’t just come from the Catholic church across the road.

I’d like to have dawdled in Longridge for an hour; it’s a town I’ve never really got to understand, but they’ll be a new micro soon enough, looks quite a linear pub crawl.

But we’re off to Preston and then Lytham, where we’re meeting Blackpool Jane on her triumphant return to blogging.

And we’ve got a twenty-five (£25) room in central Preston, next to Zinedine Zidane’s new restaurant.

Now £25 is a bargain night, even in Preston on a Sunday, albeit not quite as luxurious as the Premier Inn near Mick’s Hut.

But it does have one downside; that meagre 3.4/5 rating explained in the comments on the car park.

“I also ventured into the hotel’s infamous car park—and the rumours are true. It’s cramped, the bays are tight, and only the most battle-hardened drivers should attempt it. Reversing cameras and parking sensors? More panic-inducing than helpful in this arena.”

I was glad to have Mrs RM with me to help me manoeuvre into a space (the ascent up that ramp was bad enough); I wouldn’t want to attempt it after 8 pints of Old Tom in the Black Horse.

Or even 8 pints of Old Brewery Bitter at the first pub you come to on the 15 minute walk into town.

I think I can attribute that blurry photo to my nerves after parking and then negotiating the entry from car park to reception.

As you’ll know, I love Preston, would have happily moved there in 2020 if it had been just a bit closer to the parents, but it really does divide opinion.

I mean, there are folk who DON’T think the Guild Hall is a masterpiece…