First, understand its location: it’s basically behind everything. You’ll drive down George Street, past a car wash that may or may not be run by wizards, and then—bam!—a sudden, glorious gap in the buildings appears. It’s like finding a free seat on a London tube during rush hour; you know it’s a miracle, but you don’t ask questions.
The car park itself is flat, open, and smells faintly of wet gravel and hope. From its north-west corner, you can actually see the River Kennet doing its silent, gurgling thing, but pay attention—that’s the same water that once powered Reading’s medieval mills. For a car park, its history is unexpectedly deep.
The Real Surprise: It’s Cheaper Than a Sandwich
Here’s where I blow your mind: Hills Meadow charges £1.30 for an entire hour. That’s less than a cheap pasty from the train station bakery. For a full day—up to 12 hours—you’re looking at a scandalous £4.50. In central Reading, that’s practically legal theft. To put it in perspective, a single cup of coffee at Costa costs more than your first three hours of parking.
I actually checked the tariff board three times the first time I parked there. I thought my eyes were playing tricks, or that the sign was from a parallel universe where inflation never happened. But no—it’s real, and it’s spectacular.
