In Alderley Edge the glamorous Real Housewives and WAG culture means EVERYONE is doing cocaine – and they don’t even try to hide it. I’m shocked by what I see in the upmarket restaurants and bars

Outside Manchester’s Heaton Park, a Cheshire-based radio presenter and her equally well-heeled posse alighted from their exec minibus.

The lanyards around their necks indicated they were headed for the VIP area, so my partner and I were somewhat baffled, as we watched them duck furtively behind a bus shelter. All soon became clear as they dipped a key into a little bag before heading into the park to watch Oasis.

I couldn’t help rolling my eyes and grimacing at the tastelessness of it.

‘Money can’t buy class even if it buys coke,’ I said. Yet looking back now, I wonder why I was even surprised given so many outwardly respectable, often quite ordinary, middle-class and middle-aged denizens of Cheshire are taking cocaine regularly with no shame and no thought for the long-term consequences.

The northern county just south of Manchester, has long been known for gently rolling countryside, leafy villages, and well-heeled residents, including professionals, footballers and actors.

I do love living here, admittedly on the very north-eastern edges of the county – which puts me on the doorstep of the city, too. Nearby villages like Prestbury, Alderley Edge, and Knutsford are enduringly sought-after, as is the rather larger town of Wilmslow.

If you watch the Real Housewives of Cheshire, you’d be forgiven for thinking we all visit swish restaurants and host over-the-top dinner parties week in week out. That lifestyle is about as real as their ‘housewife’ credentials, but we certainly like to socialise. And therein lies a problem.

It seems that cocaine is now almost de rigueur in some of the most popular local bars and restaurants. Remember the old jokes about women going to the loo in pairs? Once, they were off for a gossip.

Now, on every night out, my good friends or fellow women of a certain age in the same venue are guaranteed to disappear to the ladies at least a couple of times, returning seemingly re-energised.

A popular bar and nightclub, favoured haunt of the local glitterati, not so long ago contracted my friend’s company to install their new aircon system. The owner insisted, with an exaggerated wink, that it must be ‘extra strong’ in the toilets, ‘to blow away any powder residue.’ Let’s just say my friend knew he didn’t mean blusher.

My daughter, a junior accountant, tells me she ‘lost count’ of the colleagues offering her ‘flake’ at company events during her time with a Cheshire village firm.

A contact, who works in television, was late to drinks in Manchester a few weeks ago. Her texted apology to our mutual friend explained the delay. She was waiting to receive a ‘bag’ from her dealer, who needed to break his fast before commencing deliveries.

Another in our wider circle is a barrister. While waiting for a taxi one evening, he nonchalantly mentioned he had some ‘really great coke’ if we wanted to share. It’s rife.

One lady told me she does cocaine because it stops her feeling drunk, then she can start again and carry on drinking all night.

I’ve witnessed a man snort straight off the table in the middle of a busy gastro pub, and well-heeled revellers openly sniffing on trains en route to gigs and football matches – and we’re not talking stereotypical hooligans here.

My good friend organised a charity fashion show a few years ago, at a prestigious Cheshire hotel. This was a family-run event with children milling around backstage. 

The female models were well-known locally – mainly due to their famous sporting husbands. The volunteers were horrified to see them sharing lines and lines of coke from the dressing tables in between catwalk stints. Cocaine use is especially rampant in those circles – they’re obsessed with staying thin and coke’s a known appetite suppressant.

They may remain thin – but at what cost? Their skin suffers, losing elasticity and firmness (as if the ageing process isn’t bad enough) and their hair falls out. There’s only so much that expensive hair extensions and aesthetic treatments can do – however much money their husbands earn.

I’ll be honest, I just don’t understand it. Don’t get me wrong, I love a night out, and I’m quite partial to swankier bars and restaurants. I love a bottle of wine – or two – with friends and the resulting silly giggles.

But cocaine worries me, and its prevalence has grown to a level where it’s just kind of accepted, normalised even but do these people even know the risks? Blood pressure and heart rate spike immediately. Those are known risk factors for heart attacks, strokes, blood clots, or inflammation of the heart muscle – and that risk is real, even on one single large dose.

My late husband had a heart attack at 33. He was fit and well, with low blood pressure, minimal body fat, and an athlete’s heart rate. His cardiologist quizzed him about cocaine use (nope, nil, nada, never – like me) because, he said, ‘I’ve only ever seen fit patients present like this after using cocaine.’ Even if I’d ever been tempted, that would’ve been enough to change my mind.

Snorting cocaine constricts blood vessels, which can damage nasal tissues and cartilage. Heavy users may develop collapsed noses, perforated palates, breathing problems, chronic sinus infections, and facial changes – including bloating.

Cocaine is also detrimental to mental health. It can trigger anxiety, paranoia, depression, and even psychosis. Dark episodes, delusions, or suicidal thoughts can emerge even after short binges. Friends who use endure a pronounced come down, with a good day or two of general low mood and paranoid episodes.

Longer term – as well as the increased risks of heart disease – heavy use weakens the immunity, making infections more likely. It also strains mental resilience and can even lead to poor self-care, job loss, and social isolation.

But it’s not just the big, scary, risks. There’s a blithe ‘oh that’ll never happen to me’ mentality to those, however naïve – or downright stupid – that may be. The short-term and even almost immediate effects can be unpleasant and mortifyingly embarrassing.

Out for dinner in Wilmslow recently, a particularly ebullient man at a nearby table suddenly quietened and grabbed a napkin as blood dripped from his left nostril onto the tablecloth. Some people politely averted their eyes, others smirked knowingly. I was horrified, thinking the poor man must be ill – until my companion explained.

Spontaneous nosebleeds aren’t uncommon, with runny noses and constant sniffles quite commonplace. White residue is a dead giveaway and must be really embarrassing in good company.

Other acquaintances have their own particular ‘tells’ which we can all spot a mile off, which include sweating, tooth grinding, jaw clenching and gurning (attractive, right?). 

That’s along with weirdly rapid eye movements and what we call ‘chewing ear’ – talking almost obsessively, and often inappropriately personally, to a captive audience (usually one quiet person who’s too polite to excuse themselves – which would lead again to that paranoia).

These people – seemingly in denial about the pitfalls of their little habit – have no idea that everyone knows exactly what they were up to in the toilet. After all, just because you’re paranoid, it doesn’t mean they’re not talking about you…

So yes, Cheshire is known for lovely, affluent villages and towns boasting enviable social circles. Even the outer reaches, like mine, are desirable places to live, work, and play, with expensive houses the norm. 

But a salubrious environment and the social prestige of the so-called Cheshire Set won’t safeguard against overdose, prison, public disgrace, or long‑term health damage. Nor will it be any help or defence against mental health issues, sagging skin and being the subject of local gossip.

Substance misuse – even masquerading as recreational – can erupt catastrophically, however green and pleasant your grounds, however privileged your friendship group.