Oh, I don't know. Something about beer, Nottingham and Derby

I've forgotten what I wanted to write about.

It may have been about the baked-lemon, slightly-cereal Navigation Pale in the Cross Keys, a place that's become one of my favourite pubs in Nottingham.

It certainly could have been about Ilkley Siberia, a rhubarb saison brewed in collaboration with the grande dame of beer blogging, Melissa Cole. Or the warm Scotch egg I had with it. Every other pub with craft semi-credentials seems to make one nowadays; I'm not saying the Keans Head make the best, but I'd put it in my top one.

Maybe it was the rather-meh pint of Punk in Brewdog Nottingham. Perhaps it was actually the pint of Alice Porter that followed; a beer so good I had to double-take and make sure I'd been served what I asked for. Don't get me wrong; Alice Porter is gooood, this was so gooood it was off down the bottom of the garden to dance with the pixies.

Was it drinking Magic Rock High Wire? On keg? In Derby?

Ah... I remember. It was the fact that I can stumble around the cities on either end of the Brian Clough Way and drink world-class beer. Which, twelve months ago, I wouldn't have expected.

Which is nice.