Old friends, new breweries, cool beers, hot curries... is Leicester Beer Festival a marriage made in heaven?

Let's make it clear from the off; I lurrrve the Leicester festival. Great array of beers in good condition. One large room for the stillage and vertical drinkers, one large room for the tables. Stacks of good food. Great atmosphere. It's one of the very few fests that I'm willing to give up a day's annual leave to attend.

The day was set up in Derby with an excellent freshly-cooked breakfast at On A Roll and my usual large, strong cappuchino at Caruso's. Into Leicester, one sharp haircut obtained and I was ready for a day of lush imbibition.

There's really only one sensible way to start a fest like this - order a pint of Thornbridge Jaipur and go for a wander all along the stillage to see what's on. Mental notes made of replacements and substitutions, greetings swapped with familiar faces, all in the company of an IPA as good today as it's always been. Catchy line, that.... somebody ought to use it in an advert.

Comrade Brian and Cycling John had already secured a table and were doing unspeakable things to a Blue Monkey. More about that later. I was ready to take a few snaps, having charged the camera battery the night before. Perplexed therefore that the camera wouldn't turn on. Embarrassed to find that the battery wasn't actually in the camera. Relieved that I'd decided to lump the larger camera along as well. Still, not as bad as Brian and the time he took thirty-eight snaps of a stripper. On a camera that should only have taken thirty-six pictures. If it had actually had a film in it....

And then, from deepest darkest Northamptonshire, Mark arrived. Blogger, Ratebeerian and looking a bit like Brian O'Driscoll's long-lost cousin, we suffer each other's company a few times each year. And rather than talking about page views, bounce rates and all other such blogging guff (as tends to happen in our scene that celebrates itself a little too much), we do the decent thing and double up.

Now then, matron. I know what you're thinking. We're not like *that*. OK, I caught him ogling my moobs once, but they do get pert when clad in Lycra. Doubling up simply means sharing beers - two halves bought, drink half of one then swap over with your oppo. Result: you get to drink quarter pints (just enough to get a fair impression of the beer) and so a wider number/range of beers can be sampled in one day.


We're keen to experiment (stop that sniggering! I won't tell you again!), so we tend to buy some old favourites alongside output from new brewers.

So, those beers in no more than six words each were...

Opa Hey 'Best' Bitter. - smelled of melted Twix, tasted better

Great Newsome Holderness Dark - murky with some freshly squeezed glue.

Barrowden Black Five - bits of licorice, solid chewy body.

Bottle Brook Red Chinook - some smart hops but rather flattened

Art Brew ibeer - bludgeoning vanilla and some hop itch

Bollington Oat Tom - fat oat notes sumped in berries

Blue Monkey Evolution - deep gold with light lush edges


Five Towns Niamh's Nemesis - light looking, heavy punching hoppy IPA

Old Spot Spot O' Bother - festival-winning chocolate and cocoa joy

Atomic Firebox - Chili? Pineapple in warming chutney lumps.

Potbelly Captain Pigwash - washy indeed, thin compared to Beijing

Dowbridge Bomum Mild - inoffensive, unobtrusive. So, a good mild.

Bragdy'r Nant Monkey Nells - Some easy-going chocolate. Not bad.

Monty's Sunshine - eh? Less-than-sorbet flavours here.

Malt B Smarties' Night Porter - Washy coffee; where's the richness gone?

Brewdog Devine Rebel - Too much, too young. Needs ageing.

And, as for the pint of Brewdog V2009... Sticky and harsh. Three months more?

All this beer drinking detracted rather from my socialising. So, apologies to Andy Sales for never getting round to catching up with him for a chat and a photo as promised. Apologies too to the Young CAMRA Collective, having promised Brad I'd be over to say hello I never quite made it to the other side of the hall. Except for a curry (hint; vegetable curry at the fest is better value than meat. Still good and spicy and you get plenty of it).

Of course, I still found time for a pork pie; well, two actually, as the first one was cut into quarters and disappeared between the gannets round the table. Cheers, guys! I then ended up buying a third alongside a delectable Stilton cob for the short journey home

Beer of the day? Five Towns Niamh's Nemesis. An assured, refreshing IPA whose light body belied the Cascades of flavour within. Admirable mentions to Old Spot Spot O' Bother and Bollington Oat Tom too.


So, is Leiester beer festival a marriage made in heaven? Well, it offered something old (Jaipur), something new (Five Towns), something borrowed (Bonum being Latin) and something Blue Monkey. I'd say that was close enough. Though with all that beer and lashings of curry at the top table, I'd have to take pity on the poor bride.... >

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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When two of my favourite pubs in Leicester got together to host a joint beer festival, it would have be rude not to give it a bash. Lured by madly strong Oakham ales and some dark Beowulf lovelies, I braved the chill wind to meet up with old muckers John and Brian at Vin IV (formerly Out Of The Vaults) and the Swan & Rushes.


It was cold in Leicester. No hail, no snow, just marrow-freezing dullness. Forgetting that the Alehouse opened at 11am - and they had a festival on too - left me tramping the shopping centres for an hour. A haircut filled the time, conducted by a barber who was the Daily Mail incarnate. I'd have pointed out the flaws in his anti-immigration policies but he did have a particularly sharp pair of scissors in the vicinity of my jugular.

Twelve noon brought me to the Swan just as the doors were opening. Too early for beers from the stillage, I instead decided to treat myself to a bottle of Anchor Our Special Ale, their Christmas ale. Licks of ginger, hints of pine, deep caramels... it's a satisfying beer for this time of year.

Tracking down John and Brian, it transpired they were en route to Vin IV, having called by the Swan when it was closed earlier and kept moving. Time for a few dark beers and a bit of snap, then. Wickwar Station Porter and Elgood's North Brink Porter were dispatched in quick succession. The former was a little on the bland side - perhaps due more to the chillly stillage outside as I've had this beer before in finer form. The Elgoods on handpump inside was superb; deep, deep ruby bodied with rounded rich berry fruits in the flavour. Dry chocolate and wet espresso filled out the profile of an accomplished beer. A proper cheese and onion roll (both ingredients thick cut) and a pork pie (possibly from Lanes, one of those flat, pliable ones) made for a decent lunch.

And then there was Oakham. Sadly their latest IPA, X-Terminator, wasn't ready ("it looks a little lumpy" said Grant Cook (at least, I think it was licensee Grant, I really ought to find out these things). My next trip to the stillage was far more fruitful, though. Not only did I get to meet blogger Pan-C from ale-affinity - without whom I wouldn't have known about the fest - but I was able to try what for me was the real draw of the day. Warthog was a collaborative brew between Green Jack and Oakham for last year's Peterborough CAMRA festival. It was 13.5% then.... so there's every chance that it could be knocking on for an extra percent-ish by now. Sticky tropical fruits to the nose, a high register alcohol note carried away on a hop tip. A slight cool haze to the copper body. It was thick but not viscous, no oily residue but instead a lovely light feel - still coated your teeth but as a veneer sheen rather than a gluey gloop.

Then, hops...... the lightest, fruitiest, smackingly-alpha hops that had no right to be present in a beer of this style and age. Frankly, I couldn't understand where the hops kept coming from. I had to keep sipping. And still the hops came, marching regimentally out the glass and into your gob as if they'd been in reserve too long and were desperate to pillage across your palate. I know many people who'd detach vital appendages if it allowed them to taste beers like this. If this uber-hopped barrel-aged barley wine were from San Bindeebondoo in the good ol' US west coast, certain beer review sites would be hailing it as a world-beating beer. Let me tell you - it *was* a world-beating beer, which goes to show that English brewers ought to be laying down beers in this style and bottling it to show that we're not as boring as our pilgrim brethren may make us out to be.

Suitably fortified, I dragged my hop haze off to the Out Of The Vaults. Or Vin IV as it's now known (again). John and Brian had just arrived after a trip to the Criterion and we soon got stuck into the beers on offer. They seemed to enjoy their choices from Fernandes, Hoggleys and Riverhead. My Kelham Island Winterlude was tasty enough, but the Beowulf Grendall's Grog being too heavy on the thick malts for me. Bees Ginger Beer was disappointingly underpowered for my palate - I'm keener on the boldness of Marble Ginger.

The Beowulf Christmas Cake 2008 was easily the better beer in this part of the festival for me. Decent rich fruits, a chewy malty base blunted by keen hops. By now, we'd given in to the lure of landlord Paul's homemade chili, mopped up with hunks of bread. I'd usually opt for a crisp pale beer to wash down a chili, but the Beowulf provided a surprisingly effective counterpoint with its fruitiness soaking up the spices.

Too soon, we needed to amble down New Walk for the train back to Derby. No prizes for guessing that the Warthog was my beer of the day. And the chili was one of the best trays of pub grub I've had this year. If only I'd been able to try them together.....

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On one of his recent trips to the Lake District, a friend of mine brought me back a bottle of Hawkshead beer from the brewery shop. Not any old beer, mind; their famed Damson Stout, promising to offer oatmeal laced with Westmorland damsons. With the weather turning a chill today, I was eager to crack open a dark beer and this seemed to fit the bill perfectly

The bottle poured a ruddy mahogany and gave an immediate whiff of dusty fruit. A scant mocha head subsided to leave a fading beige lacing down the glass. Holding up to the nose, there was a gently aggressive aroma - some sharp souring fruit mellowed by a dry woody note.

And, what a flavour. An assured natural sourness, whilst those oats bring a substantial dry feel to the back of the throat as those damsons vie for attention. The fruit is almost rotting on your lips, a tang that rivals some of the established Belgian fruit beers.

With a drying finish coated in a damson varnish, this was a superb beer. This makes one of my favourite beers, Burton Bridge Damson Porter, seem tame by comparison. My only regret is that I haven't sampled it on cask - if you get the chance, let me know how it was. I won't be too jealous. Honest.

(Thanks to Cycling John for the bottle)
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Wake up. Catch train. Go to beer festival. Drink beer. Drink cider. Eat pork pie. Catch train. Drink beer in Brunswick. Go to bed. To be honest, I'm getting bored of writing up fest trips. Would a visit to Tamworth be any different? Would there be something more imbibable than average British bitters? Would these gentlemen make it back to the rest home before curfew? Read on, dear toper.

To be honest, the day didn't get off to a great start. The new rail fares are anything but fair; the 20-minute Derby-Tamworth trip cost me more than the peak time fare to Brum used to only a few weeks ago. But this wasn't for any old festival; this was a Tamworth festival. New breweries. Church End specials. And the finest trio of food shops that I know of; Truckles for cheese, Claridge and Son for pork pies, Wood and Son for fish. Cycling John, Comrade Brian and I stocked up on cheese and porkies - we thought we'd not bother with DIY sushi - and set off in the rain for the Assembly Rooms.

Steady rain resulted in a wobbly line of wet tickers queuing for fest entry, which didn't bode well for the aroma later on. The eau de odour of certain tickers reaching reheat often puts me in mind of an incontinent Labrador. With Tamworth having a somewhat compact layout, as the rest of the line spawned left into the main room I bolted right to secure one of the few tables in the small but perfectly formed bar/dining area.


Pretty soon, we had a table full of pork pies (from Morris), cheeses (including the sublime Black Bomber from the Snowdonia Cheese Company) and Comrade Brian's home grown toms. The food was so enjoyable, it slowed down the purchase of beer. Amends were made with two rapid halves; Church End's Mocca Chocca Focca (fairly underwheling, some itchy chocolate faded into a thinning malt by the finish) and Beowulf Coffee Hazelnut Porter (needed a few minutes to warm when it revealed a superb creamy nuttiness).


I'm still experimenting with pork pie production and am having jelly problems. The stuff in the first pie was good - you could put a thumbprint into it and watch it spring back. My jelly is not so much runny as theoretical. Gives me the opportunity to stuff my face full of other people's pies; er, I mean conduct in-depth market research. All this pie malarkey was distracting me from the beer. The other chaps had sampled some damn fine looking light beers like Brown Cow IPA, but I decided to stay with the dark side. A Reluctant Scoop for me; though you can't come to this fest and not scoop a new brewery. Outstanding have been up and running for about six months and I'd yet to try anything from these Bury-based brewers.

I gave their stout a crack and, by gum, it was good. Fairly hoppy, deep malts balancing the flavour out, enough body to carry bold flavours into a satisfying mouthfeel. So good, in fact, that I decided to try their other beers on offer. Their Ginger beer had a fantastically agressive aroma, thinning a little on first taste but developing a slow spice burn as the beer warmed. There was an efficient cask cooling system here, perhaps a little too efficient as some flavours were chilled out on the pour and needed time to come up to temp and fully develop.

As we tucked into a majestic hand-raised pork pie, I went to complete the set of Outstanding beers with their Standing Out. Hazy gold with a thick citric lick, there was plenty of smacking hop oil squeezing out through the keen malts to deliver a real lipsmaker. Clearly the best trio of beers from a brewer new to me since those I had from Hopshackle. With the cheese demolished, pork pies reduced to crumbs and the toms all gone, it was time to shift through the gears and stretch those drinking trousers.

That last Outstanding beer had given me an IPA lust; Comrade Brian had been struggling to find light beers that were to his liking but he was able to point me towards the Woodlands Super IPA which certainly upped the bar with its punchy hop nose and fat wet fruity flavour. I sampled a couple of the chaps' beers as well; Great Heck Golden Fleece had a rather gluey feel with dusty hops and Brampton Aspire had an odd fruit flavour that no-one could put a name to. Back to the dark beers, then, with some heavyweights to round out the day.

Having loved their porter earlier on, I had high hopes for Beowulf's Strong Mild. At 7.4% I didn't expect it to be exactly mild. And so it goes. The faintest petrol spiral on the witch-tit flat, black to brown body. Christmas cake forced through an oil sump for an aroma. Fruits in the flavour not so much developing as rupturing under the concentration of alcohol steeped within. As it warms, a higher register aroma kicks in that Cycling John noted as that of cycle puncture fix solution. This was a massive, MASSIVE mild, it would take Sarah Hughes' Dark Ruby down the alley and paste it senseless.

As the picture above shows, Dave Unpronounceable had braved the nose-bleedingly giddy trek from Sheffield to serve beer darn sarf and gave his punters a warm Yorkshire welcome. My next beer had to be Bass. I mean Museum Brewery. Sorry, White Shield. Sod it, let's call it what it is - proper Bass beers, brewed by a proper brewer, albeit not for much longer, it seems. But what a choice to make; Bass Number 1 or P2 Imperial Stout? The complex barley wine or the intensely layered darker beer. Only one thing to do - buy both and mix them. Texting Mes to get his patented formula, perfected at Rail Ale earlier this year, a few reverential sips were taken from each glass before creating some kind of monster. I could play a round of beer bullshit bingo and take you through an un-necessarily overlong description of the effect, but John said it all after one long slurp; "My goodness!!". I then inflicted Brewdog Tokyo onto my rapidly-fading tastebuds. I'm convinced I was drinking alcoholic soy sauce. A Japanese chain smoker had expectorated into my glass. Did I love the sticky tar-laden smoke-fest? Do bears practice Catholicism?

With no way of improving on these last beers, it was time to Reluctantly leave the fest. And, er, go to the pub. The Globe was an impressive looking building with lots of 1980s brasswork and crass carpets. And Worthington cask. And something that must have been palatable, as I definitely had half a something from a handpump. But, in my post-Tokyo state, anonymous brown bittery stuff was literally pale by comparison.

So why did we stop in the Albert for a drink as well? I've always had nothing but below-average beer in here, it's never going to have a beer the equal of anything at the festival. But, every year, like a dog returning to vomit, we stop for a drink here. At least it allowed me to a) go for a huge crap, b) eat the chicken sarnie I bought earlier and c) water the plastic hedge with whatever fudge-like bland crap it was that Comrade Brian bought me.

And what's with plastic hedges? Are they wash wipe? I ruddy well hope so, the amount of crap beer that must get poured on them. Is it modular? Do you slot in seasonal varieties - holly for winter, hawthorn to prevent gatecrashers? Or is it part of a gigantic oversized Playmobil set? Is there some eight foot tall freak queuing for the BBQ in the rear beer garden with a crash helmet hairdo, poor fashion sense and no genitals?

Off to the train, then, and some light relief. The upside of the pricey 'peaktime' tickets was that the Cross Country service wasn't stuffed to the gunnels with shrieking PAs and unemployable students. Comrade Brian treated us to a grand precis of left wing political theory (I think) and Cycling John nodded in all the right places. Though I preferred Brian's excellent Tommy Cooper impersonation. At least, I think it was the Coopermeister - I had nodded off five minutes before.

Back into Derby in good time, then, for our Survivors Club pint in the Brunswick. A White Feather is always welcome, even at the end of the beeriest day. Mind you, I was so tired by this point that my photos turned black and white. But it had been a cracking day - top nosh, great range of beer, high quality, excellent Reluctant Scoops and some enjoyable old faves. A couple of dire pubs, mind you, but overall it was a day that reminded me that some CAMRA fests are worth drinking at and are fun to write about after all. >

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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I've been cutting back on the CAMRA festivals I attend in recent years; too many bland halls selling featureless bitters. But some make a supreme effort and Newark is a prime example.

Under the watchful cellarmanship of Steve Westby, the branch put together an enviable range of LocAle and unusual / debut casks inside a splendid tent or three.

In the shadow of the ruined castle with the Trent meandering past, I met up in the marquee with the usual suspects (John and Brian) for an afternoon with a difference. Well, different for me; such is the quality and range of beer on offer here that I decided to approach this fest in a different way. Instead of maximising new beers & breweries, or sticking with old favourites, I thought I'd try both approaches with one caveat - no more than one glass of any given style.

























A porter isn't perhaps an obvious style to start with, but there's method to the madness. The porter in question was from a fairly new brewer - Malt B - and I wanted to make sure I got some before the ticker hoardes bottled it all. Smarties Night Porter had a slightly sweet aroma from its deep brown body, a frothy coffee flavour without any assured roastiness developing.

So what better way to follow that up than with a ..lager. Mallard Featherlight is an old favourite of mine. Good tang, superb malty edge, simple stuff. Cask lager in this country seems under-rated which is a damn shame when you think of how much nitro-swill gets necked every week.

Onto a pale one. Plenty to choose from but I plumped for a brewer I love and don't see too often around the north Midlands - Pictish Green Bullet. Just superb! Exploding floral nose, vanilla and cream and hints of fruit salad. Long lasting hop oil finish. So good I had to have another one. Brian and John made a quick trip to the bar to go get some. One guy was pouring it from height to get a good frothy head of it. The other managed to dribble it flat and over the sides. I had both approaches - yes, when beer is this good I'm prepared to throw the arbitary rule book to one side and have another.

A bit of bitter next- and lots of them to choose from, which is what put me off the new brewer hunt at festivals. Everyone does a 4-ish % bitter, they're all average. So I plumped for a brewer that again I don't often see, Grafters, and their Over The Moon. And a pleasant surprised; though I was prepared to be underwhelmed, this was a fruity, clean bitter with fair balance.

For my strong bitter I had fewer options and ended up reluctantly with one from Red Squirrel. Reluctant not as I've scooped it before but that I've often found their beeers lacking in character. No such issue with Prohibition Bitter, though; an earthy body, resinous fruits riven through it, well balanced finish; by far and away the best Red Squirrel beer I've tried.

Almost spoilt for choice for IPAs according to the list, but when I say IPA I mean a beer of at least 5%. That narrowed the range down to a handful of candidates with Keswick's Thirst Celebration getting my vote. Not too sure where I got the hint of tea from in the aroma but I got the sweetness, saturatingly so. And then it all kicked off; a mellow fruitiness that seeps into your ears, a warm pepper sauce nose. The first sip brought back memories of building Airfix kits on a hot day in a small bedroom, a warm fuzziness pervading. Somewhere, a sliver of pineapple was fighting its way across the palate. Almost too sweet but still a super drink for a halfpint.

It is May after all, so a mild was always on the cards. With a fair few of them on today, it was tempting to try something leftfield but I thought I'd stick with the knitting and go for a mild that was mild. Brewsters Cheval Mort ticked all the boxes; black to brown body, silky feel, washy coffee.

For my stout, I unreluctantly plumped for Bees Wobble, one that I first sampled at Leicester BF earlier this year. It's a solid stout, a wisp of smoke and roast. Uniform black, tan-ish head... you get the idea.

Then, cider time. Olivers Medium, a no messing about cider. A cider that actually smells of cider rather than wet straw or cow fart. There's a warm apple aroma, strudel not long out of the oven. Just enough carbonation to tickle a little. By far and away the easiest drinking, sublime flavour of a cider I've encountered this year.

Only one way to finish off such an experiment and that's with a perry, in this case Ross-On-Wye's Blakeney Red. Incredibly pale, shimmers white at the glasses base with a thin custard coloured body. It's a pear delivery system, a sweet wafting aroma betrayed by a whiff of glue. But glue in a good way (warm Airfix again) with the sweetness seeping into your very core.


Excellent beers, ciders and perrys then, it has to be said. And what of the fest as a whole? Well, beer quality and choice was also excellent. Not being one to trust portaloos given a choice, I didn't mind the couple of minutes walk down the the proper bogs (which at least had a cleaner in attendance). Food seemed pricy (three quid for a baguette) so I was glad for the pork pie from Porters that I took with me. Friday was a quietish day, service was generally swift and pleasant, the quiz session reminded me why I don't participate in pub quizzes any more (someone at the next table always takes it too seriously). And Brian and John's company was as fun as always, even though they were ever-distracted by any young woman in a strappy top...

And aroma of the day - pushing the freshness of Pictish Green Bullet into second place - was Brian's new German menthol snuff (that seemed to have been cut with fibreglass).

An excellent fest; well kept beers, good venue, easy to access via public transport and proof positive that fests are even more fun if you're prepared to be adventurous with your beer choices. >

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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