retiredmartin

September 2026. Salford.

Two quick ticks by two in Flixton and Urmston, and I’m safely back from Trafford at Oxford Road station, where I decide this odd staircase is the highlight.

I’d hoped to minimise the walking last Tuesday, but decide you can walk off a broken leg, so head through majestic Manchester to my hotel for the night.

Nope, not the Midland.

Mrs RM and I stayed there 30 years ago for £60, our first real visit to the eternal city finding Holt Bitter for a quid a pint in the new Old Monkey.

I’m headed across the Irwell to Salford,

but just as I walk under the rails of Salford Central I get a call from Matt asking if I can come and get my haircut early.

That haircut was overdue; I was looking like a member of Cutting Crew mentioned last post.

Cutting Crew is a good name for a barbers, but it’s not as classy sounding as Helvete. I feel better having been shorn, but I’ve now clocked up 15,000 steps already and need a rest.

But first, a pint of Holt Bitter below my £45 room (quiet, clean) for the night.

It’s the first pulled of the day, but actually pretty GOOD, if a bit too cool.

No longer a Holt pub, and its short spell in the GBG a distant memory, it’s got a proper Salford feel, helped by a video soundtrack firmly in 1981. Madness, The Police and the Bill.

I’m convinced I haven’t heard “Je Sui En Rock Star” in 45 years.

It’s better than anything Mick Jagger did solo, I’ll say that.