Time for my first 'major' festival of the year, one where I'm more than happy to put in several appearances. Leicester festival has a reputation for fresh local brews and beers from new breweries nationwide.



It's held in the Charotar Patidar Samaj, a sizeable venue close to the bus station and a shortish wobble from the trains. One of the reasons why I love it is the straightforward setup here. One room with the booze (a LocAle bar, rest of the beers set out A-Z, Everards, cider and bottle bars). One room with *plenty* of seating round tables, a cob+pork pie stall, a trough to wash your glasses out and a kitchen that prepares a fair curry.

I visited twice this year:

Wednesday night: even though Network Rail tried their damnedest to stop me, I still made it over to Leicester for the opening night. And it was busy enough - another reason why I like it here is that the people who want to stand and drink can do so by the bar, those who want to sit down and have a chat/read he paper are equally well catered for.

Judging for the Harry Cragg beer of the festival was well underway (but I never did find out the results). A Lane's pork pie and a Stilton cob (excellent cheese from Webster’s at Saxelbye) were the perfect accompaniment to these beers:

Grainstore Osprey - started farty, turned into a solid golden ale.
Church End Tekute Zlato- flat lager with real body and a spit of sweetness
Caythorpe Dark Gem - WOW! This is a fantastic mild! Full of ash and roastiness and yummy stuff.
Full Mash Sence-less - Hmmm. Rather nondescript
Leadmill New Jersey - Jaipur's older, uglier brother. Flat, harsh.
Potbelly Beijing Black - still a good beer, but Dark Gem was better.
Thornbridge Hall Gildas - Sheer quality. Off copper body, frothy scant head, spicy nose. Like through walking through jasmine fields on a warm afternoon.
Brewdog Paradox Cask 006 Caol Ila - It's Brewdog. It's Paradox. It's been aged in a cask of my favourite whisky. Is it any good? It's fecking superb.

Thursday: up for a full day sesh with my old ratebeer.com mucker Mark and those Brunnie regulars John and Brian.

The latter are festival stalwarts, regaling me today with tales of their recent jaunts. Mark is a keen ratebeerian and beer blogger whom I'm always happy to share a beer with. Literally, in this case: today I scooped with only a little reluctance and 'doubled up' with Mark (the sharing of beers so you get to drink twice as many for the same volume consumed).

That led me into something I've not done too often in the recent past, try a number of beers from new breweries. Some weren't too impressive (Irving's Invincible springs to mind), most were solid and average (such as Larkrise and Cropredy Bridge, the two beers from Northamptonshire newcomers Cherwell Valley). But some were real standouts: Golden Bud from yet another Derbyshire brewer, Brampton, was an itchy, oily hopped lipsmacker. And from the newest newcomers, Bees of Queniborough, a superb stout called Wobble -as smooth as a black cat rubbing against your ankles. We even found time to fire up the laptop an add some reviews onto ratebeer.com
























Now, all scoopers reluctant or otherwise have a list of beers they want to knock off at a fest. Mine usually was lots of old faves that I don't see in the Derby pubs, Mark's was chock full of new breweries. Once the new brewers wares had been exhausted, I turned to buying odd bod beers that I wanted to gauge Mark's reaction to. These included the Church End Czech lager from yesterday, a new wheat beer from Everards called Hazy Daze and one of my favourite English fruity beers, Milestone Raspberry Wheat beer. He seemed quite keen on them - which is reassuring for me, as some of the old-school drinkers I know tend to turn their noses up at the very mention of 'lager' or 'fruit'. Brian and John, incidentally were happily quaffing all manner of cask lagers - and they're both over retirement age!


Plenty of time was found during the day for food; a tray of samosas was chomped through early on, the veggie curry was welcomed later, with pork pies all round as a mid-session snack as you can see here - and thanks to Brian for his chipolata-finger QVC pointy action in this photo.


Now, it wouldn't be fit and proper for Mark and I to attend a fest and not try a cider or perry or both. We sampled Eve's Wilding Cider - I found it a tad gluey to begin with but eventually warming into tarter stuff. Mark was more impressed - given that it was a Northants cider, I'm not too sure if local bias was in action there...

Lots of other good beers along the way as well today, Morton Jelly Roll (which I enjoyed immensely on a recent trip to Nottingham), Grindleton Ribble Bitter (superbly balanced session bitter) and Fugelstou Sledgehammer Stout were perhaps the best of the rest of the bunch.


Having blagged a lift back to the middle of bog nowhere - I mean, home - Mark departed reluctantly early as I was getting stuck into the perry. Well, actually it was pyder; Oliver's seemingly running out of something along the way and so blending cider and perry together. It's still good tasting - Oliver's don't do crap - but a strangely unsettling aroma and taste.

John and Brian beat the retreat a little later on leaving me last man standing. Time then for another glass of Brewdog Paradox and an entertaining chat with a CAMRA man (Ron Rideout?) who regaled me with tales of dole cheats in Bangkok and what not to eat out of a packet when in Tallin.

Having then bought a stilton cob and a pork pie for the journey home, I reluctantly made my way back to the station, via Out Of The Vaults and an excellent pint of Beowulf Fin's Hall Porter.

So, an all round top-notch festival. Beer of the fest has to be Brewdog Paradox Caol Ila, though Brampton Golden Bud pushed it close. And special mention of Bees Wobble, one of the finest new-brewery beers I've been lucky enough to try.

Leicester festival gets it right; an excellent beer selection, good quality and conditioned beers, well laid-out venue, decent and fair priced food and a good atmosphere for both tickers and vertical drinkers alike. I always like to track down Andy Sales (festival beer co-ordinator) to say thanks - it's richly deserved. >

So, I say... Oxford. And you think of.... dreaming spires, Inspector Morse, Tolkien, ruddy tourists and the blue hue cast by the gown around town. But did you think of beer?

Probably not (and this is a beer blog! Sheesh! You just can't get the readers nowadays).



To be honest, it wasn't my first choice for a Midlands pub crawl. Truth be told, it wasn't even in my top tweleve choices of rambles on the beer. But it was the chosen venue for the second Midlands ratebeer.com crawl and with over a dozen members set to meet up there, it was too good to miss out on.

Now, I've travelled cattle class on this Cross Country line before and had no intention if doing so again. So, it was hoi polloi class for me and a dozen or so maiden aunts and far-too-well-off football fans. Shame, then, that to claim the complimentary beverages you had to claw your way to the other end of the train across sprawling students and feral families. Having marginally avoided kneeing a few toddlers in the head, it's then another let-down to be given not a crusty bacon roll but a 'snack-pack' which had some strange, squidgy stuff in it that smelt a bit like a Belgian beer. I think they call it "fruit"; I tried it once and didn't like it. At least they also gave you a Kit-Kat to dunk in your hot chocolate.

A pleasant journey, then. Having met up with our Glen, our esteemed leader for the day, and some of his mates we set off for the short stroll to the first pub of the day. Arriving there at 1130 gave us half an hours advantage on the rest of the mob who were due around 12.... shame then that the St Aldates Tavern wasn't open. So - Glen put Plan B into action, a walk across the city to the Three Goat Heads. Delightfully art deco on the outside and possibly on the inside to... but as this was shut as well, I'll never know.

Plan C then - hang around outside the Aldates 'til opening time. By now, a few more Ratebeerians had joined the hubble - Hughie, Chris O and Mark (complete with baguette in gob. Though, as he was bringing me Westvleteren, I'll be nice to him just this once.). As we watched what seemed to be every bus in Oxford try to force their way down the street, Gazza's arrival was heralded by scooping acolytes scattering hop flowers before his feet.

Eventually the door latch was slipped, havoc cried and the Aldates invaded. This is a non-nonsense single-room pub, utilitarian furniture, pump clips on the ceiling, rugby shirts on the walls and some juicy looking White Horse beers on the bar. As I tucked into a pint of White Horse Bitter, the rest of the gang began to pile in - Ian "Kippers" Harrison, Merton BF's Fin, Steve and Casey looking unnervingly like father and son. And that veritable rating combo (but a crap hand at Scrabble), Mes & Sim and Ang.

This was a bubbly little place, felt like a community pub beached in the city, with some excellent White Horse beers (their aforementioned Bitter and Giant were in great nick). A surreptitious slurp of Hair of the Dog's Adam, courtesy of Hughie, was greatly appreciated (by far the best- and almost only- dark beer of the day). Just a hint of surly landlord on glass collection, a service level incomparable to the indifference yet to be encountered...

No rest for the beer crawler - the next stop was but a bus-defying dash across the street and down an alley to the Bear. Glen was saying we wouldn't all get in; my stomach alone took up the room normally occupied by four diners. And it was those sausage eaters, with their tables and chairs, that took up precious room that could have been better served by cramming in a dozen vertical drinkers. So, with Old Hooky Bitter bought, we repaired to the 'beer garden' - a stupendously euphemistic term for a line of picnic tables next to the bins. Which didn't stop a steady line of tourists taking photos - though probably not of the bins. Unless they're on ratebin.com. And how *sad* would that be... the Hooky was fine, would have been disappointing not to have any during the day. Every county needs a solid, local-brewed bitter - just that I much preferred the cleaner taste of the White Horse one.

Glen then seemed hell-bent on finding even narrower alleyways to lose us down - I half expected to round a corner and hear "They lured him here to bugger him senseless, Lewis!". But, as Endeavour inevitably found, there was a pub at the end of the alley. And not just *a* pub - the hallowed Turf Tavern.
I forgot to take a photo here, so here's one purloined from t'internet.

A ramble of rooms, a sizable beer garden (one with plants and roofs and everything), a tiny bar and Oxford's representative in the Surliest Put-Upon Barman competition. Though, to be fair, if I was trying to serve fifteen punters in a pub that's bristling with students and tourists, I'd have been reaching for the machete rather than pleading with people to keep his hatch area clear. Little pleader.

Loads of room outside though, highlighting the peccadilloes of prime ministers and presidents during their time at the Turf. The beer was educational as well; I tried another White Horse beer brewed for the pub, Turf Tavern Summer Ale, which was a clean and refreshing drop.

Sitting outside, to be honest, was like drinking in the outdoor section of B&Q, with more decking than Charlie Dimmock can swing her things at. Inside was fairly cool, quaint in a 'Greene King Survivor' way, with some individuality not totally snuffed out by the suits from East Angular. I should have spent more time inside musing around; I may have enjoyed the pub more.

From here, then, on to the White Horse. Sadly, not a brewery tap but an engaging single room pub just down the way from the Bodleian. It reminded me of some old market town boozers that I know, stepping down from the street into a bare-boarded bar with a hub-bub of conversation. Having taken a few minutes to scare off the locals, we commandeered half the pub and drank White Horse Wayland Smithy. Apart from Ang, that is, who had Hoegaarden and Lemsip. Allegedly.

Time for nosebag and Glen had recommended the next pub as a suitable scoffing point. Far From The Madding Crowd was a Ronseal pub - does exactly what it says on the sign. Away from the main drag, busy but not crammed with be-scarfed loons and camera-addled visitors. Swift table-arranging allowed us to set up dining for twelve with King Gazza promoted to the sofa. I swapped Derby tales with Fin, whose Dad is lucky enough to live within staggering distance of the Old Oak in Horsley Woodhouse, the brewery bar for Leadmill and Bottle Brook.

Unlike very other pub today, the 'Madding' has little history, being a new build to fill in the gap between extended modern shops. As such, it was an opportunity to do something different- instead, it's all rather bland and boxy. Even more disappointing was the long wait for sausages that , when they finally decided to put in an appearance, had seemingly been warmed by the light from an energy-saving bulb rather than cooked in an oven. As least the beer range was diverse (although few dark beers today - surprising for the time of year) and with a new Abbeydale beer for me to try (Ephiphany) I was happy to mull over a pint. I just got the feleing that here wasa chance wasted - I wouldn't have wanted a 'ye olde' facsimile (no pint when the city is throbbing with the real thing) but it felt a little like an Ikea showroom. With tuck scoffed, Hughie bade us all farewell at this point - hope I'll catch up with him sometime for a Peak District ramble.

No rest for the scooping crawler, regardless of reluctancy. Two uber-historic pubs to knock off yet, starting with the Eagle and Child. Or Bird & Baby, or Fowl & Foetus. Anywhichway, it's an attractive place, tiny front rooms leading off a long bar, beyond which is a dining area and a fairy-light-encrusted corridor where I and a few others pitched up. The Cains Dragon Heart had just been drunk dry by the ratebeerians who weren't outside taking photos, so I settled for a more than adequate Adnams Broadside (only problem with it being that is I'm used to having a steak and mushroom pie at the same time, pie and Broadside being my staple meal at one of my locals, the Carpenters Arms in Dale Abbey). This was a pub I'd like to spend more time in, have a bite to eat and a chat with the staff. Was it the sort of place where you could imagine Tolkien and Lewis nattering away... "There's been a murder, Lewis.... it's Haldir!". Well, er, no, but it's still an atmospheric place.

Time to head over the road - well, over the unfeasibly wide urban motorway with a car park in the middle - for the pub the Inklings defected to, the Lamb and Flag. And let me get my one piece of negative criticism out of way now; the barman seemed to resent customers with every strand of his DNA, never knowing (or caring) who was next to be served but instead just shouting 'NEXT!!' whilst looking at the drink he was pouring. Never smiled, no manners... no wonder pub staff in this city get a bad rep.

But, what a pub - solid beers from Skinners and Palmers (the latter rebadging Gold providing the pub's house beer, Lamn & Flag Gold). Room to swing a cat if you fancied it, plenty of nooks for tables and chatter, room at the bar for surly service. And to sit there on a stool with a beer and chew the fat about whatever you wish - which I did with Warren Monteiro, playwright, journalist and beer drinker extrodinaire. We shared our views on Oxford's beer scene, I evangelicised about Reluctant Scooping and Warren gave me the lowdown on beers NYC style. And he helped date my Westys! Certainly a pub I'll return to.

Mark then made his way back to deepest darkest Northamptonshire - and I bet he'd written up his blog entry for the day by the time the bus got him home...

That's all the pubs I'd planned on visiting today, but with an hour and half to go I decided to be dragged along to another pub, the Gardeners Arms. This was a wee way away to the north of the city (should have been more attentive of this at the time). On the upside, I noticed a fish 'n chip van on the way and immediately began to dream of a fried supper on the way back to the station.

The Gardeners was a locals pub at the end of a row of houses (natch). A few warm and friendly rooms, Marstons beers and (apparently) a great reputation for vegetarian food. I sampled the Brains St Peters - OK stuff, underwhelming but beery enough. Cue the great 'stout versus porter' debate round the table: I personally don't think there's a spit of difference between them, but a reasoned and loquacious discussion on the style(s). Suddenly mindful of the time, I thought of heading back to the station. How long would that take? Glen thought it would be twenty minutes - Fin was convinced it woud be thirty. I had thirty five minutes but it ended up being a hard paced walk, foresaking fish and chips on the way.

An on-time train and a quiet carriage awaiting made for a blissful journey home. Even if I'd been tempted, the Westys stayed unmolested by virtue of me falling asleep on the approach to Banbury and not stirring again until I entered the nether regions of Staffordshire. Too tired even for a nightcap at the Brunswick on the way home.

All in all, a fun day; some above average beers, especially impressed by the White Horse brews. Some pubs I'd like to revisit and linger longer in (Lamb & Flag, Turf Tavern). And always good to meet up with ratebeer bods who are never backward at coming forward and telling people why stout is porter. Like, duh!

>

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 :-)

>

(Only six months late with this one. Must Try harder. And Drink Less....)

My old job afforded me the unrestrained joy of infrequent trips to Stoke-On-Trent. Usually, having fixed yet another banal IT problem and scoffed a couple of almond croissants, I tend to make like a shepherd and get the flock out of there.

But there seemed to be enough pubs around the five towns to lash together a crawl of sorts, so I decided to meet up with Foggy and Clegg - I mean Brian and John - to see what Stoke had to offer the discerning beer drinker.


On the way to meet the others at the rail station, I found it hard to resist calling in the Stoke Wetherspoons, The Wheatsheaf.
Now, I remember this place from my student days of yore when it was a live band venue with wazz-weak lar-gar - most of it split on the floor. Now, it's a fairly smart McSpoons with a good half dozen guest cask beers with a number of Titanic beers on show (more about that brewery later).Half of Phoenix Thirsty Moon in great condition was swiftly dispatched.

Onto the station to meet up with the others, inlcuding a special guest appearance from Stockport Dave. With the party all gathered together, it was on to a First PMT bus (stop sniggering..) for the haul up to Hanley then on to Burslem.

The journey was a bit of a grind; the bus in front of ours had been involved in a collision leading to slow going. Changing in Hanley, the next bus went on a circumnavigation of the retail parks before deigning to drive in the approximate direction of Burslem.

But, everything comes to those who wait. With a hop, skip and stumble across the market place we reached the Bulls Head.
A welcoming two room pub with subtle breweriania, this is the brewery tap for Titanic so it would have been rude not to try some. After the long haul, a pint of their Iceberg seemed just the ticket. And it was a corking pint, cool and crisp.

More Titanic was sank by the other guys. Still in thirsty mood, I spied some draught continental taps and plumped for a Blanche de Bruxelles which was OK but not as refreshing as the Iceberg.

Bellies were starting to grumble now so it was time to hack across town to our lunch stop, The Leopard Hotel.

A fairly unassuming building from the outside, the Leopard showed its spots as soon as you walk through the door with some fine tiling.

Crammed full of brass, stained glass and more fine Stoke ceramics, its a place with a tangible sense of history - more about that later.

A good selection of beers here - I sampled Northern Blue Skies, and their 'Blakemere' Kittiwake, Derby Summer Nights and Wold Top Mars Magic. All were in great form, though Blue Skies seemed to be at the end of the barrel by the time Stockport Dave tried it.

As for the food; a great range of pub bistro meals as well as a la carte. Dave and I went for sausages on a bed of bubble & squeak (grand squeak albeit a little light on the cabbage). Brian had his trusted ham egg & chips which featured wonderfully thick carved ham. But it was John's meal that had everyone cooing - a whole ham hock slavvered in sauce.

After all that sustenance, what better than a history lesson? The hotel's owner, Neil, took us on a guided tour of the building as yet still closed up to the public. The Leopard was indeed a grand hotle of its day - - but has been closed up for many years. Neil showed us the rooms where Darwin stayed, where his Thai restaurant will be (with staff in correct dress). You can still see the bell pulls over where the bath would have been.

It was almost a shame to move on from here. But, with more pubs in the offing, it was time to catch the bus back into Hanley. Just time for the last, poignant history moment of the day; the commemorative plaque to John Baskeyfield. Stockport Dave had a train to catch, so we bode him farewell and headed to our next stop, the Coachmakers.
A multiroomed pub with a tiny front bar, this looked and sounded like a decent local's pub in the heart of the town. With the day warming up again, I plumped for a pint of William's Grozet, the gooseberry beer. And another pint of Grozet. I'd never had it on draught before, it certainly had an uncomprimising flavour in the way that I like a good ginger beer to be; no-holds-barred.

Whilst I stood outside watching the locals outwit the slow-moving traffic wombles by cruising the block and parking back up without a ticket, Brian and John were eliciting gen from a local who we'd seen a fair few times over in one of our regular Derby drinking dens, the Alex. This guy advised us of two more pubs to try; one was towards our last stop of the day and the other was only a short walk from the Coachmakers so we thought we'd give them a whirl.

The Unicorn is stuck on a semi-pedestrianised side street. With the shops closing up around it, it looked a little out of place. Inside it was rather desperate; all rather down-at-heel with clientele to match. I'd like to say the beer was worth the visit, but a rather bland Robinsons beer made it a faintly disappointing diversion.

So, back to the bus and the long road to Longton. It was one of those routes that seemed to serve every graffiti-strewn estate southward; great swathes of cheap sportswear and earwax-melting ringtones seemed to be the order of the day. And more sleeping policeman per yard than Pride Park coppers on riot watch.

Eventually we arrived at Longton (well, the bus terminated underneath a rail bridge). Just a short walk to the next pub (this was proving taxing for Brian, who rarely does buses and knows no such thing as a short walk except for the one from the Alex to his wife's waiting car).

The Potter was a pub I knew of old; hard against the Wedgwood factory, it's a two roomed wrap round bar of a boozer, with Coach House Dick Turpin on the cheap. Except today; five pulls stood bereft of clip and the only beer on (Lancaster Bomber) tasted like it had been on since the Blitz. With no other beer to swap it for, we put our glasses down and left the clueless barman to his arduous duties of serving Wifebeater to the gormless crowd congealing in front of the TV.

So, a couple of dodgy pubs but the next was sure to be Stoke's redemption. The Malt & Hops is a true free house with an established ale reputation. Another short walk (sorry, Brian) and we arrived.... to find the Baghdad-strength shutters well and truely closed on the place. They weren't due to open for another 15 minutes. With our train due in three quarters of an hour and another pub to fit in, we reluctantly jumped onto a bus headed back into the heaving metropolis of Longton town centre.

The Congress had been recommended to Brian and John back in Hanley. So, where was it? They weren't sure - after all, Longton can't be that large.... there seemed to be three main roads, we'd just travelled down one and not seen it so it was pick a route at random and give it a go. Was it on that road? Was it boggery. Three strikes and we're out of options; retreat was beat back to the railway station to wait for our Derby-bound train. And there wasn't even a chippie nearby.

At least the train was roughly on time. Just before I fell asleep, Brian put his hand in his coat pocket and pulled out... a copy of a Stoke CAMRA magazine featuring... a large advert for the Congress, with full address and phone number. My, how I laughed at the irony of it all as I nodded off and dreamt of all the ways he could be forced to drink smoothflow for all eternity...

We decided that it had been a real ale day of two halves, early glories dulled slightly by tired pubs later on and a spectacular miss just before the final whistle. The great thing about travelling back to Derby though is the chance of extra time in the Brunswick; a swift beer here topped off what had certainly proved to be an entertaining day. >

Something a bit different; a birthday trip to Ludlow with my Dad and my sister to their annual medieval fair.

The drive westward seemed to take us to places that existed soley to keep GPS manufacturers in fat profit. Having finally made it into Shropshire, then Herefordshire, then Shropshire again, we saw many signs for Ludlow. All of which pointed perpendicular to those for the fair's park and ride sight. That was over on the racecourse - literally over the circuit (twice) and several fairways (what a great place to put a golf course).

The really rural minibus, which had a wonderful pigshit-and-mud motif, deposited us outside a pub (yay!) The Feathers is a splendidly overfussy building and would have made a good first beer of the day if it wasn't for the fact that it didn't open for another hour.














Into the fair itself - and what a spectacular setting Ludlow Castle is.


I'm now kicking myself for not taking many photos but I was rather busy eating (smoked pumpkin seeds, fat juicy olives, venison burgers) and shopping (pottery dragons, pewter christmas tree decorations and this rather nifty leather mug)


And drinking, of course. So let's concentrate on that. First up was a warming cup of punch (still really fresh and fruity). Then on to the real deal, starting with Gwatkin cider and perry. I sampled three bottled ciders and perries, the sparkling perry being particularly good. My mostly-non-alcohol drinking sister was game enough to try the cider but preferred what the stallholder called 'emergency mouthwash', their pure apple juice.

I had to try the draught Farmhouse Perry. This was practically pea-green, thoroughly opaque and ruddy lovely.

The next booze stop that morning was the Ludlow Brewery bar, set up in the basement of a ruined tower. Straw on the floor, barrels set on a trestle table, sausage smoke wafting over from the next stall.... wonderful stuff. As was the beer; I sampled The Boiling Well which was a solid, dry bitter.

By lunchtime, we're all beginning to run out of cash so we headed back into town to find a hole in the wall. And, as this meant passing by a decent looking pub, I couldn't resist dragging the folks in.

The Church Inn was a bustling, welcoming place with a great mix of the traditional (roaring open fire, wooden settles), the local (sausages from different town butchers) and the modern (an eclectic music selection driven by an ipod). Just enough time here for my first handpulled Hobson's Mild (lovely, understated stuff) since it won CAMRA Champion Beer of Britian and a glass of Weetwood Eastgate Ale (solid beer from a brewery I don't get to try too often).

For the record; the RS percentage was a healthy and tempting 50%.

Back into the fair and the last beer of the day from the Ale Tent run by Woods. Plenty of hey-nonny-nonnering going on here but that didn't distract from a good half of Old Fireside.

An excellent day out here, the fair was well planned out, solid underfoot, good range of stalls and quality food & drink.

On the way back to the bus, an unexpected bonus, A sign pointed the way to Marches Little Beer Shop - a treasure trove of stuff including their own beers. A large bottle of Brook Farm dry cider, some Teme Valley T'Other and Marches Winterfest were eagerly snapped up.

Back to the bus and the racecourse eventually; homeward bound via a 'short cut' over Clee Hill which made us want to go back there one day in the sunny summer. There followed a quick nap, waking up just in time to stop us driving to Wolverhampton.

Great day with good drinks, super shopping and a fun time with my family. Can't wait to do it all again in 2008!

>

Now then, there have been fests of fun since the last Derby one. Tamworth always has superb beers in terms of both beer quality and new brewer representation. And the town has a superb proper sweetshop (sweets sold by the quarter, liquorice - possibly - sold by the foot). Melton Mowbray had the killer combination of dependable beers, proper pork pies, farmers market cheeses and an amazing real ale chutney. Nottingham is, well, Nottingham: hundreds of beers, meeting up with good friends, waiting for someone to knock the drown alarm (yes, it really is set up in a swimming pool).

It's just that I couldn't be too arsed to write about them at the time. Will try harder this year. So, for the next fest of fun it's a case of everything's different yet everything stays the same.


The Derby CAMRA Winterfest is held, like the summer one, at the Assembly Rooms but only in the titchy Darwin suite. The panto is still in full swing at the Great Hall, so us beer drinkers are shoehorned into the one room. Well, there is also a quiet family room (which, ergo, is rarely quiet).

With one smaller room and all beers on handpump, compromises have to be made. 90+ beers and 34 handpumps require it. So, it's one beer off, one beer one, which pees off some of the tickers and anyone insane enough to travel to the fest just to sample one particular brew. Let's face it - there's never any guarantees of beer availability at any festival - it could never turn up, explode on the way, fail to drop... here's where Reluctant Scooping works best; you ditch the programme, look up at the current list and go with the flow. The beer names are displayed on posters strung high above the bar, and there's sometimes a frisson of excitement when the cellarman gets his pole out (ahem; the kind you use to open skylight windows), spears the sheet naming the beer just gone and swings up a fresh one.

One great plus point of this fest is the third pint; OK, it's slightly more expensive per se but it allows plenty of less-than-reluctant scooping. This works particularly well for the higher ABV beers; not saying I struggle with half a pint of ten-percenters but it's good to be able to try three nips in place of two halves.

I managed three sessions this year;

Thursday - a swift night-time visit to try those first night beers. The festival special, Brunswick Malvolio, was OK in a reasonable borderline ESB way; Leadmill East Mill was a fairly flat brown ale; Abbeydale Advent was a refreshingly pale and crisp. The beer of the evening by a humoungous margin was Brewdog Paradox; so it was always the way before, so it always shall be. Beer of a wholly different class.

Friday - met up with some of the lads from my halcyon days of lunchtime Brunnie boozing, all sat at one of the ticker's top tables (Mick the Tick was just disappearing off to the 'Pot with a hefty trollyfull already).

Beers were changing thick and fast, my pork pie from Walter Smith was hastily demolished by the old lags, plenty of banter abounded and, yes, I couldn't resist a pinch of Brian's snuff (the stuff I swear he cuts with fibreglass). Some good beers had here; Derventio's Arminius, John Thompson's Rich Porter and Marble Stouter Stour were real standouts. A trip up to the Flowerpot afterwards did garner a good Harviestoun beer and some others which, of course, I have no idea what the ruddy hell they were.

Saturday - my missus was ready and willing to try some ciders and perrys, so we went down early and set up camp in the foyer (as a wheelchair user, Rebecca doesn't find the Darwin suite too pleasant when it's cramped). It was a busy lunchtime session which led to a good natured atmosphere. After a few beers, we were joined by a stalwart ratebeer.com reviewer, DJ Monarch. Some really excellent beers today - Bottle Brook Imperial Stout, White Shield Calcutta and Brewdog Hardcore were superb. Some fairly standard bitters in the mix as well (Nutbrook Or8 and White Shield Brewery tap were solid if undemanding). Neil and I shared a couple of German bottles that weren't on the original list; Aldersbacher Kloster Weiss and Unertl Gourmet Weiss, the Aldersbacher perhaps just shading it. And with soft estery notes and super carbonation, it was difficult to go back to flat cask beer. Well, it's a dirty job but someone's gotta do it... Rebecca, meanwhile, was working through the ciders and perrys with an occasional break for dandelion & burdock. Not the best time of year for a wassailing partaker, caught on the cusp of 2007's dwindling stock and very early 2008 releases. But she found a cracking perry - Olivers Traditional, medium dry with a whisky finish.

So, truly a fest of fun; great beers, good atmosphere, good to catch up with old friends. Can't wait for the summer fest!

>

A mizzly day in November is always a good for a wander around a city and knock off a few beers. There's something about clinging dampness and biting winds that encourage reluctant scooping for me - usually because it brings on a dash between pubs for a hasty half and a beaten retreat away from the wet-dog odour of desperate ticker.

So, as all good beery days begin - to the shops. Red Zebra, Derby's biggest and best bottled beer suppliers, have extended into the new Westfield shopping centre, allowing the owner David Simmonds to expand the beer range at their Guildhall market stand. David was very enthusiastic about his ever-growing range, particularly with more local microbrewers now eager to have their beers stocked. Continental beer lovers are well looked after too, with some interesting German staples and seasonals finding their way onto the shelves.

I didn't need much arm-twisting to pick up a couple of bottles; a 750ml bottle of Wissey Valley's Auld Thingy and a bottle of Thurn und Taxis Roggen, both beers that I haven't sampled before.

By now, the mizzle was turning to drizzle, so I hastened to the Babington Arms. Their dark ales festival was due to launch on the Monday, so I thought I'd plump for something at the opposite end of the scale - Leeds Pale Ale. Only my second from this newish brewery; I had their Midnight Bell the weekend before at the Flowerpot and was greatly impressed. This certainly was a lightale, just managing to retain enough bite and dryness.

With the weather cheering up to a slate gray , it was time to let the train take the strain, But, as it would it rude to walk past and not call in, time was made for a swift half in the Brunswick.

And the sight of something I've never seen before - no Brunswick beer! Cooling problems earlier in the week had forced Graham to ditch the lot, lest any batch had been contaminated. So, it was like a beer festival at the Brunnie, with all pumps put to guest beer usage. My Reluctant Scooping skills were severely tested, but all this damp in my bones demanded something rich and fruity - Burton Bridge Damson Porter. Always ready to ignore a scoop when I can have a lush glass of this stuff.

On then to the station to meet up with a drinking pal of mine from the Brunswick, 'Cycling' John Horton. We hadn't seen each other for a few weeks - my new job has put the stoppers on lunchtime imbibing - so we caught up on gen and gossip. Into Leicester, a brisk stride down New Walk and onto the first port of call here - the Swan And Rushes.




And who should be by the bar but that renowned beer blogger, the Wooton Wonder himself - Mark 'no-body calls me maeib' Edwards. Glad to see him; after all, the plan was to meet him here!

It was festival time here, with some interesting British casks, albeit not overly rare (though there was a beer from relative newcomers Bridgenorth). Most were a little bland around the edges - even the Potbelly beer (Jingle Bellies). who usually turn out a tasty brew. Mind you, temperature was a killer, beers from the cellar were very cold, the stuff from the stillage outside was almost frozen. Sadly, that's where the Belgian guest draught beers were, which knocked all the subtly out of them, though the Gordon's Xmas beer wasn't too bad. Beer of the fest for me was the Thornbridge Hark which offered a redeeming gingerness. The food was a little on the light side as well - last year's hearty cooked meals had given way to a rather miserly bratwurst but (at least it was tasty and hot).

We decided to venture forth and find warmer beer. The Criterion is a must-visit pub on any Leicester visit; by 2pm it looked like half of Leicester had the same idea. With musicians warming up in the lounge, the bar area was busy. Nevertheless, a table corner was commandeered and we then sallied forth to the bar. So how come I eneded up with the blandest beer, Bartrams Green Man.? I've had some cracking Bartrams bottled beers, but this was thin and untainted by any tasty malts.

Mark was soon hankering after a bottle, and I only had to gently twist his arm into trying a bottle of Flying Dog Dogtoberfest. I found it was decidedly average - usual FD approach, subtle as a box of frogs. Whereas with other styles they can just use bludgeoning amounts of hop and carry it off, here it just made for an over-brown beer.

There was only one way to put a atop to this bland beer madness - go for some keg larger. Just round the way from the Criterion is the Shakespere's Head, a wedge of confused Art Deco abandoned in the cleavage of the ring road. Walking inside was almost like entering a middle-range hotel, all plush and self-consciously smart. Thankfully, the bar was full of sweary labourers who had scattered various supplements from the Sun all around the room. John was here to sample Oakwell Old Tom as at unfeasibly cheap price, even for the Midlands. Mark and I are made of more adventurous stuff, mind; only their finest lagers would suffice. Sadly, their finest lagers seem to have run out and instead they'd hooked up some cunning Heath Robinsonesque device to siphon the urinal flow straight into the lager lines. At least the Oakwell Lager had a faint whiff of a lager malt. Or was that just the drains? Mark's Oakwell Acorn Lager had a chemical sweetness to it; ever wondered what the blue cubes in the urinal bowl taste like?

(If you really want to know how I know what the blue cubes taste like, that's a another story. Like drinking the aftershave given to me by a Richard Branson look-alike in Amsterdam. So many stories, so little.. er.. enthusiasm to keep telling them)

Now, it's still raining, it's approaching time to go home, so it's shit or bust. One of the great things about Leicester is that, if you're on the way back to the train station, there's a cracking pub. Out Of The Vaults, therefore, was our last stop.

Remember - all good things come to those who wait (and ignore Guinness). A stonking selection of stuff here with plenty of dark beers. At the end of the bar sat one of my absolute favourites - Beowulf's Dragon Smoke Stout. Pure class. The rugby (Wales v South Africa) was just starting, Good beers, good sport, good atmosphere, good friends - pubs don't get better than this.

Mark had to go to catch his bus into the heart of darkness - sorry - heart of Northamptonshire. John and I just had time for a round of E&S 1872 Porter before making a breakneck march back to the station, just in time for the Derby-bound train.

We soon trundled into Derby, and with no Brunnie beer on offer it was into the Alex for a quick snifter. John was keen to try a beer he'd enjoyed the day before (the name of which escapes me) and I (as ever) could not resist the Thornbridge Jaipur. After all, when a beer drinker is tired of Jaipur he is tired of life....

Overall, a typical Midlands beery day in an above average Midlands city- some average beers, some dire, some surprising, some outstanding. >

Blue skies, wispy clouds, a cool breeze: the perfect weather for a Sheffield crawl. I met up with David, who is over from Canada on a grand beer tour before returning home in September. The key pubs here are well served by public transport, so it was straight off the train and up to the tram. Here, we met up with Neil (DJ Monarch) who'd crossed the Pennines that morning to meet up with us.


As well as the gen we've gleaned from ratebeer.com, we used Gazza's great Google map for Sheffield to help us round this grand city.

Onto the Supertram and two short stops later it's the first pub of the day, the J D Wetherspoon Bankers Draft

This used to be the York City and Country Bank, an assured example of Edwardian Baroque. I wasn't expecting anything too exciting beer-wise but hoped for something solid and decent to start the day. The main bar was serving Stones Bitter, Wentworth WPA and Kelham Island Easy Rider. We headed upstairs to see what else was on offer. Unfortunately there was nothing extra; I popped downstairs to pick up an Easy Rider.

Neil and David were still buying their beers when I returned. Neil plumped for the Stones, which was rugged enough for a beer now brewed by Bass (sorry, Coors), but used to be made in Sheffield. David's WPA was disappointing; perhaps the end of a barrel? Not a great introduction to Sheffield beer drinking! My Easy Rider was on good form, though; always a joy to drink this beer.

It was soon time to leave the city centre behind and head north downhill to the River Don. We were expecting a longer hike, but we were on the bridge in what seemed like only a few minutes. The extensive road improvement works threw us out a bit, but then scooping in Sheffield isn't the same without getting list amongst ongoing construction in this neck of the woods. Negotiating a maze of walkways marked out by fluorescent netting, we finally hacked our way over to The Harlequin.


This was a busy place - just as a pub with a growing reputation for beer and food should be on a Friday lunchtime. Eight handpumps offered a real range of beers from light golds to roasty stouts with a couple of ciders thrown in for good measure. Sadly, none of their house beer as Kelham Island aren't quite back up to full capacity yet. We escaped out to the beer garden - a recurrent theme of the day - which offered a great view of, er, the JCBs working on the road junction.

A real range of beers tried here; Church End Stout Coffin, Durham Cuthberts Cross and St Louis Kriek were all dispatched and enjoyed. The Durham beer just edged into being my favourite of the round.

We then retraced out steps back over the river - where debris ranging from old buckets to small trees was still lodged under the bridges - into Alma Street.

Just past the back-in-business Kelham Island brewery we rolled in to the Fat Cat.

The flood level has been painted on the wall, thankfully this year's wasn't as bad as that in the 19th century.

We ventured out to the beer garden again, not that busy compared to inside which was surprising given that it's a mild Friday with the smoking ban in force. Here we sampled Derby Brewing Company Passionately Pale, Black Hole Super Nova and Thornbridge Hall Jaipur.

My Derby beer was good - no different to the bulk of Trevor's light brews but what ain't broke you don't fix. David's Jaipur was fairly flabby - two poor conditioned beers out of three for him! To give the Cat a chance of redeeming themselves, I went back to the bar and got a Thornbridge Hall Blackthorne which was in much better shape - full of juicy fruits.

As for the Black Hole - I just don't get it; something in there that my palate reacts adversly to in their beers. I watered the flowers behind me with a quarter pint - so if there's a barren patch in the bed when you next visit, it's the Super Nova wot done it.

Just a short walk around the corner took us to the Kelham Island Tavern


Always a cheery welcome here. A really strong selection of beers and wonderfully chunky cheese cobs.

And so off outside for the best beer garden of the day. A real sun trap.

The first round of beers - Allgates Beer Hunter, Sheffield Severn Hills, Milestone After the Flood were all OK. It's always worth having a few in here, so the next round was for Mighty Oak Simply The Best, Acorn First Gold IPA and Acorn Fuggles. That last beer really narked Neil, who was moved to declare that Fuggles was "not a hoppy hop", "If there's double hop and triple hop, that's half a hop" and "I'm going to rename it fuck-alls".

Each unto his own, eh!

Tearing ourselves away from the KIT, we moved on to the unlikeliest scooping opportunity of the day

The Milestone is clearly aiming for the up-and-coming cocktail market in what is now becoming a fashionable area of the city.

Not much to look nat from the outside, inside it's all chocolate and cream walls, candles, easy beats, continental draughts, decent wine list, house cocktails, open kitchen serving smart bar-bistro stuff....

But also, two cask beers; Sheffield Five Rivers Cascade and Wentworth Imperial.
Those kept the guys happy; I was mellow enough to have a Paulaner. In fact, if the music had stayed mellow - and we didn't have several more pubs to visit - I'd have been happy to kick back and relax here.

But, onwards and upwards. The Wellington has had a lick of paint since its Cask & Cutler days, and certainly smells cleaner since the smoking ban. I forgot to take a photo - must have been too mellow after the Milestone..

A good range of beers - perhaps nothing overly unusual but the Cannon Royal Fruiterers Mild, Beowulf Chiller and Millstone Vale Mill were all in good form - the latter I though was superb, a new recipe (though I never had the old one) and early contender for Beer of the Day.

Keeping rolling, one stop on the tram and a short uphill jog past the old infirmary (with a Te$co now spawned in the grounds) and it was onto the Moon

Now this was a great pub - green and cream decor, two large rooms and patio looking over the old infirmary. Five Abbeydale beers, five guests, draught lagers including local stuff and a solid thirty-bottle range of mainly Belgian staples. The piped acoustic music and decent menu of classic pub meals (with regular or large portions) make it an inviting place to get your breath back after a hard day's scooping.

Abbeydale Daily Bread and Salvation were clealry the best beers of the day so far - really fresh, full of flavour. The Magpie Two 4 Joy was as a good drop as well.

Back down the hill and the longest tram ride of the day so far - at least a couple of minutes - to get to the Hillsborough Hotel( their official site - and that of the Crown Brewery - seems to have disappeared)


It's a good looking place, lots of wood panelling and airy ceilings. We went out onto the terrace again to take in the splendid Don Valley view. OK, it's mainly Mecca bingo and the dry ski slope but it's still better than looking at a recycle bin and a pile of dog ends.

We tried one of their own beers, Hillsborough Pale Ale brewed by Crown, Northumberland Fog On The Tyne and something else I forgot to name (possibly Howard Town Glotts Hop).All were good, as were the Seabrooks crisps!

Here's David and Neil still managing to look awake:

We didn't really need an excuse to call back in the Wellington, such a good beer range means that it would be rude not to give them another go. West Berkshire The Crabtree Effect, Salamander Idol and Blackwater Poison (brewed at Salopian) were sampled - my palate's getting jaded by this point but still found some keen hops in the Poison. And the crisp sampling moved up a gear with Tyrells Crisps - Ludlow Sausage with wholegrain mustard. A new beer came on just as we were getting ready to leave - Pictish Pale and Oppy - so a half was dispatched quickly (and damn good it was too).

Time to head back into the city. Taking the tram to West Street we seemed to descend into a circle of hell - the place was already dripping with women wearing little more than too much cheap perfume.

Into the Devonshire Cat, which was heaving already at 7pm. A quick trio to knock off (beers, I hasten to add); my notes gave out at this point but I do remember that I went back to get a pint of (this time, excellent) Jaipur.

Then it was time to beat the retreat - Neil headed back over to Cheshire whilst David and I had a middling wait for a Virgin train and the customary standing up next to the out-of-order toilet for forty minutes.

Back into to Derby, where there's always time for a couple more beers - the Brunswick for a pint of White Feather and then back to the Alex for a Jever and let David crawl off to bed and recover from several days scooping.

A good day - new pubs visited, good beers tried, great gardens lounged around in! I can heartily recommend a Sheffield crawl to anyone interested in quality beers and letting the tram take the strain. >