The first fest of 2009 offered old favourites, new breweries, too much Paradox and a Man With Several Plans. The panto is still in full swing so Derby's topers all squeezed into the Darwin Suite for three days of fun. Unless you were that poor sod of a photographer who didn't seem to entice anyone into having their portrait taken. Is that beer cloudy? Oh no it isn't! Oh yes it is! And repeat until the bar staff call security....


Thursday night

A simple plan; get train to Derby, eat chips, join queue, rent glass, drink beer, drink beer, repeat until bored / nine o'clock / I fall over. But, as the famous quote goes; "The best laid plans of mice and men / Are shafted to boggery by National Rail's winter timetable changes". My train now ran twenty minutes later than planned, so instead I caught the Spondon Flyer into town, having first stopped off at a nearby chippy. The delightful assistant, whose name may or may not have been Samantha,was more than happy to serve me. Indeed, she smiled broadly whilst taking my sausage out of her hotbox.

The fest is held in a compact and bijou venue, the Darwin Suite of the Assembly Rooms. With limited seating in the suite and the festival's official reception taking up the 'quiet' room, I grabbed a beer and pitched up by the catering area within earshot of hot food slopping and a daft old racist ticker.

Eventually, the smell of the ticker and the sound of the food drove me back to the bar. Approaching the doors, I was greeted with a hefty cheer of "1-2-3-4!". No, not a particularly thirsty toper ordering multiple drinks. This was Verbal Warning, a punk covers band who (refreshingly for a band of their era) didn't need flashcards to help count that far. Though it was a tad depressing to find that the audience of similarly aged gents were mostly sitting down... tapping their toes.

Several beers later I was contemplating escape when I bumped into came Comrade Brian and Cycling John. Making the most of their late passes, they'd just been to see the film Che at Quad and had popped over for a drink. They forced me to stop for a few more beers (honest) so we put the world to rights by the continental bar in an ever-busier foyer.

And those beers:

The Good: Dunham Massey Chocolate Cherry Mild and the ever-sublime
Thornbridge Saint Petersburg.

The Not Bad: Dunham Massey Winter Warmer and Derventio Barbarian

The Mistaken: possibly Wirksworth Sunbeam as it certainly wasn't St Austell Tribute Extra (ruddy lovely it was, mind)

The Indifferent: Wild Walker Old Big 'ead and Great Escape (plain stuff
from a new Derby brewery; let's give them time to find their feet).


Friday night

An even-simpler plan tonight; drink Brewdog Paradox, watch Blurb. First part of the plan was executed commendably - half-pints of Smokehead were downed with metronomic regularity throughout the evening. But Blurb.... they were supposed to be on first but instead there was a shouty bloke standing in front of some bored-looking musicians. That'll be Kaiser Thiefs, then. Now, if you're going to ape Ricky Wilson it would be ideal to look like him..... STRIKE ONE! OK, at least act like him.... STRIKE TWO! But it's a tribute band so he'll probably sound like him... STRIKE THREE! YOUROUTTAHERE! Well, I was. And so were a few others. Particularly when he forgot the words.

Tonight, this place was HEAVING. The bar was four-deep, the foyer packed, even the 'quiet' room was busy (albeit those present looked like they were auditioning to fill a chair in an old people's home). Old friends were literally bumped into (Oliver with his mate Matt), Ol being naffed off that all the Jaipur had gone - it flies off bars whenever it's on, even before Thornbridge's profile-raising spot on BBC's Drink to Britain programme. Oliver reminded me to mention that I walked (i.e. fell) into a six-foot tall freestanding CAMRA poster and went for a spectacular pratfall. Cheers, Ol, I'd almost forgotten that ;-)

With my beer goggles now calibrated firmly into their 'only have eyes for Smokehead' mode, the Brewdog was starting to seep into my soul. This Paradox lived up to its name abundantly. There's plenty enough of a phenolic fright but the flavour retains Riptide's smooth vanilla and chocolate notes.

Into the sweaty maelstrom of the foyer arrived my oppo, Scott, and his wife Mary along with their friends Vicky and Matthew. Mary handed me a copy of Norfolk Nips, a CAMRA magazine. I told her that I'd always wanted to get my hands on her Nips. I'm not sure if she heard me as I didn't get the belt round the chops that such a gag usually elicits.

... meanwhile, Blurb had apparently taken to the stage. I was considering insertion into the sardine-like throng of the Darwin Suite when Oliver told me it was the same band as before... they'd just changed into tracksuits. What a swizz. Back to the Paradox and the banter, then. What that banter was, I have no precise idea, but the last hours were highlighted by the others taking some sterling photos through the bottom of a beer glass and me being unable to operate Scott's sliding telephone. I mean a telephone that slides open to reveal a keypad. Not a telephone that slides down stair banisters. Honest, Scott. (btw - did you see the photos I took on it???)

With drinks drained and late buses to catch, I weaved my way home. And went to the fridge and opened a bottle of Punk IPA. Like you do at midnight, having drank stupendous amounts of 10% stout for six hours.

Sleep fell like a sumo wrestler through a balsawood dojo.

Saturday lunchtime

The simplest plan of all today; me and the missus drink whatever the hell we want to. Accompanied by whomsoever washed up by our table in the 'quiet' room. That's 'quiet' as in no music; you still get the over-loud ticker, the grumpy non-drinking spouse and the hyperactive child who's in need of colliding with a sharp table edge in order to calm them down.

Long-time fellow festival mucker DJ Monarch aka Neil hauled himself over from deepest darkest Cheshire to share a few beers. As a five-a-side football player, striking a glut of goals recently had gone to his head - literally, as he was now sporting the rather fetching Wayne Rooney Shawn Spud hairdo. Ideal for a freezing January, Neil ;-)

He was accompanied by a couple of friends he'd met at the Great American Beer Festival last year. Who are Argentinian football league supporters. Living in Derby. Who also support Nottingham Forest. Seriously, I couldn't make this stuff up even if I'd been drinking.

Rebecca tucked into a Fentimans Dandelion & Burdock early doors before enjoying some lovely local cider (Three Cats Sweet) and a fair few glasses of Dunkertons Medium perry. And she picked some random numbers for me to order beer b, which resulted in some interesting revisitations for me like John Thompson XXX bitter and the Cascade-whiff of Purity Pure UBU.

The other beers this session of real note included:

Ashover All Saints - almost-wit with just enough orange peel shavings to
lift it on the palate.

Arbor Oyster Stout - really, really smooth stout that actually had the oyster smack that many beers of this style lack

Leadmill Louisiana - proper ashen porter with a hint of smoke

Funfair Blueberry Stout - well, it's got a vineous, hedgerow edge to it; not massively blueberry but still topper toper tasty

Brunswick Regimental IPA - first tried in October 2008 at the Brunnie's
fest, this has matured enough for the hops to infuse and produce a cleaner, even drop.

Falstaff Tennent - I'm not a fan of the constant tinkering of recipes at Falstaff but if it leads to beers like this, tinker on! Bags of fresh hops on the nose, lush citrics climbing through the malt, the kind of beer that Falstaff ought to brew every year when they get the new crop US hops in.

Another great Derby Winter fest. The season has now begun, though I won't be going to as many CAMRA festivals as usual this year (no, honest, I know I've been saying that for years but this year I mean it. Probably). I'll be visiting a few favourite fests in the evenings and weekends but I'm on the lookout for a fest further away that I usually venture - let's say two hours away by train from Derby. So, if anyone could recommend a Home Counties / West Yorkshire fest of fun, let me know.

More photos on Flickr



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It's hard to resist a good pub festival, particularly when it's at one of my favourite pubs on my regular Thursday night ramble. With a host of unusual beers on offer, the question was not how reluctantly I'd be scooping at the Smithfield in Derby but where to start?.

Regular readers known that I'm keen on keeping my figure in shape... and round is a good shape. I'm not one of these uber-thin ticker-types who live on railway station sarnies. So I filled up beforehand on a fantastically tasty Chinese at Yangtze in the Westfield centre; chilli chicken and chicken curry and, er, some other chicken was a clucking good combo to get your ribs sticky enough for severe imbibation. Suitably stuffed, a short walk downriver would land me at the festival. But it would have been downright rude not to stop off at my usual first-drinkie halt on a Thursday. The Royal Standard has made a name for itself with its combination of Derby Brewery Company brews, solid guest beers and cafe chic style. Happy as I am with Trev Harris' solid stuff, the guests are always a draw for me and choosing an Abbeydale beer over the likes of Wychwood was a no-brainer. If I'd engaged said brain, however, I'd have spotted and ordered the York Nelson Sauvin.

So, my plan for only one swift half had gone to cock already. Dear reader, I know you would never have forgiven me if I'd been stubbornly Reluctant and passed this one by. I knew it couldn't be as good as Thornbridge Kipling. Might it be as good as Alehouse's Sauvin So Good? Well, the York had a massive goose-gog aroma with more than a hint of dry nettles nestling in its fruity thicket. Sustained wincing fruit through the flavour, too, before a subtle creaminess calmed the party down. A damn fine beer, all the more so for being an unexpected bonus beer.

Scooping down at the Smithfield was, in truth, unusually un-Reluctant. I'd gone all old skool and compiled a hitlist culled from a Scoopgen post. With the outdoor festival bar not open when I arrived, I pitched up at my usual table in the bar by the jukebox and settled down with half of Oakham's Helter Skelter. It's beers like this that make the Smithy one of my Pubs To Love with plenty of hoppy stuff (the Whim and Headless brews on offer follow suit).

I won't write too much about the Smithfield here- it deserves a proper Pub To Love write-up in the near future - but suffice to say it's a cracking boozer. A recently reupholstered bar and lounge are served by a central bar bristling with handpumps. No festival stillage in either room, though, and the mini-marquees outside had plenty of trestles but nothing in the way of casks. So, where had landlord Roger Myring hidden his festival? Behind one of the downstairs gates, of course - a garage-type room built into the side of the pubs that was deep enough to take a forty-barrel stillage.

There was a fair crowd outside already by seven o'clock as Roger got the show on the road. First beer for me was Thornbridge Karnival, tried before at Peterborough festival bit I wanted a half-pint to savour. The latest beer in their Brewers Challenge, this is newest brewer Matt Clarke's entry. It still has that Thornbridge hop stamp albeit with a crepe sole rather than a steel-toecapped Doc Martin. That makes it a calmer and more contented brew compared to their usual output. Although you expect another hop kick, and in not getting it feel undersold, it's still an
almost assured beer with real self-restraint.

Next up were three beers that I'd eagerly awaited ever since seeing them on the list. Marble produce some darn fine beer; here in Derby, our wholefood shop Sound Bites are stockists of Marble bottles such as Lagonda IPA and their sublime Ginger. Here at the Smithfest, the brewer had three single-hop-varietal beers on offer. Sorachi Ace was very very pale, a wishy-washing-up liquid head with some juicy fruited hop oils prominent in the nose. Really creamy, too; the kind of soft hop that could glide a harsher one across a palate to good effect.

Their Mount Hood was fairly pale by comparison, with soft sherbet edges and a floral blush across the palate. The hops skip across a late aftertaste of lemon balm. But it was Brewers Gold that seized the day. Dark gold body, fresh floral perfume notes, blossoming hop oil on the end of your tongue and a hoppiness that never, ever stopped. This has the capacity to make its Crouch Vale counterpart seem amateurish by comparison.

A run of local beers would now do to see the night through. Headless 5 Gates was.... well, certainly not unpleasant, it just feels like a let-down in the afterwash of a few well-hopped beers. It's not too far removed from their usual output, rounded hops held up in a decent mid-citric body. In fact, it feels just a tad more more bolshy - dry hopped, perhaps? But there's some muddle here with the base beer not being allowed to shine.

Brunswick's Bellpair Vice was a groaner on two counts - a ruddy awful pun and the dread of another English Wheaty effort from the Brunnie. They do somethinga really well down there; White Feather, Father Mikes, beef & stilton baguettes.... but reet exotee brews laik vice? Most of the wheated oddities of theirs that I've tried have been not so much drain-pours but gutter watter. Remarkably, this stuff managed to keep on the right side of the fine line between wheaty sweetness and cloying yak. For most of the time. Best served cold and drank quickly.

Perhaps Amber could match the Bellpair's intentions and declare trumps with more of an edge to their offering. The brewer, Peter Hounsell, gives his beers straightforward names and likes to experiment with bold styles. This as least looked like a rugged wheat beer, with a murky honey coloured collar, but there was no esteryness nor any real wheaty bite coming through. Perhaps the temperature wasn't allowing these wheaty wonders to flourish?

Time for the night's last beer and an attempt to go out on a high. Well, a high ABV at any rate. The Headless Zymosis was brewed back in April and had maturing its way towards being a winter beer. Well, the weather of late has been decidedly parky, so no time like the present for cracking open a cask. Apart from a dulled deep amber body, nothing up front suggested its strength in depth, a fairly bland nose for a 7.5% warmer. Then thirty seconds later, the heat is on... that higher register warmth of spice followed by the reflux burn of candied Deep Heat. With your middle organs now coated, the palate anticipates the aggressive nature unfolding in the glass and replaces spiced fire with hop ire.

It's a Keyser Soze burn, though - a flickering flame, a darting burn along the damp boards til like that... it's gone. Until the next mouthful. My notes on the night compared the feeling to that of inhaling too deeply whilst changing the water in a fishtank. I still have no idea why I wrote that - especially as I haven't kept fish for over twenty years.

Outside it was dark now, the R&B band were in full funk and ordering beers was best achieved by holding up the requisite number of fingers corresponding to the number of the beer on the board. So, few takers for number 39, unless you roped a few others into helping you order it. Though it probably wasn't worth all that effort for a Church End special. I kept on with #1, Zymosis. Hard knock life, eh?

All in all, a good night with mainly decent beers. And *that* jukebox - The Who, Led Zep, Thin Lizzy, Issac Hayes, Suede, Placebo, Cream, Ian Dury, Madness, The Jam, The Clash... stopping scooping was a Reluctant choice, but there's only so much Zymosis a man can drink on a weekday.

A long day's recovery on Friday in front of a static spreadsheet and a regular supply of bacon cobs set me up for a return on the Saturday. Mrs H was tempted out to enjoy some cider and a few of the old faces were bound to drop by. Indeed, Cycling John dropped by (without the Claude Butler) and my erstwhile drum tutor, Andi 'the drummer in Endorphin Rush' Evans was already installed outside with his wife Julia and their rapidly-growing nipper, Emily.

I was in very Reluctant Scooping mode today - the emphasis was firmly on drinking with friends and taking things easy. There were, of course, several ticker tables - some of which were their usual over-zealous selves with bottling lines in full flow and spittled beards outshouting each other over contentious abv recollections.

The weather stayed fragrant enough to stay sat outside next to the bar. That meant the beers were knocked off in quick succession, with more Marble Brewers Gold being the first order of the day. Mrs H was in her element with a barrel of Three Cats medium sweet cider to yomp through. Away from the Marbles and Zymosis, today's beers were OK but not gobstopping - Great Gable Illgill IPA was fairly anonymous, Black Hole Milky Way not as biting as I remember it. The real standouts were from Hopshackle; although their Amber Smooth was fairly anonymous, the Double Momentum and Historic Ruby Mild was were huge beers. The mild in particular had a real edge to it, lactic smacks with very berry fruits catching your taste buds almost unawares.

Ever impressive was the food here - the Smithfield chip butty is a thing of legend and I was more than happy to reacquaint myself with the full-on dripping-butteryness experience. Mrs H's tuna melt looked disgustingly good, too, and Cycling John's sausage cob with onion rings in it looked - frankly wrong, but he assured me it tasted good ('edible skins.... makes all the difference' he assures me).

It's been a rambling write-up, but that was the nature of this fest. Some superlative beers, some threatening a vague promise and not delivering, top tunes, a smidgen of sunshine, good times all round. Roger and Penny do a top job here, it's an oasis of funtime drinking that brings a little of the laid-back country boozer feel into the city. Oakham, Whim, chip buttys, free jukebox. Pub fun? Done!
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It's hard to ignore a beer festival when it's got a reputation for good local beers and it's only a short bus ride away. So, Rebecca and I ventured over to Ilkeston for their CAMRA festival on a warm Saturday in May.



This fest used to be held in the Friesland sports call in nearby Sandiacre but was moved to Ilson last year due to low attendances. The new venue is much better served by buses from Derby and Nottingham and so numbers through the door have risen enough to make the festival viable. And it's a superb looking room - a banqueting hall large enough to take the stillage and still have room for sitters and standers.

We arrived on the dot of opening to ensure we got a table nearest the lifts, all the toilets were on other floors and Rebecca didn't want to be fighting through a crowd in her wheelchair. Sat at the back, I journeyed up to the front of the room to fetch Bec's first perry of the day, Oliver's Medium. Always assured of a tasty drop with something from this producer. With the papers to read and decent perry, Bec was set up for the rest of the afternoon.























I plumped for a beer on the stillage next to me - Thornbridge Kipling. Well, it's a dirty job but someone's got to drink it.

There were a couple of standout beers. Hollard Lipsmacker was a good, gentle bitter and proves there's more to the brewery than Chocolate Clog. Beer of the festival for me was Atomic First Lightning, a Locket lozenge orange body, smells of freshly baked lemon meringue and has lashings of itchy lemon to taste.

But it's local brewer Funfair that caused me concern. These are usually excellent - indeed, the Sky Diver was in good nick and I was disappointed at missing out on the cask lager Fun Stripe. But Divebomber (voted beer of the festival) was strangely muted compared to my previous samplings and Metorite was decidedly warm. And that was the real problem - a fault with the aircon was taking its toll on beer quality. The staff were forced into filling bin bags full of ice packs to act as cooler blankets on the casks and by mid afternoon they seemed to be fighting a losing battle. Even the perry which Bec had continued to drink all session was starting to feel tepid.

We beat a retreat slighly sooner than originally anticipated due to the heat and cooled down at the nearby Spoons (The Observatory) with drinks that seemed frozen by comparison.

So, still a fest on fun overall? Well, I like the all-in-one venue, a decent mix of LocAle beers and proper morris dancers (the Black Pig Border Morris - check out their calendar).

We brought our own food but there was a restaurant downstairs. Loos were clean and functional. Easy to get to on the bus. But that beer quality was offish towards the end - to be fair, the staff were doing all they could.

Yes, then; still a fest of fun that I'll gladly give another go next year. Here's hoping the aircon holds up next time!

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It's a hard knock life, this reluctant scooping. Forsaking the scoopfest that is Reading beer festival was an easy decison; as fun as it is, the lure of a decent pub fest just a few fields away from home was enough for me.

And not just any old pub - the Royal Oak at Ockbrook is a gem of a place, a proper pub and one that will certainly feature in my Pubs To Love column at some stage soon. This was a fest with a difference for the Oak. Their usual offering is an autumnal affair, based on the brewers found in a single county. This was a special occasion, though, as landlady Olive Wilson was celebrating her 55th year in charge - that's right, fifty-five years as licencee. Her son-in-law, 'Smiling' Steve Hornbuckle does the hard work behind the bar and in the cellar nowadays and he sourced a range of beers from breweries based less than fifty-five miles away that are not normally featured at the pub.























With about a dozen beers on stillage and another three on handpump in the bar, I decided frequent visits should be the order of the day - er, of the weekend - to maximise my chances of being reaquainted with some great beers as well as reluctantly scoopiing a few new 'uns.
Cycling John and I trolled over to the Oak on the opening night (well, my wife Rebecca drove us over). Ensconced by the stillage, we set about the beers in no apparent order apart from ensuring we hit the Brampton beers first. I'd not had these too often until this year; John knows the Chesterfield area well and the brewer had become one of his firm favourite.

Brampton Golden Bud was top notch, as were Ashover Poet's Tipple and Holland Delph (good to see some great light beers coming from Kimberley). Whim Flower Power and Black Christmas were dangerously drinkable. And tonight I had several glasses of what was to become my beer of the fest; Wirksworth Cruckbeam, a superbly balanced bitter with a depth of flavour and finish that was missing from their earlier ventures.

With a fair few more people present, Steve gave us all a hearty welcome and introduced East Midlands CAMRA Regional Director Julian Tubbs who said a few words honouring Olive's work and the value of community pubs. More of the same beers as before were then imbibed, by which time Brampton Mild had come on. At which point, any vestige of scooping hope was lost; this mild is excellent and I was happy to keep supping it until my better half arrived to give us a lift home.

Back to the Oak on Saturday lunch, this time in a taxi so that Rebecca could avail herself of cider. Yes, we do cider in Derbyshire too - in this case, from only a few miles up the road at Morley. Three Cats is seen flying the flag for Derbyshire cider at a fair few festivals nowadays, an Eastern counties style cider made from cookers and eaters donated by locals.

Some of the usual suspects joined us today - John meeting Brian on the bus (yes; Brian on a bus). They both then spent a fair bit of time playing with their phones - Brian had given John one of his wife's old models and they were soon into full techno-mode.

Later in the afternoon, Rebecca's work colleague Susannah turned up with her beau in tow, Graeme. And he we all are (apart from John behind the lens) in smiling, drinking pose.
With most of the beers still on from Friday, I was happy to drink my way through more Brampton, Whim and Holland before being enticed into the bar for more than several pints of Thornbridge Jaywick on handpump. So, there was the rest of the afternoon gone - this is such an easy drinking, deliciously golden ale. And I've rarely been more grateful for a taxi ride home afterwards...

On Sunday I picked up one of my bikes from John and we didn't need much persuading to amble over to the Oak. The stillage was decidedly thin now, with emergency beers from Grafton and Derby Brewing Comapny called into action. Our saviour was Amber Ales Stout on in the bar, amazingly refreshing after the short but sweaty bike ride.

Certainly a fest of fun and one that's already given me an appetite for their main festival in October.

You can read more about Olive's story by following these links:

http://www.youandyesterday.co.uk/articles/The_Royal_Oak:_Pulling_pints_for_half_a_century

http://www.bbc.co.uk/derby/content/articles/2008/04/30/olive_wilson_royaloak_feature.shtml

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A rare treat for me - my wife gets to tag along to a festival! Rebecca likes her cider and perry, so as we both had a few days off work we decided to heads over to Burton upon Trent for their first Spring fest.



An early start on the X38 express from Derby gave us a chance to pop into a Wetherspoons and try one of their festival beers first. Bec eschewed the cider this early on and plumped for hot chocolate, but I couldn't resist a St. Georgen Brau Keller Bier, a wonderfully soft, slightly spicy concoction.

On to the Town Hall, then. I like this as a beer fest venue; one main hall for the stillage, two rooms at the back for seating (or more beers for their main fest in September). It's all on one level, which was ideal for Bec's wheelchair access, with the exception of the theatre seating upstairs.





We met up with some friends in the back, all regulars from the Brunswick in Derby; John, Brian, Ray and 'Magic' Mitch all like a beer or five and have plenty of tales to tell.



Here's a rare picture of Mitch - not mid-magic trick, not trying to sell you a car ;-)
























The beers were fairly varied and in good nick. For me, Burton fests tend to be ones where I stick with the beers I like; Beowolf Dragon Smoke Stout, Whim Black Christmas and Robinson's Old Tom were all in fine fettle. The cider and perry list was small but well formed; Bec tends to drink through the perry list until she finds one she likes and then sticks to it. Here, the firm favourite was a Severn perry that had been finished with whisky - Bec liked it so much that she threw one glass of it all over the table in sheer excitement!

I don't mind being sat away from the action - I like to hear myself think and hear what others have to say - so I'd no problem with the large round tables set up in the rear hall. Though, compared to previous trestle table years, it did seem to cut down on the total number of seats available - especially as what seemed to be a CAMRA meeting had closed the other seated room for a few hours on the Friday.



Food was good fest stuff - freshly made rolls, Broughton's splendid pies and the incomparable pork scratchings from Tony's on Burton market.

As for the entertainment - what more could you want than a sing-a-long with the salmon-jacketed maestro of the WurliTzer, Martin Atterbury? Indeed, many of the older ladies I spoke to that lunchtime said they'd travelled to Burton just to see Martin finger his organ on stage.
























All in all, fest of fun. Good beers in good nick, well-proportioned venue, plenty of decent snap, plenty of scope for a laugh and close enough to the rail station / bus stop for the short hop home. Now, Mitch; that's magic!

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