That’s according to the Sunday Times anyway, which included this market town in Leicestershire on a list of the top 50 places to live in the UK.
So why am I here? Agreed, it’s a bit of a random choice for a weekend break. But I live in Berkshire, my friend Bev lives in Yorkshire. We look for somewhere picturesque about halfway between the two and meet up to explore somewhere new as we catch up. Wine and food feature heavily, needless to say. Market Harborough, being ancient market town (clue in the name) looked like a safe bet.
If you’re not from the UK you may wonder what a market town is. Historically it was a settlement that was awarded a royal charter to hold a regular market. In the Middle Ages, markets couldn’t be held within one day’s travel of each other so they had to be at least 10 miles apart.
Market towns are now really popular places to live, with a historic centre and great amenities in a rural setting. There’s usually a market square, where business was done in the open air, and sometimes a market cross in the middle. Throw in some ancient properties, maybe a lovely river crossing, and always some old coaching inns (pubs, hurrah!). Who wouldn’t want to live in a place like this?
Personal favourites include Stow-on-the-Wold in Gloucestershire, Saffron Walden in Essex, Keswick in the Lake District, Knaresborough and Filey in Yorkshire, Blandford Forum in Dorset. Market towns are everywhere. Just pick one at random and visit. Even better, book yourself a room in a nice comfy old inn, as we do.
This trip, we stay at the Three Swans Hotel, an old coaching inn that’s been welcoming visitors for over 500 years. On one of the great old roads of England from Manchester, via Nottingham and Leicester, to London, the first written record of the pub dates from 1517. It’s quite a big place and it’s popular with overnight guests. Obviously, spending a weekend in Market Harborough isn’t as unusual as I thought…
When we arrive the pub is busy with the lunchtime crowd. An artisan sandwich with halloumi and pesto hits the spot nicely. The two couples at the next table have obviously been there for some time. “You promised you wouldn’t get drunk” one wife berates her husband, while their three kids watch folornly. The men start to sing loudly. “Are they bothering you?” asks the nice waitress. No, it’s quite entertaining thanks.
Exploring Market Harborough doesn’t take long, but that’s really the point of a market town, they are small but perfectly formed. There are some lovely Georgian buildings along the main streets, and lots of little passageways between them. The shops aren’t up to much. There’s an impressive war memorial. It’s very English.
We have dinner at a lovely Italian place, Casa Nostra, and then wonder back to the pub for a nightcap. Despite it being late February, there are plenty of scantily clad ladies coming out of the pubs on the High Street. We’re a tough race.
The next morning, after a hearty English breakfast (no smashed avocado on toast here) we take a walk along the pretty riverside path to Welland Park. A robin watches us pass from his perch beside the river. Most of the dogs in town are out for their Sunday morning walks. It’s officially Spring and the sun is shining, but this is the UK after all and it’s freezing.
To escape the cold, we take a look inside the market hall. Markets have been held here since 1204 when King John granted a charter, but stalls were originally set up on the High Street. The current hall is a relatively modern building, and walking in is like being transported back to 1975. There are some parts of England where it feels like time has stood still and this is one of them.
There are stalls selling wool, old medals, toy cars, socks of every hue. I’m really not sure who needs this stuff. No-one buys anything while we’re there. My Dad could spend hours at the record stand though. We pause outside the old-style sweet shop for a while, reminiscing about Floral Gums and Wagon Wheels. Lots of people are drinking tea in the market cafe. Bill Bryson would love it!
Driving home in the sunshine, I pass through lovely little villages and rolling countryside. There’s a sign saying ‘Badgers crossing here’. It’s a quirky old country isn’t it? Go and make that booking.
Steph's Travels 