I must admit, the name Worsley never filled me with anticipation. I’ve driven past the exit on the M62 hundreds of times, but recently I finally used it to visit the town. I was doubtful that it would be one of the best ideas anyone ever had, but you never know. I downloaded a Salford District tourist guide for the area, describing a circular walk starting by the Bridgewater Canal. It took me over a very picturesque iron footbridge and a quaint village green—the sort on which you should be watching a game of cricket whilst sipping lukewarm ale. The weather was sunny but cold, and the ground wasn’t quite as squelchy as it had been.
Walking through woodland, I stopped at the jetty of the Old Warke Dam. A remnant of an industrial age, it now provided an attractive vista for some posh-looking houses. This sort of architecture is now becoming very familiar since leaving Yorkshire. Earthy-looking stone houses are a distant memory, and I am now surrounded by different flavours of brick and mock-Tudor houses. I’m warming to it.
Perhaps the biggest surprise was the late lunch in the swanky restaurant in the town. All I wanted was tea and cake, but I ended up with the heavy cutlery.