January 2025. Liverpool. One of my (few) guiding principles in life is that I will never stand still (literally) when there’s a walk to be done, and “Your food will be ready in 10 minutes” is an instruction, not invitation, to skip out of Big Bowl Noodle Bar to find a pub. I’m not sure what the area between the...

January 2026. Liverpool. I hope AI does take over the world. It’s much more polite than the humans. Chat GPT may not know how to count, but it can do useful things like advise on Chinese takeaways. And so it was that in the Roscoe Head I was having a conversation with a robot about the lack of Proper Chinese...

January 2026. Liverpool. Ten minutes walk from Love Lane through Liverpool One‘s shops brings me to my Travelodge, and reminds me I still haven’t repaired that wedding ring I had surgically removed by Ernest Jones Jewellers here in 2023. My room costs £24.99, which in 1993 would have bought you a terraced house in...

January 2026. Liverpool. A third new Liverpool GBG tick in barely an hour brought me to the scruffier bit of the modern city, not far from Toxteth and Cains and all that. Love Lane is notably quieter than the Ropewalks pubs, but seems to have the smartest menu and they’ve pulled out all the stops to make this an...

January 2026. Liverpool. My son Matthew has just had a curated exploration of Stockport’s superior public houses. Well, Runaway, the Crown and the Magnet, for a start. Sending me photos of him drinking Bass under the viaduct creates a feeling of both immense pride and jealousy. Despite living in the heart of...

January 2025. Liverpool. Ten minutes after leaving the Red Cat I was standing next to Sir Ken. Nothing brings happiness (geddit ?) like being in a great pub city with a £24.99 Travelodge booked and a Chinese takeaway recommendation from ChatGPT. A tough choice; revisit the great museums and art galleries behind St...

January 2026. Liverpool. I thought I’d have a night in Liverpool before Peter the Pub Curmudgeon’s funeral 2 stops away in Widnes on Friday. Normally one hour thirty-six to get to the edge of the Pool, say Google Maps. But this was far from a normal rail journey, as I first had to push the emergency button after a...

January 2026. Markbeech. Kent. A last new GBG entry ticked in Kent, not too far from either Kentish Paul or the in-laws. Sadly, a flying visit to the Kentish Horse at Markbeech, only a mile or so from the legendary Queen’s Arms at Cowden Pound. It’s also barely half an hour’s walk from Cowden station, though my...

January 2025. Rye. The trains in Rye are fairly reliable; one an hour to Ashford or Eastbourne. Buses are less reliable (like I’m surprised); the number 313 back to our caravan timed to depart just before the train arrives, or not arrive at all. So my options are a) wait 40 minutes in the cold, b) have a pint in a...

January 2026. Three Oaks. East Sussex. Mrs RM has been manically “improving” her blog, waiting for the next parental crisis. She’s a perfectionist; I guess that why she chose me to marry. Monday saw me in need of fresh air and a pub after a day of relentless drizzle in Rye Harbour, so I jogged (bad idea) to Rye...

January 2026. East Hoathly. East Sussex. We’ve finally shut down our caravan in Rye Harbour (Home 3) afer an extended winter stay. The water pipes had frozen over Christmas, but thankfully hadn’t burst. Sheffield gets the snow; Rye gets the bitter chill. Mrs RM was anxious that I completed those tricky South-Eastern...

January 2026. Tulse Hill. London. Leaving Streatham Spoons I became aware of something big happening in the FA Cup. Macclesfield (no longer Robbie Savage’s Macc) of the 6th division had just taken a 2-nil lead against the Cup holders, cheating Crystal Palace. And I was definitely heading into Palace territory as I...