This was supposed to be a pretty standard post about Mold and Neston Markets. But once I started putting it all down, I realised that markets have been a much bigger part of my life than I’d ever really stopped to think about. They’ve been there in the background for as long as I can remember. Not just places to shop, but places I’ve kept coming back to without even meaning to.

Growing up on the Wirral, one of my first proper experiences of a market was going to Birkenhead Market with my grandad. He went every Friday morning with my mum, without fail. And if I was off school for the summer holidays or off sick, then me and my younger brother Brian would usually go along with them. We’d go in through the side door, which brought you straight into the fishmonger section. All I can remember is the smell. Even now, I can still recall it instantly. It was that strong, that distinct. As a four or five-year-old, it definitely wasn’t the kind of smell I enjoyed.

At the time, I didn’t really see the appeal of the market itself either. It wasn’t glamorous, and it didn’t seem like the kind of place you’d look forward to going. But now, when I think about Birkenhead Market, I’ve actually got quite fond memories of it. And I don’t think many people would say that. For me though, it’s tied up in the time I got to spend with my grandad. That’s what made it special.

Fast forward a few years and my family started selling different items at markets over the weekend. Places in Wales like Tir Prince in Towyn on the North Wales coast, or Greenfields Market in Flint. They went every weekend, but me and my brother Brian, being little at the time, only ever went on a Saturday. I’ve never been great at getting up early in the morning, but it’s something we just had to get used to. With parents like mine, even on days we weren’t going to the market, we’d be out the door early for a day out.

Parents in the front, and in the back, Dad had built this makeshift seat just behind his own for me and Brian to sit on, surrounded by all the stock. No windows, no seatbelts. We had to stay hidden in case we got pulled over. It was bloody crazy looking back on it.

Even though I didn’t love the early mornings, I do look back at those weekends with a strange kind of fondness. Me and Brian would usually go off on our own little adventures. We’d explore different stalls, see what we could find, and somehow always end up coming across something new. I remember the first time we discovered TY Beanie Babies (this was the 90s, remember?) and getting our very first packs of Pokémon cards. It was definitely a different kind of market to places like Neston or Mold. To be fair, it was a bit rough round the edges, and it was exciting in its own way, especially as a child. There was always so much going on, and I’ve always loved the hustle and bustle of a market.

Years later, I moved to Neston. It’s on the Wirral too, not far from where I grew up, but it felt completely different. It’s technically a town, but it has that quiet, village-like atmosphere where everyone seems to know each other. Moving there by myself, with my dog Cho, I thought that I would get used to the location straight away because it technically wasn’t that far from my parents. But it really did take me a lot longer than I thought to figure things out.

Now, I’d been living in Neston for about a year when someone asked me whether I’d been to the market. It was so crazy that I’d been living there for 12 months and I hadn’t even managed to stumble across it. Something it was supposedly well known for.

When I finally went, I was really glad I did. Neston Market quickly became something I looked forward to. Every Friday, the stalls would pop up in the square, and there was a little bit of everything. The Bakehouse, a bakery based in Neston, sold the absolute best school cake you could ask for. It tasted so much better than the ones we had at school, which were usually like an iced brick. There were flower stalls, fresh fruit and veg, and a few regulars selling proper homemade stuff,the kind of things you only really find at a market.

That’s where I met Nick.

Nick has a stall you make a beeline for. Obviously, with me being an absolute cheese fiend, I regularly had every flavour of cheese he had on offer. There were up to 20 varieties, if I remember right. But my favourite has to be his Cornish Crunch. I could honestly eat a whole block of it in one go. It is so addictive if you like strong cheese. Nick once told me he sells around a ton of Cornish Crunch a week, which is absolutely crazy. But I think if I lived a little bit closer, I reckon it’d be about two tons.

But just as much as the cheese, it was always great to chat with Nick. He’s the kind of person who remembers you, asks how you’re doing, and genuinely means it. He’s just bloody lovely. There were other traders I used to chat to as well. Mel baked cakes, and Petit Gascon made amazing breads and French pastries. All of it came together to create this small, familiar part of my week that I looked forward to. It wasn’t just about the cheese. It was the conversations, the routine, the feeling that someone knew who you were.

I really enjoyed chatting to Nick. And getting great cheese at the same time? Win-win.

Then came another move, one I hadn’t really planned for myself. Seb got a new job, and just like that, we were packing up for Shrewsbury.

Shrewsbury has its own market, the Market Hall, and it’s brilliant. It’s award-winning for a reason. It’s split across two floors, with a gallery level above and stalls packed with everything from great food to art to houseplants. It’s full of creative people doing their thing, and there’s a proper buzz when it’s busy. But I haven’t built the same kind of routine around it that I did in Neston. Yet.

Moving to Shrewsbury has been a lot. It’s not that I don’t like it, there’s loads to like, but it hasn’t fully felt like home. Not in the way Neston started to. But things are shifting. The people have helped. And the market’s helping too, in its own quiet way.

Last week, I went to Mold Market with my parents.

I knew Nick would be at Mold on the Saturday because he works at Neston on Fridays and Mold on Saturdays. That was the main reason I wanted to go. I hadn’t seen him since I moved, and I really missed that weekly routine.

I hadn’t been since I was a child, and to be honest, it’s never really had the most exciting reputation. So I wasn’t expecting too much. But as soon as we walked up the high street, the vibe felt really welcoming. It’s a big market, probably about twice the size of Neston’s, but it’s more traditional in what it offers. There’s less variety, I’d say. Neston always felt like the kind of place where people would happily try new things, like falafel or ginger shots. Mold feels a bit more set in its ways, but still full of life.

That said, I was genuinely made up to see some familiar stalls. The Bakehouse was there, which was great to see. There was also Has and Hel Olives, even though I don’t like olives, they do the absolute best cinnamon honey cashew nuts. Honestly, they’re incredible. It’s probably not surprising that my design business is called Cinnamon Honey. They’re two ingredients I genuinely couldn’t live without.

There was also a stall I’d never seen before, Daz’s Extravagant Cakes and Bakes. Every single cake is made by Daz himself, and the selection was unreal. Everything looked immaculate, and for someone like me who used to bake all the time (though I’ve not done much in recent years), it was so refreshing to see someone baking to that standard for a market stall. He presents his cakes out of a beautifully kept Austin A35 van, all branded up. As a graphic designer, I couldn’t fault it. The whole setup lived up to the quality of the cakes themselves.

Now, I’d just started a diet that week. So realistically, I probably shouldn’t have been buying cake at all, let alone the amount we ended up walking away with. But I tell you what, the Victoria sponge and the Biscoff cake are both definitely something I’ll be having again.

I walked up to Nick’s stall and he was looking the other way, so I just said, “Can I have some Cornish Crunch, please.” And as soon as he turned and saw me, I was greeted with the biggest handshake and hug. It was like seeing an old friend. Which is kind of mad, really, because Nick is someone I only know through the market. But those little connections stick.

I was so chuffed to see him. And he was chuffed to see me too. This time I had my camera, so I took a few photos of his stall. Funny thing is, I never really took many photos of Neston Market. I think I was too busy living it. Just being there. And sometimes, that’s when you know something really matters.

It wasn’t seeing Nick again that made me realise markets mean more to me than just shopping. It was after I moved to Shrewsbury and found myself really missing Neston Market. I missed the routine, the catch-ups, the familiarity. I’ve not managed to build that same habit around Shrewsbury’s market yet, even though I know it’s brilliant. But I’m starting to feel like I might be ready for a new routine, and maybe that starts with a good bit of cheese.