Melton Mowbray

Not for the first time at Leicester Station was I asked to help a massively drunk person to work the ticket machine to get back to Melton Mowbray. This friendly and polite bloke stank of stale booze and couldn't read. When I lived in Thurmaston, an outer suburb, on the way back from the city, a sloshed couple boarded the bus and demanded to be taken to Melton. 'The bus doesn't go that far, we stop at Thurmaston'. 'That'll ave to do then'. 'OK, but you know it's a 10 mile walk' 'that's fine'. 'There's a train at half past'. 'stop arguin wiv us'. So he sold them tickets and plonked them off at the edge of some fields, in the night. Catch a train through Melton in either direction and you'll get to sit next to a drunk. Not the rowdy friday night drunk, this is the poor bugger who reeks of it, quietly muttering to no-one. So what's it like there? It's your average historic market town, used to do coalmining. It's famous for its pork pies. Paul's Bread comes from there. He's a nice bloke. The middle is nice enough. Having a sauna once in Melton in it's swimming pool (that's open on Sunday nights), a man came in and poured orange juice all over the coals. 'great innit! now it smells of oranges'. I responded with 'you could have poured soup on it and you'd not have to stop for dinner'. Melton Mowbray has a museum that has on display famously a cow born with two heads. And a large number of stuffed furry woodland creatures. Rabbits, squirrels, foxes, badgers. They all look a bit surprised.