Hale is a quaint little village not too far from Manchester Airport and offering a relaxed but perhaps arrogant invitation to outsiders. It’s 10am when I arrive to find a cafe for breakfast and instead this American bar or rather diner looks rather polished and suggestive. We head inside to find an almost desolate venue and head for a comofrtable looking booth. The waiter catches us on our beeline and remarks that the booth is reserved, showing us to a tiny and rather miserable looking alternative. Two hours pass in which the bar shows no other sign of life and our breakfast arrives cold, and with an even colder look on the face of our host.
Paying up at one of the most expensive meals of my short career, I embark towards the train station, glad to leave hale behind me – 3/10