Southport and Crosby

Up at a reasonable hour we pop round to L’s and admire her loft conversion and wonderful homemade scotch pancakes, fresh off the griddle.

Next we’re off to Southport to make the most of what is a most glorious winter’s day, fresh and sunny.



For the first time I visit the café and amusements building at the end of the pier. The architecture is wonderful – a wall of glass leaning out over the, well not sea exactly, this is Southport after all, the sea is some miles away most of the day, but the expanse of wet sand. Sadly the café does not meet the standard of it’s venue and we just have a drink, deciding lunch can wait for a better outlet.

We spend a happy half hour with our handfuls of ‘old pennies’ playing the gorgeous old slot machines and getting our fortunes told by Madame Zasha (complete with drawing pin for bindi), before heading back down the pier and into the town.

We treat ourselves to some fish and chips, well it seems only right, before hitting the shops.



We stick to the nice bits, the gorgeous old arcades and second hand bookstores. As we walk I look up at the beautiful glass and iron roof and wonder why modern shopping malls can spend millions and never get close to this level of style.

Having finished each other’s sentences at various points through the morning, things come to a climax in one shoe shop sale as we browse back to back, concentrating on our respective size racks. At the exact same moment we turn to each other and say “what do you think of these?” and look down and see we’re holding identical shoes.

They look better on S than on me, but sadly in her size there is a colour variation between the left and the right, that is too much to ignore; so we leave empty handed.

Walking back to the front, we decide to make the most of the last of the daylight and head on to one of my favourite places in the world - Crosby beach and Anthony Gormley’s Another Place.

Ice creams in hand, we head to the sands and go for a glorious walk enjoying the changing colours as the bright daylight starts to fade and the sun sets below the horizon.



There are also photos of S (which I'm too much of a friend to post publically), with her leg flung over shoulder of one statue as she hangs on for dear life in an attempt to get onto its shoulders. I text one particularly amusing shot to P with the caption “your wife is molesting public art” and receive the response “I’m rarely lost for words…”.

After previous attempts to find decent food nearby, we decide not to bother and figure that the café in M&S at Gemini just off the M62 would be a call to sit out the worst of the Manchester bound traffic, whilst also providing a last shopping opportunity. Not the most glamorous of options, but we only want a light bite and it’s convenient.

We make it back to Manchester in time for me to drop S off at the station with ten minutes to spare before her train back to Wolverhampton.

A perfect day, to round off a pretty damn wonderful week.