Get my hair cut, go meet an old mate in the town where we grew up, go to Nottingham for a gig, drink beer.

It's good to have a plan.

As the day involved walking into some pubs I hadn't drank in for over twenty years, I'd no idea what beers I'd find. So maybe looking into what I drank, where I drank it and why would give me clues as to why this scooper is getting ever more Reluctant.

Babington Arms, Derby. Good George Pacific Pearl (cask). Because the barber's was shut and I fancied a pint. And I was glad of the opportunity to try the beer (which was lovely: hints at coffee, treacle, grapefruit, marmalade)

Standing Order, Derby. Vasileostrovsky Siberian Red (cask). Because the barber's up the road was shut too. And a few people had mentioned that this beer was one of the more impressive ones in the Wetherspoon's festival (which is was; strawberry on leather)

Exeter Arms, Derby. Thornbridge Chiron (keg). Because I was waiting for a bus and had twenty minutes to spare. And I bloody love Chiron (which was born to be kegged and let no cask evangelist tell you otherwise)

Sun Inn, Eastwood. Stella Artois (keg). Because I fancied a lager. And this pub, birthplace of the Midland Railway and mentioned in the works of D.H.Lawrence, is where I began as a largar drinker. Good to be back.

Old Wine Vaults, Eastwood. Blue Monkey Infinity (cask). Because I drank nothing but Guinness or cider in this pub when I warra youff. Because the cask beer were Shipstone's. And it was shit. So I fancied trying a decent cask beer here. And it wa.

Wellington, Eastwood. Greene King IPA Chilled (keg). In a branded handle glass. Because I'd never drank Greene King IPA Chilled. In a branded handle glass. And now I have. Verdict: not hemlock.

Hayloft, Giltbrook. Stella Artois (keg). Because I drank nothing but Guinness or cider in this pub when I warra youff. And I can't remember what the lager used to be. So I fancied trying a Stella here. And it wa.

Brewdog, Nottingham. Punk IPA (keg). Because I like it. Because I like the bar. Because I was with friends who'd never been and I wanted them to try Punk in a Brewdog bar. They liked it too. We liked the black pudding pork pie even more.

Spanky Van Dykes, Nottingham. Sierra Nevada Pale Ale (keg). Because the Tap And Tumbler nearby was busy and looked shit. Because I've never been to a place billed as an "eatery / funhouse" before. Because it was just round the corner from the gig we were going to. Because I was about to order a pint of Aspalls cider and then saw the SNPA.

Rock City, Nottingham. Red Stripe (can). Because I was there to see The Wildhearts. And cans don't smash and lacerate people. And if you're going to a gig that celebrates an album's twentieth anniversary, you may as well drink the same beer that you drank when you first saw them.

So, what does this reveal about my drinking habits?

I guess I'm happy to go with the flow. I guess I'm well past the snob-point of passing on a pint just because I don't think it'll rock my world. I know that beers with friends in places old and new are the canvas onto which you daub your day; they're not the masterpiece to stand back and admire.

And it reveals that ten venues for beer plus a hot, heaving, sweaty, air-punching, pogo-jumping, bruise-inducing, ear-pounding, fuck-yeah gig leave you gagging for nowt more than a pint of iced water when you make it up the hill to the Organ Grinder. Sorry guys, I'll drink twice as much there next time.

That's me, three rows from the front. Credit to the band's manager, Gav McCaughey, for the pic.



"It's my body, and if I choose to abuse it with my lifestyle and my music, what the fuck! I can't lose! It's my life..."

>

What you need to do is get off the bus at the Queen's Medical Centre (1971-75, Building Design Partnership). Go up Middleton Boulevard, turn into Lime Tree Avenue and bisect the golf course until you reach a stack of stone that is recognised as "among the most important Elizabethan houses in England".

Wollaton Hall (1580-8, Robert Syythson). Not Wayne Manor.

As you drop down past the camellia house, the twelfth tee is on your left. You may spot a plaid-strewn golfer. You may spot a stag.

Yes. There really are deer on the golf course. Take fifteen minutes to catch that photo, then carry onward.

Over Derby Road and onto Beeston Lane, you'll enter the University of Nottingham's campus. You'll pass by some staggeringly average buildings. As the road dips round and downhill you'll also pass by the timber gabled house where I was taught about the finer points of Bretton Woods.

When you hang a left round the back of the Trent Building (1922-8, P. Morley Horder) you dip down to the lake and meet knots of toddlers and lazy magpies and recalcitrant moorhens. And then you get to look back up at the Trent Building and realise that once, someone stood where you are with a vision. And made it happen.

Then you get on a bus. Alight at Canning Circus and go drink Ape Ale on keg at the Organ Grinder, with a damn good pork pie & mustard alongside. You'll then walk downhill to Slab Square then uphill along Low Pavement before turning into Lace Market and - if you're smart enough - you'll call into Keans Head and drink a pint of stout. And eat whitebait. You'll dip the first dozen into mayonnaise and the last six into the stout. You'll drop one in your pint. You'll drink it down anyhow.

Next, you may well end up in a warehouse (1912-13, John Howitt). You may not notice the stone keystones and voussoirs but the beers are bound to leave an impression.

There will have been beer. But beforehand there will have been one of the finest urban-country walks you could wish for.



Quote and architectural notes courtesy of the Pevsner City Guide to Nottingham. I love this series; any book that can teach me something new about my old stomping ground is well worth the money. >

With over twelve hundred beers on offer, many scoopers saw 2012's Nottingham Beer Festival as a tortuous paradise. One where they could not possibly try every beer they 'needed', not even with third-pints and bottling cartels in full swing. I'd no intention of scooping wildly; after a day of drinking North to South on Thursday, I needed a Friday plan.

That plan: to have no plan.

Instead, graze around and try a few beers from brewers that had crossed my horizon. And stick with them for as long as I dare. Here's three of the best. Albeit there's only one beer.

First up: Tiny Rebel. I first got to know about them via the Tweets of Glyn Roberts, everyone's favourite Womble. Their IPA, Urban, sounded like it would be right up my boulevard. And indeed it was. Sticky fruit salad, bittery biscuits, sweet start segues to dry finish. I had several of these. Several halves. And there was a point where (almost) every man jack in our posse of Men Too Fat And / Or Old To Be Seen Sat On A Wall Drinking Beer In What Is Obviously A Kiddies Play Area was drinking it.

Now, I like cider. I like dry cider. And when I say dry cider, I don't mean "really sweet but less sweet than the sugar suspension that we call our medium cider". So I'm wary about buying dry ciders that I know little about. Sometimes I'll ask for a taster. But a third-pint is basically a decent taster. And in the case of Salt Hill Urban Fox, it was more than bloody decent. Sharp flavour from the eaters/cookers mix. Sandpaper-itchy dry. Was worth more than one taster. Of the half-pint variety.

There comes a point at every festival where I end up choosing a drink based on its name. I try to kid myself that it's a cunning exercise is marketing analytics, comparing customer expectation with product deliverables. But it's actually because I've had a few drinks and I can't be arsed to choose anything any other way. Which is how I ended up becoming pleasantly surprised by Lustonberry Perry. Produced by the Marches Cyder Collective, it's another finely-dry drink with a plump pear flavour and an almost perfumed aroma.

Three drinks I learned to love over the course of a windblown festival afternoon. I drank a fair few glasses of each. Because I don't know if I'll ever see them again. I've never seen a Tiny Rebel beer in a pub in the Midlands / Yorkshire and the ciders / perrys are so vunerable to poor crops this year that the volumes produced for 2013 may be critically low.

My advice as always: if you like what you drink, drink it more. Enjoy the shock of the new; it may never get the chance to grow old.


Thanks to Ray Kirby and Nottingham CAMRA for the gen on Marches Cyder Collective. If anyone knows any more about them, I'd be interested to hear from you. >

Nottingham Beer Festival 2012: over one thousand beers by over three hundred breweries. An afternoon session. Third-pint measures. A plan.

Drink my way from the north-east to the south-west of England.

How hard can it be?

Northumberland: Anarchy Sublime Chaos, 7.0%  Soft coffee, liquorice twang, silky finish

Durham: Sonnet 43 IPA, 4.4%  Citric kick, punches higher than weight

North Yorkshire: North Riding Man In Tights, 4.0%  Pale, hoppy, that's about it really

West Yorkshire: Mallinsons The Five Hundred, 3.9%  Like most Mallinsons beers: pale gorgeousness

South Yorkshire:  Sheffield Festival IPA, 5.2%  Warm glue, tacky citric, chucked it

Derbyshire: Thornbridge Evenlode, 6.2%  Hedgerows and toffees and roasty cocoa

Staffordshire: Morton Jelly Roll, 4.2%  Orange nose, dry sweetness, massively under-rated

Warwickshire: Tunnel Trade Winds  Not the Cairngorm one. Bugger. Tasteless

Gloucestershire: Cotswold Lion Shepherd's Delight, 3.9%  Dull. Really, really, ball-achingly dull

Somerset: Ordnance City Mark II, 4.0%  Anonymous with a hint of twigs

Devon: Tavy Best Bitter, 4.3%  Achieves what best bitter should: balance

Cornwall: Rebel Managh Monk, 5.2%  Cloves, spice, hops? Tastes like... victory

>

The Church of St Mary The Virgin succeeds to High Pavement Chapel. Although High Pavement Chapel morphed into a Pitcher & Piano some years ago. Sneinton Windmill's sails score the treeline. Beyond the taupe sandwich slab of the Arndale car park, six lanes of Collin Street belch around towards the fawn, grey and black chimney of the Eastcroft incinerator.

Nottingham railway station has its terracotta and sandstone clock tower peeking up among the long slanted canalside slate roofs. In the distance above the British Waterways warehouse, you can just pick out the slim floodlight gantries: Trent Bridge, Meadow Lane & City Ground with its ruddy girders round the Trent End warming in this late autumn sun.

New Castle House casts a blue glass fronted slant across the scene. HMRC's tented café seems plonked incongruously behind a streak of green thatch along the boulevard. Cars crawl on the A52, leaving a glistening windscreen snail trail away to the right. Beyond, the edges of the Queen's Medical Centre. Beyond that, Ratcliffe-on-Soar power station makes more little fluffy clouds on this cool, breezy, easy-going October afternoon.

I'm drinking cider with the sun in my face. Below me, backpacked tourists ebb and flow through Ye Olde Trip To Jerusalem. Behind me, a band play hamfisted rhythm & blues. Around me, several thousand drinkers are enjoying over 1200 different beers and ciders. When the wind blows, auburn leaves and the aroma of tikka masala waft over us.

Roughly speaking, I've been standing by this castle wall on occasion for almost forty years. My Mum used to hoick me up, my hands planted onto the top slabs, so I could peer down to Brewhouse Yard. Lovers courted and lost have been snogged and cried over all along its shadows. My brightest times and darkest days have been played out here. My rock. My castle. My city.

Here with friends and a hundred strangers, all standing south into the raging sunshine by the walls of Nottingham Castle, a beer festival in full flow behind our backs, a glass of cider perched precariously before me, I know this much:

There is no finer time to be alive. Right here. Right now. >

Passing through Nottingham at the weekend, I stumbled across a food and drink festival. And into the beer tent. Sorry: into the Festival Ale House.

Given that beer is often treated like the country cousin at these kind of get-togethers, forced to loll around in a corner out of harm's way, it was refreshing to find that the organisers had put up a sturdy tent and an attractive beer-garden-plaza-trestle-table-thing. You know, something that actually looked inviting and enticed people in to try the beers.

An orderly queue to buy tasting tokens - business card-sized, five for a fiver, each redeemed for a third of a pint. Two steps left to the bar with forty-plus well-kept casks for gravity dispense into decent quality polycarbonate glasses (no deposit, fresh glass with every drink). Keen staff who were more than happy to talk you through the selection from eleven Nottinghamshire breweries. Decent tasting notes supplemented by another list in order of colour, light to dark.

The beers? Good 'uns. My first taste of anything by Lincoln Green (Marion, a juicy pale ale), Pheasantry (a solid brown bitter) and Medieval (Chivalry, another pale sessioner that was pipped by Marion in the refresher stakes). King Tom from Welbeck Abbey was a rugged American amber that I'd have happily drank a pint of. As for Chimney Sweeper by Castle Rock - my little sister chose me that one because of the name. And because it was vegan. And because it promised 'subtle banana'. I'm dubious about British cask dunkelweiss-types but this worked well. Albeit I may have had trouble drinking a pint if it started to warm up.

All in all, a great addition to a food fayre-festival-market-type-thingummy-bob. It's a shame that there wasn't more foodie stalls actually selling stuff or offering samplers on the Saturday; quite a few stalls had been turned into customer seating and some others were no more than leaflet-pushing promos for venues. A good coffee stand and a deli selling meat / cheese platters would have been good to see. As it was, I had a knockout chicken kebab from the guys at Eviva Taverna whom I have fond memories of from back in the 1980s and didn't realise they were still in the city.

It was certainly a great way to promote local beer. Other food festival organisers ought to take note and take Nottingham's lead. >

1) Go to a beer festival and drink the same beer four times

Yes, I used to plan festival attendance as if it were a campaign. Highlighted beer lists, a ranked order of imbibation, pencil, bottle of water, pencil sharpener, spare halfpint glass, spare pencil. Then I became reluctant. Nowadays, I'm louche to the point of insouciance. The Organ Grinder in Nottingham had a stack of beers on for the elongated weekend; I went, without a clue of what to do when I got there.

"What have you got worth drinking amongst this muck?", I enquired of the ever-patient Chris Sherratt. He poured me Sunlander by Stonehouse Brewery, so riven with passion-fruity goodness from a Galaxy hop addition that I had to drink it another three times. Just to be sure it was as gob-smackingly gorgeous as I first thought. It was. I was glad.

2) Sit at the back, attempt the crossword and people-watch

Hipsters play Guess Who ("Does the person wear glasses with no glass in them? Do they wear purple leggings? Is their name Tarquin?"). Couples aged fifty-something go from bemused to keg-curious to second-round-satiated within twenty minutes. Lads with wide teeth and hungover egos may or may not be off to the station to catch or not catch their train, depending on many factors but in particular whether one of them does or doesn't remember to pick his jacket up.

I'm installed on a long table at the back of Brewdog Nottingham with a pint of Punk IPA, another half-scrawled crossword and a wandering eye. The glint in the hipster's eye suggests he wants more this afternoon than a game of CSI: Cartoonface with the sylph-like lady in the Laura Ashley dress who smells of Refreshers. The couples are now eagerly sampling singled hopped IPAs, when they came in and were asked what they usually drink, one said, "um.... bitter?". The Man With The Unfeasibly Large Teeth forgets his jacket then comes back to pick it up. I drank more Punk and struggle with "Light ale brewed at that place inside (8)".

3) Watch the football

You walk into this pub and you're at the bar. Well, you're behind the bloke and his dog who are stood at the bar. His dog nuzzles me in a way that suggests that it's only a slight chemical imbalance away from attempting to detach my gentleman vegetables. Other blokes, with or without unstable dogs, clutter the bar around both sides. I break out my Grobbelaar spaghetti legs to duck and dart around the pumpclips before ordering a pint of Whim Arbor Light.

As the second half has just started, I'm fairly sure that no-one is sat at the only empty table and I can sit there without being stared down. Particularly by the double-denim clad rat-tail next to me. Who may or may not have Lov and Hat tattooed on knuckles. Who may or may not have lost fingers to an industrial injury or a bet that went too far. Any which way, she's happy to let me sit down.

Manchester City exhibit brooding confidence. Newcastle United exemplify nervy optimism. Thirty-ish drinkers of varying ages, genders, waistlines and medication requirements spend forty-five minutes sucking teeth, waving at the screen dismissively, uttering oaths and downing tip-top ale. Yaya Toure scores the kind of goal that marks out champions from also-rans. Mancini is on his feet. "Sit down, teaboy!", gruffs the salt-and-pepper haired curmudgeon on the far side of the bar. The final whistle blows. Pints are drained. Rounds are bought. Man U are on next. I tiptoe past a now-sleeping dog, knowing where I'll be watching Sunday matches next season. >

The venue where I saw The Stone Roses for the first time has certainly changed. Back in the day, Byron House was home to your typical sweaty-polytechnic-student union. Today, it's all more open plan. As in, a pile of rubble being ridden by a JCB. Students of Nottingham Trent University are looking forward to a new, improved union building. I bet they won't stand for sticky snakebite on the dancefloor anymore.

Cities evolve. Show me a city without a crane on its skyline and I'll show you a city that lacks ambition. I was back in Nottingham to visit two places in particular, ones that have been instrumental to my upbringing. One of those was just around the corner from where Byron House once stood. That place had changed, too, although I don't remember anything of it from the first time around.

On Peel Street stood the Nottingham Women's Hospital, better known to locals by the name of the street it stood on. Like thousands of others from the city and its suburbs, I was born here. New generations are now hatched down at the Queen's Medical Centre; Peel Street closed in 1981. Part of the site was cleared and, fronting the street, there's now a pub. The Gooseberry Bush.

It's a comfortable and comforting place. Low ceilinged but still feeling airy thanks to skylights and picture windows, there's a warmth to the wood around the bar. Throughout the long room, knots of people find their own space to enjoy a late breakfast or an early drink. It's by far and away the best Wetherspoons I've visited, more like a hotel bar than a bargain beer hall. I supped my Thornbridge Jaipur slowly and tried not to think too hard about waters breaking.

Rather than hotfoot it to the next planned pub, I fancied a bimble about. Through the Arboretum, with its rescue bird aviary and the cannons captured from Sebastopol. To the Lincolnshire Poacher, ensconced in a corner with a quiet pint of Adnams Lighthouse before the lunchtime rush. Shopping for a spork. Lunching at the Kean's Head with a sublime goat's cheese, Nottingham asparagus and Parma ham turnover. Afternooning in Brewdog for the likes of Stone Oaked Arrogant Bastard, which I may have described on Twitter as "a big fat spicy jockstrap of a beer".

Eventually, I ended up in a cave. Just as I'd intended. Ye Olde Trip To Jerusalem may or may not be the oldest pub in the world, the beer range may or may not be exciting, the tourist quotient may or may not be high (clue: it's always high). But... I love it. I love the cool sandstone walls in the bar. I love people watching as old boys vie with hipsters for space at the bar. I love the babble of overlapping languages; the almond-eyed Spanish girls drinking pints of bitter, the Americans playing cards and declaring one beer to taste of ass, the Hungarian doctor melding technology by Googling places on his iPhone and then inking details onto a glossy paper map.

It's where I came to skulk as a sixthformer after buying a clutch of vinyl from Selectadisc. To play Ring The Bull with random beery people. To fit in a sneaky lunchtime pint when I worked at an office down the road. And it's where my maternal grandparents met. I often sit by the front door and try to picture a lady with a cold and a man who offered to buy her a medicinal whisky. How chance encounters set the roots of a new family tree.

On Twitter that day; someone said "Nottingham, City Of Surprises! The Castle isn't a castle, The Park isn't a park, The Forest isn't a forest, The Meadows aren't meadows". I'll tell you what, though. Even when they used to be hospitals or factories or caves, Nottingham's pubs are most definitely pubs to love. >

Last week, Brewdog Nottingham opened. I ought to write about it. And not just because they gave me free beer and cheese. So, here goes:

Location: 

Broad Street, Nottingham. Which is a five-minute stagger from the Lace Market tram stop. Or a fifteen-ish minute stagger from Victoria Bus Station (time depends on whether you pop to John Lewis for a pee on the way). And next door to the Broadway Cinema which has free wifi, bigger toilets and cheaper lager. In case you need to satiate your desires in those directions.

Ambience:

Understated urban warehouse cool. Exposed brick. Surprise mirror. Those lights that look that those lights in an old IKEA catalogue that you nearly bought for your living room until you remembered that you don't live in a Manhattan studio loft. In 1986. Tables and stools that purposely annoy the middle-aged. Some walls covered in recycled school-gym laminate, complete with basketball lines and teenage knee-graze bloodstains.

Facilities:

Bar. The Smallest Toilets In The World Ever. Jenga.

Beer:

The freshest Brewdog draft I've ever tasted: , Blitz, 77 Lager, Punk, 5AM, Hardcore. Paradox Jura at 15%. Guest kegs were decent; three visits took in the likes of Mikkeller, Hitachino Nest, Stone, Cigar City. Bottles were excellent; Port, Cantillon, Ballast Point, The Kernel. It costs - practically £4 for a pint of 77 Lager, £3 for 2/3rds of Punk, maybe £5 for a third of import / strong Brewdog.

But, ask yourself this question. Do you want to drink 15% Paradox? Fresh-as-you-fancy Ballast Point? Japanese keg? I do. And I'm happy to pay that price to drink them practically on my doorstep in a fun venue.

Food:

Platters of cheese & meat. You can't believe how happy I am to see this approach taking off. So-so meat but the cheeses - including decent Stilton and Brie - are nibble-mongous. And I hear they've started stocking Mrs Kings pork pies too.

Knitted Merkin:

Worn with pride. By...

BrewdogbarMax

Brewdogbar Jonny

BrewdogbarMark

BrewdogbarBecca

BrewdogJames

One of the Brewdog squirrels

Chris Sherratt, the man who made CAMRA's Derby Winter Festival 2012 

the best damn beer festival I've been to

And some random waitress at Hooters:

But not the Beer Beauty:

Conclusion:

Parts of an old school literally meets new school brewing. Can be loud and brash. Which, I believe, is the idea.

Thanks to the bar scamps for feeding and watering me on press night and to the usual Twitter suspects for Technology Corner shenanigans. Special thanks to @alcofrolicchap and @brewdogbecca for the photos.

>

There's often a problem with food at beer festivals. It's often shit. Over-priced, under-flavoured, freshly-microwaved slop in those dull municipal kitchens. Burgers from outdoor vans that seem to be selling leftovers from last month's Sunday market. Where's the festival organisers' love for great food, sourced locally, made and presented with the same passion demonstrated by the great beers on offer?

I'll tell you where it is, in spades. Nottingham.

Even for a CAMRA festival offering over 900 cask beers, food has never been an afterthought whilst they've been in residence at the Castle. With so many beers, it can be difficult for a toper to keep eating- after all, there's so many beers, so little time. So many beers... so I needed a plan. And one plan led to another.

I'd eat my way around the festival, find a decent beer match for each meal and keep going until even my solid constitution began to complain. So, where to start? Breakfast.

#1: Jukebox Café sausagemeat and tomato cob, Redemption Trinity

I've never been to this caff, with its award-winning builder's breakfasts, a free-play jukebox and a parrot called Forest. On the strength of their stall here and this cob - sausagemeat split from the skin and cooked on a hotplate before you, plenty of peppery spice - I'll be making a bee-line there soon. Worked well with the feisty, zingy 'mild' by Redemption - sweet malts well tempered by shouty hops.

A swift half of Amber Jasmine IPA proved to be a suitable amuse-bouche. And then it was lunchtime.

#2: RoundHeart roast pork cob with spiced apple slices, Thornbridge Lord Marples

Sister pubs Hand In Heart and Roundhouse joined forces to put on pork and beef both roasted in their house ale, RoundHeart, brewed for them by Dancing Duck. Plenty of juicy meat, wonderful spiced apple, rubbish photo by me. And, yes, maybe I should have had the RoundHeart beer as well, but Lord Marples is an excellent bitter for roast pork, all soft and nutty, liquid bread to envelope chocking great lumps of meat.

Five Towns Guero, 2.9% and stacks of New Zealandish zing, was a classy palate cleanser. Now, what better next than a piece of cheese? Or three...

#3: Cheese Shop mixed platter, Buxton Wild Boar.

I wasn't too sure about the cheeses until I realised it was a deep platter. And that the soft one was so soft you could spread it on the crackers. And that the harder one had a lovely nutty depth. And that the blue one had an outstanding fresh barnyard feel to it. And that Wild Boar was man enough to take on these bold flavours, restrain them but never overpower them.

More IPA required - Five Towns Peculiar Blue added an almost pickled mango flavour into the mix. And having tried two IPAs, I needed another. With something spicy.

#4: Mirch Masala samosa and bhaji tray, Hopshackle Resination

The more vegetarian Indian food I eat, the more I love it. And this was sublime. A bhaji that was all light and airy yet packed full of soft, billowing spiciness. Samosas that had a shattering crust and proper, chunky, damn-good-looking veg. With what is maybe the finest cask IPA in England that you never really hear about, unless it's me banging on about it yet again. Resination is riven with US hops, brewed straight outta Market Deeping and didn't spar with the samosa/bhaji tag team - they just had a big spicy hug and got along tremendously.

More IPA? Why not? Full Mash Bhisti was a bitterer thing than the others only with a calming pear effect. And then it was time for a change in direction. I was feeling full but... no guts, no glory.

#5: Faggots, peas and gravy by the 24th Nottingham Scouts, Hopshackle Aniseed Porter

Now, that's what I call beer and food. Properly-seasoned faggots, the right amount of fat to keep it moist, plenty of mushy peas, robust gravy to round it all up. A dark porter, the aniseed not overpowering, working with the herbs in the faggots to give the whole dish a new depth of flavour.

Burp. Time for a waffer theen meent. Or the nearest equivalent.

#6: Merry Berry chocolates with Blue Monkey Guerilla

No photo. Let's just say these three things: Merry Berry aren't afraid to play with flavours that you can taste (chilli, lime and ginger was good, cracked black pepper even better); Blue Monkey Guerilla ought to be mandatory in every pub over autumn and winter (please, put some in kegkegs, it'd be a killer keg beer); I'd finally eaten my fill. And I forgot to buy some chocolates to bring home for Mrs Scoop. Mistakes like that are not tolerated in this organisation...

All in all, a superb festival enhanced greatly by the fact that the organisers take the opportunity to source food as diverse and tasty as the beer.

And one last toast - a whisky-infused bitter named in honour of the man who for many was Mr Nottingham CAMRA. For Spyke Golding, the former branch chair and newsletter editor who passed away last year, this drink's for you. Cheers!

>

What I expected at the Nottingham CAMRA beer festival: excellent beer, excellent food, dodgy cover bands, sun splitting above the mansion house and casting jagged shadows all over the southern slopes down to the Trent Valley.

What I didn't expect: Gabriel Van Ingen taking portraits for a wet plate collodion project. A full write-up of Nottm's beer and food and food will follow. As will more photos. But, for now, here's a pic of Gabriel's pic of me developing. It had to happen sometime...

>

Reluctant Scooping has two rules:

#1 - if you walk into a pub and find a beer you love, you must drink a pint of it.
#2 - if you walk into a pub, don't find a beer you love, you must drink a half of something new.
#3 - if you walk into a pub table, it hurts. And you're probably drunk. And there is no rule #3.

So, half-a-dozen-ish Notingham pubs were lined up. A couple of willing wingmen recruited. And mayhem ensued.

Trent Bridge Inn

Cask beers on offer: 10
Potential scoops: 2
Actual scoops: 1 (Nottingham Trent Bridge Inn Ale, halfpint, cask)

It's been a long long time since I last drank at the TBI. From being a cubby-holed, slightly-shabby and rather smelly pub, Wetherspoons have transformed it into somewhere smart and comfy. Still has a few nooks and crannies, plus a large room at the back with a big TV. Tons of cricket memorabilia adorn the walls, alongside some impressive paintings commissioned especially for the pub. Their house beer from Nottingham Brewery, TBI Ale, was pleasant enough although a bit on the brown sticky side for my taste. And here's the Trent:

  

King William IV

Cask beers on offer: 8

Potential scoops: 2

Actual scoops: 0

Favourites drank: 1 (Thornbridge Jaipur, pint, cask).

You walk through the door and walk into the bar. You sit in what looks like your Gran's living room, circa 1976. Customers appear to have arrived from an Alan Bennett monologue. And the beer is... stunning. Perfect quality. The best pint of Jaipur I've drank for some time - and last week I was drinking it in Thornbridge's own pubs. The other two topers with me today - Alcofrolic Jock and Rich from Brewsters - both drank Jaipur too. Nods and knowing grunts were passed. It was so good that afterwards, Jock went outside to have sex with his bike:

 

Kean's Head

Cask beers on offer: 5

Potential scoops: 2

Actual scoops: 1 (Castle Rock Spyke Golding's Ale, halfpint, cask).

I've always had a soft spot for the Kean's Head. Mainly for their super food, especially the homemade scotch eggs. There's a fridge-full of solid hoppy bottles (Flying Dog etc) but I plumped for another LocAle. It was massively malty. So much so that I was picking the bits out of my teeth all the way to the next pub.

VAT & Fiddle

Cask beers on offer: 10

Potential scoops:4

Actual scoops: 0

Favourites drank: 1 (Castle Rock Harvest Pale, pint, cask).

The brewery tap for Castle Rock, the VAT now has a visitor's centre and a rather shiny new seating area. Some of the aforementioned Spyke Golding's is being aged in whisky casks which could be seen through a viewing window into the brewery itself. And then there was Harvest Pale; I still love the beer, although my palate has changed and - possibly - so has the recipe. Thing is, I wouldn't want to drink it anywhere else, not even in another Castle Rock pub.

 

Ye Olde Trip To Jerusalem

Cask beers on offer: 6

Potential scoops: 0

Actual scoops: 0

Favourites drank: 1 (Nottingham Rock Mild, pint, cask).

Full of tourists clogging up the bar, ordering the wrong food and drinking tea. Tea. Sheesh. But I love the Trip. I've sat here watching moisture glistening the silica within the sandstone; you really are drinking in a cave. There's been quiet mid-afternoon pints and raucous party pints. And I suppose I owe my existence to this pub; it's where my mother's parents met. Today, the Rock Mild was sublime.

 

The Salutation

Cask beers on offer: 8

Potential scoops: 0

Actual scoops: 0

Favourites drank: 1 (Oakham JHB, halfpint, cask)

The Sal is an old pub, some say it's older than the Trip. It sits on top of an extensive cave network. It has a ghost. But, much more importantly, it rocks. When we were there, the jukebox was blasting out one of Lars Ulrich's unfeasibly-accurate double bass rolls. Gentlemen in leather jackets with denim cutoffs debate the precarious state of the Greek economy. And the Oakham JHB did what Oakham JHB was born to do - blow away any other pale hoppy beer on the bar.

And here's a picture of Robin Hood wearing the Ginger Merkin:

Malt Cross

Cask beers on offer: 5

Potential scoops: 4

Actual scoops: 1 (Brewster's Hophead, pint, cask).
And some Paulaner.

Wow. Only an A-board outside to suggest there's a bar here. Inside: scattered furniture, slender columns support an arcade. Plenty of beers to choose from, Brewster's Hophead was one of the best session beers I've had all year - and I'm not saying that because the brewer bought me a pint. The food looked good, the mix of diners and lounge lizards all seemed to be enjoying themselves. I'll be coming back here.

Organ Grinder

Cask beers on offer: some
Potential scoops: a couple
Actual scoops: er, none. I think.
Actual beers drank. Blue Monkey 99 Red Baboons, pint, cask. Duvel, halfpint, keg. Brooklyn Lager, several pints, keg.

Busy pub, rightly so. Knockout quality Blue Monkey beers, interesting keg choices. We sat outside in the roof garden - garden, in this case, meaning "trestle tables" - where the smell of burning garlic from the takeaway next door kept us hungry. I do remember snorting hop snuff off the table. I remember Rich looking like a right tit when wearing the merkin. I remember us all drinking Brooklyn lager as the sun went down.

All in all - a bit odd, to tell you the truth. Nothing like the range of beers I expected and very little in the way of foreign muck until late in the day. But the TBI is somewhere I'd be happy to take breakfast at again, the King William IV had quality beer, Malt Cross was a revelation and Organ Grinder is worth the jaunt uphill.

Thanks to Rich and Jock for an entertaining day and to Nottingham CAMRA's Steve Westby and Ray Kirby for useful gen.

The next venue for Reluctant Scooping will be... ah, you decide. I've been to Derby, Sheffield, Birmingham,  Leicester and Nottingham. If your city has a good half-dozen pubs and bars that offer eclectic beers, give me a shout and I'll come scooping with you. But be warned; the ginger merkin is always invited too...






>

I don't usually do event announcements but there's a couple coming up in February in various Midlands cities that are well worth making the effort to get to.

SIBA are running their first ever keg festival on Tuesday 8th February at the Canalhouse, Nottingham. Kicking off at 5pm, straight after the Champion Keg judging, over 50 beers will be on offer from the likes of Brewdog, Freeedom, Fuller's and Harviestoun. A full list can be found over on Ed's Beer Site.

The Brewing Industry International Awards return to Burton-upon-Trent and features the International Festival of Beer at the National Brewery Centre from Friday 11th to Sunday 13th February. Not sure what beers to expect but with entries from places as far-flung as Belarus, Japan, Laos and Tanzania it'll be a surefire way for me to tick off a few more countries on my world beer list.

And the Derby CAMRA Winter Festival has a new time and place, Thursday 24th - Saturday 26th February at the Derby College Roundhouse. It's a converted rail shed slap bang next to the railway station; shuttle buses will run from the city centre. The only problem with this fest in the past had been the cramped venue; the Roundhouse looks very impressive and I'm sure the festival organiser (and new Alexandra Tavern landlord) Ralf Edge will have plenty of good beer on offer.

So, that's a unique UK keg beer festival, a comprehensive world-beer festival and an ever-impressive CAMRA winter beer festival. If you haven't been to Nottingham, Burton or Derby before - and goodness knows why not if you love beer - then get these dates in your diary. I'll be around at all three. See you there. >

The December / January issue of Nottingham CAMRA's magazine, 'Nottingham Drinker', is out and features a piece by me about the trials and tribulations of SIBA judging. I've reproduced the whole article below, including the last few lines that seem to have got lost in publication.

You can download the magazine in PDF format here.


------

I know what you’re thinking. Beer judges have a charmed life. All sat round a table, having a good gossip, drinking free beer that’s brought over to you. Then noshing a free launch before enjoying more free beer. How hard can that be? Well, this year I was given an opportunity to find out. And it’s not all just drink, drink, drink…

Many CAMRA festivals choose a champion beer, perhaps by public vote or a tasting panel. Nottingham is a little different in that it hosts the Midlands round of a national competition for brewers who are members of the Society of Independent Brewers (SIBA). Beers are judged in eight categories, the winners of each then being judged against each other to choose a Supreme Champion.

So, who is it that gets to decide? A wide range of beery people. Brewers, publicans, technicians, retailers, writers… all sharing a love of great cask beer. Yes, there’s banter around the table with certain characters unafraid to give trenchant opinions. But the winners aren’t decided by round-table waffle; each judge awards marks in secret on a numeric scale against characteristics such as aroma, appearance and flavour. And remember, the judges don’t know the beer’s name or the brewer, they’re just referred to by a number.

Of course, with hundreds of beers entered into the competition you don’t get to judge every single one. Beers in each category are divided up between groups of judges so being able to arrive at a concise judgement from a small sample is key. After all, with perhaps 9 - 12 beers for your consideration, you’re not going to be taking your time over a half-pint of each. The glasses of water and plates of crackers provided as palate-cleansers aren’t an affectation, either - they’re a necessity. As a judge, you need to give each beer an equal chance to impress.

I was happy to have been allocated the categories that I wanted to judge. Both showed me just how challenging this judging malarkey can be. Speciality beer was rather a catch-all – it could be the use of adjuncts such as oats or wheat or a flavouring such as fruit or spice – but the beer needed to be appealing first and foremost. A poorly-brewed beer with a ton of spice dumped into it is still a bad beer.

The other category I judged, the milds, proved to be a real eye-opener with a huge range of colours (light gold to bruise-black) and flavours (lactic sourness to roast and hops). This variety provoked a healthy discussion around the table – should the mild ‘style’ be prescriptive or should we embrace the wide range of interpretations?

With the final forms submitted, the judges could go and buy a beer for themselves. To be honest, not knowing which beers you’d just judged was almost annoying. When you’ve sampled a couple of excellent beers, you want to go and, ahem, try a larger sample. But there’s a great feeling when, once the results were announced, I bought a category-winning beer and realised not only was it one that I judged but it was the one I liked the best.

If you fancy an afternoon of thinking whilst drinking, try and get involved in beer judging. It may give you a wider insight into the substance behind a beer style. And it’ll certainly give you plenty to argue about later on in the day! >

Last month, I spent a couple of beery, cheery days at the ever-excellent Nottingham CAMRA beer festival. After a busy session as a SIBA judge and a day of random beers, I decided that I ought to write an article all about it. And I thought I'd try to persuade Nottingham CAMRA to publish it in their multi-colour, multi-award-winning branch magazine, Nottingham Drinker.

I tried to catch up with its editor, Pete 'Spyke' Golding, at various times during the festival. A quick hello was as far as I got; the crowds got deeper and my chance of a convincing pitch diminished. And as much as I wanted to talk about my article idea, I also wanted to thank him in person for his work as editor on what's possibly the best free beer magazine I've ever read. Never mind, I thought. There's always another time.

Spyke died last week.

It's his funeral tomorrow. I can't be there, but I'll wearing my most colourful tie when I raise a pint to him. >

Fantastic news - the Nottingham branch have won the CAMRA Newletter of the Year award for the second year running. This forty page, A4, full colour magazine has production values and editorial quality that puts many commercial beer magazines to shame. It's by far and away my favourite CAMRA publication (and, no, I don't write for it).


There's always plenty of news and features about local pubs and breweries. But there's articles about beer from all around the world, bottled beer, beer with food and much, much more...it's well worth a read even if you're out of the area (or even out the country).

Here's a flavour what's in the current issue:

- trips to microbreweries in Malaysia and Sarajevo
- profiles of new breweries (Prescott) and local ones (Maypole)
- cooking with beer (chili and stout) and dining out with beer
- LocAle updates (Nottingham being pioneers of the scheme)
- bottled beer reviews (from Sheffield and Iceland - Iceland the country, not the frozen food chain...)

Special mention has to go to editor Spyke Golding's legendary 'In Praise of PUBlic Transport' feature. Complete with hand-drawn maps and full-colour photos, these are detailed pub crawls accessible by bus, train or even tram - indeed, the current issue features fifteen pubs close to the route taken by the Supertram in Sheffield).

Nottingham Drinker also features contributions from interesting and perhaps unusual persepctives. Both the local police and the local alcohol advisory service APAS provide thought-provoking articles that make a positive and constructive contrubution to the magazine.

If you're planning on visiting the city for its beer (and you really should) then the Nottingham Drinker is indispensible. It's got plenty of up-to-date gen about discounts, gigs and festivals as well as all those interesting articles.

Fortunately, you don't need to be in Nottingham to read the Drinker. Both the current and back issues are available in PDF format from the branch website.

Why not download a copy now... having read this, you need something else to do!

Direct link to the June/July issue:
http://www.nottinghamcamra.org/ND/June%2009.pdf

Back issue index:
http://www.nottinghamcamra.org/notDrinker.htm >

You know your Christmas experience is incomplete. Turkey, pudding, presents, New Year party, pools of vomit and bitter recrimination. You've had all that but you haven't had the awards ceremony that really matters. It's the Scoopies!









No obvious order, no cogent process, just me and my beers and the occasional ASBO-inducing memory.



The 'It's Just Gone' Award for Pissing Off Scoopers - Derby CAMRA

For the beer choice in the Darwin Room; if its name isn't up on the washing line it ain't on and you can't have none. Make 'em sweat! Make 'em wait! And mucho kudos for putting the Brewdog beers on for the Thursday night at last year's winter fest. Saw them, drank them, had interesting sick in my glass all along the Morledge.

The 'Aintchasickofit' award for Stupid Drinking In A Decent Ale Pub - every twonk who ordered Landlord instead of a 'house-brewed' beer at the Brunswick or the Royal Standard in Derby.

Like lager, buy lager, no problem. Like cask beer, have up to eleven other beers to choose from, still order Landlord? Please report to Pork Farms immediately - your brain has been reserved for sausagemeat.

The Jobsworth Award For Services To Ruining A Good Day On The Ale - Trent Barton Buses

OK, not Trent per se, just the grumbly bogger who NEVER drops us off by the bus garage on the way into Derby - the garage that's next to the Smithfield pub. "I'm not supposed to stop there," he says, despite there's a bus stop / a fecking BUS GARAGE / no-one on the bus would give two shits if you stopped. May the erotic itch you experience late at night turn out to be chlamydia.

Pork Pie of the Year - Lanes of Leicester

A real shock, this one. Walter Smith's proved to be uneven, Bailey and Sons of Upper Broughton was almost superb, but Lanes takes the Scoopy for that combination of squidgy flat top and sumptuous jelly. Easily the best food at the Leicester beer festival.

Landlord of the Year - Timothy Taylor.

Only joking. It has to be Graham Yates of the Brunswick Inn, Derby. For being grumpy, engaging, caring and curmudgeonly. Usually all in the space of ten minutes. And for staying out of the brewery and letting James get on with it.

The 'OhMyGodILoveBeer!!!' Moment of the Year

Nottingham CAMRA 1st Robin Hood beer festival. Sat by the castle wall, looking out over the southern shire, drinking Potbelly Crazy Daze whilst the Castle's Union flag snapped in the sharp breeze.

Ratebeer Moment of the Year - At The Bear, Oxford Crawl

The smallest pub ever, already rammed full of diners debating whether to have peas with their sausage and mash, when a dozen or so Ratebeerians turn up. A line to the bar and out of the door was formed, pints of Hooky passed over heads already scraping against the ceiling, out into the street where we then sat by the bins as tourists took photos.

Surprisingly Good Pub of the Year - The Star, Godalming

I washed up into Guildford on a training course, a town stuffed with tepid continental lager and hilarious WAG-wannabe bars. Taking the train down to the next stop one night was a calculated gamble but, boy, did it pay off. The Star has it all; candlelight and bustle and a local's bar they didn't mind me invading. Proper perry and decent ales and the best pint of Harvey's Best that I've ever had. And those in the know drank that 'til the barrel ran dry.

Pointless Bar Snack Of The Year - Pickled Onions.

Barman! I'll have a pint of your finest balanced IPA.... and a vinegar-infused bull's gonad to complement it. There's a time and a place for pickled onions - the twelfth of never, over the nearest event horizon.

Best CAMRA festival of the year - Nottingham.

I still can't believe there was a better fest than Worcester with its paella and Blue Bear Uproar and Pictish Corn Dolly and Oz & James and Olivers Blakeney Red. But there was. The first Robin Hood Festival was - wow. I know some people had issues with the hot food, the queues, the beer availability on Saturday. But I had hot food in town, got there early and didn't go on Saturday. The full write-up is here but let's just say this: an A-Z of fantastic cask beers, fresh seafood, stunning vistas, good friends and the unalloyed joy of all those things segueing together.

Best non-CAMRA festival of the year - Barrow Hill Rail Ale.

For you poor unfortunates who haven't heard - this is a beer festival in an engine shed. You get to buy beer and go take a train ride. You get to be almost run over by reversing locos. How could it not be fun? You get to watch tickers cum in their corduroys at the sight of steaming engines and rare beers. OK, that's not exactly a ringing endorsement. This is - Abbeydale Black Mass. Bottle Brook Imperial Russian Stout. Falstaff Wilko. White Shield No.1 and P2 Imperial Stout. Those last two in the same glass. Cheers, Mes :-) For a fest chock full of high ABV beers and trip hazards, there was none better.

Best cider or perry as judged by Mrs Reluctant - Severn Sider Whisky Cask Perry Or Something Like That.

Let's face it, you can't even take what the cask end says as gospel. But my little nest of vipers loved the subtle whiskyness and the easy going perry nature - Blakeney Red, perhaps? Whatever, it made Burton Spring fest a whole lotta whiskyperry fun. (FWIW I thought Whin Hill's Browns, their blushing rose cider, was gobsmackingly wonderful. But let's not kick off a domestic)

Best bottled beer - Mikkeller Beer Geek Breakfast

So good that I've dared not write about it yet. Oats and coffee and chocolate doesn't even come close to describing how effortlessly superb this beer is. A proper write-up will feature in the next few weeks - when I first tried it, I was as excited as a schoolboy who'd just been touched in the gentlemen's area for the first time. Don't believe it could be this pant-expandingly good? Then don't visit beermerchants.com to see if they have any left.

Best cask beer - Thornbridge Katipo.

I thought picking a best bottled beer was tough. There's been some WORLD CLASS cask down my gullet in 2008 - I say WORLD CLASS because sometimes we forget in Merrie England that we brew some of the best, freshest, flavoursome beers that can be had. Hobson's Mild, Bottle Bridge Double Chocolate Porter, McGivern Mild, Potbelly Crazy Daze, Pictish, Headless, Marble, Hopshackle....

But there was only one beer that made me thoroughly Reluctant and insisted that I drank it at every given opportunity. Katipo was one of those rare beers where I felt glad to be in a pub just because it was on; to buy it for total strangers, to feel my heart flutter at the sight of a pumpclip, to be evangelical with glass in hand, to sit with eyes closed and let raspberries dance on my tongue.

And the pronunciation. Car-Tea-Paw. I want a half of Car-Tea-Paw. No, Car-Tea-Paw. Well, actually, NO, its NOT called Catty-po, Cart-Heep-Pow or Katy-Poo. Honest, the brewer told me it's called.... ah, sod it. Give me half of number 344. Yes, the Catty Paws one...

To Kelly 'Tigger' Ryan - brew more. Just Brew More. Beer this good has earned the right to be brewed and drank until it bleeds out of the eyeballs of acolytes.



So, there you go. Winners are entitled to hand-inked certificates. Let me know if you want one, all you have to do is gurn for the camera and buy me beer.

And, for everyone who didn't have a pint of the unusual last year - I salute you.



>

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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