Read my Salford travel logue here.

The thirty-second city on my list is the Lancashire city of Preston which you will find 208 miles north-west of London.

Preston is a relatively young city only gaining cityhood in 2002 thanks to the Queen’s Golden Jubilee celebrations. Its etymology relates to Christianity. As we all know by now, the “ton” refers to a farmstead and the “prest” means “priest.” Literaly, it’s where priests lived and ran a farm.

My journey started blessed enough. I had no problems catching the 10.30 Avanti West Coast train from Euston. God must have been smiling down on me, as I had seat by a table with nobody next to me. And there was no ticket inspector either.

Alas I must have done something to anger him two hours later, as we were almost twenty-five minutes late into Preston. Whatever.

At 13.05, it was time to start my adventure in Preston. It was a windy start. I quickly took shelter in the nearby Fishergate shopping centre, where I saw a Pokemon vending machine

before being deposited into the city centre. It was clean and pleasant. Unlike Stoke and Gloucester, there were no roadworks and unlike Exeter or Lichfield, the station wasn’t on the outskirts of the city.

Anyway, I soon began to understand the religious connotations of Preston’s name. Although it doesn’t have an official cathedral, I saw one church in the distance. That was my first goal. I took note of a Cantonese cafe and a Nigerian cafe I could later go to for lunch, as my stomach was emptier than my bank account. After a quick look around the city’s charity shops and an unintended stroll through the University of Lancashire, I found my first church: St Peter’s. Alas, it was part of the University campus so I could not enter.

But no matter as I spied another church in the distance. After trekking through Preston’s student suburbs, I reached St Walburge’s Catholic Church. Could I go in? No. They were closed to the public.

Do not fear dear reader, as I spotted the nearby St Mark’s Church, but alas, this had been turned into flats. I couldn’t enter either. Back to the city. And I went through some of the less attractive areas of Preston

Right now I was famished, so my hunger took precedence over any churches. I saw signs for a market, but this was closed too.

I also spotted Preston’s closest equivalent to a cathedral: Preston Minster, but this was closed for a private function. Insert picture. The Methodist Church was also closed. No churches for me today. It would seem no lunch either. I had wandered too far away from the Chinese and Nigerian, and a greasy spoon I saw earlier, was closed. But at 2, a Caribbean/Mexican fusion place came to my rescue. It was called Fresh and Fast.

Although it was described as a Caribbean, Mexican fusion, it was little more than your glorified standard burger joint. No complaints from me, but I also found it difficult to see any Mexican influence. There were no burritos, carnes asadas, not even guacamole. Just chimichangas and jalapenoes.

Despite being light-headed from hunger, I found it difficult choosing my meal. Did I pick an all-day breakfast? A burger? A desi paratha? Despite being Caribbean/Mexican, it was ran by Indians.

In the end, I chose a jerk chicken lunchbox that included salad, chips and rice for £9.50. it was similar to what I had in Salford, but this was better. In Salford, my jerk chicken was from an actual Caribbean place yet it was blander than I was expecting. This jerk chicken had a decent kick. I also had some entertainment to watch due to a drunk local stumbling in and trying to sweetalk the workers into giving him free food. Spoiler alert. It didn’t work.

At 14.30, suitably refuelled, I decided it was time to see Preston’s nature. Onto the nearby Avenham park via the Winckley Square. insert picture. This had a cute book exchange. Although I had no books to leave, I did take a book on conspiracy theories. I admit this is a pet interest of mine. I don’t have a tinfoil hat, but some conspiracy theories do have credence. Others have been proven to be conspiracy fact. What are some conspiracy theories you think are true?

At 15.30ish, and after getting a bit lost, I reached the very attractive Avenham Park. It had a Japanese Garden, inspired by rich English people’s travels in the East, a Boer War memorial and a Swiss Chalet to shelter from the rain. The park was built on the river Ribble with plenty of bridges spanning across it. Naturally, I crossed one and while it was touch muddy, I had a pleasant walk along the riverside.

The walk back wasn’t so pleasant. There were some pre-pubescent shitheads, up to no good, throwing shit off one of the bridges. I called them such and stuck out my middle finger. They called me a pussy in response which was ironic considering their balls hadn’t dropped yet. You can tell the kids who never had a father growing up.

Anyway, at 16.30, I returned to the city centre where I went to collect my TGTG bag from the station’s Pumpkin Cafe. Unlike Wells or Bradford, my haul was unimpressive. There was nothing savoury for dinner. Instead I got 2 pain au chocolat, a pain aux raisin and a croissant. At least I only paid £3 instead of £12. But as I didn’t have enough food for dinner, I bought some Cha Siu Bau (Barbecued Pork Buns) from the Cantonese cafe Chun Cha that I saw earlier. These three buns set me back £4.80 which was slightly cheaper than London. Not much though.

It was nearing five now and I had an hour to kill before my train home, so I went to the local Old Vic pub where I had a pint of Heineken for £5.80. This would be a standard price in London, but in Preston that felt steep – least of all because Preston was a hilly city. I got very hot and sweaty going up and down the different hills.

My train home was at 18.00, so I headed to the station, but then I discovered that it was delayed by twenty-six minutes due to the same signalling issues that had affected me earlier. At least it would mean I would get some compensation. And it was much better than what had happened with Doncaster or Worcester.

But the trains were so delayed that we were almost an hour late into Euston. Thank God I had bought those Cha Siu Bau earlier. And that concludes my day in Preston. Fatherless shitheads and delayed trains aside, it was a perfectly fine city. Hilly like Lincoln or Wakefield and the natural landscape wasn’t as spectacular as Chester or Milton Keynes. It’s crazy I only have three cities left to visit. Sunderland. You’re next. That was my day in Preston. A day of inaccessible churches, intoxicated locals and fatherless shitheads.