mightaswell.

There you are, just relaxing a little, going on holiday for a bit, walking round the Alps, chasing cows and all that, and all of a sudden it’s been several weeks without a proper blog post. But here we go again – more Manchester exploration!

On a rather crappy Saturday morning we decided to go for a little walk round West Didsbury and, suddenly taken by an unexpected spirit of adventure, felt the urge to simply get on the bus and go somewhere we hadn’t been before: Stockport. Armed with a bagel and a cup of tea from the local deli, we boarded the grand ship that is the 42 Stagecoach (top deck, front seats!) and I couldn’t help but feel a little like the unirider version of Columbus, having set off for a short walk, then accidentally ending up discovering a whole new world.*

After a surprisingly short bus ride, leaving behind Parrs Wood, the Heatons (or was it just ‘a’ Heaton?) and a pub in a massive roundabout, we arrived at Stockport bus station, which has a, well,  interesting 1970s feel to it. Our first destination, the Hat Museum, was conveniently located right next to the bus station – never mind the confusing directions to the main entrance, which led us up the stairs to the rather magnificent Stockport Plaza cinema and down some back alley. The lady in the museum seemed enthusiastic to welcome us, which wasn’t surprising as we were the only visitors except for a group of old ladies. The museum itself was much smaller than I had expected given the size of the building that houses it, but the ground floor with the different machines used for hat production reminded me a lot of the Power Hall at MOSI with its impressive steam engines. Some of the machines are still in working condition, and I’d love to join a tour at some point to see them live in action!

Our exploration of Stockport continued with a trip to the market, which was disappointing at first (the stalls outside the market hall), but quickly turned rather delightful as we discovered the cheese stall inside the market building. If you ever fancy some port wine cheddar, or perhaps a tangy lemon crumble Cheshire cheese, that stall is the place to go. We washed down the generous cheese samples with some coffee from St Mary’s church across the road, which is surprisingly pretty on the inside, and offers a nice view (modulo scruffy back gardens) across the Pennines from the outside. I also learned that the words to ‘By the Rivers of Babylon’ were not written by Boney M, but that they are from the bible. That, or the people who built St Mary’s thought it was funny to include a little disco pop on their stained glass windows.

And since our bellies were not quite filled yet, we went for a cheeky chippy tea at Pisces just down the road from the market. The chips were chippy, the pie pie-y and the peas mushy – and I was in heaven. Looking down onto the street from the 1st floor of the building I may have even muttered the word ‘quaint’ – yes, I was looking at YOU, Stockport. I bet you didn’t expect that from angry auntie Sam, eh!

Before boarding the 42 back into Manchester, we finished off our trip in true class with a short visit to the high street, Poundland, and the many shopping centres in Stockport’s city centre. To continue my series of fantastic marketing slogans for Manchester (including gems such as ‘Burnage – it could be worse.’ and ‘Baa Bar – not shit until 9pm!’), I’ve come up with one for Stockport: ‘Saturday Shopping in Stockport – same shops as everywhere, but not quite as shit as Market Street!’. Might need a little refinement.

Have I actually mentioned my bike? I’ve got a bike. The best bike in the world, to be precise. I got it from one of my favourite people, almost a year ago, and the first time I was riding it down a quiet and leafy street in Didsbury I started to cry, which was followed by a celebratory bottle or two glass of wine. A glorious day.

Anythatwasthemotherofallhangoversway, last week marked the beginning of my favourite time of the year in Manchester – the 6 months of “oh it’s getting warm…nope, not quite yet…but now!! No… no, still not warm enough to wear short sleeves. OH there it is, that must be it, Summer! No, no…false alarm. Whoops, it’s November again. Well that was that then, I guess. Better luck next year.” Highly determined to make the best of the few hours of sunshine I can get here every year, I put on a floral print dress – my official summer uniform – got on my bike and cycled down to Levy for some food at POD and a visit to the superawesome Laurie Pink, but more about that later.

The excitement had me as soon as I had caught a glimpse of the magnificent trees blooming on Fog Lane that stood bright and colourful in the Sunday sun. I cycled faster. We crossed Kingsway into Burnage. I gasped: My first visit to Burnage. BURN. AGE. Famous for being the home of the Gallagher brothers, Dave Rowbotham of the Durutti Column being murdered in his flat, and… uhm… yeah. That record shop, I guess. I excpected tumbleweeds, gunmen and saloon doors, but I only saw a wide tree lined road, a country pub-ish looking pub with the poetic name ‘The Sun in September‘ and several parks, including the rather vast Cringle Park, luring us in with the promise of seeing an ‘Indian Bean Tree’ that couldn’t be spotted – if anyone has managed to find the location of the ‘Indian Bean Tree’, please do let me know. The bike ride, the greens, the country pub-ish pub and the sun had made me so enthusiastic however, I even came up with a marketing slogan for letting agents who would like to advertise properties in the area: “Burnage – it could be worse.”

Having crossed Cringle park, we suddenly found ourselves in the heart of Levenshulme, only two minutes away from POD, which, once again, didn’t fail to amaze me with the tastiness of its food as well as the slowness of the ordering and food preparing process. But to be completely honest, I actually prefer anticipation up to the point of self-torture to the finished product - this is exactly the right place for me.

On the way back, we paid a visit to the wonderful Laurie Pink who I had met on my first trip to Levenshulme last year. The crazy lady had put herself through a 24 hour drawing marathon to create dozens of drawings for everyone who donated for Comic Relief – raising over £1300 pounds in one day. I had commissioned a royal portrait for my cycling companion, the mighty Robot Swan King (yeah… don’t ask), which we had come to pick up that afternoon. We were welcomed by Arthur and Smith, two incredibly lovely whippets, a pouting cat, actor/singer/comedian Mitch Benn, who was sat in the kitchen watching roller derby videos, and a room with walls covered in drawings as a proof of Laurie’s hard work*. Having swapped cake for drawings, we hopped onto our bikes and cycled back down south – not without stopping by at the ‘Sun in September’ for a cheeky half of fizzy apple juice. I’m living life on the edge.

* madness

If you put England in a big rectangular box, you may find that Nottingham is pretty much exactly in the centre of this box. Well, maybe after chopping after off some pointy ends… sorry Northumberland, but your north half is history… you too, Cornwall… and take Devon with you… Oh, just go with me on that one.