It's a hard knock life, this reluctant scooping. Forsaking the scoopfest that is Reading beer festival was an easy decison; as fun as it is, the lure of a decent pub fest just a few fields away from home was enough for me.

And not just any old pub - the Royal Oak at Ockbrook is a gem of a place, a proper pub and one that will certainly feature in my Pubs To Love column at some stage soon. This was a fest with a difference for the Oak. Their usual offering is an autumnal affair, based on the brewers found in a single county. This was a special occasion, though, as landlady Olive Wilson was celebrating her 55th year in charge - that's right, fifty-five years as licencee. Her son-in-law, 'Smiling' Steve Hornbuckle does the hard work behind the bar and in the cellar nowadays and he sourced a range of beers from breweries based less than fifty-five miles away that are not normally featured at the pub.























With about a dozen beers on stillage and another three on handpump in the bar, I decided frequent visits should be the order of the day - er, of the weekend - to maximise my chances of being reaquainted with some great beers as well as reluctantly scoopiing a few new 'uns.
Cycling John and I trolled over to the Oak on the opening night (well, my wife Rebecca drove us over). Ensconced by the stillage, we set about the beers in no apparent order apart from ensuring we hit the Brampton beers first. I'd not had these too often until this year; John knows the Chesterfield area well and the brewer had become one of his firm favourite.

Brampton Golden Bud was top notch, as were Ashover Poet's Tipple and Holland Delph (good to see some great light beers coming from Kimberley). Whim Flower Power and Black Christmas were dangerously drinkable. And tonight I had several glasses of what was to become my beer of the fest; Wirksworth Cruckbeam, a superbly balanced bitter with a depth of flavour and finish that was missing from their earlier ventures.

With a fair few more people present, Steve gave us all a hearty welcome and introduced East Midlands CAMRA Regional Director Julian Tubbs who said a few words honouring Olive's work and the value of community pubs. More of the same beers as before were then imbibed, by which time Brampton Mild had come on. At which point, any vestige of scooping hope was lost; this mild is excellent and I was happy to keep supping it until my better half arrived to give us a lift home.

Back to the Oak on Saturday lunch, this time in a taxi so that Rebecca could avail herself of cider. Yes, we do cider in Derbyshire too - in this case, from only a few miles up the road at Morley. Three Cats is seen flying the flag for Derbyshire cider at a fair few festivals nowadays, an Eastern counties style cider made from cookers and eaters donated by locals.

Some of the usual suspects joined us today - John meeting Brian on the bus (yes; Brian on a bus). They both then spent a fair bit of time playing with their phones - Brian had given John one of his wife's old models and they were soon into full techno-mode.

Later in the afternoon, Rebecca's work colleague Susannah turned up with her beau in tow, Graeme. And he we all are (apart from John behind the lens) in smiling, drinking pose.
With most of the beers still on from Friday, I was happy to drink my way through more Brampton, Whim and Holland before being enticed into the bar for more than several pints of Thornbridge Jaywick on handpump. So, there was the rest of the afternoon gone - this is such an easy drinking, deliciously golden ale. And I've rarely been more grateful for a taxi ride home afterwards...

On Sunday I picked up one of my bikes from John and we didn't need much persuading to amble over to the Oak. The stillage was decidedly thin now, with emergency beers from Grafton and Derby Brewing Comapny called into action. Our saviour was Amber Ales Stout on in the bar, amazingly refreshing after the short but sweaty bike ride.

Certainly a fest of fun and one that's already given me an appetite for their main festival in October.

You can read more about Olive's story by following these links:

http://www.youandyesterday.co.uk/articles/The_Royal_Oak:_Pulling_pints_for_half_a_century

http://www.bbc.co.uk/derby/content/articles/2008/04/30/olive_wilson_royaloak_feature.shtml

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You can't beat a short train trip out to a renowned real ale pub for a festival. The Victoria at Beeston is only twenty minutes or so from Derby, so that leaves plenty of time beforehand for essential shopping. A Walter Smith pork pie, cut four ways; a newspaper to write beer notes on. And beer, of course.

A lovely morning, so I took a short walk from Derby marketplace to the station via the soon to be sandblasted Royal Standard (due to reopen as Derby Brewing Co's first pub).
A nip into the Smithfield for some sublime Thornbridge Kipling (yes, with warm weather, the Smith's HUGE chip butties and beer this good I could easily stay all day). Then meeting up with regular festival reprobates John and Brian, ably assisted this Friday by Sleepy Bernie (who we know to have had too much of The Usual in the Brunswick when he nods off unannounced). Halves of Father Mike's and Railway Porter were polished off before the short waltz to the station.

Where the travel time to Beeston is just long enough to enjoy that pork pie. Proper course meat, firm pastry, just enough jelly. Superb pie!
The Victoria faces Platform One of Beeston station, but the gate from the platform to the beer garden has long since been locked off. So it's a hike up and over the flyover and footbridge to cross the line twice and get inside.

I won't say too much about the pub itself - it will certainly feature as one of my Pubs to Love later in the year - but suffice to say it has a decent sized bar, a lounge unhindered by tables, a couple of rooms laid out for dining and a large beer garden. No smoking throughout and no mobiles either, a blessed relief.

With the weather blustering on the typhoon side of inclement, we bunkered up in the bar - where they don't serve hot food, so no braying tables of foccacia chomping lecturers from the nearby university. cluttering up the space needed by proper ale drinkers. Magic! A festival here is like a normal beer day doubled; the bar has its usual selection of local beers (including regular Castle Rock stuff), guest casks and a dedicated dark beer section. Outside there's a small hatch to an outhouse with a dozen beers or so on gravity.
Unsurprisingly, those beers outside were a tad on the cool side - even cooler than Spoons would serve them. The Itchen Valley Godfathers eventually warmed to some fat, juicy fruitiness. At one point, the outside bar was closed as the rain came down in sheets. But the weather tidied up, as did the beers - after some hit-and-miss Allgates I ticked into some superb stuff; Funfair Ghost Train and Showmans IPA were both superb, the Crouch Vale Snowdrop from outside managed to hold its own through the hail and the rain to be a beautiful drop as the sun suddenly blazed and cast rainbows over the beer garden.

We ended up with Brian buying a round of Bathams bitter, he was in full-on reminiscence mode over how the beer used to be. I found it quite buttery compared to my previous glass of Showmans, but I could imagine his hazy days of lazing in fields having your face licked by a cow....

Beer of the fest for me was Full Mash Fisherman, a stunning gold concoction full of sustained citric fruit and biting hops.

A fest of fun? Absolutely: an excellent pub that only differed by having a few more people around and twice as much beer as usual. A comfy place to while away a few hours, excellent cold cobs, ideal for the trains and superlative beer quality when the outside beers stopped freezing.

More to follow on the Vic later in the year. >

Now, I wouldn't usually bother with the likes of a CAMRA festival in Coventry. But this trip had several factors in its favour; a direct train service from Derby, an interesting venue (Coventry rugby club) and the chance to meet up with some of the England Ratebeer.com crew.



It was a gorgeous blue sky morning, so with an early arrival into Cov I set up off to the cathedral for a spot of photography and a trip up the old tower. All 180 steps to the top where you're rewarded with a sobering view of the bombed out shell of the old cathedral. And a view of the multi-story IKEA, where (apparently) devout flatpackers flock on a Sunday morning...

With my heart beating its way out of my chest, I decided a beer stop was in order. Fortunately, there was a Spoons/Lloyds close by, the Earl of Mercia. As well as intermittent free wifi, I got the 'other' foreign-brewer-brewing-in-the-UK-Spoons-fest beer, Tokyo Yoho black. Which wasn't that great - if I hadn't seen it come out of the cask, I'd have questioned whether they'd given me extra cold Guinness.

So, after a tramp around Cov's exquisite ring road (having asked a policeman the way) I found the rugby club. And a fine place it looked, too. Sadly, there was no drinking in the stands which I thought might have been the case.

It was a busy place, a cram of tables in one room and a stillage in a room further along. Getting warm , too - more about that later. Ratebeer stalwart Glen from Oxford was already there and had secured a table. Mark and friends had made the trip up from Northamptonshire and were there too, busy tucking in to some decent ales.

And those ales - some -though not a lot of - fun local beers (Discovery Darwin's Delight was probably the best), good beers from further flung parts (Dark Star Over The Moon) and the occasional standout (Fullers London Porter, Leyden Raglan Sleeve). The beer of the fest for me, though, was Alehouse Sauvin So Good; good to see the Nelson Sauvin hop being used more (as it is to stunning effect in Thornbridge Kipling).

Whilst at the bar, I spotted a familiar face; Mes and Sim without the Sim. He'd blagged a trip in the Phil L beer taxi. Always good to share a few beers and more than a few laughs with him, particularly as he never fails to remind me how good my ratebeer review of Full Mash Drizzlecombe Porter is ;-)

As for Phil L; first time I'd met the man and what fun it was - a genuine, knowledgable, affable guy who knows his onions but doesn't ram them down your throat. If you see what I mean. And, what's more, he brought a couple of bottles to share round the table; Dragonmead Final Absolution (a US Belgian-tripel style) and my first Finnish beer, the incredibly moreish Mikkeller Santas Little Helper.

So, a fest of fun? Just. The venue was OK; a little cramped perhaps and certainly on the warm side. Just before kick-out time (4pm) the beers were getting decidedly warm. The loos worked most of the time. Access was on the level but it was a bit of a struggle for some wheelchair users as everywhere in the place had drinkers dripping off the walls. I didn't try the food (as I did take a Walter Smith pork pie) but the trays of chips seemed to be going down well. And it was a bit of a hike in the wrong direction from the rest of the city.

Let's be clear - it needs a bigger venue (or perhaps a marquee on the pitch after the season's finished). But the beer list was interesting and the ratebeer company was as fun as ever.

Will I be back? Get some coolers on the casks, let us sit in the stands, get Phil L to smuggle some more foreign beers in and I'll seriously think about it.

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A rare treat for me - my wife gets to tag along to a festival! Rebecca likes her cider and perry, so as we both had a few days off work we decided to heads over to Burton upon Trent for their first Spring fest.



An early start on the X38 express from Derby gave us a chance to pop into a Wetherspoons and try one of their festival beers first. Bec eschewed the cider this early on and plumped for hot chocolate, but I couldn't resist a St. Georgen Brau Keller Bier, a wonderfully soft, slightly spicy concoction.

On to the Town Hall, then. I like this as a beer fest venue; one main hall for the stillage, two rooms at the back for seating (or more beers for their main fest in September). It's all on one level, which was ideal for Bec's wheelchair access, with the exception of the theatre seating upstairs.





We met up with some friends in the back, all regulars from the Brunswick in Derby; John, Brian, Ray and 'Magic' Mitch all like a beer or five and have plenty of tales to tell.



Here's a rare picture of Mitch - not mid-magic trick, not trying to sell you a car ;-)
























The beers were fairly varied and in good nick. For me, Burton fests tend to be ones where I stick with the beers I like; Beowolf Dragon Smoke Stout, Whim Black Christmas and Robinson's Old Tom were all in fine fettle. The cider and perry list was small but well formed; Bec tends to drink through the perry list until she finds one she likes and then sticks to it. Here, the firm favourite was a Severn perry that had been finished with whisky - Bec liked it so much that she threw one glass of it all over the table in sheer excitement!

I don't mind being sat away from the action - I like to hear myself think and hear what others have to say - so I'd no problem with the large round tables set up in the rear hall. Though, compared to previous trestle table years, it did seem to cut down on the total number of seats available - especially as what seemed to be a CAMRA meeting had closed the other seated room for a few hours on the Friday.



Food was good fest stuff - freshly made rolls, Broughton's splendid pies and the incomparable pork scratchings from Tony's on Burton market.

As for the entertainment - what more could you want than a sing-a-long with the salmon-jacketed maestro of the WurliTzer, Martin Atterbury? Indeed, many of the older ladies I spoke to that lunchtime said they'd travelled to Burton just to see Martin finger his organ on stage.
























All in all, fest of fun. Good beers in good nick, well-proportioned venue, plenty of decent snap, plenty of scope for a laugh and close enough to the rail station / bus stop for the short hop home. Now, Mitch; that's magic!

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A straightforward challenge for this rambling: drink a beer from each brewery based in the Nottingham city boundary at a pub close to that brewery.

I'd been saving this for the summer, but with a trip to Nottingham needed - to buy my nearest and dearest an Easter egg from Hotel Chocolat - I threw caution to the wind and set off on my quest. By my reckoning, I needed to score beers from Nottingham (natch!), Castle Rock, Magpie, Alcazar, Mallard and Fellows Morton & Clayton. So, with sturdy shoes and an Easy Rider bus & tram ticket, I set off to city of my birth to start the ramble, er, rambling.

An early arrival into Nottingham was greeted by foul weather. Like a dummy, I didn't seek shelter in a nearby Spoons but instead started the hack southwards in driving rain. I haven't been down this side of town for a few years, so walking past Meadow Lane, the City Ground and Trent Bridge brough back all kinds of bittersweet sporting memories.

Over the river and through the backstreets of West Bridgford brought me to the first pub of the day, the Stratford Haven

This is a bonus Castle Rock pub for me - I'll be drinking thier beers at the Vat & Fiddle later - but I've always wanted to visit. An interesting pub, this; extended into a former courtyard, high backed benches, assorted tables, short stools, carpet and floorboards, bottles in rafters, prints on walls, artificial plants wide ranging menu, no music, Harvest Pale, Sherrif's Tipple and several others. Quiet - no students this week , the forty-something newspaper readers were out in force.

The weather was still blowy, but only a short walk past Trent Bridge (with the new stands looking rather funky) and back over the bridge to The Globe.

Here's where the ramble starts in earnest. Just over the canal from Meadow Lane and the Magpie brewery, the Globe is the closest outlet for Magpie beers. But - disaster! No Magpie! Time to decide how to tackle the rest of the day. With the weather still filthy, I decided to scrap the original ramble and instead just roll around a few pubs, trying to pick up Nottingham-based beers as I went. Fortunatly the Globe had a beer from Nottingham on, so half a Legend was knocked off and a trip out to Radford saved for a sunnier day.

Bucketing rain made it a short sprint over to the nearest bus stop. Back into the city centre, past the Castle Rock brewery (back here later) and onto the tram. To maximise my chances of Notts beers, I thought I'd jump off a couple of stops earlier than intended and visit the Lion Inn.

The city does a great job of promoting real ale pubs close to the tram route with the Beer By Tram promotion and CAMRA logo / pub name on the tram maps.
Into the Lion and it was busy, busy, busy. A fair few diners, drinkers following Nottingham CAMRA's Stout and Porter Trail and plenty of punters here for the jazz band. But none of their usual Mallard beer here - perhaps I'm feted to not find locale today? Though the Thornbridge St Petersburg Stout was tempting, I stumped up for some lush Roosters Yorkshire Pale Ale.

I could have stopped longer - a good range of beers and some easy jazz seems a pleasant way to while away a late lunchtime. But, got to keep moving. From the shadow of the old Shipstones brewery, it was a hop, wobble and skip to the tram and a few minutes wait before the two-stop trip to Basford and the Alcazar brewery tap, the Fox and Crown.
And it was all quiet here, strangely so. I pulled up a barstool and looked over a fair array of Alcazar beers, plumping for Alcazar Stout which was a little on the creamy side and borderline bland. Should have had something IPA-ish, Alcazar make some fantastic stronger beers.

Back to the tram, then, for the journey back to the city centre and the Vat & Fiddle. A minute from the railway station (if you run), the Vat is a great pub to pop into whilst waiting for a train. If only they'd install a screen to let you know how late you're train's running...

Busy enough in here for a late Sunday afternoon, it's often a bustling pub and always has excellent beers. It also stinks since the smoking ban, so hopefully the next time I go back will be on a warmer day when they've ben able to wedge the doors open and air the place. The brewery tap for Castle Rock, I'd usually order a pint of Harvest Pale without even looking at the other beers on offer. But, having secured a smashing pint of HP earlier in the day, I was easily tempted by their 'wildlife' themed special, Mr Toad which was everything in a stout that the Alcazar one wasn't; creamy with a lactic edge, some redeeming bitterness with roasty licks.

Next stop is a half-brewpub. Fellows Morton & Clayton, the oldest brewpub in the city, has a malt extract brewing operation upstairs (actually next door to the gents...)























A half of their Matthew Clayton Original Strong was dispatched quickly - odd name for a golden ale, though I did hear a rumour that it's only called that because the brewer found a box of old pumpclips and decided to recycle the Clayton one rather than design something new!























It's a comfy pub, a one-time warehouse on the canal with a smart bar area, a lower level room full of soft sofas and widescreen TVs dripping off every wall. What made watching Robbie Keane score a sublime goal even better was being able to score another Nottingham beer here - Mallard's Duck 'n Dive. I've often found a Mallard beer here - usually their wonderful, light Duckling - and so I enjoyed a full pint of it.

Time is pressing and I could fit in visits to two pubs before catching a late bus home. The Salutation is a pub I know of old, twenty years or so ago it was one of my pre-gig drinking dens before a night out at Rock City. The music is still the same but the beer seems to have got better and better. And there was plenty of yummy stuff on offer, but no Magpie. So, being ruthless, I snuck out the back door and legged it up to the last pub I could fit in today.























The Roebuck is a Wetherspoons with plenty of nooks for hiding away with a pint. It's even got a rooftop smoking garden! But it didn't have the one thing I wanted - Magpie beer. So, I settled for Milestone's Somers, a wheaty fruity thing that was fun but would have been more fun on a baking hot day in a beer garden. After a pint of MAGPIE!!!

It would have been good to nail all the beers from Nottingham, but at least the thrill of the chase was fun. Roll on summertime; if I can get gen that Magpie's on somewhere, I'll score it first and spend the rest of the day revisiting these pubs again.

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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!

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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. >