Looking back at my blog I noticed there was a glaring
omission from the Cheshire section, namely Knutsford. However persuading Neil to go back there was
another matter. A bribe of battered
burger at the Pepper Street Fryer in Nantwich worked, so he was then held
captive in the car for a detour to Knutsford.
We’ve been having rather beautiful weather in the north
lately, which is a complete novelty to us sun deprived northerners. So it was good to take a trip into leafy
Cheshire, although my car proved to be an effective sauna until I remembered
how to work the aircon.
Getting to Knutsford from north Manchester is simple as you
take the M60, M62, M6, junction 19 and follow the signs to Knutsford. When we lived in south Manchester we used to
go M60, M56 and then either the A556 or A538, but I prefer the M6 as it’s both
quicker and a shorter drive once you exit the motorway, although you can get a
train from Manchester which drops you in the heart of the town.
Parking in Knutsford is straightforward - either you can park on the road for 30 minutes
or in the car park on Tatton Street where you can park for 2 hours for £1.
Knutsford is a very well-to-do market town with what I call
two indicators of posh – a Waitrose mini supermarket and a Barbour shop. The town itself is built on the side of a
hill and this splits the town centre in two.
Top of the hill is Princess Street and bottom is King Street. As the streets are so narrow, there is a one
way system for the owners of high performance cars and midlife crisis motor bikers
to negotiate.
Knutsford has evolved over the centuries and was recorded in
the Domesday Book. In the 19th
century the place was immortalised by Elizabeth Gaskell in the novel
Cranford. With the BBC TV series this
place has become a draw for tourists and sure enough we found Japanese tourists
taking photos on Princess Street.
Tucked away on Church Street is a tiny indoor market selling
pet stuff, cheap odds and ends, plants and locally sourced meat and veg. Once a month there is an artisan market that
pops up too.
King Street seems to be the most popular street and there
seems to be an on-going battle between pedestrians and cars to navigate this
street as both the pavements and street is so tiny. It’s not helped by the fact there is parking
on the street too. The best eavesdropped conversation was whilst being stuck
behind a mother and daughter. They were
discussing career options. The mother
suggested fashion; however, the daughter said ‘I don’t want to spend my days
with bitchy girls’. Looking at the
mother, who was clad head to foot in designer gear, I do think she was trying
to live her dreams vicariously through her daughter. An evil thought passed through my head and I
thought the daughter could piss her mother off by training to become a doctor
or nurse and do something meaningful with her life.
Walking along through Knutsford was pretty much an
encapsulation of the worst excesses of moneyed Cheshire life – a case of style
over substance. Designer boutiques,
exclusive bars and restaurants, extravagant florists, bling fantastic jewellers
and extravagant cars. The thing that
struck me most was the fact that one restaurant was closed for a private party
and had a sign that said ‘guest list only’.
A private party is just that, private.
A guest list is just a conceit. I didn’t half feel like I was lowering
the tone in this place with my ten year old car and battered handbag.
The one thing I really noticed about the place was the
women. They were different beings –
manicured, honed, tanned (spray), bouffanted, pristine and immaculately
dressed. It must be a full time job for
them to look this polished and it must cost a FORTUNE. The dress sense veered from body con, to maxi
dress, to middle aged relaxed matchy matchy casual. Here is one example of an outfit – a lady was
dressed in a leopard print maxi dress, with a matching leopard print oversized
bag, gold coloured gladiator sandals and topped off with designer sunglasses
used as a posh headband. I couldn’t help
but notice the hair of the middle aged ladies, which was immaculate and must
cost a complete fortune to maintain. The
hair colours were quality with no roots showing. GHD straighteners are a must for the ladies
here as there was not so much as a hair out of place or a kink in their
dos.
This place makes you feel seriously self-conscious about the
way you look. I’d hate to be teenage in
this town as there must be a huge pressure here to look good. No wonder the teenager I overheard wasn’t
keen on fashion as a career. I really
felt for her as she had some puppy fat and whilst that is a natural part of
growing up I bet she felt very self-conscious about the way she looked. She
looked great in her rebellious Goth-lite outfit of shorts, velour top and lacy shirt
top. You are fine the way you are love, ignore your mother’s advice and do not
listen to those bitchy girls.
Anyway we had come here to check out the charity shops and
there are a fair few to go through. If
memory serves me correctly I think the Cancer Research one was very busy. I know the one in nearby Wilmslow often gets
some seriously good donations from the rich ladies who can’t be bothered to
trade them in at the dress agency shops.
If you are between a size 8 and size 10 you are seriously well catered
for and will get a really nice outfit here.
However when it comes to other things like ornaments and pictures you
will struggle. People here know the
price of stuff and are more likely to sell stuff like that to the local antique
dealers, which there are many throughout the town.
Neil was extremely frustrated with Oxfam again. Not only were the vinyl records overpriced, but
they were priced beyond what you could pick them up in a record shop or
online. This was compounded by the fact
there were some decent singles he would have bought if they were sanely
priced. I remember on previous visits
they had a David Bowie record priced at £50, which was in fact a reissue and
only worth £5. People really get the
wrong idea about the value of vinyl records.
So what else can I tell you about Knutsford? It’s very close to Tatton Park and the
entrance is by Tatton Street where we are parked. There are plenty of pubs as well as
restaurants and bars, so there is no chance of starving here. Also I noticed some tiny cottages on Church Hill
were in fact holiday lets as they had key code keyholders by the door. In the past we’ve seen paparazzi
photographers lurking outside restaurants on King Street. At that time I think they were waiting for
Kerry Katona when she lived nearby.
As much as Knutsford is physically a pretty town with lots
of interesting little shops, I’m not fond of the place. Maybe it’s the meaningless conspicuous consumption
that pervades the place. Maybe it’s the
people as they aren’t that friendly and live in their own manicured
bubbles. Maybe it’s my inner feminist that was railing
against the objectification of the local women.
In all honesty I would suggest to the local women to ditch the GHDs and
do something that makes your soul sing – focusing on appearances is not a
fulfilling activity. Believe me it was a
joy to see a make-up free mum with wild hair taking a silly photo of her son’s
bright green tongue. It was such a
pleasant antidote to the artificiality of the place.
Will I go back there?
Probably, if I’m passing through, although it won’t be anytime
soon.
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