I live in Derby.

Well, I live in Spondon. Which used to be a village on the outskirts before being swallowed up by the city when the latter became desperate for a charter back in 1977. A city needs a populace; boundaries were redrawn to bump the numbers up. Some villagers - self-proclaimed Spondonians - are still bitter about this. There was a bloke at the pub today who was quite bitter about the claimed wattage of energy-saving bulbs. People need to learn to not be bitter about stuff that doesn't really matter.

I'm always going to have a jaded view because I was born in Nottingham. Lived in Nottinghamshire as a youth. Still support Nottingham Forest, to the extent that you can support a rudderless bunch of muppets that couldn't score in a brothel.

But I married a Spondon girl - a Derby County-supporting Spondon girl - so here I am. Conducting endless missionary work amongst the heathens. And regularly taking advantage of Derby's great strength.

Regular train services to other parts of the country.

Within the hour I can be in Birmingham, Nottingham, Sheffield. Or into the Peak District. So I don't spend a great deal of time drinking around Derby.

Until today. Gulp. Because I couldn't be arsed to go anywhere else.

The Alexandra Hotel is the birthplace of Derby CAMRA but thankfully there are no awkward stains on the welcome mat. Fyne Ales Jarl was served the cool side of cool and all the better for it.

When in the Brunswick, all of thirty seconds walk from the Alex, I drink one of three beers. Budvar when it's really hot. Brunswick Father Mike's when it's really cold. Brunswick White Feather when I just fancy a beer to knock back. The latter today was its usual combination of slight sulphur, dry malts and wincing hop. It may now be two quid a pint, but I bloody love it.

Most of my drinking time outdoors in Derby is spent at the Smithfield. Sat above the river, the constant grind of the A52 nearby doesn't really detract. There's always plenty of pale & hoppy on - Oakham Citra for me today - and a half-hour spent watching swans stretch their wings and kick lazily upriver is all the entertainment you need on a Sunday lunch.

Speaking of which, I wish I'd eaten at the next pub. The Exeter Arms has always had a reputation for keenly-priced pub grub. My wife keeps telling me how good the lunches are and I've enjoyed the five quid pie-and-pint night. But I didn't quite fancy the pork lunch, so I just supped a pint of Dancing Duck Gold. The brewery now run the pub; their beers are fairly sugary which often clashes with my palate, but their Gold had a Belgique-sweetness and strong malty backbone that worked un-nervingly well.

Perhaps the problem with the Flowerpot is my high expectations. A few years ago they had around 15 beers available on a Sunday, maybe a third of those being on gravity in the glass-fronted stillage room. The beef and mushroom cob was a thing of genius - thick slices of beef from the Sunday roast paired with pan-fried mushrooms in a blousy bit of bread. But times have changed; there's still about eight ales on, including Thornbridge Jaipur on gravity, but the beer range is wanting and the food is really poor. My Sunday roast was a plate heaped full of veg freshly-pinged from the microwave and a sorry tablespoonfull of stewing steak. That's not lunch; that's a cop-out.

There's always a pub up the road to chipper my spirits back up. The Five Lamps is a case study in how to Get The Pub Right; somewhere that was a failing grot-hole made wonderful by the application of a simple equation: good landlord + good staff + good beer + good food + good atmosphere = great pub. Buxton Kinder Downfall was good, but... average. Perfect condition, well brewed, but just seemed to have something missing. Not sure what.

It could be that Buxton brews are usually hopped up the wazoo. It was certainly the case with Adnams American-Style IPA at the Standing Order. One of the festival beers, it survived being poured as flat as a trampled badger. Riven with juiciness. And even though the pub is a real JDW barn - it was a massive banking hall beforehand - I love being there. Huge ceilings to gaze up at. Excellent beer quality. Just a shame that staff don't pick up empty glasses by rote: if you're on the way back to the bar and pass a table with empties on, it makes sense to clear as you go.

Every beer was spot-on quality today. The range was exactly what I expected. And perhaps that's the issue I have with Derby. You're unlikely to find a leftfield brew, a new brewery tick, an adventurous recipe. You won't find anything interestingly kegged. Don't even think of looking for world-beating bottles in the back of those dusty fridges.

Derby delivers what Derby does best: dependable, tried-and-tested beer. I know it could be worse. But, I know it could be so much better. Forty minutes and nine quid away, I can have the best cask and keg beer in the UK at the Sheffield Tap. A monster roast at the Harlequin. Stunning cider and The Best Chocolate Brownies Ever at the Rutland.

Which is why the best place for me in Derby is still Platform 2, northbound... >

I'm a believer in positive re-inforcement. Early morning I visualise the day ahead, in slow-motion, to a steady beat, as the recorded highlights of the day that went well. Then I go out and make it happen.

Today, that storyboard went: Wake up refreshed. Go to local pub for breakfast and watch the rugby. England win rugby. I stay in pub for beer festival. My wife joins me. We get drunk. We make up the rest of the day as it goes. I keep babbling on about how Chris Ashton slipped the line and swan-dived over for a try that took England to within a point of victory. And how every bloodied yard won by the props once the clock had turned red put Wilko in the pocket for the drop goal that sent us to Auckland.

Sometimes, you find the world isn't quite in sync with your mind-track.

It started promising for me, if not England. Pull on the shirt (blue, circa 2003). Go to pub. When you see an Own Taylor's van turn up in the car park, you know that breakfast will be full of the best piggy nom. Several pints of Moonstone Black Five Mild were slaked. And then... England forgot to turn up. Outplayed by the French is bad enough; to be out-thought by them is unforgivable.

So me and my blue funk decided that we could do without sitting around a beerfest for the rest of the day.

What better for a catatonic rugger fan, still slightly hungover by the application of fresh mild to last night's Scotch, than a trip to Tesco?

Slivers of meats, some superbly nutty Ossau Iraty, walnut bread, spag bol constituents, shit-kicklingly good wine by Tim Adams and a basket of beer. In reverse order: Brewdog Punk IPA, still alcoholic Um Bongo; Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, great but still strangely muted, Goose Island IPA: revelatory. Chock full of mango, no lingering bitterness.

And as I wandered up and down the aisles, the comments.

"Where were we in the first half?"

"Ready to drown your sorrows?".

And then:

"Bet you can't wait to take that shirt off".

Actually, no. And now please go and fuck yourself into a cocked hat.

How very dare you!

I'm a quarter Scots and strangely proud of it. Oor Wullie, The Broons, whisky, deep-fried Mars Bars - love it.

But I'm more Lionheart than Braveheart.

I wear the rose and I'm damn proud to do so. Always and forever.

Always and forever. Never ashamed. Never embarrassed.

An afternoon kip, an epic spag bol and several glasses of Tim Adams' finest later, all I can think of is this.

I've just finished reading "Setting The Table" by Danny Meyer. The über-entrepreneurial New York restaurateur. And two quotes from the book resonate, in relation to mistakes:

As told to him by retail magnate Stanley Marcus: "the road to success is paved with mistakes well handled".

As he says himself, on his mission when hearing of a mistake: "write a last great chapter that allows us to end up in a better place".

All I can hope for is that the RFU and Martin Johnson take a long, hard, passionate look at how the leadership dynamic of England rugby has failed the team and the fans' expectations. And handle those mistakes better in the future.

And how do I write my last great chapter? How do I draw a line underneath a day envisioned poorly?  How do I turn a day of hurt into one that I will look back on with fonder memory?

I open a bottle of extremely great beer. Possibly the best tart Belgian beer that isn't Belgian.

Because it's brewed in France.

From Brassiere Thirez, Vielle Brune.

To end the evening with some sour French.

Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose



* cheers to Phil Lowry for the heads-up on Danny Meyer's book


* before you start, I am aware that Richard the Lionheart spent most of his time pricking around in Southern France. Let me introduce to the concept of irony... >

For many opinionated drinkers, global brewers are a god-send. They can be pilloried from post to blog post; capitalist behemoths, industrial swill-merchants, adjunct-addicted purveyors of pap. Even better if they have the letter S in their name. So the lazy perpetuation of hackneyed myth can be combined with the liberal insertion of dollar signs into their name.

For instance: Budwei$er.

Yeah, that $tick$ it to The Man.

This month's Session is hosted by The Tales of The Ale, on what he perceives may be hard for some bloggers: giving thanks to the 'big boys'. For me, it's a gimme.

Let me tell you why every beer fan in the world ought to give eternal thanks to Anheuser Busch.

Actually, no. Let Charles Bamforth, Professor of Malting and Brewing Science at University of California Davis, explain why:

"The reality is that it is substantially more challenging to consistently make a product of more subtle tone, there being far less opportunity to disguise inconsistency and deterioration than can be the case in a more intensely flavoured beverage". 1

If you can visit anywhere in the world and a Bud tastes like a Bud... that's supreme control. I know enough brewers who produce a raft of 'specials'. All roughly similar, minor changes in ABV and recipe. For keeping the tickers happy? No. It's because they cannot brew a beer consistently to spec.

As for the brewers who disguise fuck-up beers by mixing them into darker brews and lacing them with a far-out flavour... you can't polish a turd.

You may not choose to make Budweiser your fridge beer of choice. I remember a radio interview with Bamforth where he said something along the lines that he loved cask bitter in a sidestreet pub back in England. But in 100 degree heat at a ballgame, he'd rather be drinking Bud.

So, here's an American institution with a history of fastidiousness. Of borderline-freakish quality control standards. Of absolute faith, backed by researched science, that what they do is absolutely the best they can do. That brews a consistent, popular beer whose sales fund barley and hop development programmes. And the professorship that Charlie Bamforth holds.

And, if along the way, they give the young turks and old grumps something to rail against, even if it's misguidedly, that's great.

If it makes just one brewer stop and think about how they can make better beer, that's a result.

If we see more eclectic, adventurous, flavour-forward beer - still brewed with technical perfection - then that's job done.

Adolphus Busch: this Bud's for you.


1. "Beer Is Proof God Loves Us" (2011), Charles Bamforth  >

'Steady' Steve Hornbuckle makes it easy to love a beer festival. Perfectly stillaged beers in the function room of the Royal Oak, Ockbrook. Attentive, enthusiastic staff. Cheese platters and pork pies on sale.

And those beers - every year he sources casks from a specific English county to showcase every brewery there, whether its a brewpub or a regional powerhouse. This year it's Lancashire's turn (non-metropolitan, not ceremonial). Truth be told, beforehand I was hard-pushed to name anything from there with the exception of Thwaites. But tonight has been insightful.

Deep tropical fruit in Burscough's Priory Gold. Some slight-yet-moreish bittersweetness around Lytham's IPA. The sheer glubbability of Moonstone's Black Star Mild. Sharp wit-ness with a bubblegum chomp at the end of Blue Buzzard's White Dwarf.

I only had ninety minutes so hardly dinted the beers on offer - gravity in the back room, handpull on the bar. Swift halves were called for. So I'm looking forward to going back on Saturday, early doors, for a few pints.

Early doors being 0830. For England v France in the Rugby World Cup on the big screen. In that function room. Full of festival beers. With a full cooked breakfast at half time.

What could possibly go wrong? >

Evenings begin with the best of intentions.

Three Wetherspoons in Derby. Bound to be a stack of festival beers. What could possibly go wrong?

Everything. Thankfully.

Starting at the Babington Arms, which has often put on all the 'overseas' brewers' fayre on the first fest night. We even had Luke Nicholas turn up one year. Tonight? Nada. Niet. Zip-doodly-squat.

Six below-average festival offerings on the bar; this scooper's turning on his heels. Then; Summer Wine Diablo. Really? Indeedy.

I never see Summer Wine beers unless I pilgrimage to Sheffield / Huddersfield. So, in a Spoons? For £2.20? It seems that fill-your-boots-hour is hoving into view. But the greying hordes on the next table start to fart; the shell-suited youth by the door is making no headway with his wife / mother / lover by calling her a "daft twat". Time to move on.

To the Standing Order. A splendid looking barn of an ex-banking hall. Rammed full of festival beers. The Bell's Kalamazoo Black Silk was all sticky liqorice. More stuff on offer that I really fancy by the likes of Fat Head's and Mordue. But I thought I ought to pop next door and see what's on offer.

Oh. My.

The Thomas Leaper is literally next door, separated only by the drunk holding two pints, outside on the step, and the semi-comatose bloke slumped by the fire escape. It's a Lloyd's No.1; they have music, fewer piss-stained fat men, more sharper haircuts. Not many festival beers, to be sure.But they had more Summer Wine.

Specifically, Kahuna, the big-fat-grapefruit IPA, and Barista, the chocca-full-of-mocha-stout.

For £1.50 a pint.

You didn't just open a random door into beery Narnia,

£1.50 a pint.

What did I do?

Reader, I drank them.

And drank them.

And drank them some more.

Sometimes, the best thing about well-publicised beer festivals is the unforeseen.




>

The Sheffield Dilemma is simple: lots of quality pubs and bars, stacks of great beer, not enough time. Crawls can easily become route marches; when the hit-list reaches sixteen places, you know it ain't going to happen. Not without A&E being the seventeenth stop. So on Saturday with the sun blazing in Steel City, I decided to do the sensible thing. Mooch around with no particular place to go.

With Stoph McBride in tow, our PlusBus tickets were flexed and cool beers quaffed. Here's what we worked through:

Sheffield Tap

Early doors, straight off the train for a throat-loosener.

Thornbridge Pivni. Exclusive brew by the Derbyshire giants of micro for the Taps bars. Big fat sticky head with tons of grapefruit. Hardly touched the sides as first beer of the day. And 3.2%? I'll drink to that.

Marble Rye. a.k.a The Last Stronge Beer, swansong of the departing Colin Stronge. Deft touch with the rye, just enough sweetness to temper berries and bitterness.

Buxton Axe Edge. Stoph's pint, which I gladly accepted a taster of. One of the standout cask ales of the year for me, dry-hopped up the wazoo in the inimitable James Kemp stylee. Perhaps the most convincing blackberry flavour in a beer that I've come across.

Greystones

Up and out of the Eccy Road for something cold and fizzy in Thornbridge's flagship pub.

Thornbridge Steelmaker. The brewer's first ever Helles in support of the Save the Portland Works campaign. Simple, slighly spiced and incredibly refreshing. Stoph had a Thornbridge Wild Swan as well whilst I sank another Steelmaker. Heavenly helles indeed...

Harlequin

Summer Wine Radius. One of those pale ales that long afternoons sitting outside in the sun was invented for. Epic with a cheese & onion cob. Although, apparently, I'm not allowed to call them cobs in Yorkshire...

Fat Cat

Whilst Stoph choked back a Kelham Island affair (Pale Rider, possibly), I couldn't help but have a bottle of Schlenkerla Rauchbier Weizen. A softer touch than the Marzen, still plenty of bacon-smoke but not overpowering.

Kelham Island Tavern

Pictish Brewer's Gold. That's all I need to say. Apart from.... mmmmmm.

Wellington

Mallinsons Something. No idea what, but it was pale & hoppy. Yes, we should have drank something from Little Ale Cart as the kind man behind the bat suggested (well, practically demanded) we drink but you can't win 'em all. Still, you can't beat a pub that has framed copies of 'Real Ale Twats' on the wall and staff wearing "Buy Before You Try" t-shirts.

Sheffield Tap (again)

Some Bernard Světlý Ležák 12°, unfiltered Czech lager, followed by some more lager for me. Not sure what Stoph had. But I had lager. Oh, yes siree.

The train back to Derby

Marble Weizen. In a plastic cup. From a 500ml bottle. Some clove, some nana, one beer I'd like to try early in the day when my palate wasn't fading.


The upshot? Good beer is where you find it. In Sheffield, you find it everywhere - in smart bars and backstreet boozers; in cask, keg and bottle; in traditional and modern styles. It's all out there, waiting for you. All you've got to do is pick it up and drink it. >

I think it's fair to say that the Sheffield CAMRA annual beer festival has a chequered past. Great beers have often found themselves being served in unprepossessing surroundings. Such as mud-ridden tents. Or dull social clubs. So a change of venue close to the city centre must be the right move, surely?

The jury's still out, I think. Many problems, some mitigating circumstances. But maybe not mitigating enough. Cellar quality suffered with the unseasonal weather heating the Ponds Forge sports hall to an uncomfortable level. You may not expect such temps in October. But, for instance, Nottingham CAMRA have kept things cool even when the sun comes out in the middle of the month. Glasses being marked for thirds when the measure isn't being served shouldn't have been an issue - if it wasn't for some staff selling third-pints for one token.

And apart from the extraordinary circumstances, it's still the little things that are notable by their absence. Like adequate signage to find the front door. Like a basic tasting note or style guide in the programme.When there's only fifty-ish drinkers through early doors on the first day, I wonder where the usual trollied hoards have got to.

The city has a fantastic beery heritage. Sheffield CAMRA have some enthusiastic members who know a great deal about beer. It's a shame that their festival sells them short. >

I looked up at the TV last night only because someone was murdering 'A Wondrous Place'.

For about thirty seconds, the moodily-lit advert ran through a gamut of slo-mo clichés. Aftershave, perhaps? Teeth whitening? Haemorrhoid cream? Nope; Carling.

Gone are the matey larks of previous campaigns This re-branding seems to be aiming for Mr Metrosexual. Hard on its heels is the announcement that Molson Coors are dropping sponsorship of the Football League Cup after what seems an eternity (fourteen years is a long time in football. Especially for Nottingham Forest).

Meanwhile, Carslberg are doing what Carslberg do best; viral campaigning. The Belgium Bikers video is spreading like chlamydia during fresher's week.

Heineken already have the prancing-man commercial to persuade us that lager is A Lot More Sophisticated Than Wot You Thought. An advert, incidentally, that was the subject of a complaint to the Advertising Standards Authority. The complainant being Molson Coors. Who had previously been the subject of another complaint over a Carling advert. The complainant being Heineken. I look forward to both beverages being served in black pots / kettles in the near future.

Even Foster's have toned down the Ozzy banter of late. And featured Holly Vallance in their adverts. Good call?

In their own, very different, ways the message seems to be:

Lager isn't scary any more.

But can even the might of global brewers and fancy ad campaigns divorce the words lager and lout from the common lexicon of beer? My hunch is we'll have to suffer more than a few moody adverts with piss-poor cover versions in the not-too distant future.


I hope the cartoonist Gareth Plumb doesn't mind the reproduction of his lout. >

An English brewer hosts a festival at their brewery tap. With German Oktoberfest and French micro-brewed beers. A spare Sunday afternoon. Should I go?

Ja, mon petit choufleur.

Pete Hounsell at Amber Ales has established a reputation for beers out of the ordinary. Inspiration and experimentation have led him to brew the likes of Jasmine IPA, a full-on saison and the multi-award-winning Chocolate Orange Stout. And he employs the same passion in tracking down beers out of the ordinary for his festivals.

Now, don't get me wrong. His own beers were standouts. Imperial IPA is the style on a short leash; plenty of bite, plenty of depth, no over-exuberant late hopping, enough alcohol to warm you. Double Chocolate Stout had heaps of earthy cocoa, roasty rather than sickly. The continental bottles, however, took the afternoon to another dimension.

I have a weakness for German bottled beers. Lets be clear, here: I've never been to Germany as a 'beer tourist' so I have no idea what quality German draft beer tastes like. But I love lots of the bottles I've tried. Two of my favourites were on sale here, the clean-and-crisp Augustiner Edelstoff and the feisty-bitter Schneider Hopfen-Weiss. Which I would have happily drank all day if it wasn't for Brasserie Thiriez.

The brewer is based in Esquelbecq, a village so far into Northern France that it's almost in the North Sea. It's also just over the border from Belgium, which clearly influences Thiriez's beers. The amber and blonde are solid stuff, the latter winning me over with its initial sweetness tempered well by citric bitterness into a drying finish.

Even better was Etoile Du Nord, originally a collaboration beer with John Davidson of Swale Brewery. Riddled with Bramling Cross, it could be described as a hoppy saison or a Belgian IPA. I don't give a monkey's chuff; I'll call it the best bitterish slighly spiced bottle beer I've had this year. Only 4.5%, it's the kind of beer that if it were made by a progressive English / US micro, geeks would be wetting their pants. Instead of which, it seems to be France's best-kept beery secret.

And that's before we get to their Vieille Brune. I could easily wax lyrical about this, but here's the summary: perfectly balanced sour ale. All the right notes in the right order. I'm not used to beers blindsiding me but this had me done stone cold. 

Maybe the trick is to think not of Northern France but West Flanders Plus A Bit. Whichever way, Brassiere Thiriez are making some of the most exciting beer to come out of almost-Belgium. And being able to try them on a soggy day in Derbyshire's Amber Valley is all down to the foresight of an English publican who understands the value of great beer. I'll raise a glass to that. Si danke schon, bonjour! >

Reluctant Scooping has two rules:

#1 - if you walk into a pub and find a beer you love, you must drink a pint of it.
#2 - if you walk into a pub, don't find a beer you love, you must drink a half of something new.
#3 - if you walk into a pub table, it hurts. And you're probably drunk. And there is no rule #3.

So, half-a-dozen-ish Notingham pubs were lined up. A couple of willing wingmen recruited. And mayhem ensued.

Trent Bridge Inn

Cask beers on offer: 10
Potential scoops: 2
Actual scoops: 1 (Nottingham Trent Bridge Inn Ale, halfpint, cask)

It's been a long long time since I last drank at the TBI. From being a cubby-holed, slightly-shabby and rather smelly pub, Wetherspoons have transformed it into somewhere smart and comfy. Still has a few nooks and crannies, plus a large room at the back with a big TV. Tons of cricket memorabilia adorn the walls, alongside some impressive paintings commissioned especially for the pub. Their house beer from Nottingham Brewery, TBI Ale, was pleasant enough although a bit on the brown sticky side for my taste. And here's the Trent:

  

King William IV

Cask beers on offer: 8

Potential scoops: 2

Actual scoops: 0

Favourites drank: 1 (Thornbridge Jaipur, pint, cask).

You walk through the door and walk into the bar. You sit in what looks like your Gran's living room, circa 1976. Customers appear to have arrived from an Alan Bennett monologue. And the beer is... stunning. Perfect quality. The best pint of Jaipur I've drank for some time - and last week I was drinking it in Thornbridge's own pubs. The other two topers with me today - Alcofrolic Jock and Rich from Brewsters - both drank Jaipur too. Nods and knowing grunts were passed. It was so good that afterwards, Jock went outside to have sex with his bike:

 

Kean's Head

Cask beers on offer: 5

Potential scoops: 2

Actual scoops: 1 (Castle Rock Spyke Golding's Ale, halfpint, cask).

I've always had a soft spot for the Kean's Head. Mainly for their super food, especially the homemade scotch eggs. There's a fridge-full of solid hoppy bottles (Flying Dog etc) but I plumped for another LocAle. It was massively malty. So much so that I was picking the bits out of my teeth all the way to the next pub.

VAT & Fiddle

Cask beers on offer: 10

Potential scoops:4

Actual scoops: 0

Favourites drank: 1 (Castle Rock Harvest Pale, pint, cask).

The brewery tap for Castle Rock, the VAT now has a visitor's centre and a rather shiny new seating area. Some of the aforementioned Spyke Golding's is being aged in whisky casks which could be seen through a viewing window into the brewery itself. And then there was Harvest Pale; I still love the beer, although my palate has changed and - possibly - so has the recipe. Thing is, I wouldn't want to drink it anywhere else, not even in another Castle Rock pub.

 

Ye Olde Trip To Jerusalem

Cask beers on offer: 6

Potential scoops: 0

Actual scoops: 0

Favourites drank: 1 (Nottingham Rock Mild, pint, cask).

Full of tourists clogging up the bar, ordering the wrong food and drinking tea. Tea. Sheesh. But I love the Trip. I've sat here watching moisture glistening the silica within the sandstone; you really are drinking in a cave. There's been quiet mid-afternoon pints and raucous party pints. And I suppose I owe my existence to this pub; it's where my mother's parents met. Today, the Rock Mild was sublime.

 

The Salutation

Cask beers on offer: 8

Potential scoops: 0

Actual scoops: 0

Favourites drank: 1 (Oakham JHB, halfpint, cask)

The Sal is an old pub, some say it's older than the Trip. It sits on top of an extensive cave network. It has a ghost. But, much more importantly, it rocks. When we were there, the jukebox was blasting out one of Lars Ulrich's unfeasibly-accurate double bass rolls. Gentlemen in leather jackets with denim cutoffs debate the precarious state of the Greek economy. And the Oakham JHB did what Oakham JHB was born to do - blow away any other pale hoppy beer on the bar.

And here's a picture of Robin Hood wearing the Ginger Merkin:

Malt Cross

Cask beers on offer: 5

Potential scoops: 4

Actual scoops: 1 (Brewster's Hophead, pint, cask).
And some Paulaner.

Wow. Only an A-board outside to suggest there's a bar here. Inside: scattered furniture, slender columns support an arcade. Plenty of beers to choose from, Brewster's Hophead was one of the best session beers I've had all year - and I'm not saying that because the brewer bought me a pint. The food looked good, the mix of diners and lounge lizards all seemed to be enjoying themselves. I'll be coming back here.

Organ Grinder

Cask beers on offer: some
Potential scoops: a couple
Actual scoops: er, none. I think.
Actual beers drank. Blue Monkey 99 Red Baboons, pint, cask. Duvel, halfpint, keg. Brooklyn Lager, several pints, keg.

Busy pub, rightly so. Knockout quality Blue Monkey beers, interesting keg choices. We sat outside in the roof garden - garden, in this case, meaning "trestle tables" - where the smell of burning garlic from the takeaway next door kept us hungry. I do remember snorting hop snuff off the table. I remember Rich looking like a right tit when wearing the merkin. I remember us all drinking Brooklyn lager as the sun went down.

All in all - a bit odd, to tell you the truth. Nothing like the range of beers I expected and very little in the way of foreign muck until late in the day. But the TBI is somewhere I'd be happy to take breakfast at again, the King William IV had quality beer, Malt Cross was a revelation and Organ Grinder is worth the jaunt uphill.

Thanks to Rich and Jock for an entertaining day and to Nottingham CAMRA's Steve Westby and Ray Kirby for useful gen.

The next venue for Reluctant Scooping will be... ah, you decide. I've been to Derby, Sheffield, Birmingham,  Leicester and Nottingham. If your city has a good half-dozen pubs and bars that offer eclectic beers, give me a shout and I'll come scooping with you. But be warned; the ginger merkin is always invited too...






>

There's a ton of Downfall re-dubs out there, but this one made me fall off my chair laughing. Seriously. I just can't believe it hasn't been done before.

Somewhere, deep in a bunker beneath St Albans...




Whoever you are, Anonymous Drinker, the drinks are on me. As long as it's a foaming flagon of something Fuggley...


>

When you're a Jet,
You're a Jet all the way
From your first barrel-aged stout
To your last IPA.

When you're a Jet,
If the shit hits the fan,
You got bloggers around,
You're a Twittering man!

You're never alone,
You're never disconnected!
You're home on your own:
When your opinion needs media,
Well stacked with feeds, you are!

Then you are set
With a capital J,
Which you'll never forget
Till they cart you away.
When you're a Jet,
You stay a Jet!

Not that I'm narked, obviously. But the weekend warriors who buy a crate of beer, run a blog and then think they know it all are getting really quite tiresome.

To the mouth today who insisted on shouting to the rest of the pub about beer history; why wheat beer is,  like, really cool but no-one buys it; and how Thornbridge have gone to shit just because they own a few pubs... it's cool to be a Jet.

But if you knew the moves, you'd be a Shark. >

So, I've started another blog. Somewhere to blather on about all the other stuff that interests me.

What's the first thing that appears there?

A section about beer. Obviously.

Because there's a project I've wanted to keep separate from Reluctant Scooper. I'm just starting to take the history and science of beer seriously, as in academically so. I don't actually want to be a brewer - and you can quote me on that  - but I do want to know more. I've got half a mind on research, another degree etc and half on actually understanding what the hell is going on inside the shiny shiny stainless.

To those ends, I'm pursuing several threads. Membership of the Brewery History Society, Working on PhD proposals. Working towards the Fundamentals Of Brewing qualification. Spending time on brewdays talking about proper brewing stuff rather than just moping around and waiting for samples.

Because learning ought to be fun (© me, sometime during my over-enthusiastic trainer days, 1996-ish) I thought I'd start by hacking together an A-Z of scientific & historical brewing terms. But what would be more fun would be, rather than just Google it, if I were to ask brewers and historians for their input. And ask you, Joe blog-reading Public, what terms you'd like defining.

So, thinking caps on. Then toddle over to my sparkly new place and leave me ideas of what to look up. If you're a historian / brewer / over-opinionated git, I'd love you to get involved with helping me out. Drop me a line, leave a comment, send me a postcard etc.

PS - if any illustrators / cartoonists etc would like to have a crack at designing some alphabetical-type pieces for me, I'll pay you in beer. And T-shirt reproduction rights. >

I try not to keep hold of many beer glasses. When I moved house last year, boxes of them went to charity, to ebay and to the skip. Cupboard space at the new gaff was at a premium. So the ones that made the move were the happy few that had some technical or emotional significance.

So I thought I'd photograph them, with a beer. Reconnect with why they're more to me than just another vessel. I bought a soft light tent, some spotlamps, dug out the tripod. And you know what?

Photographing glassware is a bastard.

First time I tried, I spent ninety minutes collecting blurry snaps and then spent another three hours drinking a fridge-full of beers. Not exactly dedication to the cause.

This time, it was point, shoot and hope.

Hideous picture, I know. But there's a beauty within.

Straffe Hendrik blonde was my first ever Belgian beer. In Bruges. It was the house beer at the hotel I stayed in, it was happy hour and I struggled with the idea of beer in a funny shaped-and-sized glass. But, three days later, it had become the beer that tuned my palate into a whole new world and the first beer glass I ever bought.

Since that day in 2005, most Belgian beers I've drank at home have been in this glass. Nothing, though, is ever quite the same as that Straffe 6; indeed, the beer in it tonight is Straffe 9. It's a rather sticky tripel, dried cut grass clashes with tired bubblegum. Just the merest smear of warm glue.

I'm hoping the photos will improve - if anyone has hints and tips on glassware pics, please let me know. As for the beer - maybe it's like caching up with your first love only to find she's now heavier-set, stronger in character but slightly bittersweet.



Thanks to beermerchants for the bottle. >

Summer holidays when I was a lad meant the long haul down to Devon in the back of a Ford Escort. Annoying my sister kept be busy until Birmingham (and toast at Frankley services). The I-Spy Book Of The Motorway occupied me down the M5 to junction 31. And then it was time for a game of pub sign cricket. Spot a pub sign, score runs for every leg mentioned. The Cock Inn? Two runs. The Fox? Four runs. No legs? No runs. Arms or legs instead? You're out.

And that's where my interest in pub names first started. Nowadays, when I'm sat outside having a pint, I'm prone to wandering why there's a ubiquity of Royal Oak's, who was Sir John Borlase Warren or what a Bucket of Blood has to do with beer. There's now a book newly out in paperback that answers some of those questions.

Only some, mind you; that's because 'Green Men & White Swans' has a focus on folklore names. Author Jacqueline Simpson is a longstanding member of the Folklore Society and finds the "most fascinating" names to be those drawn directly from British lore. The result is an A-Z of over four hundred pub names with succinct and insightful explanations of their origins.Whether its the commonplace (Red Lion) or the unique (Flitch of Bacon) Simpson delves into legend, ballad and song to illuminate the sometimes not-so-obvious background.

Clear typeset is interspersed with etchings related to the subjects rather than illustrations of the signs themselves, giving greater clarity to the prose. Several mini-essays flesh out the story of particular themes, such as "Puzzling Pairs". The index includes placenames too so you can find unusual examples within a particular location.

It proves to be a great book to dip in and out of, especially at the pub. I now know more about Royal Oak Day and may suggest the celebration to the landlord of my local. Two pubs I'd previously visited  - The Case Is Altered and The Quiet Woman - are included and have descriptions that fit in perfectly with my earlier research. As for the Bucket of Blood - well, I get the feeling that the decapitation of a revenueman in a Cornish smuggler's inn may be a tale that just keeps getting taller.

It's one of those books that never fails to amuse and amaze. What's more, not only do I now know how the Seven Sisters pub got its name, but I know where I can score fourteen runs if I ever get to play pub sign cricket down south.


Green Men & White Swans is published by Arrow and can be bought from Amazon.co.uk


If the style of the cover illustration seems beery familiar, it's because it's by the illustrator Chris Wormell who produced the 'Beer From The Coast' series for Adnams.

And if you really want to lose yourself in the history of pub signs, you can download 'History Of Signboards', the 1907 revision by Larwood and Hotten, from archive.org.


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The Business, Innovation and Skills Committee (BISC) tenth report on pub companies makes for pretty grim reading. There's a litany of intransigence surrounding pubco reform and their Code of Practice - "inability to deliver meaningful reform", "unable to enforce adherence", "this latest attempt at reform has failed". But it's just as grim to imagine that the pubcos were going to roll over and let BISC tickle their bellies.

If I were a lessee, feeling shafted by pubco tactics, I'd want to see everything changing.

If I were a pubco boss, with a property portfolio to manage and make an investment return on, I'd want everything to stay the same.

The report concludes that Government should now consult on a mandatory, enforceable code of practice for pubcos and their dealings with their lessees. Expect that one to run and run for a few more years yet.

Truth is, there's no such thing as immovable object and an irresistible force. Pubcos will, eventually, submit to a system of (I'm guessing) self-regulation that satisfies Government. BISC, or whoever takes on their mantle the next time the political landscape changes, will agree to a compromise.

After all, an immovable object would have to have infinite inertia. Which would then collapse under its own gravity and create a black hole. I know some people have suggested that it would be a fine way for Ted Tuppen to go, but even he can't alter the laws of physics. Surely?

One more thing. The report calls for "all existing lessees and all new lessees should be offered a free of tie lease with an open market rent review based on RICS guidance." What about those pubs operated by The Independent Family Brewers of Britain? The beer tie is integral to their business model. Who's got the stomach to argue that long-standing, family-run, family-investment-led breweries ought to be put as risk of closure by wider reform?

Difficult questions. I expect there will many more years of intransigent answers to come. >

The back room of the Gardeners Arms, Oxford, March 2008. A bunch of ratebeerians are doing what they do best; talking about beer. Specifically, the difference between stout and porter. It's not just young turks mouthing off; the debate was well-reasoned and informative, as is often the case when you have the encyclopaedic knowledge of Chris Owen and Steve Pereira in the room. I knew a little about the subject but learned much that day by keeping my ears open and my mouth shut.

Fast forward three-ish years and I'm now starting to take ever more of an interest into the dropped stitches in beer's rich tapestry. I've started to read 'The Brewing Industry In England 1700 - 1830' by Peter Mathias which invariably draws me into a lunchtime of Googling for the source documents that he references. Particularly as the book opens with the introduction of porter, described by Mathias as "an invention exactly equivalent in its own industry to coke-smelted iron". He acknowledges that the facts surrounding porter's birth are scant and derived mainly from the same source. Which immediately made me want to go digging.

What I found really opened my eyes, not just to the sheer determination of beer historians to unearth the facts from the historical mire but moreso about the clear, cogent and open way they go about it.

It all started with this piece by Martyn Cornell, examining in detail the source of porter history. And then his follow-up article after Dr James Sumner brought more evidence to Martyn's attention. Which led me to reading Dr. Sumner's journal article on how he sees porter as a 'retrospective invention'. And then back to Martyn again. And off to Ron Pattinson, courtesy of one of the blog's comments.

There's total transparency by Martyn in the first piece, with corrections scored-through and remaining visible. Respect between writers in acknowledging differing points of view. Genuinely useful comments by contributors who add detailed background knowledge and original thought into the mix.

I've leaned more about the history of porter - and the determination of beer historians - in the last couple of hours than I've leaned in the last three years. If you haven't already, do go and read those articles for yourself.

I get the feeling that, as I'm now compelled to follow up footnotes and source documents for the sheer brilliance of history that lies beneath, it's going to take me a long time to read Mathias' book. I'm looking forward to every lunchtime of it, no matter how long it takes. >

Confession time: I do some work in beer advertising and PR. And when I first read this comic strip, I wet myself slightly.

Needless to say, I will be using the line "...this tastes like the inside of a Clydesdale's majestic arsehole" in a Ratebeer.com review soon.

And I don't know who's going to use the middle-bottom picture first: someone anti-Carling or someone anti-keg.

And I'm still sniggering about typing the phrase "middle bottom".

Now go and read Big Fat Whale, the ever-excellent site of illustrator Brian McFadden. And laugh yo' ass off.

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 I've been kicking around an idea that, over the last few weeks, has turned into a treatise on beer. I won't bore you with the full enchilada here, but the executive summary is uncannily identical to something I tweeted last month:

"... people who respect beer are the finest people you'll know. Beer is brewed to be enjoyed. When we lose sight of that, we lose beer's soul".

And I think that's a fitting way to celebrate my 500th post here at Reluctant Scooper. I'm off now to celebrate with a beer. Doesn't matter what it's called, who brewed it, what the style is, how it's dispensed.

Just as long as it's good beer, enjoyed.

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I have a problem with drinking in Sheffield. Well, several problems. It used to be straightforward; wander upriver, have a Kelham Island-ish crawl and catch a tram back. Then I kept finding other great pubs. Then even more great pubs opened. And then the Sheffield Tap opened and presented me with the opportunity of drinking in Sheffield for eight hours without leaving the railway station. An opportunity that I've availed myself of several times.

So nowadays I try to hit up a couple of choicer establishments rather than whore myself around the ticking circuit. With a new Thornbridge pub just opened up in town, I came up with a cunning plan; go drink in other Thornbridge pubs as well as the new one. Frankly, that's the kind of genius move that makes Albert Einstein look like a straw-haired buffoon.

Early doors, Sheffield Tap. Possibly my favourite early doors drinking establishment. Every cask beer pulled through and sat in a glass by its handpull. Later, a whiff of Brasso as the staff polish up the fittings. The occasional splurgle of the coffee machine. A bar slowly coming to life. Time to read the paper and savour the first pint of the day; Thornbridge Seaforth. If Jaipur is vaguely metropolitan in flavour and outlook, Seaforth is a hairy-arsed sailor. Uncompromising, bluff, bold. You can almost taste the home-made tattoos.

Then, a bus. Just over the road from the Tap is the Interchange - it's like a bus station, only without the casual threat of random violence. The first bay you come to has a Walkley-bound service that drops you off seven minutes later at the top of Commonside. From where, it's only seconds to The Hallamshire House. Such trips are the stuff of topers' dreams.

I'm the first punter through the doors. The floors are drying out from a good mopping, painters are touching up the borders and plumbers fiddle with, well, whatever plumbers are paid to fiddle with. Thornbridge have spent a six-figure sum on the refurb and it shows. Two small rooms at the front are chock-full of gilted picture frames, ornate fireplaces and copper-topped tables. Past the corridor bar, a larger room at the rear has a more contemporary feel; etched windows, bright stained glass with pumpclip echoes in them.

And then there's one of the most extraordinary rooms I've ever seen in a pub. Conker-coloured leather benches. Large windows break up deep stained wall panelling. Bold wallpaper segues to zebra-print. On a lamp. That lights a full-sized snooker table. Honest. Look:

A steady stream of inquisitive customers kept coming in for a nosearound. An old regular grumbled about the place "moving upmarket" when he found there was no longer any Gold Label. He could have tried a bottle of Chimay White, though: the fridges hold a small but perfectly formed selection of classy Belgians and a full set of Thornbridge bottles. Jaipur is amongst the usual suspects on cask, the likes of Chiron is on keykeg. Both were in cracking form. There's no food, but plans for pork pies are in the offing.

Licensees Becky Stuart and Tom Ashfield have hit the ground running, although the clincher will be when the place is stuffed to the gunwales with locals. Having previously managed another Thornbridge community-led pub, the Greystones, I'm sure they're up for the challenge. Speaking of which, their old gaff was next on my list. As it would happen, the bus stop back into town just happened to have an offie next to it, selling a cracking range of beers. But blink and you'd miss it. I can't even remember its name...

Out to the west of the city this time, up another of Sheffield's seven hills. The Greystones has a totally different vibe to the Hallamshire; roomy, airy, slightly chilled, an attitude on the right side of cool. It's become a much-fancied venue in a short space of time with an eclectic mix of local artists and international stars. I've yet to come here for a gig - I must get a ticket for Wilko Johnson - but I'm often here for the beer. Thornbridge are showcased magnificently here in cask, keg and bottle.

Chiron may just be the best keg beer in the UK at the moment, a carbonic bite honing the hop edge of Chinook and Cascade. Not too sure about Browne, a brown ale (d'oh!) hopped with the new high-alpha Australian hop, Stella. I like a brown ale to be somewhat more robust. And then there was Alchemy XVI. Another in their experimental beers series. A dry-hopped barley wine. 9.4%. Bitter orange and boozy warmth. Outstanding.

Three very different places to go drinking. Each has its own identity, serves its own community. But one thing is constant - excellent Thornbridge beer. The next time you're in Steel City, why not get out to the 'burbs? There's plenty of beer out there to reward your effort. >

I've only had a few green/wet-hopped beers. Some have been feisty and fresh in a "recently-mown-lawn-around-a-herb-garden" kind of way. Others have been unsuprisingly vegetal. With the possible exception of Thornbridge Halcyon, I've yet to find one that I'd go back to time and time again.

Maybe this year things will be different. I need to seek out a few, particularly any that involve wild hops such as Forager by Mayfields.

If you know of any excellent green-hopped beers in your neck of the woods, let mw know. I'm not averse to travelling if it means I track down a tasty green-hopped beer in its all-too-short season.

And for those of you who think green-hopping is a modern craze...

"Some use hops without drying in Brewing, even green as they are gathered, but by good Fortune there are very few who are so wise and fond of this Opinion, That the Fire exhales the fine Parts of the Hops; but where such are used, one ought to have at least half as many hops of the undried Sort as of the others".

From The Riches Of A Hop-Garden Explain'd, 1729, although the author (Robert Bradley) was quoting someone from a hundred years previous. The book is a treasure trove of hop lore; I'll be dipping into it and sharing more excerpts through the coming weeks.
 

Photo c/o The Mad Penguin at Flickr >

So, Williams Brothers Brewing have two entries in the Sainsbury's Great British Beer Hunt. You know the score, there, surely; sixteen beers new the store are pitted against each other with two 'winners' given a six-month listing starting just before Christmas. To be honest, I'm not too fussed about Caesar Augustus, their lager/IPA hybrid; I'd prefer it to be one or the other. Let me tell you, then, about their Profanity Stout.

It actually makes you say ****.

An aroma that's a heady mix of pith, milky chocolate and Parma Violets? **** yeah!

Flavours that dance between singed liquorice, cold coffee and sticky citrics? **** me!

No alcohol burn, no ruined toast notes. Just an honest-to-goodness ******* great beer.

This was developed by two students, Peter and Craig, from the world-renowned brewing couse at Heriot Watt University. Well, **** me, you've well and truely graduated with full ******* honours, lads.

As I almost said in the title, it's a fitting bombard of a beer. Or something like that.

And with my cap firmly doffed in the direction of the Fawlty Towers opening titles, I give you what Williams Brothers may have called the beer if they wanted to play with anagrams. And didn't actually have to sell the stuff on Sainsbury's shelves.

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Four weeks into the diet and I've learned several things:

- You can have a weekend breakfast that doesn't have to include bacon
- You can still enjoy a beer festival or two whilst dieting. Just cut down on the pork pies.
- Not drinking for several days makes the palate grow fonder
- Long country walks are good. Spending two hours at the pub afterwards drinking the calories back on isn't so good.

The net result - eight pounds shed, eight quid in the jar on the mantle. I'm happy with that.

Next waypoint - another eight pounds before the Nottingham CAMRA festival in mid-October.

Thanks again for all the messages of support and donation pledges; if I haven't replied to you personally, I apologise.

Now, where did I put that bag of satsumas... >

Imagine. You're the boss of a pub chain. Recent times have seen a ragged economy, heavy snowfall and the odd riot. Your competitors seem to be surviving via a heady mix of asset disposal and snake-oil. But you've opened another fifty pubs in the year just gone. And like-for-like sales increased overall, even for the bar. Your pre-tax profits fell back to 2009 levels but it's still your second highest pre-tax profit ever. Made off total sales in excess of a billion pounds.

Do you sleep soundly in your bed? Safe in the knowledge that, in the face of sustained economic uncertainty, you're posting good figures, creating jobs and raising a million quid for charity in the process?

Well, if you're name's Tim Martin you'd be railing about taxation instead.

"The biggest danger to the pub industry is the tax disparity between supermarkets and pubs", said the J D Wetherspoons chairman at the weekend release of the chain's preliminary full-year results. Calling this a "serious and unsustainable competitive advantage" he criticised high excise rates (60% of Wetherspoon's tax bill being excise-related) and pointed to how VAT reductions in France and Ireland  have generated jobs and taxes.

And so that's another reason why I like Tim Martin. Rather than sitting back and taking the plaudits for keeping Spoons on a more-than-even keel in these trying times, he's still pushing for equitable treatment of the on-trade. Of all the chains, I believe Wetherspoons stands to benefit the most from these straitened times with their drinks & meals promotions. I get the feeling that they could do so much more; more bars, more offers, more jobs created... and that's just what Tim Martin wants too, if he didn't have one arm tied behind his back by onerous taxation.

I don't expect Punch to be so rambunctious when their results are announced next month.

Over at The Motley Fool, Tony Luckett notes that "pubs are pubs, not property companies, and should be run as such". Tim Martin seems to be proof positive of that approach. More power to his elbow. >

Despite the over-burdened bookshop shelves that argue the contrary, London hasn't deserved a great guide to its pubs and bars. Compared to other capitals it seemed to have lost its beery way; lots of grand old boozers and a few smart joints but no sense of cohesion, no sense of scene, almost a lack of pride. Larger brewers and pubcos had the lockdown - or so it seemed.

But the last few years has seen a radical change. Entrepreneurs and chains alike have realised that drinkers value great places to drink beer. And brewers - including that once-endangered species, London brewers -  have realised that those drinkers are demanding great beer. With old pubs revitalised, new bars trailblazing and London brewers springing up under railway arches and in pub yards, the time has arrived for a guide that can combine traditional information with contemporary styling.

And as if by magic, here it is. Des de Moor had the unenviable task of visiting over 250 of the capital's finest beery establishments to compile The CAMRA Guide to London's Best Beer Pubs & Bars.Why unenviable? Well, that's a lot of pubs to cover. It's not as if he could stop in each one for a serious session.  I caught up with him over a swift drink at Gunmakers to have a chat about the Guide and how London is in the throes of a beer revolution.

As he sets out in the book's introduction, the capital had become "the new city of beer". Once-dead-end pubs have been turned into thriving craft beer outlets. Major chains such as Nicholson's and Wetherspoons have brought great ale to some of London's most historic pubs. An ever-increasing number of microbrewers are carving their niche into neighbourhoods that are receptive to small batch, high-quality beers. High rents and low economic certainty are still a challenge to publicans and brewers but there's a real sense that London is beyond the tipping point. A new breed are finding their way; the genie is out of the bottle and the hops can't be stopped.

Road-testing the Guide started at Gunmakers and continued over the next three days at a wide range of places, from the beer geekery of the Rake via the very different brewery taps of Kernel and Brodies to the grandeur of the City. The layout is fantastically clear and concise, getting across essential info such as postcode and phone number whilst still finding space for Twiiter and Facebook details. The place descriptions worked well, just the right mix of history and detail, with the 'insider tip' adding a dash of colour to the write-ups. Nearby Tube stations are noted too but as Des pointed out to me it's quicker to walk between many of them.

The area maps are clear but perhaps too much so - they don't work too well in helping a newbie navigate between pubs (no road names) and there's no indication of what an adjacent map area is. I found myself using Google Maps and the postcodes from the Guide to help me get around.

My real bugbear with a printed Guide is that it's out-of-date even before it's printed. At least Des has met the update challenge; his site has a PDF of additions and corrections that he aims to produce quarterly. That greatly improves the longevity of the book and is an approach that I feel CAMRA ought to adopt to their other guides.

The introductory essays about London as a beer city are informative and an easy read, not the often-dreary filler that other guides rehash. With a handy background to the capital's breweries and a genuinely useful appendix that lists places to drink by themes such as landmarks or transport terminals, the Guide packs in plenty of useful ancillary information.

With London's stock in the international beer world on the up, this is an indispensable guide to the capital's best beer venues.

The CAMRA Guide to London's Best Beer Pubs & Bars can be bought from Amazon. CAMRA members may prefer to bolster the campaigning coffers by purchasing it instead from the CAMRA shop.






Thanks to CAMRA for the review copy. >

Let's try mobile blogging again and see if it actually deigns to publish.

The Derbyshire Brewers Collective are an association of breweries based in the county. Ranging from the might of Thornbridge to the just-started Black Iris, they've come together to put on a beer festival that showcases the best beers that Derbyshire has to offer.

The Darwin Suite of the Assembly Rooms is bristling with handpulls - and a couple of Thornbridge fonts - with Derbyshire cider on offer too. You didn't know Derbyshire has cider makers? Hang your heads in shame.

It's shaping up to be a great fest. The brewers are running their own sections, which isn't something I've seen in the UK too often. It's certainly great to enjoy a beer and chew the fat with the brewer at the same time.

The festival runs today (Friday) and Saturday in afternoon and evening sessions, £3 / £5 on the door respectively. If you want to try Derbyshire beer at its best, served by the brewers themselves, it's a golden opportunity.

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September already? Sheesh. Time for another Session beer blog Friday, hosted this month by Curtis Taylor at HopHeadSaid on the subject of label, coaster and cap art.

You may think I ought to be more interested in beer arty. I work in marketing, after all. Truth be told, I'm firmly in the camp of stuff-art-drink-beer-and-carry-on. Usually.

I was tempted to pearoast a previous Session post as an Orval label and Chimay cork-cap comes pretty damn close to design perfection for me. But there are three beery things worth a big-up.

Saison Dupont is my summer fridge beer. It's just.... right. Satiating. Post-lawnmowing, pre-BBQ, mid-lounging-around-going-sweet-FA. And the cork cap is simply superb; bold design, distinctive colour combo. And it's got a hop on it. Job done. There's always a few of these knocking around my kitchen (and my garden, my garage, all points between). I'd go so far to say that the Saison Dupont cap is an overlooked design classic.

Beermat collecting really isn't my bag. But I've usually got one tucked inside the pocket of my Tilley LT5. Because I have other odds and sods in there like spare cash and a bottle opener. And a beermat keeps it all flat and out of the way. This one is a Thornbridge beermat; usually brewers' mission statements are a steaming pile of spent grain but these guys live by these words. For which, thirsty topers are most grateful.

And last, but my no means first, there's beer labels. Where the only ones to get me mildly excited of late have been those by Kernel. As this picture stolen from Pete Favelle shows, the killer thing about Kernel labels is they're anti-design. Plain brown paper, identical layout. Why do I love them? They let the beer do the talking. They give you a style and an ABV. Let's be honest; that's all you need.

It's just struck me. Looking back on these three... straightforward, bold, clean design.

Keeping It Simple, Stupid. But still standing out. I'll drink to that. >

Bit late with this one. Let's rip through the write-up; six reasons to be cheerful about Peterborough Beer Festival, ten beers reviewed in three words each, four questions I quizzed CAMRA about and one declaration.

Reasons to be cheerful:

1) It didn't rain on Thursday. If it has rained previously, there was no Somme-like gloop pervading the tents.
2) Beer quality was spot-on.
3) Beer range was spot-on.
4) There was Northamptonshire skittles, dodgems and a caricaturist. None of which I got to experience coz I was too busy drinking (see points 2 and 3 above).
5) Grasmere Farm knock out a very generous hog roast.
6) AlcofrolicChap and Lupulucy are fun people to share beer and banter with.

The beers:

1) Summer Wine, Resistance Mild - Kevin loved it
2) Adnams, Ghost Ship - Smooth citric drinking
3) Arbor, Oyster Stout - Tangy roast chocolate
4) Blue Ball, The Smoker - Smoked Fruit & Nut
5) Fuller's, Brewer's Reserve No. 3 - Figgy vanilla whisky
6) Fyne Ales, Sublime Stout - Seriously easy drinking
7) Hopshackle, Lonestar TPA - Hoppy? Definitely maybe.
8) Northcote, Jiggle Juice - A tangerine dream
9) Summer Wine, 7 C's of Rye - Bittersweet bittery bitterness
10) Thornbridge, Geminus - O.M.G.

And Oliver's Perry. The lodestone of any half-decent cider & perry bar.

The questions:

1) Plans to introduce a third-pint glass / measure? - raised by a number of punters and is to be discussed at the festival 'wash-up' meeting in October.

2) Bottles bought to be taken away from the foreign bar had to be collected from the CAMRA membership stand - why not over the counter like GBBF? -process seemed convoluted, trying to discourage people from walking around with bottles.

Here's hoping for a third-pint measure in 2012; other CAMRA fests with cash bars manage this well. As for the bottle takeaway... I'm not sure. I can't see many being dumb enough to buy takeaway beer and the wander round swigging from the bottle. As all onsite bottled beer was poured into your glass, there were no bottles knocking around and you'd stand out like a sore thumb if you were necking one. Maybe the takeaway could be bagged, taped-up duty-free style and then handed over?

As for discouraging people wandering around with bottles, several thousand punters were wandering around with glasses... unless they were polycarbonate???

I didn't ask about the lack of seating because, er, I got one. My advice for seating at tented  fests? If you want one, get there early or take your own - I saw several Nottingham CAMRA members with camping chairs (they learn from experience).

All in all, probably the best Peterborough CAMRA festival I've been to. Numbers may have been down on last year - maybe not surprising in our straitened times when non-CAMRA members had to shell out nine quid entry, although the three quid glass rebate may have gone un-noticed by many.

Still, there were 26,000 punters who drank 97,452 pints of beer, 13280 pints of cider, 10,755 bottles and 6,500 glasses of wine. As this picture shows, one bearded Kevin seemed to enjoy himself...

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