Peterborough - *the* place in the Midlands for arson action, swathes of eastern European swede slashers itching for a return ticket home (where gas fitting has become more lucrative) and a stupendous amount of beer in a feck-off marquee during the middle of August. But is it quality beer? Are these two feckless raters just putting it on for the camera or did they buy Greede Kerching by mistake? Read on, dear toper...

Now, reluctancy is a core competency for me. And if a scoop is reluctant, it's ever more so if it involves a long-ish rail journey. When I could be in Sheffield instead. But there's a lure to Peterborough; 500+ beers, ciders and perries, a great venue, meeting up with fellow Ratebeerians. And, truth be told, an enjoyable journey. Foresaking the hell of a Leicester change onto the diesel cattle truck that is the Stanstead Airport service, I went round the counties via Nottingham and Grantham to revisit my trip earlier in the year. And, by buying two tickets - Derby-Grantham, Grantham-Peterborough, it cost me £16.30 rather than £25. Here's a Reluctant Scooper tip - if your scooping journey goes via a station you could change at after 0930, run the permutations through the National Rail site - the more you save, the more you get to spend on beer.


So then - Peterborough. Or 'Pity Borrow', if the Guardian is to be believed. I tried to walk past the first pub I saw, a Wetherspoons called the Drapers Arms, but failed spectacularly. And, Chambourcy Nouvelle, it was full of the unemployable, elderly and stinking tickers. You might say they were one and the same. I couldn't possibly comment. A swift half of Elgood's Peterborough Festival Special Ale Special Festival Thing was partaken. Sadly, detailed notes on its proper name or ABV were not taken. Tasty stuff, though.

Plenty of time before the fest opened for some photography. The parish church and market place offered some inspiration, as did the ladies old bogs... and the cathedral is always an attraction for me. So I took lots of piccies of the green by the West Front instead. I dared not go inside the cathedral, as I'd have spent several hours shooting the stained glass. And the painted ceiling. And the fan vaulting... it's indeed a hard knock life to be a keen lensman on a well-lit day in front of one of the world's finest Norman cathedrals. But I had beer to drink.

Off to the big PB fest, then. Down near the river, a quad of marquees, like Worcester BF on steroids. This pic was taken later in the day on exit; with twenty-ish minutes to opening time, the queues were stretching wayyyyyy back down the green stripe. Fortunately, my hyper-organised friends were bagging a head-of-the-queue spot. Mark and Hughie had both endured uncomfortable bus slogs to get here - that'll learn them for living in the arse-end of nowhere. Or Bedford, in Hughie's case. You might say they were one and the same. I couldn't possibly comment.


As we're sad fest types, we had our own glasses and soon secured a table close inside the first tent. By the wine stall. Think; wine = women topers; women topers = tight jeans and low cut tops. Dirty old feckers who ought to know better with our age and marital status? Hell, yeah, but what happens on tour stays on tour... (honest, Mrs H!!) Beers were bought and I was in full-on semi-reluctant scooper mode. Three Ratebeerians, buying halves, can manage a scoop from each glass. Only a sixth of a pint each, but ostensibly enough to get a flavour of the ale.

And, for what it's worth, those beers glowing in the photo were (l-r): Son of Sid - Muck Cart Mild (bought by Mark). Earthy and lactic. Yard of Ale - First Yard (bough my Mark in my glass even though I wouldn't have scooped this shite). Backyard, more like; had the odour of cobbles relieved on by a dog several hours ago. Leeds Bombay Sunrise (bought by Hughie). Butter. Bombay Butter. Fairy nuff; it got better later after some air was whipped into it.

For me, the story of PB BF was my cross-country odyssey. Denied at Worcester, the list here proffered potential and my Ratebeer wingmen could support me on my mission from sea to shining sea. Well, consecutive counties with a start in Northumberland and a finish down in Cornwall. Fortified by a roast pork cob (NOT a hog roast, you need a pig twirling on a poker through its arse and gob for one of those, not just flabby slices of whatever steaming in a stainless steel hopper), I set off on my journey.


Well, thanks to Mark's excreable choice from Yard of Ale, I needed to backtrack. Up to Northumberland, then, for a Wylam beer. My only known prevous for this brewer was an easy going gold (Gold Tankard). Sadly, this one didn't really hit the spot. Another buttery bugger, diacetyl rampant, though it tasted better than the aroma suggested. Fortunate, really.

North Yorkshire next, and a Reluctant Scoop of a new brewer for me. I'd have been happy to settle for a Brown Cow beer (or do I mean Suddaby's?) but these desperate scoopers went for Redscar's Sands. Brewed on the five barrel plant at the Cleveland Hotel in Redcar, this is one of the beers brewed by licensee Chris Appleby who is attempting to bolster trade by opening a microbrew plant on the premises. Light, itchy, some fruit fights through. It's a dependable beer, the kind that you'd pray for in any hotel. More power to his entrepreneurial elbow.

A skip to West Yorks next for one of Mark's suggestion's, Osset Black Bull Bitter. I enjoyed this, despite my palate wishing to downgrade from a sweeter bitter. The other guys weren't as keen, though I wondered how much this was due to preconceptions of the brewers style. A sort of homecoming for the next beer; Derbyshire had to be represented by Thornbridge, with a festival special on offer too. Karnival was Thornbridge-by-numbers and I didn't care; fat citrics, wincing nettles, baked lemons... of course, I loved it. Hughie was unsure, called it 'predictable', but I'd rather predict this great taste than Reluctantly Scoop a poorer beer.

Westwards again to Staffordshire and Enville, only holding off the Ginger as Hughie was equivocal about not having it. I plumped instead for their White, an OK-ish beer in my book. Often found through the summer at the Smithfield in Derby, it's not an overly wheaty white but still fairly enjoyable.

With only one Warwickshire brewer represented here, the next beer for me had to be from Church End. The very name makes some scoopers salivate and others run for the hills. They produce an inordinate amount of specials, usually off-the-wall flavourings of stock beers (turkish delight, mint and celery seeds have all featured. Though, not necessarily in the same recipe). I went for their festival special, Passport to Peterborough, which was an un-mucked-about-with bitter. Just goes to show that they can brew a solid beer when they leave the mad box of additives unopened.

Because Hughie is a ratings whore and we're sat next to the wine bar, he couldn't resist trying a mead. The Lyme Bay traditional was fantastic, tons of Lockets-like honey with fat burnt butter notes too. It got even better when I poured the rest of Mark's Toloja cider into it.

After that brief break from beer, it was over to Gloucestershire for the next beer and Festival Gold. Sadly, this had drippy hops and a plastic-y feel, like a defrosting freezer. A quick hop across to Wiltshire was called for, offering the chance to try what was, for me, a new Hop Back beer. Groovy Mover was plain, straightforward, strong golden stuff which came as a relief after a few dodgy light 'uns today.

It was around this point that Mark had to go, as he had his epic return bus journey deep into the heart of darkness - sorry, Northamptonshire. Hughie and I soldiered on, with three counties left for me to chalk off. Somerset was next west, allowing me to pick up a beer with a familiar name from an unfamiliar brewery. I can only recall trying one Milk Street beer before (Mermaid) so I tried The Usual - at the Brunswick in Derby, that's the adopted name of Second Brew. This was an inoffensive beer, adequately hopped though rather rough around the edges.

Two counties left, then. Whereas at Worcester there was a wide range of beers form Devon and Cornwall, choice was restricted here. The Devonian representative was on-its-own Otter brewery. Now, given a choice, I'd usually go for another brewer before these. Nothing actually wrong with Otter beer, mind, it's just that to my palate they're simple and safe. But, notter lotter else to choose from so I went for Otter Ale. And you know what? It was super - even that hedgerow sweetness didn't put me off today. Clean malts, dry finish; like the Church End beer, it does the simple things and does them well.

And so, dydh da, Kernow. Twelve beers had brought me across the country and the last of England was to be Skinners Cornish Blonde. Truth be told, it's a bit of an -ish beer, wheat-ish, wet spice-ish, lemon-ish... the flavour fluctuates from mild sweat to spritzer lemon to soft bread rolls. Probably more enjoyable by the pint, by the sea. One day, perhaps...

Some good beers, then, with plenty of average ones. Which I find encouraging - I try to impress on fellow raters and real ale bods that average beer is something to be cherished. Because if we didn't have plenty of average beer, we wouldn't have the occasional excellent ones. And we woudn't have dire stuff like Greene King IPA to take the piss out of. Though, if you take the piss out of it, they'd be nothing left. (That line was brought to you by the Haddonsman Campaign for Recycling Crap Beer Jokes).

My fave from the cross-country yomp? Thornbridge Karnival, of course... but Church End Passport to Peterborough ran it a surprisingly close second.

Lots more beers were imbibed through the day. Some standouts included Son of Sam's Muck Cart Mild, Purple Moose Tryfan and Ascot Anastasias Stout. Beer of the day, though, had to be the bottle from Hopshackle - Restoration was a bold Belgian-style strong beer with just bags of spiced alcohol, leather, pepper, chocolate... the flavours list seems endless the more I think about it.

The journey home through rolling fields and fens gave me time to reflect on the fest. It was a relaxed do, securing a seat close to the entrance helped so we didn't feel hemmed in. Plenty of room around the marquees (at least there was during the day), room outside too albeit not as inviting as Worcester. The food was good - though a proper hog roast would have gone down better. I should have had something from the ever-excellent Charters BBQ! Toilets were odd, all rather beaten and battered. And the beer.... there were some really tasty ones but a fair few that were bland or bordering on poor condition. I enjoyed the day - it's always good to meet up with some Ratebeer guys - but on reflection I'd rather be at Worcester. Consistently good beer, an easy-going vibe and great bottled cider won the day for me.

But some things remain the same - watching blue skies fly by on the journey back and a pint of White Feather in the Brunswick before setting off home. No matter how far I've travelled, how many beers I've had, there's always room for one more. Looking back through the programme as I supped that last pint, I decided that I probably won't be going back to Peterborough next year. And so the cycle continues; I go to PB, enjoy some good beers, endure more average ones and throw a few dire halves, make the long journey home, decide to give PB a miss the next year, do that and then go back the year after, enjoy six good beers.....

If you're at the festival in 2010, I'll be the one sat near the wine bar wondering out aloud if I missed anything decent the year before.


>

Of all the brewers I'd like to meet and share a beer with, Thornbridge are top of the list. When I saw that they would be hosting a 'Meet the Brewer' event at the Waggon & Horses in nearby Alfreton, I persuaded my wife that we really ought to go out for a meal that night, perhaps at a pub where we haven't ate before, just for a change...

The pub itself is a Spoons, one I'd been in a few years ago when I leapfrogged my way up from Derby to Chesterfield on one of my bus-driven rambles. It's a smart looking place, one of those store conversions that makes for a deep pub with several areas for drinking and dining. The food was surprisingly good; I'm used to Spoons breakfasts where you don't mind piles of gunk (that's why you buy them, to fortify you for a day's heavy drinking). 'Proper' meals at Spoons I've had less exposure to, but my mixed grill was cooked how I ordered it and just enough of it. Bec's lamb burger - her favourite Spoons meal - was tasty, too.

Anyoldhow, enough about the grub. With tasting sessions planned for the evening, the bar had a healthy compliment of Thornbridge beers on, though the Jaipur ran out before the session had even started. When you're charging 1.60-ish for beers this good, I'm not surprised it flies out - Jaipur sells out quickly everywhere anyway. I was forced into buying a pint of Kipling in the meanwhile - hard knock life, eh?

The guys turned up and it was good to finally meet Alex Buchanan, the brewery's marketing manager. We'd traded emails through this week on a variety of topics, and it was interesting to see that he'd done his research and identified me as haddonsman on Ratebeer.com! He said that the brewers were keen followers of the site and once had a 20/20 Jaipur rating pinned to the wall of the brewery.

With brewer Kelly Ryan not well, it was down to head honcho Stefano Cossi to step into the breach and talk us through some of the beers he brews. He looked knackered, to be frank - as he'd been brewing since six that morning, with Kelly off sick and another brewer on holiday, I'm not surprised. But he was still ever enthusiastic and attentive, even to the degree of not wanting some of the sample hops to be handed around as they were past their best and not representative of 'Thornbridge' quality.

Over the next hour or so, a couple of dozen of us were treated to samples of Wild Swan, Lord Marples, Ashford and Kipling, with Stef explaining which various hops and malts were used and Alex giving us an insight into how the beers got their names. I had a chat with Stef about the 'English hopped' Jaipur, wondering whether this was a reaction to increased hop prices. 'It was for a laugh!', he insisted, replacing the familiar hops with significantly higher amounts of English varieties such as Target and Pioneer to try and replicate that distinctive Jaipur flavour. It almost works, as Stef concurred, but it needs a few more tweaks (if that's possible given the nature of the UK hops) to attain that keen nose and finish.

Hop prices are becoming an issue, though - Stef was looking at a threefold cost increase for some hops that Thornbridge rely on. When they have such a keen feel for experimentation, here's hoping that such shifts in outlay don't jeapordise any future projects.

The crowd were appreciative of the beers and of Alex and Stef's enthusiasm and our appetites were whetted by the news of new brews. I'll certainly be on the lookout for the Alliance aged in sherry casks and eagerly awaiting their new bottling plant if it leads to bottle-conditioned Kipling. There's only so much of it that I can bring back from beer festivals in carry-out containers, so I suppose I'll have to give in one day and buy a mini-cask for what would be a memorable weekend of Nelson Sauvin imbibation!

So, all in all, a great evening that offered superb beers and the chance to meet two guys who are genuinely excited and proud of what they do. Top marks to the Waggon & Horses, too, for restoring my faith in Spoons evening food and hosting such an interesting event. And brownie points to the enthusiastic barman who was ceaseless in trying to tempt customers into trying Thornbridge beers for the first time, even if his description of Kipling as '...like Stella, only cheaper!' probably isn't a strapline that Alex will be using in the future!
>

With last year's festival lost to the floods, it was a welcome return to Worcester for me. The combination of fine beers, superb bottled ciders and a spot in the shade of the huge marquee makes it one of my few 'must-attend' CAMRA festivals of 2008.




Another attraction of this fest is that it's a relatively easy trip down on the train, with a mercifully short change at the gloomy Birmingham New Street. Though, to be fair, there's impressive plans afoot to improve the place - and as you can see, even Derby's getting new canopies and (dare I say it) lifts as well as stairs (the 20th century finally arrives at Derby just a few years late...)

I let the ticker hoardes surge their way down to the fest as the train pulled into Foregate Street station, it seemed a shame to come all this way and not see any more of the town than a beer tent. After a short riverside walk, though, the call of the mild (etc) was too strong and I set off over a decidely boggy racecourse to reach the main marquee.

The fest has a good setup; one large marquee with a central bar, another to the rear to accommodate the live music, another off to the side for the cider and perry bar. Plenty of room outside, too, with food stands off to the right and loos away to the left. The muddy patches tended to be at the marquee entrance points; staff were working hard all day to lay wood chippings and boards to make these high-traffic areas less gloopy. Mind you, not a great deal that they could do about the smell of that mud; the train home that I got stank like a diarrectic cattle truck. Or was that just the natural 'eau de odour of ticker' ;-)

Of course, I had a cunning plan that - being a Reluctant Scooper - wasn't related to simply scoring new breweries and/or new brews. No, my masterplan was to work my way from the north-east to the south-west of England, daisy-chaining the counties together with a beer from eleven counties from Northumberland to Cornwall. Sadly, this plan (like countless festival plans before it) went base over apex at the first beer hurdle with the lack of the promised Northumberland beer from Allendale.

I decided then to start in the south-west and work my way up-country until the novelty wore off. Which was almost as soon as I started - plumping for a brewery scoop, I tried Blue Anchor's Spingo Middle and soon wished I hadn't bothered. It wasn't bad.... just really plain, a rough-at-the-edges bitter which failed to deliver any of the promised fruity aroma, peppery notes, nutty palate or complex bittersweet as promised in the programme.

With the beer about to be the first 'field-pour' of the day, an announcement came over the p.a. to say that a TV crew were about to start filming in the rear marquee. James May and Oz Clarke were making a series about brewing beer (perhaps James' riposte to Oz's wine antics?) and the judging of their labours was taking place here today! This was an unexpected extra, so I mooched off to take some photos of a) James May looking perturbed and b) Oz Clarke looking constipated

I won't give the result away here; suffice to say, the more adventurous-sounding beer won the day. The judges said both beers really needed more conditioning, so another four to six weeks might have made all the difference to the result, methinks. Insults were traded for the cameras, allegations of hop theft, kitchen shenanigans and hosiery-wearing were all par for the course if you've seen this pair in action before.

After that diversion, I really needed a decent beer. Sticking with the general scooping direction, I decided to keep the faith and go for a Devonian beer. Not too reluctantly, I went for something by Red Rock; I'd tried beers from the likes of South Hams before and been fairly underwhelmed.

A half of Dark Ness was bought, a spot in the shade outside was secured and I found myself enjoying a dark beer on a sunny day. And, boy, was it good - superbly smooth, deep dark chocolate malts, faint hoppiness in the nose, halo thin head and a sustained dry finish. So good that I took two long sips, balanced the grass precariously on the grass and a pasisng spider knocked it over. That's my excuse, anyway. Ho hum - almost tempted to buy another one, but my scooping today is a little less reluctant than usual.

Tucker time next. I like to get some authentic local food at a beer festival and here was no exception. Cooked by the team from a local pub (The Walter De Cantelupe), I enjoyed a substantial tray of... paella. They run paella nights at the pub and when it's this good I can see why. Plenty of chicken, chorizo and prawns in there as well as a couple of mussels.

The food was certainly more impressive than my next beer. Initially recorded in my notes as 'something beginning with A.... based on Exmoor beer?', a detailed inspection reveled it to be Adkin's Alfred's Golden. Very loosely based on Exmoor Gold, apparently. Very loosely based on beer, actually - I'm all for a light golden ale, but this stuff bordered on being coloured water, such was the lack of any substantive malt and hop presence.

With the thought of a geographical-based scooping session diminishing rapidly, I thought I'd stuff the idea into a cocked hat and go continental instead. Not on the initial list was a draught beer, confusingly billed as 'Browerij de Ryck Girardin Krieklambik'. I'm hoping it's the latter part they got right, for this was a subtle so-so fruity beer with a sour bite snagging late on in the flavour. Never as harsh as lesser lambics, this was actually quite easy going on the funky front and was potentially quaffable by the pint.

Time for more beers at random. Next up, one of my favourite brewers, Pictish. Their seasonal beer Corn Dolly had a lovely fruit-smoothie feel with plenty of wet malts in the nose and a balanced palate. A lively pourer as well, just like the Green Bullet sampled in Newark earlier this year.

That made me crave for hops, so the logical step was to Dark Star Hophead Extra. Like a mosquito in training, this bites yet fades before the job is fully done. Perhaps I've spoilt my palate with too much Mikkeller All Others Pale over the last few days (more on that beer in Bottled Up soon). Only later did I get that lingering hop lick.

I thought I ought to try a Worcester beer whilst I'm here so I reluctantly scooped a new brewery for me, Blue Bear. Now in a summery mood, I went for the 5% pils, Uproar. Well, it's lager-y... crisp yet creamy, wafts of perfumed Saaz, simple bittered finish. Now learning back against the marquee, the wind was buffeting the sides and punching me in the back like a recalcitrant nephew when you're trying to sleep off a boozy lunch on the beach.

I'd toyed with the idea of buying a shooting stick earlier, but decided against it as the inherent danger of spiking it through my foot after a few beers was too great. And of not being able to retain my balance on it. And of having to carry it around. And of looking like a complete tool if I did finally manage to perch on it. And not being anatomically suited to squeezing my Hugh Jarse onto a wafter thin piece of leather. As Martin Clunes once said about uncomfortable sports cars, 'it had Recaro seats, but I don't have a Recaro arse'.

So, the weather's lovely. Families are having picnics, kids are missing frisbees thrown by over-enthusiastic fathers. I want to tell the woman sitting a little way away from me that a white bra with that black top doesn't really work. And the same to her friend, who's wearing a pale blue bra with a black top. Perhaps it's not blue, perhaps it's gray. Perhaps she washes her smalls with the rest of her gloomy goth clothing. Perhaps I ought to go and get a drink and stop staring at women's over-the-shoulder-boulder-holders...


Ah. feck. It MUST be cider time. I was going to resist the draught stuff and just take a few bottle home, but the weather's placid and I'm feeling like a mellow fellow. I've more than a liking for Burrow Hill - I shall be taking a bottle of their superlative sparkling Stoke Red home with me - and I don't see their stuff on draught too often so I was practically forced to endure a half of their dry cider. Can I use the word superb too many times? This was.... ah, you can guess. I could say it was better than snorting coke off a Playboy model's breasts and then finding last week's winning lottery ticket between her thighs. But it wasn't *that* good - it was only cider ;-)

Though it was so good that I went to the bogs (unisex, clean, no queues), was eager to get back to the bar and buy more, left my glass in there, realising that just after a lady went in and locked the door. So, I waited patiently at a distance that hopefully didn't worry her husband into thinking I was a stalker.

With glass retrieved, perry was obtained (Olivers Blakeney Red) and I took up residence outside against the marquee again. Now, I'm usually easily annoyed by kids doing what kids do - chattering, running about... breathing in the same room as me. But it's hard to be a curmudgeon when you can remember being on your holidays and doing the same things - standing on your football, getting bored playing frisbee and wandering off, knocking a drink over and blaming it on your sister...

Anyoldhow, that perry. It's got a light lemon in body, carries a creeping sweetness, never a harsh edge, always holding a light yet keen pear flavour. I could drink this all day, but that way unconsciousness in a pool of pear vomit lies.

So instead I had, er, Orchard Blakeney Red perry. A plain pear flavour with a hint of spiciness, although that could have been from the airborne feculence in the tent. Slugs of raw pear penetrate later with a throaty, latent sweetness unexpected.

The last drink of the day at a fest isn't really the best time to have a cider that isn't on the programme list. My extensive notes reveal it to be made by Allen Robert, 7%, but I can find precious little info about them. I just wrote 'fruity'; those superlative perrys had exhausted my adjectives.

That left one last task - buy some ciders and perrys to take home. No own-bottling here like a trolley-wielding ticker, Worcester fest has the best range of bottles on sale that I've ever seen. I picked up a bottle of Orchard cider with a whisky finish, some from Brook Apple farm (a producer I hadn't heard of before), an Olivers sparkling perry and the sublime sparkling Stoke Red from Burrow Hill which my wife and I will have instead of champagne on our wedding anniversary.

A truly excellent festival, this. The weather was kind and, truth be told, made a huge difference. Crowds inside would have churned up more of that foul-smelling mud and made the day far less fun than it was. The drinks were in good condition, even if some of them were a little bland. The paella was great, though I didn't see much in the way of sarnies and lighter bites. Loos were clean and queue-free whilst I was there. But it was the atmosphere that made it, not a gloomy room full of overly-serious tickers, more of a real 'festival' vibe where the drink was an important part of the day but (perhaps perversely) not the be-all and end-all.

>

And here's the first in a new series. I like having the odd bottle or three knocking around the house, so I thought it would be fun to share it out (in a virtual sense).

First up, from a recent trip to Norfolk, is Grain Harvest Moon, described by the brewer as 'a strong and hoppy golden pale ale". I picked up this bottle from The Real Ale Shop on Branthill Farm, Wells, where they grow the barley that features in many of the beers that they sell (including this).



The beer poured with a tall, rocky off white head and had a distinctly sharp, hoppy nose. It looked lighter than the photo shows (haven't quite mastered this beer-photo-lighting malarkey). Though it ends up looking flat, it has an itching feel to it that carries a pine note tempered with slight grapefruit. The aftertaste is that of grapefruit ten seconds after eating the last slice, with the flavour lingering then re-appearing every time you lick your lips.

I don't get the bubblegum that Garrat gets in his ratebeer review but I'll concur on that resinous feel and superb dryness. Good looking label, too; it's a Charles Rennie Mackintosh that this picture doesn't really do justice to. So, a good strong pale ale which, on cask, might rival some of my favourite IPAs like Thornbridge Jaipur. The next time I'm in Norfolk, I'll look out for more of this. >

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

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



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

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

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

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

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























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

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

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























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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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























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

With a sunny Saturday all to myself, thoughts turned to beer hunting in places old and new. I was going to buy myself a Derbyshire Wayfarer train and bus ticket to get some Peak District pubs as well as a visit to Sheffield's finest but then had a bolder idea - rather than just two counties, could I manage a beer tour of half a dozen of them in a day?





I reckoned that with an early start, punctual trains and a speedy approach to Reluctant Scooping I could knock off six counties around the East Midlands; catching the express bus from Derby to Nottingham and then using an East Midlands Day Ranger to pick up an anti-clockwise chain of trains to take in Lincolnshire, Cambridgeshire, Rutland and Leicestershire before heading home to Derby.

So, eight-thirty saw me arrive under a white sky into Nottingham for a full English at the best cafe in the country, Bunters on Old Parliament Street. With stomach suitably lined, it was time to find a pub that opened at 9am and the Roebuck duly obliged.

It's one of the more pleasant Wetherspoon's I've visited; a tangle of rooms where a sizable building has been knocked through and up. In attempt to make this a LocAle day as well, I bought a half of Nottingham Legend and headed upstairs to catch some sun outside in the smoking garden. It's a rather sweet and creamy beer for this time of the morning, taking time for an old-school malt wash to develop.

Leaving the city of my birth behind at ten-ish, it was a half-hour trip across the splendid Vale of Belvoir to a town I've been through but never stopped off at - Grantham in Lincolnshire.

Following a path that carved through the terraced houses to the town centre and then finding back streets crammed with interesting architecture I made my way to the Blue Pig. This is a 16th century building that was turned into a pub in the 1800's and ticks all the boxes; slate floors, wooden settles, pewter mugs and china plates hang around the impressive mirror-backed bar. A multiplicity of rooms on different levels make the Blue Pig a subtle hybrid of back street boozer and tourist's wet dream.

Oldershaw of Grantham provide a house beer for the Blue Pig but, sadly, not today. I reluctantly settled for Marquis Bitter from Brewsters and wasn't disappointed; an earthy bitter that doesn't stick in your clack like Legend can.

Couldn't spend enough time here (a feeling repeated through today). Though I'd gladly pass on the Landlord and wouldn't wash my arse with Greede Kerching IPA, there were a couple of other good looking beers on offer here (Lord Marples from Thornbridge and a Milestone beer).

So, a swift yomp back up to the station for the twelve o'clock express to Peterborough. That was running late, so I took the gamble on catching the next slow train. At least that wasn't packed to the gills with giddy tourists; there were plenty of seats and someone had left a stack of newspapers behind to keep me entertained. And that express only overtook us about five minutes away from the city.

If it's 1230, it must be Cambridgeshire. First stop was to be the Oakham's Brewery Tap, under threat of closure due to redevelopment in the Westgate area of the city. And from the opposite side of the dual carriageway, it looked very closed indeed. With time here short, I decided to cut my losses and hotfoot it straight down to the river and visit Charters Bar.

This is a place I've heard great things said about it, but my previous trips to Peterborough have been only to the beer festival and never the pubs. Boy, was I glad I came here! A converted continental barge, the Leendert-R had that 'North European' feel to it with one long wooden bar, subdued lighting and a motley collections of plush stools and wonky tables. There was a great selection of Oakham beers amongst the twelve on offer (of which I thoroughly unreluctantly tried White Dwarf and Inferno), Thai food available from the restaurant on the top deck ; no bands playing this lunchtime but the easy-going background music (R&B, Levellers, Sinatra) was playing to plenty of punters enjoying a cracking pint or three whilst reading the papers.

Outside was a real bonus - a tent hosting the bar's beer festival! The vicious wind tested the guy ropes and slammed gravel against the awnings. Inside were some unusual beers for this neck of the woods, including a superb Okells Eastern Spice that put a warm ticklish heat into the back of your throat and gums. Deep spices rose to itch in the way the phlegm after a cough scratches its way round your mouth.

This was the place I could have stopped for the rest of the day. With the time now past two in the afternoon, I'd not left myself long enough to try the door of the Brewery Tap - which, it turns out, was still open- as I'd got to catch my next train for the short hop to Oakham.

My target here in Rutland was the Grainstore brewery tap next door to the railway station. I know it's next door, but I fought against innate geography and set off down the high street instead. I fancied some fish 'n chips but needed the loo first - and failing to find one, ended up trogging back to the station to find the pub instead. It's an impressive building from the outside and smart inside with exposed brickwork, breweriania, fairy lights and some of the best 'clean wood' tables and chairs I've seen in a pub (if only I could have smuggled a chair back home with me...). The CAMRA award certificates going back to 1998 either suggest pride in their heritage or a tendency to trade in on past glories, though.

As for the beer, the Ten Fifty was excellent (chewy malts, vanilla edge, fruity nose) but two criticims, one flippant and one serious. I'm drinking a brewer's beer in their brewery tap. Why not serve it in a glass with the beer/brewery logo on? And the all-too-serious criticism; £2.90 is way too much for a 5% beer brewed in the room next door.

At these prices, I might as well be drinking in the city, so I skipped back over to the station and moved down the line to Leicester.

Four-ish by the time I arrived, and almost impossible for me to not partake in a mini-crawl. First stop, a short stagger from the station, was Out Of The Vaults, excellent as always. A superb choice of a dozen beers here and a no-brainer for me as a Reluctant Scooper - Beowulf Finns Hall Porter is a regular beer here and I'm always more than happy to enjoy a pint whilst sitting in the window, letting the Leicester sun shine on a righteous scooper...

More pubs to do, though; driven onwards by the awful metal covers music playing here, it was only a few minutes round the corner to the Swan and Rushes. Really quiet in here - me and three others including the staff. A continental bottle from their enviable range is always tempting, but if I started down that route it would inevitably end in Cantillon and stomachache.
So, a mild it was to be, Scattor Rock Rock Steady Mild to be precise. And it was... stunning. Surprisingly fruity with a lactic chocolate smack.

The Criterion was much busier with the live music on in the lounge. I don't know if the Crit were in the midst of one of their regional mini-fests as there was a fair range of West Country beers hre (including Teign Valley, Sharps and Coastal). For some reason, I ignored them all and went for a brewer local-ish to me, Spire, and their Twist 'n Stout. Which was damn fine, superbly smooth with just enough dry coffee notes.

Having avoided any local beer whilst in Leicester, it was time to find an Everards pub. I'd usually end up in the Globe but I fancied a change. OK, I couldn't actually find it; despite being a frequent Leicester imbiber, my beer-fuelled prat-nav was starting to run flat.

Fortunately, I'd just past the Rutland & Derby, another Everards establishment so I thought I'd give it a whirl. It's one of those strange beasts, a smart bar with real ale. It actually felt like the kind of small bar attached to a restaurant, high chrome stools and low leather chairs. Not a place to relax with a pint and the paper- well, certainly not at 7pm on a Saturday night. A glass of Sunchaser was polished off - served in a smart chalice glass with the Sunchaser logo on. And the beer was surprisingly refreshing - perhaps because my palate was starting to feel slightly jaded by now.

Plenty of time before the next train, so I took a gentle amble back to the station with five counties down and just the homeward bound leg left. And then... as I got into the station I noticed a Derby-bound departure that didn't exist on my timetable so I ran - well, wobbled quickly - to give myself a half-hour advantage. As the train pulled into Derby, a wicked thought came to my head that I might be able to fit in a bonus county...

Just about to pull out the station was a Birmingham-bound train, first stop Burton-on-Trent! My all-day ticket was valid into Staffordshire so I grabbed the chance. Ten minutes later, I was in the spiritual home of English brewing and ready to have a drink in my sixth county that day.

But I was starting to tire now.... perhaps it was because I'd made it here and knew that I had time for a long, last pint at Derby in about an hour's time. But an hour's a long time when you're knackered, even longer when it's a busy Saturday night in Burton. So, time for a 'splash and dash'. Arrived into Burton, 20008. Next train to Derby, 2020. Walked to Devonshire Arms, arrived 2012. Bought half a Burton Bridge Golden Delicious at 2014. Drank it by 2015. Back onto the station platform at 2019 just as the train pulled in. Having budgeted on spending an hour in each county, I'd been in Staffordshire for twelve minutes!

Back on the train, I reflected on that very swift half - certainly some sweet crunch and slight bitterness. I'd have liked to have stayed in Burton longer but I needed three things; chips, White Feather and sleep in precisely that order. The chips did what chips should - warm you through and stuff you up. And, the seventh county delivered my twelfth beer in my tenth pub of the day - and it's the finest beer county providing easily the best beer in the best brewpub I've ever been to. Brunswick White Feather is a beer that I have come to adore - soft malts, grassy notes, flowery hops.... it's the pint that slakes my thirst after a long day at work, rewards my return to the city after a day walking in the Peaks, consoles me after hacking round town doing the shopping, oils the catch-up conversation with friends seldom seen nowadays. .. no matter where I've been and what I've been up to, there's always the time and passion for a pint of Feather.

Dragging my weary bones back to the bus, I reflected on a long, long beery day. It had been fantastic to put the miles in - about 150 - and be rewarded with decent beers, great pubs and plenty of places that I'm eager to return to and explore more. I'll certainly be going back to Grantham and Peterborough again, a mosey around the other pubs in the former and a whizz around the cathedral in the latter is definitely on the cards.

I can heartily recommend this kind of ramble - check out the deals in your area here and then make sure that engineering works aren't going to scupper a vital leg of the trip. >