There’s a particular sort of afternoon that only really makes sense in an old British pub: low beams browned with decades of smoke, a handpull that squeaks a bit, and…
If you care about cheese and trains in roughly equal measure (which I do, unapologetically), Britain is a quietly glorious place to potter about. The big names in rail get…
If you grew up on guitar bands in the 90s, you’ve probably done a Britpop cities road trip in your head already. Manchester, London, Liverpool, Sheffield: those names come with…
I went to Agincourt assuming I already knew the story. Like most people who grew up in England, I met it first through Shakespeare: muddy but glorious, Henry V giving…
If you live in Sheffield or Manchester, the Peak District is that friend who lives round the corner that you never quite see enough of. It’s painfully easy to get…
I’ve never trusted anyone who calls punk a phase. A haircut is a phase. Learning the chords to “Wonderwall” is a phase. UK punk was more like someone rewiring the…
If you’re looking at your car keys and feeling vaguely resentful, you’re not alone. I grew up in Shropshire, which trains forgot for a while, so driving felt compulsory. But…
I fell into the habit of choosing a UK holiday cottage the way most of us do: four tabs open, all blurring into one long corridor of exposed beams, “cozy…
If you’d told me at fourteen that one day someone would ask me to write about a “Blur Britpop London walking tour”, I’d have laughed and gone back to taping…
