"I thought the Sarries were going to get run over..."

Ummm... pardon?

The old guy with a camouflage jacket, half an Oakham JHB and a beard you could lose a gassed badger in points at my t-shirt.

It's this one.

"Yesterday... did you not see? The way Munster muscled up... but fair play to Farrell, he kept the score ticking over".

I didn't see Saracens beat Munster in the Heineken Cup on Sunday. I was too busy drinking beer / falling asleep / wash / rinse / repeat on a train straight outta St Pancras. In fact, I was reading through the results as the hirsute chap began to talk at me.

I drank deep from my pint of Oakham Green Devil. We started discussing problems with modern-day scrummage (the phases still allow the front row to hit a retreating brick wall), the inflexibility of most second-row forwards, favourite playing positions back in the day (me: hooker, because due to playing volleyball I could chuck a ball and due to my lack of height I could dangle enough to actually hook the ball. him: wing, he could run fast within a one-yard corridor from the touchline and could pass to A.N. Nobody and then jump if anyone came near him).

We talked of our rugger heroes (me: Bill Beaumont, Wade Dooley, Brian Moore. him: Barry John). We talked about the stupidity of boxers who return to the ring and risk death for the sake of funding a lifestyle they've become addicted to. We talked of how too many professional footballers have too much time, too much money and too little sensible support to save themselves from becoming chronic gamblers and/or gak hooverers.

We loved the tale of how a local drunk driver had been given his license back even though found guilty. Because if he re-offended, he'd get a life ban.

We talked and drank and laughed. Because I wore a certain t-shirt in a certain pub at a certain time.

You just don't get that on Twitter or Facebook.

You get that down the pub.

Sometimes, I need to remind myself of that.

It's a grand place to be. After all, pubs aren't just for Christmas... >

Palates change. When I tasted my first pint by Oakham, I wrote that it was "massively hopped - pulls your lips back over your head, a bit too frantic for me". Nowadays, Oakham on the bar is my guarantee of a refreshingly-hopped beer.

What I love about Oakham - apart from their superlative beer - is that they just get on and do stuff that other brewers would crow about and muck up. Collaborative brews (with Newby Wyke and Green Jack), barrel-aging (such as Oblivion or Atilla), and pioneering hop brews(Citra).

I was guilty of sidelining Oakham beers during my scooping years. Now, I drink it out of choice wherever I find it. There are plenty of pubs around Notts and Derbyshire that have Bishop's Farewell and/or JHB as regular beers. And I am more than happy to drink long and deep.

Why try? Hops used judiciously, not afraid to oomph the ABV if it carries the flavour better

What to look for? JHB and Bishop's Farewell. The best cask Citra in the UK. And dark beers like Black Hole Porter. And the full-bodied Atilla or Tranquility.

Where to buy? All over the East Midlands and Cambridgeshire. But best at their own pubs such as the splendid Barton's Arms in Aston. Well worth the trip to Peterborough to drink at Charters Bar, a converted Dutch barge, and their Brewery Tap with its glass-fronted brewkit. >

Marble. Oakham. Thornbridge. Brewdog.

Four of my favourite breweries. If a pub is serving one of their beers, that's probably what I'll end up drinking. Sometimes, there may be two of those breweries on offer. Very occasionally (like Derby's Flowerpot on a good weekend) there may be three to choose from. Rarely do I see all four together.

So the beer boards I saw yesterday had me salivating. A pub with six casks on handpull and another seven served on gravity straight from the cellar, offering a stellar lineup of some of Britain's best beers. The effortlessly-drinkable Marble Pint. A bundle of bitter fruits in Oakham Citra. Some lush, copper-hoppy goodness of Thornbridge Lumford. And the grassy-edged, toffee-middled, floral-riven experience that is Brewdog Punk IPA.

Drank in that order, with another sneaky Pint at the end, it was quite possibly the finest afternoon's cask beer drinking that I've ever had. In a pub that was comfy, clean, buzzing with friendly locals. And a ladies netball team. And a bunch of raspberry-cider drinkers wearing the shortest skirts and highest heels known to man.

So, that's a pub offering top-quality beers from my favourite brewers on a regular basis. With comfy chairs. And engaging customers. With a bus stop right outside. Three guesses where I'm going to be on a regular basis from now on...

The Queen's Head, Marlpool. And they have a Facebook page too. I'll see you at the bar...

>

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.....

>

With a sunny Saturday all to myself, thoughts turned to beer hunting in places old and new. I was going to buy myself a Derbyshire Wayfarer train and bus ticket to get some Peak District pubs as well as a visit to Sheffield's finest but then had a bolder idea - rather than just two counties, could I manage a beer tour of half a dozen of them in a day?





I reckoned that with an early start, punctual trains and a speedy approach to Reluctant Scooping I could knock off six counties around the East Midlands; catching the express bus from Derby to Nottingham and then using an East Midlands Day Ranger to pick up an anti-clockwise chain of trains to take in Lincolnshire, Cambridgeshire, Rutland and Leicestershire before heading home to Derby.

So, eight-thirty saw me arrive under a white sky into Nottingham for a full English at the best cafe in the country, Bunters on Old Parliament Street. With stomach suitably lined, it was time to find a pub that opened at 9am and the Roebuck duly obliged.

It's one of the more pleasant Wetherspoon's I've visited; a tangle of rooms where a sizable building has been knocked through and up. In attempt to make this a LocAle day as well, I bought a half of Nottingham Legend and headed upstairs to catch some sun outside in the smoking garden. It's a rather sweet and creamy beer for this time of the morning, taking time for an old-school malt wash to develop.

Leaving the city of my birth behind at ten-ish, it was a half-hour trip across the splendid Vale of Belvoir to a town I've been through but never stopped off at - Grantham in Lincolnshire.

Following a path that carved through the terraced houses to the town centre and then finding back streets crammed with interesting architecture I made my way to the Blue Pig. This is a 16th century building that was turned into a pub in the 1800's and ticks all the boxes; slate floors, wooden settles, pewter mugs and china plates hang around the impressive mirror-backed bar. A multiplicity of rooms on different levels make the Blue Pig a subtle hybrid of back street boozer and tourist's wet dream.

Oldershaw of Grantham provide a house beer for the Blue Pig but, sadly, not today. I reluctantly settled for Marquis Bitter from Brewsters and wasn't disappointed; an earthy bitter that doesn't stick in your clack like Legend can.

Couldn't spend enough time here (a feeling repeated through today). Though I'd gladly pass on the Landlord and wouldn't wash my arse with Greede Kerching IPA, there were a couple of other good looking beers on offer here (Lord Marples from Thornbridge and a Milestone beer).

So, a swift yomp back up to the station for the twelve o'clock express to Peterborough. That was running late, so I took the gamble on catching the next slow train. At least that wasn't packed to the gills with giddy tourists; there were plenty of seats and someone had left a stack of newspapers behind to keep me entertained. And that express only overtook us about five minutes away from the city.

If it's 1230, it must be Cambridgeshire. First stop was to be the Oakham's Brewery Tap, under threat of closure due to redevelopment in the Westgate area of the city. And from the opposite side of the dual carriageway, it looked very closed indeed. With time here short, I decided to cut my losses and hotfoot it straight down to the river and visit Charters Bar.

This is a place I've heard great things said about it, but my previous trips to Peterborough have been only to the beer festival and never the pubs. Boy, was I glad I came here! A converted continental barge, the Leendert-R had that 'North European' feel to it with one long wooden bar, subdued lighting and a motley collections of plush stools and wonky tables. There was a great selection of Oakham beers amongst the twelve on offer (of which I thoroughly unreluctantly tried White Dwarf and Inferno), Thai food available from the restaurant on the top deck ; no bands playing this lunchtime but the easy-going background music (R&B, Levellers, Sinatra) was playing to plenty of punters enjoying a cracking pint or three whilst reading the papers.

Outside was a real bonus - a tent hosting the bar's beer festival! The vicious wind tested the guy ropes and slammed gravel against the awnings. Inside were some unusual beers for this neck of the woods, including a superb Okells Eastern Spice that put a warm ticklish heat into the back of your throat and gums. Deep spices rose to itch in the way the phlegm after a cough scratches its way round your mouth.

This was the place I could have stopped for the rest of the day. With the time now past two in the afternoon, I'd not left myself long enough to try the door of the Brewery Tap - which, it turns out, was still open- as I'd got to catch my next train for the short hop to Oakham.

My target here in Rutland was the Grainstore brewery tap next door to the railway station. I know it's next door, but I fought against innate geography and set off down the high street instead. I fancied some fish 'n chips but needed the loo first - and failing to find one, ended up trogging back to the station to find the pub instead. It's an impressive building from the outside and smart inside with exposed brickwork, breweriania, fairy lights and some of the best 'clean wood' tables and chairs I've seen in a pub (if only I could have smuggled a chair back home with me...). The CAMRA award certificates going back to 1998 either suggest pride in their heritage or a tendency to trade in on past glories, though.

As for the beer, the Ten Fifty was excellent (chewy malts, vanilla edge, fruity nose) but two criticims, one flippant and one serious. I'm drinking a brewer's beer in their brewery tap. Why not serve it in a glass with the beer/brewery logo on? And the all-too-serious criticism; £2.90 is way too much for a 5% beer brewed in the room next door.

At these prices, I might as well be drinking in the city, so I skipped back over to the station and moved down the line to Leicester.

Four-ish by the time I arrived, and almost impossible for me to not partake in a mini-crawl. First stop, a short stagger from the station, was Out Of The Vaults, excellent as always. A superb choice of a dozen beers here and a no-brainer for me as a Reluctant Scooper - Beowulf Finns Hall Porter is a regular beer here and I'm always more than happy to enjoy a pint whilst sitting in the window, letting the Leicester sun shine on a righteous scooper...

More pubs to do, though; driven onwards by the awful metal covers music playing here, it was only a few minutes round the corner to the Swan and Rushes. Really quiet in here - me and three others including the staff. A continental bottle from their enviable range is always tempting, but if I started down that route it would inevitably end in Cantillon and stomachache.
So, a mild it was to be, Scattor Rock Rock Steady Mild to be precise. And it was... stunning. Surprisingly fruity with a lactic chocolate smack.

The Criterion was much busier with the live music on in the lounge. I don't know if the Crit were in the midst of one of their regional mini-fests as there was a fair range of West Country beers hre (including Teign Valley, Sharps and Coastal). For some reason, I ignored them all and went for a brewer local-ish to me, Spire, and their Twist 'n Stout. Which was damn fine, superbly smooth with just enough dry coffee notes.

Having avoided any local beer whilst in Leicester, it was time to find an Everards pub. I'd usually end up in the Globe but I fancied a change. OK, I couldn't actually find it; despite being a frequent Leicester imbiber, my beer-fuelled prat-nav was starting to run flat.

Fortunately, I'd just past the Rutland & Derby, another Everards establishment so I thought I'd give it a whirl. It's one of those strange beasts, a smart bar with real ale. It actually felt like the kind of small bar attached to a restaurant, high chrome stools and low leather chairs. Not a place to relax with a pint and the paper- well, certainly not at 7pm on a Saturday night. A glass of Sunchaser was polished off - served in a smart chalice glass with the Sunchaser logo on. And the beer was surprisingly refreshing - perhaps because my palate was starting to feel slightly jaded by now.

Plenty of time before the next train, so I took a gentle amble back to the station with five counties down and just the homeward bound leg left. And then... as I got into the station I noticed a Derby-bound departure that didn't exist on my timetable so I ran - well, wobbled quickly - to give myself a half-hour advantage. As the train pulled into Derby, a wicked thought came to my head that I might be able to fit in a bonus county...

Just about to pull out the station was a Birmingham-bound train, first stop Burton-on-Trent! My all-day ticket was valid into Staffordshire so I grabbed the chance. Ten minutes later, I was in the spiritual home of English brewing and ready to have a drink in my sixth county that day.

But I was starting to tire now.... perhaps it was because I'd made it here and knew that I had time for a long, last pint at Derby in about an hour's time. But an hour's a long time when you're knackered, even longer when it's a busy Saturday night in Burton. So, time for a 'splash and dash'. Arrived into Burton, 20008. Next train to Derby, 2020. Walked to Devonshire Arms, arrived 2012. Bought half a Burton Bridge Golden Delicious at 2014. Drank it by 2015. Back onto the station platform at 2019 just as the train pulled in. Having budgeted on spending an hour in each county, I'd been in Staffordshire for twelve minutes!

Back on the train, I reflected on that very swift half - certainly some sweet crunch and slight bitterness. I'd have liked to have stayed in Burton longer but I needed three things; chips, White Feather and sleep in precisely that order. The chips did what chips should - warm you through and stuff you up. And, the seventh county delivered my twelfth beer in my tenth pub of the day - and it's the finest beer county providing easily the best beer in the best brewpub I've ever been to. Brunswick White Feather is a beer that I have come to adore - soft malts, grassy notes, flowery hops.... it's the pint that slakes my thirst after a long day at work, rewards my return to the city after a day walking in the Peaks, consoles me after hacking round town doing the shopping, oils the catch-up conversation with friends seldom seen nowadays. .. no matter where I've been and what I've been up to, there's always the time and passion for a pint of Feather.

Dragging my weary bones back to the bus, I reflected on a long, long beery day. It had been fantastic to put the miles in - about 150 - and be rewarded with decent beers, great pubs and plenty of places that I'm eager to return to and explore more. I'll certainly be going back to Grantham and Peterborough again, a mosey around the other pubs in the former and a whizz around the cathedral in the latter is definitely on the cards.

I can heartily recommend this kind of ramble - check out the deals in your area here and then make sure that engineering works aren't going to scupper a vital leg of the trip. >

One of my regular rambles is around my home city of Derby on a Sunday afternoon. usually on a wet, cold, miserably grey day when my 'reluctant rambling' results in nothing more than a potter around the local pubs.



Well, it beats lunch with my wife, her godmother, her mother-in-law and grandmother-in-law talking about recent bereavements and strangers with wonky wombs.

Actually, the session can start in the morning - the Babington Arms opens at 9am and I'm not averse to popping in for breakfast. Nothing overly exciting about their fry-ups; at least for a McSpoons the food is hot and served quickly. Unless a dozen labourers have just ordered every possible curry combination to go with their vat of Wifebeater.

I try to resist a drunky with breakfast and usually manage a black coffee first before succumbing to the Bab's beer range. And why not give into temptation; 17 beers listed on the widescreen TV/beer board, always something local (Derby Brewing Co or Falstaff) and often something from far-flungerer parts.

Then it's off to the rest of the city for a few hours of exhausting coffee-drinking and newspaper-reading. Which builds up a good thirst that requires slaking at perhaps Derby's finest pub, the Flowerpot.

No slouch for beer variety during the week, the 'Pot still ups the ante at the weekend at often offers in excess of 20 beers of various styles and strengths. I set myself up in the cellar bar, near to the superb glass-fronted stillage, which is a little less busy than the main room. The jukebox in there lurches into life with a random track about every fifteen minutes but it's got a great selection so I rather enjoy the odd choon.

This is a day for really reluctant scooping - I have a beer agenda at every pub I visit on this Sunday sloucharound. Here I'm looking for one of three things: a Derbyshire beer as first choice (last weekend that was Amber Ales Imperial Pale and the First Brew from newcomers Wirksworth); one of the regular-guest beers from Durham or Oakham if there's no notable local stuff; failing both of those (unlikely but possible) then it's one of the Headless Brewing Co. beers, brewed at the pub.

The beer here is superb in terms of quality and range - and so is the food. I'm not really one for Sunday lunch with all the trimmings, but here it's awesome. Though I usually plump for the hot beef and mushroom cob - whacking great hunks of beef and freshly fried mushrooms. In a cob the size of a side plate. Beyond yummy! Leaving the 'Pot is a hard thing to do, but there are more great beers to be drunk. Working my way down to the river, I pass two other pubs.

The Dolphin (sorry, Ye Olde Dolphin Inn) is a cracking pub; tourist-trap, Ghost Central and busy busy busy on a Sunday lunch. I pop in occasionally; beers from Milestone, Newby Wyke and Shugborough aren't unusual guests here.

I used to pop just over the road and into the Old Silk Mill. But this pub's been in a troublesome rut for a long time; licensees come and go, some really enthusiastic about cask, others not seeming to give a twisted fig about it. At the time of writing, the beer quality and range isn't great. Hopefully the place will fall back into good hands and get a bit of TLC for the medium term at least.

In happier days, it was a prime outlet for Derby Brewing Company's beers. You can get a few at the Babington, but it always surprised me that they weren't more widely available in their home city. Now that may all change - DBC are looking to take over the once-redevelopment-threatened Royal Standard by the Exeter Bridge. Here's hoping the plans work out - Derby needs a pub to showcase a brewer as good as Trevor Harris.

Following the river downstream, it's a short shuffle to the Smithfield. This is a no-nonsense pub; the jukebox seems to play and play all day with whatever the staff want to hear, the food is simple and served in shovel-sized portions, the beer range is reliable and reeks of quality. And served in outsized lined glasses. Here you'll get Oakham, a Headless beer if you didn;t get round to drinking one at the 'Pot, and a few beers from one of the shire's finest brewers, Whim.

Hartington IPA and Arbor Light are nearly always on; I could drink both in grand bladder-bursting volumes. But it's the occasional Whim beer that often grabs my attention; on my last visit it was Flower Power, a CAMRA award winning beer in 2007.

OK, the furniture is a little jaded and the gents has a fantastic crack in the tiling but I'm here for beer, not to score them on interior design.

So, yomping onwards and over the Derwent for the last pub of the day. I'd like it to be pubs plural, but the Alexandra is normally closed by the time I make it this far. Sometimes I crawl in the opposite direction (as it were) to fit in a visit here; although its bottled continental beers aren't a patch on those once on offer, it's become the most likely outlet for Thornbridge Hall beers in the city. The landlord, Alan, is doing a cracking job - either because of or in spite of the (probably unsolicited) advice of the licensee in the pub next door; his brother Graham.

And it's Graham's place that brings the afternoon to a close - the oldest brewpub in the city, the Brunswick. One of those pubs that seems to tick along nicely even on the bleakest winter Sunday afternoon. To be honest, I rarely look to see what guest beers are on, I'm here for some of the Brunnie's own finest. White Feather is one of my absolute favourite beers and I'm always keen to knock off a pint or four when I make it down here. Their Triple Hop is damn fine as well, though on a cold and now-darkening day I tend towards a roastier drop; Father Mike's Dark Rich Ruby must have been made for afternoons drying out in front of a roaring real fire.

If I've timed all this right, in a couple of pints time my wife will be driving past and so I get a lift home. I think the word I'm looking for is serendipity. But that leads me into thinking about whisky, which is another blog altogether.... (justanotherdram.blogspot.com)

Update: As if often the way, this article was written several weeks ago. Since then, I've repeated the ramble, naturally. And the beers; well, here's a random sample:

Amber Mild, Oakham Delirious, Riverhead Black Mass Stout, Harwich Lighthouse Bitter, Fernandes Centennial, Acorn Amarillo, Crouch Vale Brewers Gold, Thornbridge Kipling, Acorn Bloomfield, Acorn Kashmir, Marble Porter, Full Mash Drizzlecombe Porter....

If that sounds tempting - and ruddy hell, it should be - Derby has a regular weekend train service. Just try not to be tempted to stay on 'til Sheffield :-)

>