The idea was to go see what I could do on a Sunday and then find out which beer was best at satiating my thirst.

So I walked to the next village, Via a geocache, for the the first time ever. That's a new hobby that's going to be infuriating for ever more.

The way to the pub looked like this:

 When I got to the pub (Royal Oak, Ockbrook) I had copious amounts of Thornbridge Raven. It looked like this:

When I got home, I had an intensive hour of hardcore weeding, it looked like this:

( image removed because no-one wants to see weeds)

And so then I drank Jever. Jever looks like this:

And then I needed something else to work up a sweat with. So I listened to this guy be out. And then not be out. And then be very out indeed:

And then I drank Cantillon Vigneronne and Saison Dupont.

And I watched Jenson Button win the Hungarian GP. BTW - Hungarian GP? I've got to go to that next year. Fast cars and goulash. Full of win.

Anyway.

I then sat down by this eer laptop and thought - what was the best part of the day?

That first geocache? Inquisitive hoverflys at the pub? Those delicious licks from Thornbridge Raven? The undeniable willy-tingle of a cold Jever? Button sticking it up the outside? Every damn mouthful of Cantillon Vigneronne, a beer that makes you glad you have a pulse and a forgiving palate? Or those last gasps of Saison Dupont, almost demanding that you've cycled through pendulous countryside before uncorking it?

Nope. It was this:

Ladies and gentlemen, they are pigs. In shit. And you could tell by their little snuffles that they bloody loved it.

I have no illusions concerning the afterlife. But if I could laze around in the sun and provide bacon 'n chop fun to others when I've gone, I know what I'd like to come back as.

>

Sometimes, even great beer isn't good enough.

The lunchtime pint of Budvar, full of bubbles re-arranging themselves into serried ranks, was satisfying and satiating. But it left me wanting.... something else.

The afternoon pint of Thornbridge Jaipur, poured straight from the cask, was lip-smackingly citric. But it left me wanting... something different.

There's something about the lazy heat of the city, about the kick-off-your-shoes-and-do-sod-all-because-it's-Saturday feeling that makes me want to find a shaded bar with a suntrap patio. And drink the beers that are indelibly imprinted with the sense of summer for me.

Jever. Orval. Saison Dupont. Cantillon.

But those beers are rather adventurous for Derby. The odd bottle of Jever, maybe, but that's about it. We don't even have a decent offie. So, what's a poor, thirsty toper to do?

Take the bus to Belper. To Liquid Treasure.


Julie Wyllie's shop lives up to its name. Superb wines from family-run estates. Unusual liqueurs. And plenty of world-class beers. Truth be told, I don't spend too much time looking over the ample shelves, crammed to the gunwales with locals heroes from Thornbridge, Spire, Amber et al. Because in the tall fridges that fill the shop's left flank I know I will find...


Jever. Orval. Saison Dupont. Cantillon.


It's about an hour and half round bus trip from Derby for me. And it's worth every minute.

And it got me thinking: where are the great offies in the UK? Where can you wander into and come away with a cool Cantillon? Or even a brewer's minicask? They don't seem to be in the cities - I can't think of any in Derby, Nottingham, Sheffield, Manchester, Birmingham - so are there gems tucked away in the burbs?

Because sometimes, great beer isn't enough. It's got to be world-class. And it's got to be on your doorstep. >