The platform for our train was announced well in advance, allowing us to board our train without the unseemly haste necessary because of short notice in some London stations.

We are travelling by Virgin Trains and have seats in Coach A. This is the Quiet Carriage in which telephone calls and other noisy manifestations of unsocial human behaviour are supposedly banned, a rule which, in my experience, is all too often ignored.

We stop at Crewe (does anyone ever go to Crewe except to change trains?). It is the last stop before Euston but that’s still an hour and a half away.

In-train entertainment

I managed to doze for a while and when I came to, we were passing through Harrow and shortly afterwards we heard the “shortly arriving” announcement.

Soon the train stopped and we stepped out onto the platform at Euston. (Photo by Tigger.) Just a short bus ride lay between us and home.

When I went to bed last night, there was a certain amount of noise from late-night revellers, raised voices in the street and the faint thud-thud of music communicated by vibration. Fortunately, these sounds were not loud enough to stop me sleeping. I assumed that the sounds of revelry would peter out around 2 or 3 am as they had once when we found ourselves in a similar situation during a visit to Blackpool.

Imagine my surprise, then, on awaking this morning to hear the same rhythmic vibration and the same loud voices in the street. Mancunians take their revelries seriously, it seems.

This relatively benign sonic background was soon over-ridden by an altogether more nerve-grating din: that of a series of wheelie bins loaded with empty bottles being emptied into the large refuse containers at the rear of the building.

Having showered and dressed, I have to pack. This always makes me nervous even though, on a trip like this, we travel light and there are not enough items to convincingly fill my little suitcase. An apartment is worse than a hotel room because it’s bigger and there are more hiding places where objects can hide. I ought to make a list but though I tell myself that after every trip, I never actually do it.

Eventually, all is rounded up and stowed away. We take one last look around at a strangely tidy apartment. In the corridor beyond our front door, I wave my arms to trigger the motion-sensor that turns on the light. (When we first arrived, we pressed what we thought was the light switch. We later realised it was the doorbell of the flat opposite ours. Fortunately, that flat seems to be unoccupied.)

The lift takes a long time to arrive and when it does, the doors open very slowly. When Tigger presses the button, the whole panel moves slightly and the lights flicker. As the doors close with the same reluctant slowness, Tigger suggests that the apartment, the lift, the concierge to whom we hand the key, are not real – it’s all a cgi film set and now we’re leaving, it’s beginning to fade out.

In the street, I photograph the front door before it melts away for ever:

Then we walk down the road, dodging the cleaners clearing away the debris of last night and cafe staff putting out tables and chairs for the new day.

Making our way round the corner, we take up position at the stop for the number 2 free bus. This soon arrives and takes us to Piccadilly Station.

Here we have breakfast at a busy Caffè Nero, after which we check how much time we have before our train at 12:55.

Hampered as we are by our bags, we decide to go sightseeing the convenient way: aboard the faithful free bus number 2, of course!

Having completed a circuit on the 2, we have come to Hourglass, a cafe on the terrace of Piccadilly Station. From here we can watch the comings and goings of people on the station concourse below. In a while, that will be us, presenting our tickets at the glass-door barrier and hurrying to our train.

Last thoughts about Manchester? On previous visits, I have felt that I am in an unfamiliar town, lost among streets of which I have no memory. This time, in contrast, the town feels familiar. This in turn induces the knowledge that however much we have seen on this trip, there remains much more that we did not see or to which we did not have time to give to the attention it deserves. If Manchester is not yet quite on a level in my affections with Glasgow and Brussels, it has at least risen to a place somewhere near that.

Over tea in the Manchester Art Gallery, we discussed what we would do this evening. One thing we were both agreed on: we were tired and needed to go home and rest before doing anything else.

Having rested, what would we do for supper: go out to a restaurant or eat in? The decision was not hard to make: on the way to the bus stop, we went into a branch of Sainsbury’s and grabbed a few items off the shelves. Not only would this save us going out and looking around for a restaurant but it was also cheaper! Game, set and match.

If we need entertainment, we have Tigger’s iPad on which to watch a film or episodes from one of the series we follow.

The journey home was accomplished by taking first the free bus 1 then changing to the 2. This was not the most efficient way of reaching our goal but we knew the buses would take us there infallibly and, after all, as their name indicates, they are free!

I am writing this recumbent upon our bed (the one with the bouncy mattress), having made tea and put my hard-working electronic devices on charge.

At some point, we shall emerge from our well-earned lethargy to make supper and spend the rest of the evening in some restful but entertaining manner.

This was the last full day of our Manchester jaunt and tomorrow we swap this vibrant city for the metropolis which is home. I shall be a little sad to leave because we have enjoyed our explorations and our interactions with those cheerful Mancunians we have met along the way. What more can I say but that we shall certainly come back one of these days.

The day has started wet. Will it clear up later? That’s anyone’s guess in this city renowned for rain.

We start as usual with breakfast at Caffè Nero. Then we take free bus number – were you paying attention before? – yes! Number 2!

Later, though, we had to change to a bus on which you pay.

This brought us to Salford Museum and Art Gallery. This has a rather special exhibit that we had not seen on our last visit because it was closed then. Today, happily, it was open.

Called Larkhill Place, it is a mock-up of a Victorian Street. You can enter and walk around, viewing the interiors of the houses and shops.

The lighting is that of nighttime, lit by lamps. This better preserves the illusion but makes photography difficult.

The pub

The grocer’s

John Hamer’s pharmacy

Workshop of William Bracegirdle, blacksmith and wheelwright

House interior

Upper class interior

Glimpse of a Victorian parlour

The family saloon 🙂

As well as the visible street there were sounds, particularly the buzz of conversation and the rattle of pots from the pub. The cobbles are glazed to give the impression that they are wet but they are in fact dry and smooth to walk on.

After visiting Larkhill Place, we returned to 2019 and took refreshment in the museum cafe.

Doll’s house

We toured the rest of the exhibits. In the central room on the first floor, multifarious objects were arranged in alphabetical order, a most peculiar way of doing things.

Ventriloquist’s dummies

I also found the lack of labelling throughout the museum annoying and frustrating. There were cards and folders with details, meaning that if an object interested you, it would be necessary to hunt for it in the printed references. Mostly, I just gave up.

We visited the Victoria Gallery which contains a selection of art from that period, typically worthy but dull as Victorian art tends to be.

Orrery

The only item that I felt like photographing was this orrery by Philip Son & Nephew of Liverpool which was, unusually, actually labelled. It isn’t Victorian, though, but dates to early 20th century.

Suits of armour

If the smaller suit of armour looks as though it was made for a child that’s because it was: it is a suit for a knight’s page.

This is a potter’s wheel that belonged to local ceramics firm Pilkington’s that unfortunately went into administration in 2010.

From the museum, we tool a bus to a nearby shopping centre to look for lunch. When that didn’t pan out we took this little hopper bus to a place we have already visited. See whether the next picture suggests where that is.

Remember my “ugly lump of a building”? If you guessed the Lowry, you are right. We are having a second shot at it.

First, though, we wanted lunch and so we have come to this branch of Café Rouge conveniently near the gallery.

Soup’s up!

After lunch we went across to the Lowry and this time were able to visit the artworks.

Photography was not allowed so here is a picture of Salford Quays instead,

We now caught a number 50 bus back to town. We left the bus here:

This is the entrance of the Manchester Art Gallery. Admission is free and photography is permitted.

We took the lift to the second floor where this human figure is suspended over the stairs.

The gallery here featured Nordic Design. Important, I suppose, but not wildly exciting.

The next gallery, Tigger tells me, is about political protest. Pass!

Coming home from the mill, L.S. Lowry, 1928

In one room were paintings by Lowry and in this gallery, photography is allowed, so here (above) is a Lowry, with his famous thin human figures. (Lowry, of course, did much more than these peopled scenes but it is for them that he is popularly remembered.)

These two paintings hang in the gallery entrance;

Albert Square, Manchester, Adolphe Valette, 1910

Albert Square, Manchester (after Valette), Emily Allchurch, 2015

I think they speak for themselves.

Maybe this photo by Tigger also speaks for itself:

Catching up (SilverTiger blogging), Tigger, 2019

We are resting in the art gallery cafe. I will pick up the story later.

Altrincham is the end of the tram line. The only way you can go from here is back the way you came. The trams share a station with the railway.

This is one of a set of old-style posters, all bearing the same message but each referencing a different town. The message? “Meander the Mid Cheshire Line and Enjoy Marvellous Days Out”.

Opposite the station tram terminus is the Station Hotel. Today just a pub, it was probably built to serve passengers for the railway station in the mid to late Victorian period. We could not find a date on the building but the style is suggestive of that period.

This clock tower, now looking rather lonely and in need of some sympathetic attention, was built in 1880 when its position was within the forecourt of the railway station.

Yes, another old Burton’s store. This one is in “modern” style and bears the familiar Burton logo at intervals around the base. There are two foundation stones, dated 1936, by Raymond Montague Burton and Arnold James Burton, respectively.

This quietly handsome building whose design makes the most if its corner site, bears the date MDCCCLXXXIII – 1883. There is now no indication that I can see as to its purpose or original owner. The large windows on the ground floor suggest that it might have been a retail establishment.

This large building caught my eye because of its size. I can only guess that it is an early 20th-century department store.

We spent a while relaxing in a coffee bar before making our way back to the barbarously named “Interchange”. It’s just a station and the fact that you can catch buses, trams and trains here doesn’t alter the fact.

As we reached the platform a tram for Piccadilly was about to leave so we went aboard.

We changed trams in order to reach Salford Quays. We should have gone one stop further but we could reach our goal by walking.

And this ugly lump of building is where we were heading: known as The Lowry, it is a gallery containing works of L.S. Lowry.

We stopped for tea at the gallery cafe which was our undoing because the gallery closes at 6 pm and it was 5:55 by the time we realized the time.

We walked to the tram stop and took the tram back to Piccadilly (the railway station).

Carluccio’s

At Piccadilly station there is a branch of Carluccio’s Italian restaurant so we had an early supper there before catching the by now familiar free bus number 2 which brought us almost to our door.

I was quite tired by now and was glad to make tea and rest. Well, not quite: before I could settle down, I had to take a phone call from my sister and nephew in Canada, ringing to wish me a happy birthday for next Saturday.

That done, I could finally put my feet up and mull over the day’s adventures.