Today we went to Manchester. Not to a trendy eatery, or a hot night spot, but to the set of TV’s longest running soap opera, Coronation Street.

The “Coronation Street Experience” is a tour of the actual set, a closed area in the part of Manchester known as Media City UK. A largish group of us was given a guided tour of the set, at least the bits they use to film the exteriors for the show, and jolly nice it was, too. The Street has been going since 1960, and I have watched it on and off since the late sixties, so there was a genuine interest here. The tour guide, Alfie, was quite good, being professional, funny and he found time to impart some little nuggets of information that I’d not heard before. He gave us some insight to the tricks that are used to make each corner of the set look bigger than it actually is, and how they give the impression that places are further away from each other than the reality, which is usually quite different. Of course, standing on the actual Corrie cobbles was the real treat.

The little exhibition area after the set tour was interesting, including such delights as all the dead character’s coffin nameplates, which was hardly mawkish at all. One big omission was the actors’ names, which were nowhere to be seen, perhaps in an attempt to continue the fantasy.

It was a fun morning, though, especially for the real fans.

I should mention the Imperial War Museum North, right next door. It’s free and while we didn’t see its exhibitions, we did buy some stuff in the gift shop. The museum’s parking, which was where us Corrie types had to park, was run by National Car Parks (NCP). They use a fancy system of spying your plate as you enter and then you can pay as you leave, or later online. One fellow hadn’t worked the system out, had driven in and paid up front. The system of course assumed that he was leaving and gave him ten minutes to leave before being given a penalty charge. Did I mention he was Irish? He did!

After the Street, we hit the M&S Foodhall that lies within the shadow of Old Trafford Stadium, home of Manchester United (boo hiss), and sampled some of Manchester’s finest traffic jams.

Then it was over to Leeds, across the Pennines, to visit the house I was born in on this very day, sixty-five years ago. I hadn’t been back since 1959, which is quite the gap, but at the least the place was still standing, and looked much as it did all those years ago (I don’t have that good a memory, but I do have the photographic evidence). Someone has taken the Blue Plaque off the wall, though… (If you know, you know). The good Mrs. Mayne wanted me to go and knock on the door and introduce myself, but that would be so far beyond my comfort zone that it doesn’t even bear thinking about. I took photographs instead, although even that was a bit dodgy.

As the sun disappears at about 3:45pm in northern England, the light was fading fast. However, we managed a quick dash to Lawnswood Cemetery to have a look at my Grandparents’ grave, something I’d never done before. Given that they both died before I was born there wasn’t too much of an emotional issue for me, but it was a significant task on my list of things to do. I also searched out another family grave (it wasn’t far away), which will add nicely to my family tree knowledge.

Driving in Leeds is a bit of an eye-opener, even on a Sunday. It’s not a huge place but the traffic is constantly heavy, and everyone else seems to be in a dreadful hurry. However, we burst out of the City limits, past Leeds United’s Elland Road ground (again) and headed south on the M1. As we cut across the hills towards Holmfirth, I made a mental not to take too much notice of the Google lady giving instructions, because she had some pretty odd routes for me to take.

My birthday meal was taken at the famous Compo’s Fish and Chip restaurant in Holmfirth. Compo is a reference to the TV show previously mentioned, of course. The food was nice, and the service good, especially given that it was a Sunday night. It most definitely would not have been open in Canada.

Back at the cottage, I made the mistake of trying to reposition the car on its steep, cobbled parking space and found out about the limits of tyre traction on wet cobbles. I discovered that the only way to do it was to take a run at the cobbles and try to stop before hitting the wall. What fun.

It was a long day, and an enjoyable day, and we ticked three things off the list, so that was good.