With the plug pulled on Nottingham's Victoria Baths, the city's CAMRA festival could have been left in the deep end. Instead, Steve Westby and his merrie volunteers pitched up on the Castle Green for the first Robin Hood beer festival.

More space, more beers, more choice - would the new site hit the bullseye? And with such a range of beers available, could I drink my way to a complete A-Z of British brews in two days?


The city of my birth is fabled in beer circles for hosting a festival that is chock-full of new brews. With a larger, airier venue this year offering even more beers and a historic setting, I took two days away from the day job to make the most of the festival. An early start on Thursday gave me time for some photography down by the canal and a disappointing breakfast at the Cozy Teapot (my old haunt, Bunters Cafe, being closed now. The best breakfast in the country - the Rum Tum - is now just a cherished memory..)



Nottingham Castle is certainly an impressive setting. Although it's more ducal mansion than motte & bailey, there's a palpable sense of history as you wander round the grounds and take in the superb vista over the Trent Valley. I've been visiting here since I was knee-high to a primary school teacher and every visit brings back many happy childhood memories.



Entry was a little odd - buy a wristband on the way into the grounds, then buy tokens and glasses in the marquee. Fair enough, but when I turned up (about 11:30am) I could have wandered straight up to the Castle wristbandless if I hadn't known what to do. Indeed, friends of mine who turned up in the afternoon did exactly that, then had a job to convince staff to sell them tokens and glasses without rolling back downhill for the band.



The huge marquee on the lawn did an admirable job of holding 500+ beers and ciders and many more punters. Even with this much canvas and body heat the beers stayed cool enough as the temperature rose slightly, the festival staff doing a sterling job with the water sprays. Scoopers lined the central aisle, next to two double-sided bars flanked by stalls. I was in and out of the marquee until 6pm on both days and it never felt crammed or cramped.



Most of the time, though, I was out around the grounds. Although the bandstand bars didn't open until early evening, you could take your beer and pitch up on a bench to watch the autumn leaves fall as squirrels bounded around. The defining moment for me though was to be by the castle wall, looking out over the southern shire, drinking some quality English beer whilst the Castle's Union flag snapped in the sharp breeze.



It would be rude of me not to mention food, of course... the baths used to offer cheapish and cheerful council canteen grub, so I was hoping that this larger venue would offer a wider range. Given that punters could wander back into the city for a bite (only a five minute walk to Slab Square), how comprehensive a selection would be on offer? Well, it wasn't bad at all - fish & chips, burgers, 'pork roast' (not a whole hog, sadly, just pre-shredded meat), jacket potatoes etc. But the real highlight was the fresh seafood. Fred Hallam fishmongers of Beeston had a seafood stall inside the marquee that offered a delectable range of fishy bits such as rollmops, prawns and some superb chili anchovies. The real draw, though, were the oysters which could be accompanied by half of Sooty Stout from Nottingham Brewery. Expecting to sell over a thousand of them by the end of the festival, the pairing idea that started off over a beer shared between fishmonger and brewer proved to be a talking point and a real festival treat.



Good to meet up with some friendly faces on both days, too, including my old matey Oliver, Sleepy Mark and his colleagues and a couple of the Thornbridge crew, Alex and Kelly, who were there for the SIBA judging on Thursday (and well happy as Jaipur IPA won the Gold Medal in the Strong Bitter category and Ashford took bronze in Best Bitters).



With Friday bringing a vicious wind, more anchovies and a little early-night music from Amplifiers, I had a fantastic two days. The weather helped, mind - had there been rain, the marquee would have been rammed as there were hundreds outside. Food was good, toilets were plentiful and functioning, atmosphere was a happy one. Though it seems like I've forgot to mention something...

...the beers.

With such a range available, I concocted a subtle Reluctant Scooping plan to score some new breweries, LocAles, old favourites and any eye-catching recipes. Two days, twenty-six beers... so here's my A-Z of Nottingham Beer Festival:

A is for Art Brew. New Dorset-based brewer, their Art Nouveau was a little funky with chewy chutney edges. Plenty of fresh fruit, though, so not too bad overall.

B is for Blue Monkey. Ilkeston outfit that has taken time to experiment before launching their Amber Ale. A clean, literally light ale that was the perfect counterpoint to some of the heavier-handed brews in the room.

C is for Castle Rock. Screech Owl was the SIBA championship-winner here; perfumed with a viscous head, it didn't carry the hoppiness I was expecting for an IPA. Almost seemed imbued with anti-hop, such was the effect on the palate.

D is for Dark Star. Beers from this brewery are always an attraction for me and Golden Gate didn't disappoint; assured hop nose, clean malts, superb fat fruit and a long-lasting juicy finish.

E is for Empire. Ginger Ninja sounded exciting, perhaps a subtle assault on the tastebuds? Instead it was more thin-ger than ninja - a flabby beer with practically no ginger warmth.

F is for Full Mash. I love their dark beers but chose the Cartouche over the sublime chocolateness of Ouija. A mistake - the hint of citrus promised was too subtle and the result was massively underpowered compared to other golden ales I sampled here.

G is for Great Oakley. Looks like I was sold another (non-existent) lemon. Having loved Wagtail at the Brunswick festival a few weeks ago, I was all set to have that again when Gobble promised 'a large smack of hops'. Unless I'd had my hop-palate surgically removed on Thursday night, this was another beer that didn't deliver on the resin front. Average but disappointing given my expectations.

H is for Holland. With Chocolate Clog not appearing until Saturday, I settled for the Hearty Handsome Kimberley Brew. Quoting from the programme; 'a powerful, well hopped IPA'. Guess what - it's only now as I look through my notes that I wonder if the hop fairy stole into the marquee on Wednesday night and had it away on her twinkle-toes with whatever resinous flavours she could find. Was a mite cold on the pour, it did round out to a perfumed golden juice with just a hint of gluey sugar around the edges. Needed a killer hop finish instead of an ebbing malt wash.

I is for Iceni. Oxburgh Hall Plum Stout was my last beer of the Thursday session and what a belter it was. The fruit wasn't overly sweet, the stout robust enough to carry the hedgerow flavours into a drying finish.

J is for Jarrow. Another from my run of ho-hum Friday afternoon beers, Caulker was a rather dull golden with little hop excitement to lift it above average.

K is for Kinver. Penultimate beer of the fest and one of the best, Sweetheart Stout ticked the boxes with its burnished malts and roasty nose. Deserving winner of the SIBA Gold Medal in the Milds, Porters and Stouts category.

L is for Lymestone. This Staffordshire brewery was so new that the beers weren't even listed in the programme. Foundation Stone (see what they did, eh?) was a spritzy, fruity blonde that impressed me and made this brewery one to look out for over the coming months.

M is for Mallard. As a fan of Duckling, I'm always ready to try something new to me from this LocAle brewery. Duckade was a little on the light side, clean and inoffensive, just needed a tad more oomph to prevent the hops and malt cancelling themselves out.

N is for Naylors Craven Kriek sounded intriguing. English brewers seem to struggle with cherry flavours, so would this be any different? Well... it had a fresh, sweetie aroma, certainly cheery cherry rather than sour Morello. A clean fruity beer, certainly too clean for being a kriek, but still interesting nevertheless.

O is for Offas Dyke. The Saaz in Barley Blonde struggled to surface amongst some washy malts. Fairly anonymous.

P is for Potbelly. It was Thursday, the wind was whipping the castle walls, the sun was out and so I didn't drink Beijing Black. Instead, I went for Crazy Daze and ended up with one the outstanding beers of the festival. Lemon sherbet tickle in the nose, lusher lemon in the throat, a rasping catch as it goes down before your buds are soon soothed by a sweet, biscuity lemon pie finish. Outstanding.

Q is for Quartz. Heart had a rare quality - a refreshing pale ale with no killer hop, no lingering malt, no alcohol splash and no real need for any of them. A delicate aroma, flowers pinched between fingers, fruit flavours almost appearing as echos... the skill it takes to produce a light ABV ale that still tastes of something is one of English brewing's under-rated talents. Hats off to Quartz for achieving it.

R is for Ramsgate. With ten breweries beginning with R, it was down to whatever the programme descriptions showed as being a little bit different. 'Unique pale crafted with malted rye' caught my eye and Gadd's Rye PA was a joy to drink. Just enough rye to knock the edges off, an itchy fruit nose and a sustained dry finish made this a worthwhile punt. One that I'd have tried again gladly if I hadn't been working through a hitlist. An assured, satisfying brew.

S is for Spire. Slightly odd to be drinking an old ale in the sun, but Winter's Tale was a satisfying, slightly chewy, deeply malty brew with a hint of dusty spice. Good now, possibly phenomenal in front of an open fire.

T is for Thornbridge. Never mind the fact it's sublime, carrying the flavours of some stupendously expensive raspberry fondant chocolates I once had. Never mind that the hops act like a veneer, lifting the flavour and giving a shine to the cocoa and woody notes. Let's keep ordering it and see how many ways it gets pronounced. Car-Tea-Paw. I want a half of Car-Tea-Paw. No, Car-Tea-Paw. Well, actually, its NOT called Catty-po, Cart-Heep-Pow or Katy-Poo. Honest, the brewers told me it's called.... ah, sod it. Give me half of number 344. Yes, the Catty Paws one...

U is for Uncle Stuart's. No idea why a strong ale gets called Norwich Cathedral; perhaps we can look forward to other beers named after local landmarks like Library Mild, Cow Tower Bitter and Novi Sad Friendship Bridge Double Imperial Lambic. Anyway, it was a superb strong beer, ravaging malts across the palate with a submerged fruit salad trying to seep through.

V is for Vale. Gravitas was one of the few blonde citric beers that actually delivered on its promises, robustly fruited, a clear gold beer with scanty-pants lacing, soft mouthfeel and keenly refreshing.

W is for Williams. Eleventy out of ten for this. Deep, deep porter scattered with chocolate malts that taste as if grubbed up by earthy clod-clagged hands. Then there's passing shadows - an uncle's freshly spilt tobacco, the wooden spoon used by my grandmother to stir the treacle, the last mouthful of washy black coffee after finishing a ginger thin. I didn't want this half to end. Best dark beer of the festival.

X is for XB. With no UK breweries beginning with X, Batemans XB would have to suffice. My first beer of the festival and already disappointed that XXXB wasn't on. Never mind - although this took some pulling (as a brewery bar beer it was on handpump) it was a pleasant beer to revisit, sweet and fruity, one of those beers that is all too easy for publicans to mis-handle and kill off the slight flavours.

Y is for Yorkshire Dales. Sold as a 'bock style dark ale', Kisdon Force didn't pack too much bockness for its bucks but was redeemed by a fresh tobacco nose and creeping sweetness.

Z is for Zeit Geist. Brewdog to the rescue, as Zerodegrees beers won't ever be found at this festival. A deep amber-ish brown (dirty amber? Is that too pornstar-ish?) with a mushy malt nose and latent sweetness. Bit like the unfinished breakfast cereal bowl that you find when you get back home from work, bit sour, bit sweet, bit soft. Need to try this again, soon; towards the end I was beginning to enjoy it but still couldn't nail why.

Some average beers, a few non-plussed ones, a couple of exceptional brews. Potbelly Crazy Daze and Williams Midnight Sun were the two standouts for me with nothing to choose between the two overall.

A hearty congratulations to Nottingham CAMRA and the staff of Nottingham Castle for what was, to me, the finest beer festival I've had the privilege of attending. Here's hoping the weather is as kind next October when we do it all over again.



btw - more photos of the festival can be seen over at my Flickr site





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Too cloudy to go take photos of trees in leaf fall. Too boggered to go see the Astons race round Donington. If in doubt, I hit the emergency-bus button and go for a troll up the Derwent Valley - there has to be a few regular beers and more than a few irregular locals to paint a smile back on my cracked facia.


I'm not feeling in great spirits today. I can't even be bothered to go get a hot breakfast cob from anywhere - and when I say anywhere I'm including Greggs. I was looking forward to a clear but blowy day, something to backlight the falling leaves and let me yomp through the countryside with camera on hip whilst enjoying the light and shadow. Instead, it's murkier than a pinty of poorly pulled shit bitter.

Only one remedy - road trip. Up the Derwent for me, deciding that a day of average beer has to be better than a day of overcastness. So let's take Reluctant Scooping to the max and go for those beers that my local pubs are (sometimes) famed for. First stop is the Holly Bush at Makeney. This is a tourist wet dream and pure Sunday-lunch-tribe fodder, but it has its saving graces. Namely, a cracking pint of Farmers (in this case, Brown Cow), some superbly crumbly pork pies and a snug that has two tables, no children and the feeling that generations of grumpty bastards have supped bitter and spilt bile here. It's magical.

A short drop downhill lands you into the King William IV. Different kettle here; no Sunday lunch = no customers. There is food at times, but today the emphasis is on drinking. I choose the Tim Taylors Landlord, never a beer I'd usually plump for ahead of a guest but TTL at the KW4 has a tale to tell. Well, one told to me by Cycling John on out last visit here. Back in the sixties, he used to cycle out here after work for a round trip of about sixteen miles - just to drink Landlord, as at the time it was the only pub near Derby that served it. I'm glad to report it's still in damn fine fettle, a beer sweeter than my palate may be used to but a cracking bitter nevertheless. A lovely pub, too; eclectic furniture, hops strung round the beamed ceiling and a genuine warm welcome. And as if by magic, Cycling John turned up for a swift half or three as he, er, cycled past. I stayed so we could sample the Oakham Bishop's Farewell as well, rude not to etc. The state of which was simple enough to state; well-conditioned, well hopped, well tasty.

Back onto the back seat of the bus for the quick squirt up to Belper. There are several fun things about Belper; the Nailers, George's Tradition and Liquid Treasures. More about the middle 'un later. The Nailers were playing away and Liquid was shut, but I was able to entertain myself with a trip up the hill to the Cross Keys. A Batemans pub - I know that name makes some people run screaming - redeemed by the simple fact that Colin keeps a pint of XXXB that is phenomenally good. Tyrrels crisps, too. And no music, as everyone on a Sunday lunchtime is too busy drinking to spend money on the jukebox. This is an unfussed pub that has a clear dividing line. Bar billiards in the lounge, pool in the bar. Chalk yer cue and choose yer door. The beers are sparking on either side.

George's Tradition beckoned, for a homemade fishcake that had the strangely attractive taste of fresh snuff and peppered haddock. The bus home took me past the Flowerpot, so it would be rude not to call in and have a pint of.... well, in this case, Marble Lagona IPA (just.... mmwwwwwaaa!) And the day proved that an average Sunday downing average bitters can be anything but average.


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A gentle walk on what seems to be the first vaguely sunny and dry Sunday of this summer.

The walk from Derby to Belper is about eight miles and forms part of the Derwent Valley Heritage Way. It's one of my favourite walks; easy going terrain, plenty of variety (woodland, river meadow, pasture land, urban) and - funnily enough - a few good pubs along the way.


The first pub I pass on the way out of Derby is the Abbey at Darley Abbey.

As it was only 10:30, the pub was closed. As I rarely to the walk in the opposite direction, I don't usually pass when it's open. It's a Sam Smiths pub, so cheap and cheerful. Personally, I think it's underdeveloped and could make itself more appealing to villagers and tourists alike.

The route wends it way onward, along the river (the banks thick with dragonflies), over the railway and into Little Eaton. A couple of pubs here, but it's still too early. The village's prize-winning butcher, Barry Fitch, doesn't open on Sundays so no pork pie to eat en route today.

Over the hill, drop back down to the river at Duffield, ignoring The Bridge pub as it's only a few more miles before the first stop of the day.

The Holly Bush at Makeney is just superb and will probably feature at some point as one of my Pubs to Love. Doofus boy here didn't take a photo, knowing he's got loads of them already... and promptly forgot to upload one. Gah!

Lots of little rooms, flagstone floors, low beams, open fires... you get the picture anyway.

A pint of Bradfield Farmers Blonde and a pork pie made for an ample enough lunch. The Reluctant Scoop Percentage was 20% - a guest beer that I can't remember the name of now - but the weather was such that a decent blonde was required. Coz you can't beat getting your lips round a fruity blonde on the wall in the pub car park, fnarr fnarr...

A short skip, hop and stumble up and over the hill into Belper, where the walk ends right outside the Cross Keys.

A great Batemans pub, where Colin the landlord puts on an array of guest beers. Some months, the guests will all be from one particular brewery, giving you the chance to try a range of beers that you wouldn't otherwise see.

A pint of Batemans Salem Porter was swiftly dispatched, followed by several pints of XXXB whilst watching the European GP.

Then it's a wobble downhill, trying to resist the temptation of fishcake and chips at George's Tradition, to take the bus back to Derby.

A few miles walked, a few good beers imbibed. An excellent ramble! >