I’ve never seen anybody in Bolton smile. I must’ve been here at least a dozen times and have come across shoppers grumbling at the foot of the Fred Dibnah statue, a set-to outside Wilkos, and most chillingly of all, a pair of little girls skipping down the street with angry scowls on their faces.
We’re greeted at the bottom of the main road into Great Harwood by a trio of ponies. As soon as they see the bus approaching suddenly cease all movement, as though they’re playing musical statues. Another horse a few yards away sees what’s going on and instantly spins around to stare at a tree.