Every now and again, the UK chapter / collective / members of ratebeer.com take part in a virtual tasting of a beer that's widely available - usually but not exclusively from supermarkets.

I'm no longer an active rater and only an ocasional lurker on the forum nowadays so sometimes the announcements for the tastings pass me by. As would have today's if Craig Garvie hadn't tweeted about it.

Thankfully, I saw his tweet just in time. Thankfully I had a bottle of the subject beer, Fuller's Vintage Ale, stashed away. So - here's my verbatim review.


"1999 bottle no. 13286. Starts with an aged aunt's oloroso sherry breath, in turns salty and almond-sweet. Lifts into that alcohol oxidation that bypasses most of your nose and waits behind your eyeballs for you to blink. First tangs of warm toffee touched up by Airfix kit glue.

Body on the orange side of ochre. First mouthful stuns me with a caramel lifted by a heathery honey. Burlesque body; suggests plenty, offers up less than expected, still impressed by the final throes.

I keep putting the glass down, come back to it after five minutes and damn me it gets better every time. Maybe it's the temperature, maybe the remaining carbonation is dissipating and teasing out warm leather and dusty cocoa and that bit of fig that gets stuck in the bottom of the pudding bowl.

Overall score: eleventy"


If you ever feel like joining in the madness one month, take a look at what we got up to this time around and keep an eye on the UK forum for future announcements (registration required for participation).
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It's not every day that I get an email from a Finnish stranger asking if I'd like to meet up for a beer. But that's what can happen when you're a member of ratebeer.com. The London crew have a fine tradition of looking after visitors to their city - I've been on the receiving end of their epic hospitality. To be honest, they would attend the opening of an envelope if there was a beer involved and a chance to meet up with someone passing through. Fewer ratebeerian tourists escape up to the shires, though, so it was a pleasure to welcome someone and show them around the town.

And Jarmo Makkonen wasn't mucking around. He'd already been in the UK for six days and covered Edinburgh, Glasgow, Newcastle, York and Leeds. After days in Derby, Birmingham and Sheffield he was off to Liverpool, Chester, Manchester and the Trans-Pennine Rail Ale Trail. I'm sometimes nervy when I meet ratebeer bods that I don't know; some can be hardcore geek, one hand welded to a smartphone and the other dispatching sips of beer before spouting forth on all manner of arcane tasting gobbledegook. I knew Jarmo and I were going to get along when he bought a half, took a photo of the pumpclip so he knew later what he bought and then started drinking.

His emphasis for the trip was as much about people and place as it was cask beer. The latter was crucially important - he's a cask fan and is madly disappointed with the general standard of real ale in his hometown of Tampere. But his trip was also about finding good pubs and meeting people. I showed him the beery sights of Derby and Sheffield and we talked almost non-stop; why Sheffield has so many pale and hoppy beers, how legal restrictions stifle beer in Finland, how placenames in England sometimes seem to have too many syllables. He educated me on the finer points of how written and spoken Finnish differ. I explained how Henderson's Relish makes fried onions even tastier.

Two things really impressed me about Jarmo. He's undertaking a trip that most British beer fans would never contemplate taking - two weeks, eleven cities, dozens of pubs, a wide range of cask beer. He's going to see some of the finest pubs and bars and drink some of the finest beer in the UK. Would you think of taking that Round Britain trip?

And it wasn't all beer, beer, beer. Food was important - though he said he was getting a bit sick of fish & chips. He made time for sightseeing. He drank soda water or Red Bull when he went out late-night drinking - he wanted to party as well, not just drink geek beer. And when we were in Sheffield, he wanted to take the time to visit Hillsborough. Not the Hotel, as I first thought, but the ground. As a Liverpool supporter, he wanted to visit the memorial at Sheffield Wednesday's ground to the Hillsborough disaster and pay his respects.

Most of my beery days out in the UK revolve around a tight schedule of George-Best-best-session-rate drinking. If I were planning two weeks away in a foreign country, I would barely rota in time to sleep. Drinking with Jarmo has made me think differently. >

Updated 22/02/10 19:47

The site should be back up now. >

So far I've tried several US-brewed 'English-style' IPAs. Translation: caramel, earthy. Tonight the hop's on the other foot; UK-brewed 'American Style'. Translation: amber, C-hopped.

To be fair, the aroma doesn't go fruit-bowl-spilt-on-a-mown-lawn mad. There's no relentless bitterness stamped onto your palate. It's a beer that wears its 6.8% ABV lightly; a fragrant pashmina rather than an oily shroud.

It's lucid and juicy. You can actually taste enough toffee and biscuit to remind you that IPA does actually have malty goodness in it. American-style? Well, sort of. American hopped, certainly. But this is fuller-bodied, rounded, better-balanced affair. A re-imagining of a re-invention of IPA.

The beer? Adnams American-Style IPA. No longer available in bottle, I believe, though a cask version brewed at 4.8% is doing the rounds. And let's be clear - this is an IPA. Ratebeer may call it an American Pale. Ratebeer are guilty of ever-increasing hubris. Two people can have an opinion as to the style of a beer; between a website admin and the brewer, I'll always side with the latter. The brewer may get it wrong on occasion (not the case here. IMO) but I'll fight for their right as the guys and gals that brewed the damn thing to make that style choice.

Today's Obviously Made Up Fact About IPA:

At the height of the IPA trade, Burton’s coopers made enough barrels in one year to stretch from Shobnall to Calcutta nearly three-and-a-half times over.



Many thanks to Fergus at Adnams for the bottle >

1) Go to the CAMRA National Winter Beer Festival in Manchester
2) Visit the foreign bar and order draught German rauchbier or bottles of dunkel
3) Er…. that’s it.

It’s no reflection on the quantity, quality and range of cask beer that was on offer. But I don’t get to try draught German beer too often, certainly not the likes of Schlenkerla Urbock. And the bottles were enticing; though I started off ordering “the one beginning with V and ending in Dunkel”, I was soon wrapping my lips around “Vierzehnheiligen Nothelfer Trunk” like a native. Albeit a native that slurred his words and pointed at lot.

Props to Craig "The Machine" Garvie for a few surreptitious slurps of cask along the way and to Tandleman for... well, for being Tandleman and helping to put on a damn good show. >

Here's a unfeasibly-long postcard I sent to my dear old friend, Hugh Jarse, last summer. It never arrived - Hugh having changed address at Her Majesty's Pleasure yet again - so now it's been returned I thought I'd share it with you.


Dear Hugh. Well, here I am in the capital of the People’s Republic of South Yorkshire. Sheffield is dreadfully sunny and hot, with none of the sleet and hail that the brochures promised at this time of year. Passport control was very lax. All that time spent learning the names of champion whippets was wasted – no-one asked me any questions and I was allowed to leave the station unmolested.

I met up with Gazza, Mrs Gazza, Dave Swij... zwege... Dave Unpronounceable and a few others before ordering a breakfast so large that it arrived on a plate bigger than my head. For a Wetherspoons it was a real culture shock – there was a barmaid who was chatty, polite and knowledgeable about beer. I wonder if that attitude can be exported to the further reaches of the JDW empire?


Suitably cholesterolised, we took a bracing walk downriver to a charming public house. The Harlequin offered a superb range of beers, light and dark, weak and strong, handpull and gravity, little and large, eggs and bacon, Tom and Jerry.... a slew of beers were imbibed as several more jolly Ratebeer types joined us. Even when Dave farted and blamed it on a sleepy Alsatian, we still enjoyed the brews which included such delights as Weyerbacher Double Simcoe.


Eventually, we moved on to the Fat Cat, just down the road. Here we sat outside, warm sun permeating the slight shadows. There is a certain joy in taking the Yorkshire air of an afternoon, particularly when said air is located next to a fine drinking establishment. Such joy is multiplied by a beer brewed within sight of the bar (well, it would be if you could see through several brick walls). A Kelham Island special was ordered. "Mieszko!" said I. "Bless you!" came the reply...


Sustenance was now required by all and sundry. Rather than partake of the award-winning menu here, the party decided to build up further our appetites and take a sturdy yomp to another pub further down the valley. Thirty seconds later, we'd arrived there. The Kelham Island Tavern was mackerel-tin busy so I wasted no time in securing my usual round - one pint of Pictish Brewers Gold, two Red Leicester cobs. The wait for hot food proved lengthy, too many hungry topers in one place, so my reserve cob soon became the subject of a bidding war. Until my fellows realised that the basket on the bar was full of them. More friends turned up, Steve and Chrissie having been taking in some of the architectural delights of the city beforehand.

Amongst the melee, a bottle of De Struise Pannepot appeared from nowhere. Well, it appeared from the rucksack of an exceptionally-bearded Scottish gentleman sat next to me. Craig (for it was he, hirsute-of-chin) and I shared surreptitiously this fine Belgian ale and I made note to secure further supplies for winter-fireside-topering.


Once food orders had been satiated finally, we wended our way to the Wellington. Here, our thirsty crowd all flocked to order Pictish El Diablo, a notably hoppy stout. Indeed, so popular it proved that before I reached the bar it "burst", the latter apparently being a beer aficionado term for "run out". I settled for Oakham Endless Summer; weak in alcohol, strong in hop flavour. Shortly after, a chance remark (which was sadly not recorded) led to the gentleman next to me displaying his training shoes as surrogate mammaries. Or "Mes's Nike Tits" as they became known.


Not only are the beers tasty at the Wellington, but it is well situated within this Valley Of Beer. Only a few minutes amble from the other houses visited so far and so close to the passing tramline that the windows rattle as one passes. Our party availed itself of the aforementioned transportation to whisk us onward to our next calling point, the Hillsborough Hotel. Here, we were encouraged outside once again by the bracing mid-evening air and panoramic views over the Don Valley. And of the dry ski-slope. And of Mecca Bingo. Plenty of high-quality, low-cost, on-site brewed beer was imbibed, the Crown Hillsborough Pale Ale becoming a swift favourite around the table. And it was charming to watch the doyen of scoopers, Gazza Prescott, holding court in front of the camera.


The rest of the day descended into a steady haze. Another pub or two was found, fellow topers tailed off and away, an enthusiastic homebrewer tried to convince me that elderflower wheat beer was the future. It had been the usual pleasure to crawl the Valley of Beer, moreso to be in good company. I look forward to inviting you over here for a drink or four sometime in the near future; do let me know if your injunctions and court orders prevent you from travelling to this particular county.

Chin chin!

The Reluctant Scooper >

There is a site called Rate Beer. They have Gatherings. One is in Europe.

This year's RBESG was in Sheffield - and Huddersfield and Manchester. Hit The North!

Before the verbiage, here's some photies of random beer action.

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Take one resident of the People's Republic of South Yorkshire. Add one toper from over the Pennines, one from over the Peaks and one from the South Coast. Mix them up in several pubs all up and down the Valley of Beer with lashings of ales both local and from far afield. What do you get? The ratebeer.com Winter Crawl around Sheffield. Warning: this story includes images of fat clowns. No, really.


Like a many a day on the sauce, the ratebeer meetup was at a Spoons. The Bankers Draft is a curate's egg in the world of JDW; downstairs it feels like every other crowded meat market bar up and down West Street. But upstairs has an easier vibe, comfy sofas and a better beer selection. At the bar already was my old mucker DJ Monarch, looking enviably thinner since he stepped up the five-a-side football. Yomping through a breakfast was Dave Szwejkowski, AKA Dave Unpronounceable / hellsbrewer / evilempire / Arthur Fox-Hake. I bought myself a half of Hilden Molly's Stout and joined the party.

The Molly's was a half-decent stout, plenty of roast and just enough ash sprinkled into the spicy tobacco notes. So much so that I had to have another one whilst we waited for Phil to turn up. Some people would say that driving from Ramsgate to Sheffield is a shag of a trip just for a few beers. You'd be right, but Phil's the kind of guy who crosses continents to share a brew and chew the fat. He turned up - wearing gloves like a soft footballer - and we headed off to the Harlequin.


Now then, I LOVE this pub. Away from the throng, chock full of tasty beers, trays of rolls on the bar, a cheery welcome and a lovely Alsatian lolling around. Steadily busy with knots of tickers and 'normals', the Harley is one of those pubs where I could sit back with a beer or five and watch the world slide by. And I would, if it wasn't for the fact that there are at least another four pubs in the city where I also do likewise.

We got stuck into some of the ten beers on offer. Sadly, my Thornbridge Ramberg was uncharacteristically insipid. There used to be a herby edge to it that seems to have been lost along the way. More impressive was Brewsters Morgana, lip-smacking fruits and an assured balance. But head, shoulders and wig above all of them was Clown's Pout, my birthday beer brewed by Crown. Starting with their Stannington Stout, Dave had arranged for Crown to pour a bottle of port into the cask, giving the beer a vinous edge. It seemed to go down well amongst the ratebeer clan and soon the tickers too were soon itching around the pump. With someone that handsome on the clip, who can blame them?

Having had previous disagreements with the landlord, Dave declined the trip into the Fat Cat and headed on to secure a table for us at the KIT. The other two piled into the small yet perfectly formed front bar and, by the time I returned from a pee, Phil was in full-flung-beer-tourist mode. Halves of Kelham Island beers were stacked on the bar, bottles of Brooklyn Smoked Porter bought and stashed, small sausages in a tub procured and one of his own bottled beers was being sampled by the management. Literally, one of Phil's beers - he brewed Dark Conspiracy in partnership with South Coast brewing legend Eddie Gadd at the Ramsgate brewery. It's stuffed full of chocolate, dusky fruits rupture after a while and there's a pervasive hop presence that never intrudes.

Being on a chocolate and coffee tip at the moment, I felt drawn to Mordue's Newcastle Coffee Porter. And it fulfils the ticklist on the tongue - roast, coffee, choc, sweet malt, lingering finish - but it all seemed accidental rather than planned. Compliant flavours, not assertive in the way that porter ought to be for me. As it would be rude to visit and not have a Kelham Island beer, I twisted my own arm and gave in with a Pale Rider. Still sublime, still has sticky citrus bits and (I insist) a vaguely minty backwash. And here's a picture of shoes - I know some regular readers have been disappointed by the lack of random foot shots recently, but I've had to work out if any of you are that fecking pervert who likes my pictures of World War 2 re-enactors on Flickr for the wrong reasons - i.e. they're wearing shiny, calf-length boots. Seriously. Some shit you just couldn't make up.

So, from the Cat to the KIT. Dave was anchored at a corner table, demolishing yet another plate of scran. I love being wonderfully Reluctant in here; pint of Pictish Brewers Gold, cheese cob. End of. It's a beer I described as "Silverstone, not Rockingham" during the summer Ratebeer crawl here; it has a soul, a sense of craft, there's surprises tucked away around the corner rather than being laid bare for all to see. Confirmed citric flavours, but there's petals floating in, honey around the edges, veins of vanilla exposed with every other sip. I like. Mucho. The cobs aren't half bad either, Red Leicester today with a silky sheen that provided just enough resistance. Busy busy in here and rightly so. Plenty of diners and a few verticals in the bar, more in the conservatory, even a few hardy smokers out in the garden. There's a good vibe in here, friendly staff and keen drinkers who aren't exclusively beer geeks. Banter was had, beers were shared. Not too sure what we talked about or what else we drank - I was too busy having a good time to take notes. Or indeed to eat often enough. Or to stop drinking pints.

Onward anyway to the Cask & Cutler. I mean the Wellington. Or the Cask & Welly as some of us obstreperous old sods like to call it. It was surprisingly quiet in here until we blustered in, with just a few familiar faces from earlier in the day still hacking their way around the circuit. With a small bar serving two rooms, the (insert preferred name here) offers a dozen-odd mix of beers; rare-ish guests, rebadged regulars and its own Little Ale Cart brews.

Reluctantly, I didn't plump for my usual choice here and eschewed the Old Git for a pint of Baby Git. Both are re-named Millstone beers, True Grit and Tiger Rut respectively, and on reflection I have to say that I'm more of an Old Git. Note: any comments along the lines of "you've always been an old git" will be deleted...

I ought to have tried at least one of the Little Ale Cart beers, but I was soon lost in the bottles that Phil cracked open to share with the bar staff and whoever happened to be around at the time. Midtfyns Imperial Stout hid its alcohol well with smooth mellow coffee flavours. Three Floyds BlackHeart IPA was frustratingly good - plenty of biscuity malt, enough resinous hop, a whiff old old oak. Why frustrating? Because it's brewed with British malt, hops and yeast... I can count the number of British brewers who are this bold with their recipes on the fingers of one hand. Where's the British experimentation? Well, it happened to be in the next bottle. Hopasaurus X is an uber-hopped trial brew by Saints & Sinners, another of Phil's projects. All rather lively, for work-in-progress it had stacks of promise with shouty hops to the fore.

There's a pint on many a crawl that becomes the tipping point, after which memories become hazier than farmhouse scrumpy. Today, that pint was Stannington Stout in the Hillsborough Hotel. I can remember vaguely how I tried to tell the barmaid about how it was the base beer for Clown's Pout. And that all the Crown beers (from the on-site microbrewery) were incredibly cheap (certainly none over two quid a pint). And that the mighty Badgers, Eastwood Town, powered through to the third round of the FA Cup. But I was starting to wane; even the camera didn't make it out of the pocket. One day I'll start off a Sheffield crawl here; I'd like to try a range of Crown beers and rememebr what they taste like. Too often I've ended up here only after a thick wedge of too many beers in too many (excellent) pubs.

Sensible topers beat a retreat at this stage. Tipsy topers with a love of Thornbridge beers head instead to the University Arms. Daft topers with drinking ambitions way in excess of their capacity buy a pint of Saint Petersburg, prick about with a camera and start to feel sleepy. My first time at this pub and it won't be my last - elegantly appointed, plush but not stuffy, glass panels and comfy chairs and lashings of Thornbridge beer.

I'd love to wax lyrical about the place and the beer but I was shot through by this stage, excellent beers all day but too often they were drowned in pints rather than sipped in halves. So, here's another pub to revisit early on a Sheffield day trip; perhaps I ought to try visiting just here and the Hillsborough rather than trying to cram six or seven pubs into one day?

Time to go. One last group photo (with me, far right, seemingly giving the finger to someone other than the photographer) before I slumped onto a tram, poured myself onto a train and slept in first class back to Derby (Cross Country Trains don't seem keen on disturbing reasonably-well-dressed drunks. Thankfully). Another great Sheffield day - next time, fewer pubs and less beer. Yeah, right...
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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.



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Tickers. Scoopers. For some they are the epitome of CAMRA man. Yet whilst some branches love them (think ticker-tastic fests like Nottingham or Tamworth) others are openly hostile. Meanwhile, ticker/scooper attitudes towards CAMRA veer from dewy-eyed adulation, through grudging acceptance for economic reasons to rabid criticism. Earlier this year the Telford and East Shropshire CAMRA magazine stirred up Scoopgen users with an article that portrayed tickers as "a heinous band of tramps and vagabonds". Are they that bad? Are they an easy target? What makes them tick? Let's find out...

It was that article in a local CAMRA newsletter (and reproduced on Scoopgen) that started me thinking about tickers. With tongue slightly in cheek, 'Brockton' bemoaned tickers for being ill-mannered bottlers of beer rather than 'real imbibers'. These 'tramps and vagabonds' were described as being "clad in 70s anoraks", having a "graveyard of decaying yellow teeth", being prone to "incomprehensible mumbling" and giving off "an odour akin to a Dickensian chiropodist's waiting room". Nice.

Comments about the article on Scoopgen were unsurprisingly critical; "another example of generalisation tarring everyone with the same brush" said one; others wondered why the likes of 'Brockton' even bothered to join CAMRA. Super scooper Gazza's response to the article was that "some of this thing is slightly close to the truth but it's still quite sad... that some CAMRA people think it's okay to slag off a section of the real ale drinking public who know (generally) more about beer and breweries than 99% of CAMRA members, drink more cask ale than most CAMRA members and do the most to support micro brewers".

To be fair, I've also been critical of some tickers. Because I find people who yak on about beer all day to be deeply boring. Because some of them impose their ill-formed opinions around the bar whether you're interested or not. Becasue if the festival list suggested that Groyne's Olde Scrotum would be on and it's not, they start throwing their bottles out the trolly, metaphorically speaking. But there's a wider issue that I struggle with.

It's the numbers game. I used to be an active member of ratebeer.com, adding reviews of beers to the site and going out of my way on many occasions to sample new brews. But that was driven by a desire to try beers of differing styles - the number of rates was a consequence of the journey, not the reason for it. I stopped rating every beer I tried in 2005 (about 18 months after I started) and stopped counting altogether soon after. Even when I was rating, I'd tend to drink a pint of a favourite beer than two halves of unknown brew.

Maybe I'm a scooper who doesn't write stuff down. After all, Scoopgen defines the hobby as "the term given to sampling as many different real ales as possible, within the scooper's own personal rules". And those rules are arbitrary; as Gazza says, liable to change "at any time to suit whims and experiences". This is all starting to sound un-nervingly like Werner Muensterberger; he recognised in his book 'Collecting: An Unruly Passion', that although "the inner pressure for more and more acquisitions... exists in all collectors, neither personal style nor circumstance are ever identical".

There's clearly a collecting bug amongst tickers. 'Beige' Phil Booton writes of the "simple delight at adding a new name to the collection". Gazza has called scooping "trainspotting beer instead of trains". But is there more to ticking than the numbers game? Well, Gazza himself makes the point eloquently in his essays on scooping; he may have been seeing the country and having a good laugh, but he was driven by wanting to try the next beer; "..it didn't matter if I'd found a superb beer in a pub, I'd always want to try another just in case it was better".

That's a key point for me. If I love the beer I'm drinking, I don't feel the need to forsake it for the 'other' beer; that's why I'm a Reluctant Scooper. But are most tickers really tasting the next beer along to see if it's a better beer... or just to ink another name in their battered notebook? Gazza may have been driven by the pursuit of quality, but most of the tickers I see seem driven by quantity - with hitlists determined solely by availability. They seem to have what he calls the 'collecting gene or mentality' - and I think that's what I'm missing.

Sure, I had a collecting streak as a kid - stamps, chocolate bar wrappers, Panini football stickers) but... I want to say that it all stopped when I grew up. Perhaps that's where the anti-ticker criticism stems from, that any form of obsessive collecting is seen as immature. Certainly, pyschoanalysts and philosophers have seen collecting as a method of filling some kind of void. Muensterberger saw the experience as "an enriching respite from the sometimes frustrating demands of everyday life" and that the dedicated collector may be acting in response to "the trauma of aloneness". Baudrillard found that it was "... men in their forties who seem most prone to the passion... (it) may be seen as a powerful mechanism of compensation during critical phases in a person's sexual development". So, is ticking is something carried out by frustrated middle aged men as some kind of compensatory activity?

I think there's more to it than that. The psychology of collecting may offer some clues. The concept of an 'acquisitive instinct' has been questioned as studies have shown a sociocultural diversity in people's relationships with material goods. Similarly, individual-centred frameworks ignore explicit social features of possessions. Perhaps a social constructionist perspective can help - whereby the collection is a symbol of identity whose meaning is socially constructed. Ticking that rare brewery on your way to ten thousand beers only functions as a symbol of greatness to a reference group that shares the same belief.

As much as the critics of tickers like to make out that they are just a bunch poorly-clothed social inadequates, possibly bordering on Aspergers Syndrome, the truth of the matter is that there's a sense of society and community amongst tickers. Unlike true Asperger's sufferers, groups of tickers display a true sense of shared enjoyment and achievement. Indeed, I'd go so far to say that it's the social aspect that feeds the hobby - if tickers couldn't give and receive gen, swap bottles, share pork pies and meet a friendly face in a far-flung pub then I don't think they'd do it. After all, what's the point of ticking if no one knows nor cares about it?

Yes, tickers can be annoying, tiring, boring, boorish, under-informed, over-opinionated. But that's people for you. Like the guy sat behind me at Silverstone barking on about relative exhaust diameters when all I want to hear is the roar of a Mosler; the art snob deconstructing Rothko when I'm trying to lose myself in its murk, the convention fan who says I simply must read x's new novella coz 'he's, like, awesome!!!' (lather, rinse, repeat).

I'd rather drink with a mild-mannered ticker than a lairy lager boy. So, tick 'em if you need 'em, guys (and gals). Just don't go drinking all of that Groyne's Olde Scrotum - it's one of my favourites.

This column was brought to you under the inebriating power of Brunswick Black Sabbath, foresaking three new scoops just so I could have lashings of the stuff.

Dim and distant psychology recollections courtesy of a polytechnic tutor who's name escapes me. But I do remember that she used to drink cider and black.

And the photo is one of the numerous caricatures hanging in the cellar bar of the Flowerpot, Derby - click through to see a larger version or go see for yourself at the pub. I might even buy you a pint if I'm there...

>

Stumbling across the internet last night (I know, I really ought to put it back in its cabinet after I've finished playing with it) I found that ratebeer.com was live again. Seems that there may be downtime as new procedures are put into place which require reboots so here's hoping that any future interruptions are intentional.

It's like the return of that well-loved re-soled slipper that the dog ran off with but soon returned, with no teeth marks in it or anything.

Picture of cute puppy available if you click to read more...



>

Posted by Joe T on Beer Advocate:


hi gang, the security team saw the threat tonight while they conducting diagnostics. their move was to continue diagnostics in a safe environment by taking the site down and starting tomorrow morning. This operation is a top to bottom approach by the best specialists I could find. They plan on attacking this as a team first thing tomorrow morning.

The plan this time is a prompt relaunch with guaranteed work.

Thank you to everyone in the community for coming together to bring us back. As we approach 2009, people are talking about change. This was the mantra of RateBeer and Beer Advocate many many years ago and things in the beer world were very different. We are now seeing the fruits of our early labors and the many positive changes in the beer industry we'd hoped for so long ago. These changes have only come about because of people like you all, whose passion has made for monumental worldwide change.

I'm grateful many of you -- some without even a RateBeer account -- have pitched in to help us continue our work. Thank you, Todd, for helping us out. While we've had our superficial differences in the past, deep down we've known we're all in this together.

Thanks for showing what a strong family of committed people we are. It's this kind of spirit that has been instrumental in the success of craft beer and the spirit that keeps me fighting for the cause.

Cheers!

Joe


Major bummer - here's hoping the last experience has made the rb team able to bounce back faster and stronger this time. (no more to read btw, not even a picture of a dirty old man...) >

As posted at ratebeer.com:

"The community response has been overwhelming. Thanks to all of you who sent us help, beer (yeah!), offered advice, sent us your hard earned dollars, pounds, crowns, pesos and euros, offered help, words of encouragement, and simply toasted us all here in the trenches. We are now very close to meeting today's goals of having a plan and the money to execute it.

I hope we can be back in a limited way in less than three days but this is really up to our security advisor. I want to be absolutely certain we're offering our users a safe environment before we open our doors. I'll send updates here and to the ratebeer community at facebook.

cheers,

Joe"

In the meantime, we can still go out to play over at http://www.ratebeersecondhome.com/index.php (cheers to phil_l for that)



WE SHALL OVERCOME!!! >

Let's start with some facts. Beer Exposed was a great exhibition. I met many great Ratebeerians. And some normal people, too. I drank too much, ate too little and left my coat behind. But it was such a pure rollercoaster of great beers and good times. Twelve other things I know for sure, dear toper, so twelve things only will I tell...




Des Mulcahy and Matt Roclawski know how to throw a show. The outstanding venue (Islington's Business Design Centre) was a perfect place to showcase their heady mix of world-class beers, enthusiastic speakers and an easy-going vibe. Des and Matt put together a passionate package that didn't encourage a free-for-all, nor solemn ticking, but let the audience fulfil the exhibition's tenets of 'explore, educate, enlighten'.



Ian Harrison is a jovial beer monster. One of this countries outstanding beer raters and co-founder of the site Pubs & Beer.co.uk , this guy never stopped smiling and enthusing about beer from the moment I met him in the pub beforehand right up to the last beer we shared. He never bored of first-time Schlenkerla Rauchbier drinkers saying 'wow! it's like smoky bacon crisps!' Wandering around with him as he pushed me towards beers that I wouldn't normally have tried was one of the session's highlight.




Flashy stands = poorer beers. Some stands had little in the way of backdrops, literature and the whole corporate shebang. Brooklyn, Brewdog and Thornbridge all let their beer do the talking - racking the bottles up and chewing the fat with you. To sell dodgy Lithuanian cider, wazzy Chinese lager and the spawn of Suffolk's Beelzebub it seems you needed three layers of slap, nightgowns and a sparkler that produced a glass of froth. Svyturys, Tsingtao and Greene King were proponents of 'style' over substance. Shame on them all.



Meantime is an outstandingly assured brewer. I just love the way Meantime operate - competent across beer styles, unafraid to experiment with flavours, distinctive marketing, assured nationwide presence. Bottles you want to hold, beers you want to savour. IPA, London Porter and Coffee Beer prove to me that their mission to bring the consumer the 'most exciting flavours' is superbly successful. Even more kudos for them to be away in a corner, a simple presence, where the beers were enjoyed with passion.



There's always a surprising beer around the corner. I used to equate Zywiec Brewery with underpeforming lager, so I wouldn't have given their stall a second glance if it hadn't been for Ian mentioning their porter. And what a whopper it was; fresh coffee and chocolate, smooth feel and a drying finish. Great to be blindsided by such a beer, glad to given the opportunity. Explore, educate and enlighten indeed!



Fullers are doing something right. It's all too easy to take the rise out of regional brewers, seemingly spending more on fancy glasses than quality ingredients. But Fullers have a keen eye on the English beer market. London Pride may not be everyone's choice tipple, but the thousands who like it are rewarded by a solid, well-made bitter. I make the journey to my nearest Fullers pub - in Birmingham, their northernmost outpost - to get a couple of sessions on London Porter when it's released as a seasonal special. And as the stand here proved, there's always something interesting lurking in the back catalogue - two versions of Vintage as well as the Gale's Prize Old. Fullers are prepared to keep such niche beers going for an appreciative audience, whilst other regionals rebadge and water down once great brews. I know which approach I prefer.



Thornbridge almost burst with ambition. A low-key presence here for this high-achieving brewer, but Thornbridge marketing manager Alex was more than happy to thrust a Kipling at you and let you know what's going down up at the Hall. How the current bottles are good, but when they get their own bottling plant they'll have top quality bottle-conditioned beers available. Why maturing beers in sherry butts is a natural progression from whisky barrel experimentation. How brewers' competitions bring out the best in each of them. Wet-hopped beers, Belgian-style dubbels, beers with herbs grown in the Hall's garden.... Thornbridge could rest on their well-hopped laurels and spend all day brewing their 40+ award winning Jaipur. But they're prepared to experiment with beers that are indeed 'never ordinary'. It's always a joy to meet up with them, even more so to see 'beer newbies' fall under their Thornbridge spell. Seems we all start with Jaipur and then never want the variety to end.



Eric Wallace knocks out a damn fine milk stout He regaled us with tales of US over-hopping and his reaction to the trend, 400lb Monkey, and then revealed what for me was the black ace up Left Hand Brewery's sleeve; a milk stout that achieved a smooth segue through sweet nutty chocolate notes into a drying creamy finish. Eric said he thought it would appeal to the British drinker and he's absolutely spot on. A beer that deserves distribution wider than its likely to achieve over here.



Ratebeerians are the best beer bods I know . Passionate about the styles they love and the styles they love to hate. Knowledgeable about the craft, art and science of brewing. Never insular to the extent of only breathing malt & hops, though - some of the funniest, warmest, most well-rounded people I know are the ones I've met through ratebeer.com . The beers are key to them but not to the exclusion of having a good time. Getting a whole bunch of them together in the same place with great ales is bound to end in fun, sweat and beers. So, to those ratebeer crew that I remember meeting on the day - harrisoni, duff, phil_l, mes_&_sim, thewolf, reakt, magicdave_6 - I salute you.




Collaboration produces world-beating beers. Smaller producers and respected brewers seem to be almost falling over themselves to get into the mash tun together. Perhaps it's borne out of homebrewing, where the community is open, helpful and respectful of the advice offered and received. I'm familiar with some of the English collaborations involving Garret Oliver, Brooklyn's brewmaster (such as Kelham Island's awesome Smoked Porter). So it was an unexpected pleasure to sample an interesting collaboration between him and the Schneider brewer Hans-Peter Drexler. Brooklyner-Schneider Hopfen-Weisse was brewed on the Brooklyn plant using Schneider yeast. A feisty dry-hopped weizen, this was the the beer that persuaded Ian to get his notebook out and start rating. I'll add a full review to Bottled Up sometime soon (I brought two bottles back with me) but suffice to say it was a stunning sherbert fizz of a beer. And the perfect example of what brewers (and friends) are capable of when they knock their noggins together.



Brewdog have a beer for all seasons. I love Brewdog. I've even forgiven Martin Richie for leaving Thornbridge. Because they brew, without doubt, the best quality, no-compromise beers in Scotland. Punk IPA has been my picnic bottle of this soggy summer. And Paradox will be warming my cockles by the fire all through the winter. It was the first time I'd met James and the first time I'd tried Smokehead (their bourbon-barrel matured Paradox); both were intriguing and beguiling, one was smokey and one is a fan of cookie dough... this was a stand that us ratebeerians gravitated to, always a great beer and a good banter to be had. And, guys.... you've got a Paradox matured in a 1968 Islay cask? I'm 40 this year and have been looking for a suitable drink to celebrate with....



and, last but by no means first ...

Phil Lowry is an alien from the Planet Beer. He can't be human. This guy is beer personified. He serves the stuff, drinks the stuff, brews and buys and sells the stuff. Publican-turned-retailer, qualified lecturer, beer sommelier, keen brewer, writer and photographer... makes you sick, eh? At Beer Exposed, he was literally showing the scars of his exploits from where his latest brew had exploded in his face whilst in production. Does he stop? Nah, he's behind the Beermerchants.com bar, pouring and talking and - every now and then - magicking up a bottle of something special. Mikkeller Beer Geek Breakfast, Struise Black Albert, aged Liefmans... Phil's homebrew... although I was too busy drinking Fruli and getting lost in the limpid blue eyes of the lady next to me to take many notes. (And, Mrs H, if you're reading this, yes I *do* prefer your auburn eyes to anyone else's in the whole widest world :-)

Phil travels widely for his beer, meets the makers and shakers, and - in a world of fat tickers and braying wannabe's - can talk the talk and walk the walk without sounding arrogant. The beermerchants stand was the place to be, outstanding beers and a great mix of beer faces old and new. Phil's enthusiasm was contagious and generosity legendary. Many thanks to him for the invite and for the chance, for a few hours, to be part of an event that has redefined how beer can be presented to a willing and enthusiastic audience.



Beer Exposed has proven that there is a market for intelligent, informed events in the beer sphere. A million miles away from the vast festival halls crammed with sweaty yobs, the easy-going atmosphere of relaxed drinkers having a good time - one driven by the beers but never dictated to by them - firmly exposed the myth that beer events are no more than swill sessions for weirdy-beardies. More of the same next year, please... this country's drinkers deserve more events like Beer Exposed.

PS - all photos by me which is why they're a bit shaky. Slideshow and more pics available (though, sadly, not the one of Duff receiving double nipple action from Ang and Tom) on my Flickr site.

PPS - huge thanks to Ray Alcock, concierge at the Business Design Centre, for mailing me my coat back for free. Now, that's what I call service!!!

>

This was a poignant ramble - a trip to Burton to include a visit to the Bass Museum before it was closed down at the end of June 2008.

The history of Burton-upon-Trent is the history of English brewing. Sine the late 1800's, when brewers cottoned onto the fact that the local water was particularly condusive to brewing, Burton has been riven with the industry. The canals and railways provided the arterial supply routes needed to move Burton beers out across the world. Although the town is no longer crammed with thirty-plus brewers as in its heyday, the behemoth brick warehouses of old still vie with steel clad silos full of largering torpor across the Burton skyline.



And it's the recent actions of the Charybdis-like MolsonCoors that brought me to Burton on a wet Saturday in June. They decided to close the Bass Museum - let's call it what it is, it's never really been a 'Coors Visitor Centre' - and I'm not going to pop another ulcer by banging on about that here.

I popped down to Burton early; it's only a thirty minute bus trip straight down the A38 from Derby. A wander around the town led inevitably to a quick half in the nearest 'Spoons, the Lord Burton. It felt dirty to be drinking a Burton Bridge beer in here (Festival Special) but it was well served, well tasty and well cheap.

With the skies turning the wrong shade of grey, I decided to head off to the museum for another beer and wait for Steve and his wife Chrissie who were driving up from Kent.

My first impressions of 'The Brewery Tap' were - who the fuck built a hotel bar on the side of a museum!? The last time I was here, on a cold winter afternoon cradling a nip of Bass Number One, it was a bar crammed full of Bass nick-nacks and a homely feel. Now, it's all clinical chrome and white walls. And the Brewery Tap logo everywhere, even etched into the windows.

It's a bar designed to pander to the corporate hospitality and wedding crowd, those who will neither look nor seek no further than the Coors Light spout. Mind you, the White Shield I tried was still good, the taste holding its own even from within an overly showy chalice glass.























My second impression? What's to stop me waltzing into the museum, unpaid? Well, nothing... has that been the case for some time or just since closure was on the cards? If the former, is there any wonder they were losing revenue? If the latter, then how else is that lack of care going to manifest itself today?

Steve and Chrissie were still en route so I braved the rain for the short dash down the road to the Burton Bridge tap, the Burton Bridge Inn (henceforth the BBI).

This is an intriguing pub; no front door, it's down the alley at the right hand side, and once it you're treated to split level rooms served by a central bar. Narrow pews and loose cushions define the decor in the front bar, with solid tables and chairs to be found in a stouter dining area to the rear. I enjoyed a pint of Burton Porter (and an even more enjoyable corned beef and beetroot sarnie).























Having received a call to say my friends had arrived at museum, I sauntered down there and suggested that we head straight back to the pub - many still close at 2.30pm on a Saturday and the BBI is no exception. They were more than happy at the suggestion and were soon tucking into a range of BB beers - and egg butties, which Chrissie ordered in her most sumptuous accent and made it sound like the sexiest lunch in the world ever.

With lunchtime imbibation complete, it was back off to the musuem. Steve and Chrissie had money-off vouchers; I got in free as a card-carrying CAMRA member... thinks to self: why let in for free those customers who (one assumes) would glady pay to see a brewery museum?

The first section does a passable job at explaining the brewing process in general. Some rather faded figures were propped up over hops or shovelling in the tun. A couple of the exhibits had an audio commentary but I didn't see any of the portable audio guides that used to be on offer (though, truth be told, only about half of the commentary ever seemed to work on them anyway). Various machines could be cranked up (for a few seconds). The mash tun in which the fabled Kings Ale began its life was here as well - albeit only about half of it.

Lots of information boards abound, most of which were genuinely interesting, but it all looked rather outdated. Towards the end of this section, it started to feel less like a coherent exhibition telling a story and more like a random selection of artefacts.

I mooched off to see the shire horses. Here was this museum's nugget of pride; polished brasses and competition rosettes displayed proudly. They horses were still hard at work - one had just returned to the stables to be readied for a wedding party - so hopefully they'll be resettled and continue to work for a living. And, with any luck, that resettlement will allow for re-naming them - I know they're brewery horses but how the hell you could seriously call them Reef, Carling and White Shield is beyond me...

Also outside were a motley collection of buses and delivery vans; let's not ponder too long on the merits of overpainting Bass trucks with the Coors logo. Again, it all felt a little random, no great effort made to explain what the vehicles were or to place them in context. I was getting to the stage, quite frankly, where I found every exhibit a little depressing. All that wasted opportunity - how about the heritage buses being used to take visitors on tours of the town, pointing out notable sites, giving the visitor a feel for what was the grand scale of brewing in Burton?

The next building was a bit of a hotch-potch, too. Remnants of Burton's other lost museum were crammed in for no apparent reason. Again, there were a few working machines (I'm a sucker for firing up well-lubricated pistons). Amongst the random Bass breweriana and rather pallid dioramas, there were a couple of interesting exhibits. The 'pubs through the ages' was good, giving the visitor a feel for how they have always functioned as a social hub as well as being drinking dens. Liked the idea of different pub games in each one. And Steve seemed to be right at home...

Again, though, exhibits such as this made me think how the concept had never really been exploited fully. Why have stuffed dummies behind the bar when you could have had an actor to - er- interact with the visitors? I know it all costs - but what if they'd had guided tours, part of which involved interaction with character actors, charged at a slight premium over the normal entry fee?

The other exhibit which had always attracted me was the model of Burton in 1921 with an N-gauge railway. This gave a real feel for that industrial scale of brewing that I mentioned earlier - to see the town riven with railways, the brewhouses and warehouses crammed together. Again, it's another squandered opportinity as not all the locos seemed to be working (as was ever the case from my previuous trips here). I'd have loved to see the 1921 map projected onto a wall; in fact I would have liked to have seen maps from throughout the town's history projected and overlaid to give visitors an idea of how the brewing industry affected the geography of the town through the ages. But that's the old cartography student in me...

Don't get me wrong. There were still some good exhibits here and a 'beer novice' could visit and at least learn about the rudiments of brewing, the story of beer in Burton and the impact of Bass upon the brewing world. But in many ways it's a museum that's been past its best for some time. It's a curate's egg of a place (pun fully intended); not really a brewing museum, instead a museum to celebrate (commemorate?) a once-proud brewing brand that Coors don't own and don't brew. With the owners several steps removed from true pride and association with Bass, was it any wonder that the museum floundered?

After all that, we needed a beer. It was only a few minutes down the road to the Coopers Tavern - perhaps one of the most interesting pubs I know. No bar, no pumps, beer is served straight from the barrels on a stillage in the corner of the back room. We enjoyed a few good beers here, it's a place where I could happliy spend an afternoon with half-a-dozen ales and a decent crossword. And a carry-out for when I enjoy a curry a few doors down at Balti Towers. We enjoyed some superb beers in a pub where the atmosphere wasn't painted on the walls...

It was my idea to visit the Old Cottage next - after all, they brew their own beer and have been know to serve interesting guest ales. Sadly, I'd left my navigational skills in the pocket of my other coat, and so we circled the Town Hall several times before I found the right road. I wished we'd stayed at the Coopers, though - the whole pub smelt vaguely of loo cleaner and the Old Cottage beers were a tad on the bland side.

There can be no doubt that this country deserves a National Museum of Brewing and it ought to be in Burton - it has the history and it has good transport links to the rest of the country. Incorporation of the Bass collection into a new museum is paramount, but to survive it would need a wider remit. It shouldn't be a repository of redundant brewery ephemera, it needs to tell the story of brewing and tell it well. An on-site brewer with brewery tours is a must - there's surely no better way to appreciate the process than to see it, smell it, feel it, hear it in action.























Living up the road in Derby, I'm all too aware of the Bass legacy. Michael Thomas Bass, grandson of the brewery's founder, was a generous benefactor to our city, including the provision of the 'Free Library'in the Wardwick (still used as a library today) and a recreation ground (one of the rare patches of green left in the city centre). It's about time we honoured that legacy and campaigned for the Bass collection to be a significant contributor to a national museum - one that doesn't just look back into gilded mirrors and reflect on the industry's history but actively involve us all in the joys of brewing. >

I've been on the lookout this year for fests I've not frequented before and this one looked interesting - a beer festival inside a working engine shed. The Barrow Hill roundhouse is home to a collection of restored steam and diesel locos and runs an annual beer festival with train trips included. Sounded like a fest of fun indeed!



First stop, The Babington Arms in Derby. Yes, I know I was about to spend the thicker edge of the day drinking high gravity beers but.... I can never resist a swift half or three in the Babby if I'm passing. And glad I did pop in too - the Great Newsome Holderness Mild and Great Oakley Welland Valley Mild were superb.

Catching an earlier train up to Chesterfield than I planned, I was able to take in the sights. Firstly, there's the famed 'crooked spire' of St Marys church:























Secondly, there's.. er... the Portland Hotel:
Well, all that sightseeing made me thirsty. Odd for a Spoons, perhaps, in that
1) it was an interesting building
2) the tables seemed to be clear of dirty pots
3) there was an separate 'unofficial' coffee and tea queue so beer drinkers didn't have to wait half an hour behind the blue-rinse-and-cappuchino crowd
4) it served dream beer. I really fancied a pint of Jaipur - and that's what they had on.

Eventually dragging myself back down to the railway station, I caught the heritage bus up to Barrow Hill. As I somehow got onto the staff bus, I ended up with a half-hour wait outside and opening time couldn't come soon enough.

As the gates creaked open, I stamped my circulation backinto action and hotfooted it into the shed. I had my eye on a special Thornbridge beer, a mix of Jaipur and St Petersburg Imperial Stout. Ignoring the steaming wonders around me, I sidled down the alphabetical stillage to 'T'... and what a disaster! All the Thornbridge beers had gone! Always willing to chance my arm, I asked if there was anything left at all and was rewarded with a mere mouthful of the mix, not really enough to gauge the measure of the beer. Ho hum. So, I sought solace in Destitution, a typical hoppy Leadmill beer, and went for a look around.

Standing back and looking at the stillage, there was the stunning looking LNER A2 Class 60532 Blue Peter. And steaming away on the turntable was the Great Central Railway 'Butler Henderson'.
This was great; steam and oil, diesel fumes, hissing pistons and quality beers.

I soon met up with some fellow Ratebeer members, Mes and Ang, who seemed impressed that the idea of a festival in a loco shed worked so well in practice.

Whilst they stocked up on chips (the breakfast of champions) I cashed in my CAMRA members voucher for a free half pint. And what better way to use that voucher than on a half of Bass No 1.

The stuff that legends are made of, Number One is such a sublime brew that it'll be sad if Steve Wellington at the 'White Shield' brewery doesn't get to brew it so often, what with all the changes going on at Coors.

We pitched up in a marquee tacked onto the side of the main shed and worked our way through a number of decent - and high strength - beers. I enjoyed a few that I've tried before (hey, that's why I'm a Reluctant Scooper) of which Bottle Brook Imperial Russian Stout and Kelham Island Brooklyn Smoked Porter were both as stunning as I remembered them to be.

























Mes and Ang were availing themselves of some quality Midlands beers (as all of you who live south of Watford ought to do more often). And then, What Mes Did Next was either inspired, sacriligious or the product of a genius mind addled by strong drink: The Bass No1 - P2 Stout mix.

Either way, he'd get flayed and covered in salt if he tried it in Burton and probably won't make it onto brewer Steve Wellington's Christmas Card list. Or would he? Because this actually works - the smoothness of the P2 carries the heat and alcohol of the Number 1. It's a fiery hand in a velvet glove, designed to reach down your throat and not stop til it hits your cockles. In fact, it ought to be a regular brew, Bass Gestalt: flavours emerging as a whole, reification kicking in to bestow nuances that were never intended but seem all too real, the multistability of a palate rocking unstably between P2 and No 1 before the invariance as the genius of the drink becomes recognisable even as perspective deforms and your brains leak over your shoes.

(note to self: you should have drunk less before your psychology lectures all those years ago; that last paragraph reads like the impaired ramblings of an undergrad ripped to the nips on snakebite)

I needed more pure Bass Number 1 to recover. And indeedy I did.

By this time, or possibly earlier, or possibly later as my temporal perception was waning rapidly, we had a table full of merry sorts - Sim had exhausted the shops of Chesterfield (which probably left several hours to go for a coffee) and turned up with her Mum, Sue, soon followed by Mes's brother Nick and his soon to be wife Kylie.

Beers were imbibed, ciders enjoyed (I'm sure someone had the Olivers Pyder which has to be the strangest thing I've ever tried from that renowned producer) and foreign bottles secured for the journey home. To be honest, a day of drinking beers at ever increasing strengths had left me feeling delicate around the edges so I did what I had to do - had a pi55 that seemed to take ten minutes, got some chips down my neck, bought the strongest beer I could find and went for a train ride.

Up and down the Springwell branch isn't exactly the greatest rail journey in the world, but you can't beat sitting back in a well-sprung seat in a compartment of a proper coach, decent beer in hand as steam wafts through the window. And that beer was The Doctor, the pinnacle of Falstaff's Dr Who series of bevvies that I've seen sloshing around Derby and local beer fests for the last few months.

Following on from this, I know that the following things happened:
1) I took photos of random strangers and, for reasons unknown, pictures of my feet.
2) Mes and Sim et al beat the retreat to all points north and south. I wasn't sick on any of them and I didn't molest the womenfolk. And I didn't give Mes a shoulder massage this time.
3) I drank even more Bass Number 1.
4) I caught the bus back to the railway station and caught a train. Miraculously, I got off at Derby. I have no recollection of either the bus or the train journey.
5) My ever-loving and patient wife let me gabble incessently at her for several hours that night about beer and trains.
6) I didn't feel hung over the next day. Which could be testament to the quality of the ale, or the fact that I just didn't get out of bed.

A fest of fun? Damn right! Top beers, decent grub and an atmosphere that wasn't painted on the walls...

If you get the chance to go to this, do so - there's no beer fest quite like it that I know of. >