"I think it's closed".

We're in a picturesque village, the kind where gabled cottages nestle beneath a tall church spire. A babbling brook runs through, taking with it most of the mobile phone signal. The side door to the only pub is stubbornly shut. Mrs Scoop looks at me.

"No, really, it's closed," I say. "I'll check round the other side".

Curtains in the rooms facing the road are drawn firmly, even though it's now past noon. Yellowing paper stuck to the inside of the glazed front door carries apologies for the lack of credit card facilities. And no food 'til further notice. That door is locked too.

In hindsight, the huge "To Let" sign hanging off the side of the building should have been a give-away.

The idea is to meet up with friends at a dog-friendly pub. This is - was - a dog friendly pub according to a website they'd consulted. Fortunately, they knew of another pub in the next village. With phone signals steady just long enough to swap texts, the rendezvous is re-arranged.

Ten minutes later, we're in an even-more picturesque village. Solid Georgian brick. Neatly trimmed privet. St George flag flying from the church tower. And a statuesque, timber-framed pub that was most certainly open.

Walking into the bar of The Goat's Head in Abbots Bromley, I drop down through my mental gears. There's something just-so about it; eclectic seating on the right side of comfy, music assertively in the background, a floor almost evenly uneven whose boards show the scuffs of customers long since passed.

Pump clips adorn the walls, whole sets from those brewers clearly favoured by the owners. On the bar, there's reliable bitter immaculately kept. St Austell Tribute couldn't be finer balanced if it were shod in ballet shoes. Timothy Taylor Landlord is in fine form for an exiled Tyke. And the local beer is Marston's Pedigree, whose red-bricked tower brewery is only ten miles away eastwards.

Our friends master their sat-nav and arrive. Their dog, an English pointer, enjoys bounding off the walls and tables and anything else it can find. Old boys read the newspaper at the bar and drink Stella out of chalices. When our food arrives, the table groans a little. Chips are as thick as your thumb. Proper pie, made in a tray in the kitchen from scratch. Service is motherly; "clean plates....good! Now, what are you having for dessert?"

We clearly have the mien of pudding eaters. One portion of sticky toffee pudding and warm toffee sauce later - all home-made, of course - and I'm firmly into Mr Creosote territory. Although I do manage a Drambuie. Which is almost inexplicably the right thing to do: the last drops knocked into my pint, honey and malts and toffee and citrics caress each other in sybaritic fashion.

The bar is filling with locals as we drink up. A framed page on the wall explains the Horn Dance and how Dick Turpin stayed here after stealing Black Bess from the horsefair at nearby Rugeley. There's adverts for their St George's Day quiz with fish and chips served out of newspaper, for a beer festival over the Diamond Jubilee weekend. Everything about the place is effortlessly English.

Our friends are wondering why they didn't phone the first pub to make sure they were actually open. I'm really glad that they didn't. >

Standing outside Borough Tube station in South London, it's hard to imagine that Southwark was once a powerhouse of English brewing. The mighty Anchor Brewery, once the capital's largest, has long gone. The last edifices of the hop trade can still be seen if you know where to look, the now-converted warehouses and the majestic sweep of the Hop Exchange. But beer still has a presence here; on a back street that was once a medieval thoroughfare into the capital, there's a corner pub that preserves the very essence of straightforward, non-nonsense London drinking.

Dwarfed by apartment towers, the Royal Oak squats on the corner of Tabard Street and Nebraska Street and revels in its glories. The only Harveys pub in London, this two-room pub was revitalised in the nineties and has become the very definition of what I love about a city boozer. High ceilings and expansive etched windows lend an airy feel to the main bar. Floorboards are muffled by loose carpets. The bow-shaped carved bar bulges into the second smaller, tighter room, lined with solid benches and random cushions.

And those Harvey’s beers - the seasonal offerings are always tempting and I have a keen taste for their Mild but it’s the Sussex Best Bitter that I could sup all day: clean malts, lithe hops and the kind of balance only otherwise achieved by an angel pirouetting on a pin-head. By itself, it’s legendary; with a proper suet pudding and a mountain of mashed potato it becomes other-worldly. The food here is rib-stickingly good; even the salt-beef sandwiches are of a size to tide a toper over on a long lingering lunch session. The eclectic mix of punters provide a fascinating soundtrack; here the atmosphere and character come from the customers rather than knick-knacks nailed to the walls.

The Royal Oak is a true bolt-hole away from the occasionally over-wrought beery madness elsewhere around Borough. It’s become my pub of choice with which to kick off a capital pub crawl. Maybe one day I’ll stay for an afternoon. There are worse things I could do...

Photo reproduced with permission from Ewan Munro on Flickr >

When poet Philip Larkin passed through Sheffield station, he walked to the platform end and noted how the 'joined and parting lines reflect a strong unhindered moon'.  The end of platform 1b now has greater delights, notwithstanding the Northern Rail service to Adwick. A small bar with tall ceilings, English casks and international bottles, a sense of transience as well as destination. And you may even get to meet Terry Greenwood.

Drinks importer Pivovar and Derbyshire brewery Thornbridge have made the most of this once-abandoned,  Grade 2 listed, first class refreshment room.  The original mahogany bar running almost the length of the room has been lovingly restored and stands resplendent before plate glass mirrors. Cream walls segue to those high green ceilings via a band of ornate tiles. Plump seats, stools and benches wrap around the room and through to a vestibule offering more modern touches; huge painted pumpclips and the nameplate from the brewery's namesake locomotive.

Just as impressive as the architecture is the comprehensive beer range. Four handpulls feature regular Thornbridge beers with another four given over to Thornbridge specials or showcasing a brewery such as Dark Star, Marble or Brewdog. Four taps serve up a range of Bernard beers; eight more offer delights such as Aspalls cider, Duvel Green and a guest beer from Meantime in London. And then there's those fridges, groaning under the weight of 200+ bottles from the finer beery parts of the world.

Despite the Edwardian splendour, the Tap's atmosphere isn't merely painted on the walls. Early doors it can be eerily quiet, perhaps just the chink of glasses as the staff clean, an occasional paper-rustle from a passing toper. I rather like that; a calm pint in quiet surroundings before the storm. Because even if the rest of Sheffield's pubs are quiet (unlikely, I know), returning to the Tap late in the afternoon or evening often tips you into orchestrated mayhem. Sometimes there's barely room to manoeuver to the bar, with even elbow space at a premium. It's the price the Tap pays for attracting topers here as a beer destination in its own right. And then there's the maelstrom of faces changing trains - suits with briefcases, tans with suitcases, on their first or last pints as they pass through the city.

Which is how you get to meet Terry Greenwood. He's the bloke next to you at the bar, wondering which beer to order next as you're both hemmed in by the throng. You'll recommend a beer to him; he'll tell you about those he'd enjoyed today.You'll share a couple of drinks and then go your separate ways. 

OK - you probably won't actually meet Terry Greenwood. He happened to be the random bloke I met one afternoon. But for being the kind of place where passing strangers can enjoy beers they love - and those they have yet learned to love - the Sheffield Tap is most definitely one of my Pubs To Love. Even if they've yet to make room in those fridges for some pork pies...


Their website can be found here. They're also to be found on Facebook and Twitter. >

It's great to see one of my favourite pubs gain national recognition. The Kelham Island Tavern, one of the finer pubs in Sheffield's Valley of Beer, has won the Campaign for Real Ale's National Pub of the Year award.


The Kelham Island Tavern (KIT) is a pub that I frequent whenever I make it up to Sheffield and has featured in several Ramblings in the past. Indeed, the ten handpumps (always featuring a couple of dark beers) can sometimes tempt me into a Reluctant Scoop, although it's difficult to resist one of their regular brews, Pictish Brewers Gold.

Great range of beers, cheap and filling food, superb suntrap beer garden... everything comes together at the KIT. On crawls around the Shalesmoor area, it's difficult to prise myself away from here as it's a pub where I could happily spend the thick end of an afternoon.

Julian Hough, CAMRA's Pubs Director, was spot on in describing the KIT as "truly is a pub for everyone". Scoopers flock to the bar, diners fill the conservatory, locals gossip over a pint. Whereas some of my mates are wary about venturing out to some of the more 'basic' drinking holes on the circuit, they like the KIT because "it feels like a proper pub". Which indeed it is.

Starting as a semi-derelict building in 2002, Licensee Trevor Wraith built the KIT into a bustling community local that even the floods of 2007 couldn't keep closed for long. On hearing news of the award, the pub manager, Lewis Gonda, praised "the excellent brewers we deal with, our faithful and supportive pub regulars, and our invaluable staff members".

As I write this, the award ceremony is about to start. Somebody up there, please raise a glass of Brewers Gold for me - all the congratulations that will come the KIT's way are richly deserved.




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Really a B&B nowadays, the Alexandra Hotel has a longstanding tradition of championing real ale and was the birthplace of Derby CAMRA.


Currently in the safe hands of Johnathan "For The Use Of" Hales, the Alex is a Castle Rock pub with an interesting range of UK cask guests and (unusually for Derby) a wide selection of bottled and draught continental beers.

So then - why a Pub I Love?

The RS percentage: Around the 30% mark for UK cask. Just enough to tempt me - as long as Harvest Pale or Jaipur isn't on.

Noise-o-meter: Can be a little too quiet, particularly mid-afternoon, with just the sound of local radio and traffic jams to keep you company. But that's OK as background for crosswords and Su Duko.

Niffy? Not at all - enough ventilation to keep it breezy in the summer, a nice fug of smoke from the wood-burning fire in the winter.

Bog off? Clean enough, but it's the little things; the towel is hung on a window opener, no coat hook in the cubicle...

FTL... At least ten seconds further away from the railway station than the Brunswick. So that makes it 1:10 to the railway station and about five minutes from the main bus stops. Unless you catch a bus back into the centre from outside the Brunswick, which is, er, ten seconds away...

ESP: It's probably Johnathan. Where else will you hear "A pint for the consuming of, change for the use of and your very good health" whenever you're served a drink? He's fantastically phlegmatic and has a wonderful philosophy that can be applied to every topic of conversation in the pub; "It's all bollocks".

Overall: Re-assuring. Solid, dependable beers, solid, dependable landlord. >

The Brunswick Inn, affectionately known as the 'Brunny', is a wonderful, cheese wedge shaped building built to serve the railway workers in the nineteenth century. Fell on hard, derelict times before conservation measures in the 1970's brought it back to its former glory. It features several rooms, flagstoned floors, a bijou beer garden... and their own beers. Which is, of course, why I'm here :)


So, how does the Brunny rate? (for a quick reminder of the rating system, see the first Pub to Love blog here)

The RS percentage: today, it's less than ten percent. But, that's no bad thing, as invariably, I'm here to drink their own beer. Indeed, it would be rude not to. Particularly their White Feather.

Noise-o-meter: Apart from Si the barman with his gurning voice, it's ticking over nicely. No music, all the braying businessmen are in the other room playing darts and chucking chilli down their ties. Comfortable.

Niffy? The odd whiff of chilli (ruddy good stuff here); apart from that, it's a clean place, all doors open to give the place a good airing.

Bog off? The sink's still cracked so you can never tell if someone's wet themselves or just left the tap running, but it's OK.

FTL... The Brunny is literally a minute's walk from Derby railway station.

ESP: Has to be there own beers. Even though Trevor Harris, longstanding brewer and landlord, left to cross the city and start another brewery, Graham and James are doing an outstanding job of brewing the old favourites and adding great new brews as well. And Everards, the Brunnies owners, often get their staff and invited guests over to try a hand at brewing.

Overall: Enticing. I'll always want just another White Feather and a chip butty. With cheese and chilli. The butty, that is, not the beer. Although perhaps I could ask Graham to tinker with a recipe or two... >

First stop on my way back from Walsall was to a pub that's rapidly established itself as a key player in the real ale scene - The Wellington in Birmingham.


And there's the rather splendid bar. Much more attractive than the outside which is fairly anonymous amongst the offices in this neck of the city.

I suppose I should come up with some convincing reasons why it's a Pub to Love. So, I've made up an arbitary scoring system.

1) The RS percentage: Out of the cask ales available, how many scoops are there for me? Does the beer range force me into a reluctant scoop, i.e. a tricky decision to drink what I really like or chance my luck on a new brew/brewer? Too many of my faves and I'll drink them all the session; too many scoops and I'll drink as many as possible and neglect my faves. I'm looking for a fifty-fifty split to make that scoop decision really reluctant.

2) The Noise-o-meter: Inoffensive background music and light chat will score well for a 'quiet' session. General hub-bub and matey chat will go down well for a 'louder' session.

Points deducted for braying businessmen (double deduction if braying is induced by drinking extra-cold nitro-swill 'lager'), boring tickers ("..well, I remember when Old Unobtainable was 5.6% and was a completely different beer, served fresh from the cask at the Itch & Crotch .."), and speech-driven radio programmes ("this morning's phone-in is on cystitis. Have you got it? Do you want it? Give us a call on...")

Points added for: playing my favourite music if that's what I want to listen to, restraint amongst groups of talkers not to end up shouting of the top of each other.

3) The Niffy Factor. With smoking now banned, other niffs persist. Open windows for a fresh breeze is good, exhaust fumes from the bus stop outside is bad. Hot beef cob aroma wafting around, excellent. Stinking chip fat, bogus. Wet dogs / wet tickers - gerrem out!

4) Bog off? Bolts on bog doors. No pools of piss on bog floors. Soap is good. Soap dispensers are better. Paper towels are useful - beer towel hanging on a nail notso.

5) First turn left by the station. I'm using public transport, so close to the railway / bus station is a huge positive. So, when the train / bus is late, there's time for a swift pint. Extra bonus points awarded for great pubs actually built into the station.

6) ESP. Or, Extra-Special Pub. What makes this place just a little different?

So then; the results for the Welly:

RS %: 65% scoops on this visit. The Welly gets through so many beers that this percentage can change before your very eyes (try it yourself, their beer list is broadcast online)

Noise-o-meter: Like a rough sea breaking onto a pebble beach; noisy in waves. But that's OK for a peak lunchtime visit.

Niffy?: Very much so. Sweaty business types and a few minging tickers. I never thought the Welly was that smoky, but it was obviously enough to cover up the other odours. It lacks ventilation; could become really ripe if the summer finally gets going.

Bog off: Clean, well provided for. They're just The Smallest Gents Pub Bogs In The World Ever (Probably)

1st turn left: About five minutes walk from New Street rail station, just off the main drag through Brum. Ideally placed for a flying visit.

ESP? Being able to take your own food in, anything from a sarnie up to a running buffet. Takeaways can be delivered to the pub - the pub provide plates and cutlery.

Overall: Delicious. Slightly ripe round the edges, but pubs are only just finding out how the smoking ban impacts in these ways. A must-stop-at pub if you're in the city - or even if you have half an hour at New Street to change trains



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