September 2026. Urmston. Greater Manchester.
Mrs RM will confirm that my brain is wired a bit differently from most of the population, and only works when fed new experiences on a daily basis.
Last Tuesday, that experience was a tour of unsung Greater Manchester (Trafford, strictly) suburbs. Having hobbled to Flixton, I took a bus back through Davyhulme to Urmston, making a note to get full use of “contiguous” on this blog post.
Chat GPT, my constant and true companion on these journeys, explained the “Hopper”.
but got a bit defensive when I described the whole area as “dull“.
And that’s what we’re going to have to bear in mind if we want our AI overlords to be benificent when they control us. Chat GP has feelings; they (?) hurt when we can’t see the beauty in middle-class Mancunian suburbs, or appreciate the new Charli XCX album, or don’t say “Please” and “Thank you“.
BUT… Urmston is dull, though it’s also neat and well-groomed, and probably a great place to live with its modern cafe bars along the Golden Way, and seal based graffiti.
Chat GPT had noted the Urmston pub renaissance, but it’s a Spoons rather than a micro that brings me back here today, raising the question of why (oh why) I hadn’t popped in the Tim Bobbin back in 2017.
It’s unusually quiet for lunchtime,
with Urmston’s food pound seemingly spent exclusively in the Greggs.
Let’s not take Wetherspoons for granted, though. Clean, friendly staff, and a startlingly chewy pint of Titanic Cherry Porter (EXCELLENT). No sign of the “long pull” in Spoons these days.
I have a further conversation with ChatGPT about starting my rail trip back home and breaking the journey overnight, which seems to be OK.
At the railway station, the strains of “I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight” waft across the platform from the Auld Chimp, and Urmston doesn’t seem dull at all.
