September 2026. Manchester.
Early September is always an odd time for this #PubMan, with the new Good Beer Guide about to drop* (ugh), a recovery period after the annual music festival down in Dorset, and the change in the weather putting elderly parents at increased risk.
While I spent 4 days walking between stages either end of a stately home, Mrs RM was touring Europe (again) with Blackpool Jane. Bratislava, Vienna, Prague, Manchester. Four (4) capitals, there.
I had a Gia Margaret gig in the Nothern Quarter a day after my homecomong, a daft thing to schedule in, and arrived at Piccadilly just before Mrs RM. I love the architecture outside Manchester’s main station, both old,
and the new of the “lazy S”.
Why do folk carry so much wardrobe around in those huge cases ? Mrs RM managed a week with One Small Bag. Talking of Mrs RM, I made hasty arrangements to meet in the Tap, which for a change wasn’t packed.
Now, it is a very stupid thing to do, arriving in Manchester six hours before a gig. I mean, what are you going to do, but drink like a fish ?
An overdue revisit to the Piccadilly Tap. I really ought to rank those Taps, but someone would take it too seriously.
This one has just passed a decade as a reliable station bar, not exactly “beers you’ve heard of“, but not as shiny as the breweries under the arches. That line-up could have appeared in 2016.
Very decent prices, too. That Weekend Project was cool, though I couldn’t warm to it.
Matt used to come here occasionally to play pool upstairs, but even though he only lived 30 seconds around the corner, and the cask is under a fiver, it was only “occasionally”.
It’s still a transit pub rather than one you’d while away an afternoon, and within 5 minutes of an emotional reunion with Mrs RM we’d headed out into the drizzle. How I’ve missed the Manchester drizzle.
*It just has. Embargoed, but BRAPA will not be happy
retiredmartin 