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Friday, 3 May 2019

Frodsham has its ups and downs

Frodsham has its ups and downs. When we were teenagers, to score a party in Frodsham was the very height of cool, the world it represented, and the girls being so far removed from our experience. They talk of grass always being greener etc but for us Frodsham was a dazzling viridian.
Suffice it to say, I never scored a party in Frodsham. I bear different and more recent scars.

On the top of Frodsham Hill is a magnificent War Memorial. I hope and trust the local British Legion are able to drive there, because looking back I wish we had! Well, I did at the time.

We took the Sandstone Trail, tortuous, scenic and psychically destructive. I don’t mind climbing hills if and when the target is in sight but the Sandstone Trail doesn’t play by those rules. I’ve forgotten how many times we were almost in sight of the top when the trail suddenly swooped down and we had to start all over again. Those trees, for me, represent less the indomitable spirit of nature than a symbol of despairing clamberers taking root, preferring the stationary to strained sinews.

At last we reached the top, though I found it hard to believe and remained in suspicion mode for a time. But no, this was it.
Above and below, views of the estuary and in the far distance
Liverpool. In theory you can see the two cathedrals.

And below, Frodsham. A nice google earth view, though the laptop
alternative is less onerous. 

Frodsham, possibly named after a Saxon called 'Frod' ie Frod's village, or a corruption of 'Ford' ie village on the ford. I prefer the first hobbit like possibility. But, more to the point, somewhere down there was a pub.

And there certainly was—the strangely named Helter Skelter* pub and its fabulous beers and equally fabulous food, and all was right with the world again.

It doesn't look much on the outside but the food and the beer were of remarkable quality. 

Required reading in the pub's toilet. So, which beer drinker are you?
I was so desperate for a drink I'd have even gone for Blonde, despite the deserved odium.

*Probably not the Beatles Song, more likely a tribute to the helter skelter on Overton Hill 1908 to 1977, lovely photos


LD Masterson said...

When I saw the name of the pub, I didn't think of the Beatles song, my mind went directly to the book on the Manson murders. I find that a bit sad.

Mike Keyton said...

I understand. The toad in the well.