In West Cumbria, pub staff have found a novel way of overcoming any local language difficulties with the Polish populace. A translation card can be brandished and pertinent phrases pointed to; 'The bar is now closed', 'Do you require first aid?', 'Thank you for your custom' etc. As we get the odd misplaced tourist round our way in the Derwent valley, I thought I'd extend the idea fur enny bogger thit goz drinkin rund ear...


The bar is now closed - Avvadenuvv. Boggarovv
We close at... - Thacansuptil leven
Do you require first aid? - Alreet, lad? Wozzup wee ya? Ya badly? Ayyer bin clonked?
If you want to make a complaint, please come back tomorrow and ask for the manager - Dint git mardy wee me, sun. Cumbac tamarra n bellyake aht gaffa
Thank you for your custom - Cheers mi duck!

And if you're in the pub when a weirdy-beardy loses it in front of the landlord;

"Let's be raight. Eh's gorra munk on, tha mardy scrater, coz tha reer gest's gun. Lairy ticker! Hiz doolally-tap!"

- We should be clear about the situation. He's rather moody, the crybaby, because the rare guest beer has run out. The wild beer enthusiast! He is clearly not in full control of his mental faculties!".

With apologies to Richard Scollins and John Titford for this half-arsed attempt, my primary school teacher Miss Whatmouth who steered me away from the affected vulgarities of former pupil D H Lawrence, my junior school teacher Mr Hardman who desperately tried to inculcate the class with this wonderful dialect and my dear old Mum who was absolutely right when she insisted that it was a coat that one kept in the cloakroom, rather than a cowat that wer chucked ont stares...
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With the plug pulled on Nottingham's Victoria Baths, the city's CAMRA festival could have been left in the deep end. Instead, Steve Westby and his merrie volunteers pitched up on the Castle Green for the first Robin Hood beer festival.

More space, more beers, more choice - would the new site hit the bullseye? And with such a range of beers available, could I drink my way to a complete A-Z of British brews in two days?


The city of my birth is fabled in beer circles for hosting a festival that is chock-full of new brews. With a larger, airier venue this year offering even more beers and a historic setting, I took two days away from the day job to make the most of the festival. An early start on Thursday gave me time for some photography down by the canal and a disappointing breakfast at the Cozy Teapot (my old haunt, Bunters Cafe, being closed now. The best breakfast in the country - the Rum Tum - is now just a cherished memory..)



Nottingham Castle is certainly an impressive setting. Although it's more ducal mansion than motte & bailey, there's a palpable sense of history as you wander round the grounds and take in the superb vista over the Trent Valley. I've been visiting here since I was knee-high to a primary school teacher and every visit brings back many happy childhood memories.



Entry was a little odd - buy a wristband on the way into the grounds, then buy tokens and glasses in the marquee. Fair enough, but when I turned up (about 11:30am) I could have wandered straight up to the Castle wristbandless if I hadn't known what to do. Indeed, friends of mine who turned up in the afternoon did exactly that, then had a job to convince staff to sell them tokens and glasses without rolling back downhill for the band.



The huge marquee on the lawn did an admirable job of holding 500+ beers and ciders and many more punters. Even with this much canvas and body heat the beers stayed cool enough as the temperature rose slightly, the festival staff doing a sterling job with the water sprays. Scoopers lined the central aisle, next to two double-sided bars flanked by stalls. I was in and out of the marquee until 6pm on both days and it never felt crammed or cramped.



Most of the time, though, I was out around the grounds. Although the bandstand bars didn't open until early evening, you could take your beer and pitch up on a bench to watch the autumn leaves fall as squirrels bounded around. The defining moment for me though was to be by the castle wall, looking out over the southern shire, drinking some quality English beer whilst the Castle's Union flag snapped in the sharp breeze.



It would be rude of me not to mention food, of course... the baths used to offer cheapish and cheerful council canteen grub, so I was hoping that this larger venue would offer a wider range. Given that punters could wander back into the city for a bite (only a five minute walk to Slab Square), how comprehensive a selection would be on offer? Well, it wasn't bad at all - fish & chips, burgers, 'pork roast' (not a whole hog, sadly, just pre-shredded meat), jacket potatoes etc. But the real highlight was the fresh seafood. Fred Hallam fishmongers of Beeston had a seafood stall inside the marquee that offered a delectable range of fishy bits such as rollmops, prawns and some superb chili anchovies. The real draw, though, were the oysters which could be accompanied by half of Sooty Stout from Nottingham Brewery. Expecting to sell over a thousand of them by the end of the festival, the pairing idea that started off over a beer shared between fishmonger and brewer proved to be a talking point and a real festival treat.



Good to meet up with some friendly faces on both days, too, including my old matey Oliver, Sleepy Mark and his colleagues and a couple of the Thornbridge crew, Alex and Kelly, who were there for the SIBA judging on Thursday (and well happy as Jaipur IPA won the Gold Medal in the Strong Bitter category and Ashford took bronze in Best Bitters).



With Friday bringing a vicious wind, more anchovies and a little early-night music from Amplifiers, I had a fantastic two days. The weather helped, mind - had there been rain, the marquee would have been rammed as there were hundreds outside. Food was good, toilets were plentiful and functioning, atmosphere was a happy one. Though it seems like I've forgot to mention something...

...the beers.

With such a range available, I concocted a subtle Reluctant Scooping plan to score some new breweries, LocAles, old favourites and any eye-catching recipes. Two days, twenty-six beers... so here's my A-Z of Nottingham Beer Festival:

A is for Art Brew. New Dorset-based brewer, their Art Nouveau was a little funky with chewy chutney edges. Plenty of fresh fruit, though, so not too bad overall.

B is for Blue Monkey. Ilkeston outfit that has taken time to experiment before launching their Amber Ale. A clean, literally light ale that was the perfect counterpoint to some of the heavier-handed brews in the room.

C is for Castle Rock. Screech Owl was the SIBA championship-winner here; perfumed with a viscous head, it didn't carry the hoppiness I was expecting for an IPA. Almost seemed imbued with anti-hop, such was the effect on the palate.

D is for Dark Star. Beers from this brewery are always an attraction for me and Golden Gate didn't disappoint; assured hop nose, clean malts, superb fat fruit and a long-lasting juicy finish.

E is for Empire. Ginger Ninja sounded exciting, perhaps a subtle assault on the tastebuds? Instead it was more thin-ger than ninja - a flabby beer with practically no ginger warmth.

F is for Full Mash. I love their dark beers but chose the Cartouche over the sublime chocolateness of Ouija. A mistake - the hint of citrus promised was too subtle and the result was massively underpowered compared to other golden ales I sampled here.

G is for Great Oakley. Looks like I was sold another (non-existent) lemon. Having loved Wagtail at the Brunswick festival a few weeks ago, I was all set to have that again when Gobble promised 'a large smack of hops'. Unless I'd had my hop-palate surgically removed on Thursday night, this was another beer that didn't deliver on the resin front. Average but disappointing given my expectations.

H is for Holland. With Chocolate Clog not appearing until Saturday, I settled for the Hearty Handsome Kimberley Brew. Quoting from the programme; 'a powerful, well hopped IPA'. Guess what - it's only now as I look through my notes that I wonder if the hop fairy stole into the marquee on Wednesday night and had it away on her twinkle-toes with whatever resinous flavours she could find. Was a mite cold on the pour, it did round out to a perfumed golden juice with just a hint of gluey sugar around the edges. Needed a killer hop finish instead of an ebbing malt wash.

I is for Iceni. Oxburgh Hall Plum Stout was my last beer of the Thursday session and what a belter it was. The fruit wasn't overly sweet, the stout robust enough to carry the hedgerow flavours into a drying finish.

J is for Jarrow. Another from my run of ho-hum Friday afternoon beers, Caulker was a rather dull golden with little hop excitement to lift it above average.

K is for Kinver. Penultimate beer of the fest and one of the best, Sweetheart Stout ticked the boxes with its burnished malts and roasty nose. Deserving winner of the SIBA Gold Medal in the Milds, Porters and Stouts category.

L is for Lymestone. This Staffordshire brewery was so new that the beers weren't even listed in the programme. Foundation Stone (see what they did, eh?) was a spritzy, fruity blonde that impressed me and made this brewery one to look out for over the coming months.

M is for Mallard. As a fan of Duckling, I'm always ready to try something new to me from this LocAle brewery. Duckade was a little on the light side, clean and inoffensive, just needed a tad more oomph to prevent the hops and malt cancelling themselves out.

N is for Naylors Craven Kriek sounded intriguing. English brewers seem to struggle with cherry flavours, so would this be any different? Well... it had a fresh, sweetie aroma, certainly cheery cherry rather than sour Morello. A clean fruity beer, certainly too clean for being a kriek, but still interesting nevertheless.

O is for Offas Dyke. The Saaz in Barley Blonde struggled to surface amongst some washy malts. Fairly anonymous.

P is for Potbelly. It was Thursday, the wind was whipping the castle walls, the sun was out and so I didn't drink Beijing Black. Instead, I went for Crazy Daze and ended up with one the outstanding beers of the festival. Lemon sherbet tickle in the nose, lusher lemon in the throat, a rasping catch as it goes down before your buds are soon soothed by a sweet, biscuity lemon pie finish. Outstanding.

Q is for Quartz. Heart had a rare quality - a refreshing pale ale with no killer hop, no lingering malt, no alcohol splash and no real need for any of them. A delicate aroma, flowers pinched between fingers, fruit flavours almost appearing as echos... the skill it takes to produce a light ABV ale that still tastes of something is one of English brewing's under-rated talents. Hats off to Quartz for achieving it.

R is for Ramsgate. With ten breweries beginning with R, it was down to whatever the programme descriptions showed as being a little bit different. 'Unique pale crafted with malted rye' caught my eye and Gadd's Rye PA was a joy to drink. Just enough rye to knock the edges off, an itchy fruit nose and a sustained dry finish made this a worthwhile punt. One that I'd have tried again gladly if I hadn't been working through a hitlist. An assured, satisfying brew.

S is for Spire. Slightly odd to be drinking an old ale in the sun, but Winter's Tale was a satisfying, slightly chewy, deeply malty brew with a hint of dusty spice. Good now, possibly phenomenal in front of an open fire.

T is for Thornbridge. Never mind the fact it's sublime, carrying the flavours of some stupendously expensive raspberry fondant chocolates I once had. Never mind that the hops act like a veneer, lifting the flavour and giving a shine to the cocoa and woody notes. Let's keep ordering it and see how many ways it gets pronounced. Car-Tea-Paw. I want a half of Car-Tea-Paw. No, Car-Tea-Paw. Well, actually, its NOT called Catty-po, Cart-Heep-Pow or Katy-Poo. Honest, the brewers told me it's called.... ah, sod it. Give me half of number 344. Yes, the Catty Paws one...

U is for Uncle Stuart's. No idea why a strong ale gets called Norwich Cathedral; perhaps we can look forward to other beers named after local landmarks like Library Mild, Cow Tower Bitter and Novi Sad Friendship Bridge Double Imperial Lambic. Anyway, it was a superb strong beer, ravaging malts across the palate with a submerged fruit salad trying to seep through.

V is for Vale. Gravitas was one of the few blonde citric beers that actually delivered on its promises, robustly fruited, a clear gold beer with scanty-pants lacing, soft mouthfeel and keenly refreshing.

W is for Williams. Eleventy out of ten for this. Deep, deep porter scattered with chocolate malts that taste as if grubbed up by earthy clod-clagged hands. Then there's passing shadows - an uncle's freshly spilt tobacco, the wooden spoon used by my grandmother to stir the treacle, the last mouthful of washy black coffee after finishing a ginger thin. I didn't want this half to end. Best dark beer of the festival.

X is for XB. With no UK breweries beginning with X, Batemans XB would have to suffice. My first beer of the festival and already disappointed that XXXB wasn't on. Never mind - although this took some pulling (as a brewery bar beer it was on handpump) it was a pleasant beer to revisit, sweet and fruity, one of those beers that is all too easy for publicans to mis-handle and kill off the slight flavours.

Y is for Yorkshire Dales. Sold as a 'bock style dark ale', Kisdon Force didn't pack too much bockness for its bucks but was redeemed by a fresh tobacco nose and creeping sweetness.

Z is for Zeit Geist. Brewdog to the rescue, as Zerodegrees beers won't ever be found at this festival. A deep amber-ish brown (dirty amber? Is that too pornstar-ish?) with a mushy malt nose and latent sweetness. Bit like the unfinished breakfast cereal bowl that you find when you get back home from work, bit sour, bit sweet, bit soft. Need to try this again, soon; towards the end I was beginning to enjoy it but still couldn't nail why.

Some average beers, a few non-plussed ones, a couple of exceptional brews. Potbelly Crazy Daze and Williams Midnight Sun were the two standouts for me with nothing to choose between the two overall.

A hearty congratulations to Nottingham CAMRA and the staff of Nottingham Castle for what was, to me, the finest beer festival I've had the privilege of attending. Here's hoping the weather is as kind next October when we do it all over again.



btw - more photos of the festival can be seen over at my Flickr site





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Let's start with some facts. Beer Exposed was a great exhibition. I met many great Ratebeerians. And some normal people, too. I drank too much, ate too little and left my coat behind. But it was such a pure rollercoaster of great beers and good times. Twelve other things I know for sure, dear toper, so twelve things only will I tell...




Des Mulcahy and Matt Roclawski know how to throw a show. The outstanding venue (Islington's Business Design Centre) was a perfect place to showcase their heady mix of world-class beers, enthusiastic speakers and an easy-going vibe. Des and Matt put together a passionate package that didn't encourage a free-for-all, nor solemn ticking, but let the audience fulfil the exhibition's tenets of 'explore, educate, enlighten'.



Ian Harrison is a jovial beer monster. One of this countries outstanding beer raters and co-founder of the site Pubs & Beer.co.uk , this guy never stopped smiling and enthusing about beer from the moment I met him in the pub beforehand right up to the last beer we shared. He never bored of first-time Schlenkerla Rauchbier drinkers saying 'wow! it's like smoky bacon crisps!' Wandering around with him as he pushed me towards beers that I wouldn't normally have tried was one of the session's highlight.




Flashy stands = poorer beers. Some stands had little in the way of backdrops, literature and the whole corporate shebang. Brooklyn, Brewdog and Thornbridge all let their beer do the talking - racking the bottles up and chewing the fat with you. To sell dodgy Lithuanian cider, wazzy Chinese lager and the spawn of Suffolk's Beelzebub it seems you needed three layers of slap, nightgowns and a sparkler that produced a glass of froth. Svyturys, Tsingtao and Greene King were proponents of 'style' over substance. Shame on them all.



Meantime is an outstandingly assured brewer. I just love the way Meantime operate - competent across beer styles, unafraid to experiment with flavours, distinctive marketing, assured nationwide presence. Bottles you want to hold, beers you want to savour. IPA, London Porter and Coffee Beer prove to me that their mission to bring the consumer the 'most exciting flavours' is superbly successful. Even more kudos for them to be away in a corner, a simple presence, where the beers were enjoyed with passion.



There's always a surprising beer around the corner. I used to equate Zywiec Brewery with underpeforming lager, so I wouldn't have given their stall a second glance if it hadn't been for Ian mentioning their porter. And what a whopper it was; fresh coffee and chocolate, smooth feel and a drying finish. Great to be blindsided by such a beer, glad to given the opportunity. Explore, educate and enlighten indeed!



Fullers are doing something right. It's all too easy to take the rise out of regional brewers, seemingly spending more on fancy glasses than quality ingredients. But Fullers have a keen eye on the English beer market. London Pride may not be everyone's choice tipple, but the thousands who like it are rewarded by a solid, well-made bitter. I make the journey to my nearest Fullers pub - in Birmingham, their northernmost outpost - to get a couple of sessions on London Porter when it's released as a seasonal special. And as the stand here proved, there's always something interesting lurking in the back catalogue - two versions of Vintage as well as the Gale's Prize Old. Fullers are prepared to keep such niche beers going for an appreciative audience, whilst other regionals rebadge and water down once great brews. I know which approach I prefer.



Thornbridge almost burst with ambition. A low-key presence here for this high-achieving brewer, but Thornbridge marketing manager Alex was more than happy to thrust a Kipling at you and let you know what's going down up at the Hall. How the current bottles are good, but when they get their own bottling plant they'll have top quality bottle-conditioned beers available. Why maturing beers in sherry butts is a natural progression from whisky barrel experimentation. How brewers' competitions bring out the best in each of them. Wet-hopped beers, Belgian-style dubbels, beers with herbs grown in the Hall's garden.... Thornbridge could rest on their well-hopped laurels and spend all day brewing their 40+ award winning Jaipur. But they're prepared to experiment with beers that are indeed 'never ordinary'. It's always a joy to meet up with them, even more so to see 'beer newbies' fall under their Thornbridge spell. Seems we all start with Jaipur and then never want the variety to end.



Eric Wallace knocks out a damn fine milk stout He regaled us with tales of US over-hopping and his reaction to the trend, 400lb Monkey, and then revealed what for me was the black ace up Left Hand Brewery's sleeve; a milk stout that achieved a smooth segue through sweet nutty chocolate notes into a drying creamy finish. Eric said he thought it would appeal to the British drinker and he's absolutely spot on. A beer that deserves distribution wider than its likely to achieve over here.



Ratebeerians are the best beer bods I know . Passionate about the styles they love and the styles they love to hate. Knowledgeable about the craft, art and science of brewing. Never insular to the extent of only breathing malt & hops, though - some of the funniest, warmest, most well-rounded people I know are the ones I've met through ratebeer.com . The beers are key to them but not to the exclusion of having a good time. Getting a whole bunch of them together in the same place with great ales is bound to end in fun, sweat and beers. So, to those ratebeer crew that I remember meeting on the day - harrisoni, duff, phil_l, mes_&_sim, thewolf, reakt, magicdave_6 - I salute you.




Collaboration produces world-beating beers. Smaller producers and respected brewers seem to be almost falling over themselves to get into the mash tun together. Perhaps it's borne out of homebrewing, where the community is open, helpful and respectful of the advice offered and received. I'm familiar with some of the English collaborations involving Garret Oliver, Brooklyn's brewmaster (such as Kelham Island's awesome Smoked Porter). So it was an unexpected pleasure to sample an interesting collaboration between him and the Schneider brewer Hans-Peter Drexler. Brooklyner-Schneider Hopfen-Weisse was brewed on the Brooklyn plant using Schneider yeast. A feisty dry-hopped weizen, this was the the beer that persuaded Ian to get his notebook out and start rating. I'll add a full review to Bottled Up sometime soon (I brought two bottles back with me) but suffice to say it was a stunning sherbert fizz of a beer. And the perfect example of what brewers (and friends) are capable of when they knock their noggins together.



Brewdog have a beer for all seasons. I love Brewdog. I've even forgiven Martin Richie for leaving Thornbridge. Because they brew, without doubt, the best quality, no-compromise beers in Scotland. Punk IPA has been my picnic bottle of this soggy summer. And Paradox will be warming my cockles by the fire all through the winter. It was the first time I'd met James and the first time I'd tried Smokehead (their bourbon-barrel matured Paradox); both were intriguing and beguiling, one was smokey and one is a fan of cookie dough... this was a stand that us ratebeerians gravitated to, always a great beer and a good banter to be had. And, guys.... you've got a Paradox matured in a 1968 Islay cask? I'm 40 this year and have been looking for a suitable drink to celebrate with....



and, last but by no means first ...

Phil Lowry is an alien from the Planet Beer. He can't be human. This guy is beer personified. He serves the stuff, drinks the stuff, brews and buys and sells the stuff. Publican-turned-retailer, qualified lecturer, beer sommelier, keen brewer, writer and photographer... makes you sick, eh? At Beer Exposed, he was literally showing the scars of his exploits from where his latest brew had exploded in his face whilst in production. Does he stop? Nah, he's behind the Beermerchants.com bar, pouring and talking and - every now and then - magicking up a bottle of something special. Mikkeller Beer Geek Breakfast, Struise Black Albert, aged Liefmans... Phil's homebrew... although I was too busy drinking Fruli and getting lost in the limpid blue eyes of the lady next to me to take many notes. (And, Mrs H, if you're reading this, yes I *do* prefer your auburn eyes to anyone else's in the whole widest world :-)

Phil travels widely for his beer, meets the makers and shakers, and - in a world of fat tickers and braying wannabe's - can talk the talk and walk the walk without sounding arrogant. The beermerchants stand was the place to be, outstanding beers and a great mix of beer faces old and new. Phil's enthusiasm was contagious and generosity legendary. Many thanks to him for the invite and for the chance, for a few hours, to be part of an event that has redefined how beer can be presented to a willing and enthusiastic audience.



Beer Exposed has proven that there is a market for intelligent, informed events in the beer sphere. A million miles away from the vast festival halls crammed with sweaty yobs, the easy-going atmosphere of relaxed drinkers having a good time - one driven by the beers but never dictated to by them - firmly exposed the myth that beer events are no more than swill sessions for weirdy-beardies. More of the same next year, please... this country's drinkers deserve more events like Beer Exposed.

PS - all photos by me which is why they're a bit shaky. Slideshow and more pics available (though, sadly, not the one of Duff receiving double nipple action from Ang and Tom) on my Flickr site.

PPS - huge thanks to Ray Alcock, concierge at the Business Design Centre, for mailing me my coat back for free. Now, that's what I call service!!!

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There's a certain something about a beer festival in a converted cowshed. Especially one with chandeliers. Ale is only one of the draws to Melton Mowbray - chutney, cheese and pork pies feature highly on the hit-list. Throw in my first visit to an eco-pub and the chance to get my teeth into Comrade Brian's tomatoes and there's all the ingredients of a fest of fun.

An early arrival into Melton gave my the chance to stock up on necessary provisions. Knowing the others would bring at least one pie from Dickinson & Morris I decided to call into Thompson's on the Market Place to get one made by Bailey and Sons of Upper Broughton. Unusually for a pork pie, it's sold by weight rather than size. Then, plenty of cheeses from Melton Cheeseboard plus some chutney from Ye Olde Porkie Pieee Shoppee. Real ale chutney, of course.

A hearty breakfast was needed, so that gave me the veneer-thin excuse for visiting the town's Wetherspoons. The Kettleby Cross has strong eco credentials with a wind turbine, rainwater recycling and solar panels. An interesting looking building inside and out with plenty of glass in the sides, low slung ceilings with ruby red lighting and, away from the yummy-mummies coffee morning, a raised area at the back. This offered an eclectic mix of huge bookshelves hosting a flatscreen TV, carpet segueing to wooden boards and flagstones, an assortment of tables and chairs and an open log fire with sofas around it.

There was a good selection of local beers (Grainstore and Oldershaw); my Grainstore Steaming Billy was superb with clean fruits, thick collared head and liquid malts lined with tropical fruits. A fantastic farmhouse breakfast was eagerly devoured. The staff were always on the go, cleaning tables, shifting dirty crockery, jumping behind the bar if it was busy - a refreshing change from a number of JDWs that I visit.


As I was taking photos of St. Mary's church, I was hollered at by some grumpy old men. Cycling John and Comrade Brian had arrived with another old mucker in tow, Smiley Ray, who I hadn't seen since the winter festival at Burton. We all stopped off at the farmer's market (as thirsty men can never have enough pork pie and cheeses) and had a laugh around the 'antiques fair' looking for a chutney spoon. Which I don't think actually exists, but it kept us occupied until opening time. Though it has to be said, the antiques were more car-boot. In fact, they were more like something that an old labrador had deposited in the car boot. Indeed, I'd have called it an 'old-crap' sale, except that to do so would sully the good name of old crap.

Into the market shed, then. Melton Mowbray CAMRA had created an odd atmosphere. Punters just wandered in, eventually finding the stall on the far wall who took your money for tokens and a glass - with no full refund available on either. That bugged us all. As did the notices stating that 'only food bought here can be eaten here'. Our bags were bulging with the stuff and we'd never come across this edict at Melton before. We took up in a toper trap in the far corner - praying that the geriatric jazz band wouldn't pitch up close by like the year before - and prepared to eat our cheeses by stealth if necessary.

With no list available (another irritation) it required a wander up and down the line to find a starting beer. Hopshackle had been mightily impressive for me this year, so I didn't hesitate in taking a half of their Caskadia. It was a wonderfully light gold drop with floral aromas and flavours. So good, in fact, that I had to have another. The lager bar was my next port of call, Poachers Hare Repie was a little on the hazy side with a bit of overbite to it. A swift trip was made back to Hopshackle for their Historic Porter, which was much more flavoursome, a stout porter if ever there was one.

As we're into dark beer territory, it was time for the cheeses. The Ribblesdale Blue was a goat's cheese, not usually my kind of taste but this was just goaty enough and balanced out by a herby edge.
Lincolnshire Poacher was great, an old favourite, hard enough to take the real ale chutney. More Hopshackle beer was needed, their Historic Ruby Mild (one of my standout beers from the Smithfest earlier in the year) proving to be rugged and fruity enough to complement the cheeses perfectly. The Belvoir Oatmeal Stout felt a little thin by comparison; it still had some good deep bramble fruits and an oaty base but lacked the weight to make it a real hitter in this style. And it would have been rude not to knock off a pork pie at this stage, so our first D&M was unwrapped, given tomato eyes and then scoffed.


The Bailey and Sons pork pie then was soon dispatched too alongside the last of Brian's tomatoes. I preferred the firm crust of this to the D&M we'd had earlier. A Gorwydd Caerphilly was next, crumbling with just a hint of cream. Brewdog The Physics proved to a definitive bitter at this stage, its clean malty notes working well with the cheeses. The Hereford Hop, could have done with a sharper beer as a companion; creamy again with a sharp hop crack in the rind. Apple notes, lovely consistency as it crumbled into a biting, nipping finish

I couldn't now resist some Hopshackle Double Momentum, especially with all beers priced the same regardless of ABV. This seven per cent monster was a little hazy (and, to be fair, was marked as being such on the cask end) but it still had that raw warmth that built up across the palate. There was only really one cheese that we could finish on, Long Clawson Stilton. This was really, really creamy - almost off-puttingly so. Difficult to control, but the effort was rewarded by a real smack of feisty blue rot on your tongue.

I thought I'd round off the session with a perry or two - Two Trees Perry from Gwynt Y Draig did the trick with its intensely soft feel, tripping sweetness and hard sugar rush nose. So good I had another glass, much to the general mocking of my fellow topers.

No fest trip is complete without a swift half in a local pub. The Anne of Cleves looks good from the outside, is properly olde worlde on the inside and even better out in the beer garden. With the late afternoon sun warming the walls, under the shadow of the parish church, it's a garden where I could happily while away a few hours. I realised we were all drinking Brunswick White Feather, mu usual tipple when I return to the said brewpub back in Derby. The beer was considerably more expensive here yet, dare I say it, in better condition than the last few times I've tried it at source.

Overall impression, then. Well, it wasn't the most welcoming of festivals, given the restrictions on the glass/token return and the lack of a beer list ( until the poorly-typed rush job that arrived half way through). I know CAMRA festivals are essentially amateur productions but where's the good practice gleaned from other fests? To be fair, though, the beers were in decent condition overall and had a good balance of familiar local stuff and interesting choices from further afield. The Hopshackle beers were great with Historic Porter probably being my beer of the day.

For the sheer joy of a pork pie, cheese and chutney session inside a cowshed, it's worth the tortuous rail journey on a tin-can crammed with Stanstead passengers. The best fest trips have to be about more than just the beer - Melton delivered a memorable day in the way that only a busy little market town could manage.
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Too cloudy to go take photos of trees in leaf fall. Too boggered to go see the Astons race round Donington. If in doubt, I hit the emergency-bus button and go for a troll up the Derwent Valley - there has to be a few regular beers and more than a few irregular locals to paint a smile back on my cracked facia.


I'm not feeling in great spirits today. I can't even be bothered to go get a hot breakfast cob from anywhere - and when I say anywhere I'm including Greggs. I was looking forward to a clear but blowy day, something to backlight the falling leaves and let me yomp through the countryside with camera on hip whilst enjoying the light and shadow. Instead, it's murkier than a pinty of poorly pulled shit bitter.

Only one remedy - road trip. Up the Derwent for me, deciding that a day of average beer has to be better than a day of overcastness. So let's take Reluctant Scooping to the max and go for those beers that my local pubs are (sometimes) famed for. First stop is the Holly Bush at Makeney. This is a tourist wet dream and pure Sunday-lunch-tribe fodder, but it has its saving graces. Namely, a cracking pint of Farmers (in this case, Brown Cow), some superbly crumbly pork pies and a snug that has two tables, no children and the feeling that generations of grumpty bastards have supped bitter and spilt bile here. It's magical.

A short drop downhill lands you into the King William IV. Different kettle here; no Sunday lunch = no customers. There is food at times, but today the emphasis is on drinking. I choose the Tim Taylors Landlord, never a beer I'd usually plump for ahead of a guest but TTL at the KW4 has a tale to tell. Well, one told to me by Cycling John on out last visit here. Back in the sixties, he used to cycle out here after work for a round trip of about sixteen miles - just to drink Landlord, as at the time it was the only pub near Derby that served it. I'm glad to report it's still in damn fine fettle, a beer sweeter than my palate may be used to but a cracking bitter nevertheless. A lovely pub, too; eclectic furniture, hops strung round the beamed ceiling and a genuine warm welcome. And as if by magic, Cycling John turned up for a swift half or three as he, er, cycled past. I stayed so we could sample the Oakham Bishop's Farewell as well, rude not to etc. The state of which was simple enough to state; well-conditioned, well hopped, well tasty.

Back onto the back seat of the bus for the quick squirt up to Belper. There are several fun things about Belper; the Nailers, George's Tradition and Liquid Treasures. More about the middle 'un later. The Nailers were playing away and Liquid was shut, but I was able to entertain myself with a trip up the hill to the Cross Keys. A Batemans pub - I know that name makes some people run screaming - redeemed by the simple fact that Colin keeps a pint of XXXB that is phenomenally good. Tyrrels crisps, too. And no music, as everyone on a Sunday lunchtime is too busy drinking to spend money on the jukebox. This is an unfussed pub that has a clear dividing line. Bar billiards in the lounge, pool in the bar. Chalk yer cue and choose yer door. The beers are sparking on either side.

George's Tradition beckoned, for a homemade fishcake that had the strangely attractive taste of fresh snuff and peppered haddock. The bus home took me past the Flowerpot, so it would be rude not to call in and have a pint of.... well, in this case, Marble Lagona IPA (just.... mmwwwwwaaa!) And the day proved that an average Sunday downing average bitters can be anything but average.


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On one of his recent trips to the Lake District, a friend of mine brought me back a bottle of Hawkshead beer from the brewery shop. Not any old beer, mind; their famed Damson Stout, promising to offer oatmeal laced with Westmorland damsons. With the weather turning a chill today, I was eager to crack open a dark beer and this seemed to fit the bill perfectly

The bottle poured a ruddy mahogany and gave an immediate whiff of dusty fruit. A scant mocha head subsided to leave a fading beige lacing down the glass. Holding up to the nose, there was a gently aggressive aroma - some sharp souring fruit mellowed by a dry woody note.

And, what a flavour. An assured natural sourness, whilst those oats bring a substantial dry feel to the back of the throat as those damsons vie for attention. The fruit is almost rotting on your lips, a tang that rivals some of the established Belgian fruit beers.

With a drying finish coated in a damson varnish, this was a superb beer. This makes one of my favourite beers, Burton Bridge Damson Porter, seem tame by comparison. My only regret is that I haven't sampled it on cask - if you get the chance, let me know how it was. I won't be too jealous. Honest.

(Thanks to Cycling John for the bottle)
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In this new weekly column, Toper Talk delves into the shenanigans surrounding 'best beer' awards. Castle Rock, as seen here, were rightly proud to have Screech Owl crowned as the SIBA Midlands Supreme Champion beer. But should one-offs like this be allowed to win regional championships? What about American festivals where brewers pay to enter a competition? And does the plethora of awards end up devaluing the truly great beers that deserve praise and recognition. Read on, dear toper....

I was at Nottingham beer festival last week and was surprised to see that Screech Owl had won the Midlands round of the SIBA championship. Surprised as I didn't think it was that great - good, but not award-winning. Other drinkers were surprised, though, that a monthly special had been allowed into the competition. As it happens, Castle Rock have announced plans to re-brew the beer following its success. But what if it won in the national awards and no-one was able to buy it? Would it be fair to generate demand for a beer no longer readily available? Or would the award-winning status spur the brewer back into production, given the clear commercial potential that the award would confer?

Some fellow brewers were dischuffed, too. One grumbled to me that he could have 'ramped up' a recipe and produce a one-off to attract the judges' palates. But this sounds like a case of sour hops - many brewers entered seasonal beers alongside their regular fayre. And if you exclude a beer only brewed for a month, what about those only brewed for 4-6 weeks? Or for the summer? Or those only brewed with fresh seasonal ingredients?

Perhaps it's a case of Castle Rock playing a canny game - again. I recall a certain one-off beer of theirs called 'Trammy Dodger' that won the same award back in 2004 - with its success leading to it becoming a regular brew, Harvest Pale. What better way to test the market that entering a new beer into competition and gauging the reaction, both critical and commercial?

Fair play to Castle Rock and Screech Owl. Not my favourite in the Strong Bitter section (Potbelly's Crazy Daze would have taken my vote) but I see nothing wrong with a monthly special winning in a blind tasting. At least the eight categories had some clarity. Most dark beers seemed to be lumped together and bitters were split into four groups according to strength. CAMRA add a few more categories in to split up the black stuff and give golden ales a home of their own. But some competitions seem to keen on awarding medals to almost every man with a mash tub and a half-arsed style.

The recent Great American Beer Festival had a competition split into 75 beer categories. I'll have to type that again, as I still don't believe what I've just written. Seventy-five. Six categories of stout, not including those judged in the coffee, strong or barrel-aged sections. CAMRA manage with, er, one category. And that's shared with porter. Which is practically the same style anyway...

And it gets worse. It's pay to play at GABF. Some smaller brewers don't stump up the green for the 'privilege' of taking part, as the expense of 'competing' wouldn't make business sense, even if they won a medal. They probably don't have the dollars to enter the World Beer Cup either. Billed as a competition to "celebrate the art and science of brewing by recognizing outstanding achievement", they certainly recognise the $160 entry fee per beer that they charge, plus the cost of air freighting up to twelve bottles. But with an eye-watering 91 categories awarding gold, silver and bronze, there's plenty of medals available.

At least it's only the beer that's being judged. The International Beer Challenge, for 'packaged' beers, awards 40% of its marks on the packaging. The Best of British Beer award honours only those beers sold in Cask Marque pubs. And don't get me started on the Beautiful Beer awards which seem more concerned with flogging a plaque to licencees than awarding the beers.

Too many awards, driven by commercial concerns rather than beer quality, devalue the hard work of the best brewers. If price is a barrier to entry, competitions lay themselves open to criticism that fatter bankrolls could lead to more gongs. All this makes the huffing about 'allowing' beers in the UK to be judged seem rather quaint.

I've never paid a jot towards the likes of the World Beer Cup. In truth, I'm not even bothered by who wins what at CAMRA level. It certainly doesn't sway my opinion at the bar when I see 'Champion Beer' tags wrapped around a pump clip (too many of those fluff on about gongs long since won). Awards? I'd scrap the lot of them and let the drinking public make up their own minds.

Yes, I am a beer judge. At every festival and every bar I visit - every consumer is. I'm paying to play and that's fine by me. It could be a special mix, an established brew or a rocking-horse-shit-rare bottle. I drink my beer and make my choice. And the winners are shoved only down my throat and no-one elses.
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Jonas Kandefelt is adamant that high quality beer is not enough. "You've got to have a story to tell,", explained the MD of Swedish microbrewer, Nils Oscar. So, with a dazzling array of their beers and a little help from IKEA, I donned my trusty apron and set about creating a Swedish beer and food evening. Stories will indeed be told. Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin....

Those fine fellows at Beermerchants.com had been kind enough to send me a sample case of of beers, half of which were from the Nils Oscar brewery. I knew little about Swedish beer - I couldn't remember ever having tried anything from the country - and had never heard of Nils Oscar. So, a little research was in order. A relatively young brewery, it was founded by six beer enthusiasts in 1996 and renamed Nils Oscar a year later when Karl-David Sundberg bought out the other owners. He named the brewery after his childhood hero and grandfather, Nils Oscar Sundberg, who emigrated from Sweden to the USA in 1882. He found work as a tenant farmer and, according to his college assessment, was "honest at all times and never afraid to do his duty". Returning to Sweden, Nils Oscar founded a family farm that was, a hundred years later, set to become the cornerstone of a new brewery.

Nils Oscar has a philosophy that they call "från ax till strupe"; literally, from the grain to the throat. All their malt comes from their own hi-tech production facility in Tärnö, which also supplies malts for local bakers. Brewing is carried out at Nyköbing, having moved from a previous site in Stockholm in order to raise capacity. They have their own bottling line and their own transportation fleet to deliver the finished product to the state-controlled alcohol retailers, Systembolaget, as well as restaurants and bars.

With such pride invested in their creation, it seemed to me that these beers deserved a decent day's drinking. So, what better way of enjoying them than to rustle up some Swedish food to accompany each bottle? Now, the English midlands isn't exactly awash with Swedish delis but we do have one quaint store that has a fridge full of food and a few bits of furniture for sale - IKEA.

Normally, I'd rather tuck into a round of syphilis-on-toast than subject myself to the soul-sucking consumerist maelstrom of this place. But those meatballs don't grow on trees, you know. In fact, Mrs H and I both had a plateful of the things whilst we were there and were pleasantly surprised how tasty we are. I'd asked around on the Ratebeer.com food & beer forum about the kind of stuff I could make and had a fair bit of feedback. We bought sprats to go into the Jansson's Temptation. Meatballs were a must-have as well. Lingonberry jam was a revelation in the IKEA restaurant so we had to have a jar of that. Fishy bits in vinegar would act as a mid-feast nibble, almond tart suffices as a dessert and Knackerbrod was bought just because it has the word Knacker in it.

Jansson's Temptation is one of those recipes that I've had knocking around for years and never got round to cooking. It's one of those dishes that looks good as you put it together, it starts to feel like it's going to be a proper stick-to-your-ribs job, all that starch and creamy stodge. True, the Abba sprats looked like squashed silver soldiers drowning in vinegar, but the one I nibbled on whilst cooking was strangely tasty. And it's good to see that Benny is in gainful employment since the gigs dried up. Perhaps Anni-Frid helps him out with the packing when he has a large order to ship out.

Anyoldhow, the Nils Oscar beers. All this chopping had made me thirsty, so I cracked open beer number one, God Lager. That's God as in good and I'll second that emotion. Pouring a burnished yellow with a sticky-spit head, the lacing spread like mould seen in speeded-up timelapse photography. There was a keen malt aroma, an itchy feel in the throat, an almost fresh yeasty flavour flopping across the tongue. A sweetness ducks and dives across the palate, avoiding cloying, keeping the flavour alive. Even after thirty minutes in the glass (yes, I *am * a slow cook) there's a clean malt feel with only a passing sweetness that lingers.

The Jansson's Temptation was soon ready. It was reasonably gorgeous - unctuous, very filling but just slightly too heavy going. Though we did seem to be polishing off uber-portions of the stuff. If there's a next time for this recipe, perhaps less cream or a slightly-longer cooking time would work better. Loved the haunting fish flavour, mind. And it set me up for another beer, the India Pale.


This had a fantastic orange glow, backlit-Lucozade with a steady sparkle. A huge rocky off-cream head rapidly diminished. Some soft soap aromatic hops washed around the nose, a really smooth feeling beer with soft carbonation, silken on the palate. There was just enough fizz when it was worked around your mouth, that soft feel on your lips again, with pine notes stripped across the palate. It was a competent pale ale, biting enough to turn over the cream feel left by Jansson's, albeit nothing too savage in the way I usually take my IPAs.

Let's be honest; this isn't the most appealing picture I've ever taken. Yes, it bears an uncanny resemblance to a collection of droppings deposited by a variety of woodland creatures. But it was darn tasty. Let's give it the Joey-from-Friends test; Potatoes? Good! Jam? Good! Mustardy sauce? Good! Meatballs? Duh, they're MEATBALLS! Meatballs are always good! Yes, the mustardy-sauce was a pain to mix and only got better after I sieved the lumps out, but the rest was steller. I still can't believe that meatballs and lingonberry jam work so well together.

Moving up the scale, I opened Kalasol as beer number three to go with the meatballs. The deep copper body poured with almost no head. Terrifically good doughy scent, real whiffs of sweet pastry. And then crispy pasty. That soft feel round the lips again, developing into something of a trademark for these Nils beers. The light carbonation and hints of very milky chocolate gave it quite a lush lick that remained understated but confident. Complemented the meatballs well, though it would have rocked with a beef stew and potato rosti. Note to self - more beer and food evenings required.

Dessert time, then. 'Tarte mandel' turned out to be a superb, almondy, crispy-creamy pastry concoction. Perhaps a hint of coconut? By now, with a belly full of rich creamy fish and meaty balls, I should only be taking a sliver of stuff like this. But, after the first mouthful, I find myself cutting huge chunks off and stuffing it down. It keeps that creamy vibe that's been a hallmark of the dishes tonight and I find it surprisingly good for a frozen pastry dessert.

With the food out of the way - let's not mention the pickled herring and dill - the hardcore Nils Oscar beers awaited. Having forgot to buy any cheese, the last two beers tonight get sampled without food. The Imperial Stout had by far and away the best pour aroma of the day, split liquorish root driven through the mesh of a well-worn cafetiere. Plenty of creamy coffee infused from smoked beans ensued, again with that wonderfully soft mouthfeel. With the restrictions placed on them by Systembolaget, Jonas Kandefelt reckons that microbreweries have to go national and chase the export market to survive in the long run. The Nils Oscar Imperial Stout not only deserves to be lauded throughout Sweden, but exported successfully as an prime example of what this heady brew of passion and skill can achieve.


To be frank, pretty much anything after that impy was going to be a disappointment by comparison. The Barley Wine was chock full of overwhelming candied sugar; fine if it's backed up with a deep-heated spice and/or an alcoholic-y edge. This pulls its punches, a super-sweet beer that's a little too thin for its own good. Not a bad beer, by any stretch of the imagination, but one that fails to pack the suckerpunch that a barleywine demands. I'd keep the other bottle I have and age it, but I'm not convinced it would really improve. Perhaps 'fresh barleywine' is a style yet to define itself within modern Swedish brewing. Not too sure if it's one I'll be revisiting too often, though.

With a kitchen full of creamy washing-up to be done and assorted glasses littering the living room, time for reflection. The food has been average-to-magnificent. Jansson's Temptation was just about worth the bother of cooking. And the Nils Oscar beers were... soft. Incredibly so. Every beer, regardless of style, had a smooth feel about it. Which worked surprisingly well with God Lager, so-so with Kalasol, not overly great with Barley Wine and ruddy wonderfully with the Imperial Stout. Where silky palates were required, Nils Oscar delivered. There's something in the water at Nyköbing, and it's coupled with an easy assurance that they're brewing good beer in a robust manner.

Their brewmaster, Patrick Holmqvist, has said, "Swedish beer culture... is imported. We have a wide array of styles from a wide array of influences... but we have no distinctive Swedish beer style yet". I firmly believe that Nils Oscar are on the way towards shaping that definition. Sweden could be on the cusp of finding a soft-carbonated, clean malted, deep-flavoured, mid-strength style that doesn't need to pander to the overtly hopped movement of much American craft brewing or the 'rent-a-flavour' feel of new English microbrewing. Getting the beers out to a wider audience is a crucial step. The story of Nils Oscar may be seldom told so far, but it deserves to be recited in bars all over the world for many years to come.
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Wake up. Catch train. Go to beer festival. Drink beer. Drink cider. Eat pork pie. Catch train. Drink beer in Brunswick. Go to bed. To be honest, I'm getting bored of writing up fest trips. Would a visit to Tamworth be any different? Would there be something more imbibable than average British bitters? Would these gentlemen make it back to the rest home before curfew? Read on, dear toper.

To be honest, the day didn't get off to a great start. The new rail fares are anything but fair; the 20-minute Derby-Tamworth trip cost me more than the peak time fare to Brum used to only a few weeks ago. But this wasn't for any old festival; this was a Tamworth festival. New breweries. Church End specials. And the finest trio of food shops that I know of; Truckles for cheese, Claridge and Son for pork pies, Wood and Son for fish. Cycling John, Comrade Brian and I stocked up on cheese and porkies - we thought we'd not bother with DIY sushi - and set off in the rain for the Assembly Rooms.

Steady rain resulted in a wobbly line of wet tickers queuing for fest entry, which didn't bode well for the aroma later on. The eau de odour of certain tickers reaching reheat often puts me in mind of an incontinent Labrador. With Tamworth having a somewhat compact layout, as the rest of the line spawned left into the main room I bolted right to secure one of the few tables in the small but perfectly formed bar/dining area.


Pretty soon, we had a table full of pork pies (from Morris), cheeses (including the sublime Black Bomber from the Snowdonia Cheese Company) and Comrade Brian's home grown toms. The food was so enjoyable, it slowed down the purchase of beer. Amends were made with two rapid halves; Church End's Mocca Chocca Focca (fairly underwheling, some itchy chocolate faded into a thinning malt by the finish) and Beowulf Coffee Hazelnut Porter (needed a few minutes to warm when it revealed a superb creamy nuttiness).


I'm still experimenting with pork pie production and am having jelly problems. The stuff in the first pie was good - you could put a thumbprint into it and watch it spring back. My jelly is not so much runny as theoretical. Gives me the opportunity to stuff my face full of other people's pies; er, I mean conduct in-depth market research. All this pie malarkey was distracting me from the beer. The other chaps had sampled some damn fine looking light beers like Brown Cow IPA, but I decided to stay with the dark side. A Reluctant Scoop for me; though you can't come to this fest and not scoop a new brewery. Outstanding have been up and running for about six months and I'd yet to try anything from these Bury-based brewers.

I gave their stout a crack and, by gum, it was good. Fairly hoppy, deep malts balancing the flavour out, enough body to carry bold flavours into a satisfying mouthfeel. So good, in fact, that I decided to try their other beers on offer. Their Ginger beer had a fantastically agressive aroma, thinning a little on first taste but developing a slow spice burn as the beer warmed. There was an efficient cask cooling system here, perhaps a little too efficient as some flavours were chilled out on the pour and needed time to come up to temp and fully develop.

As we tucked into a majestic hand-raised pork pie, I went to complete the set of Outstanding beers with their Standing Out. Hazy gold with a thick citric lick, there was plenty of smacking hop oil squeezing out through the keen malts to deliver a real lipsmaker. Clearly the best trio of beers from a brewer new to me since those I had from Hopshackle. With the cheese demolished, pork pies reduced to crumbs and the toms all gone, it was time to shift through the gears and stretch those drinking trousers.

That last Outstanding beer had given me an IPA lust; Comrade Brian had been struggling to find light beers that were to his liking but he was able to point me towards the Woodlands Super IPA which certainly upped the bar with its punchy hop nose and fat wet fruity flavour. I sampled a couple of the chaps' beers as well; Great Heck Golden Fleece had a rather gluey feel with dusty hops and Brampton Aspire had an odd fruit flavour that no-one could put a name to. Back to the dark beers, then, with some heavyweights to round out the day.

Having loved their porter earlier on, I had high hopes for Beowulf's Strong Mild. At 7.4% I didn't expect it to be exactly mild. And so it goes. The faintest petrol spiral on the witch-tit flat, black to brown body. Christmas cake forced through an oil sump for an aroma. Fruits in the flavour not so much developing as rupturing under the concentration of alcohol steeped within. As it warms, a higher register aroma kicks in that Cycling John noted as that of cycle puncture fix solution. This was a massive, MASSIVE mild, it would take Sarah Hughes' Dark Ruby down the alley and paste it senseless.

As the picture above shows, Dave Unpronounceable had braved the nose-bleedingly giddy trek from Sheffield to serve beer darn sarf and gave his punters a warm Yorkshire welcome. My next beer had to be Bass. I mean Museum Brewery. Sorry, White Shield. Sod it, let's call it what it is - proper Bass beers, brewed by a proper brewer, albeit not for much longer, it seems. But what a choice to make; Bass Number 1 or P2 Imperial Stout? The complex barley wine or the intensely layered darker beer. Only one thing to do - buy both and mix them. Texting Mes to get his patented formula, perfected at Rail Ale earlier this year, a few reverential sips were taken from each glass before creating some kind of monster. I could play a round of beer bullshit bingo and take you through an un-necessarily overlong description of the effect, but John said it all after one long slurp; "My goodness!!". I then inflicted Brewdog Tokyo onto my rapidly-fading tastebuds. I'm convinced I was drinking alcoholic soy sauce. A Japanese chain smoker had expectorated into my glass. Did I love the sticky tar-laden smoke-fest? Do bears practice Catholicism?

With no way of improving on these last beers, it was time to Reluctantly leave the fest. And, er, go to the pub. The Globe was an impressive looking building with lots of 1980s brasswork and crass carpets. And Worthington cask. And something that must have been palatable, as I definitely had half a something from a handpump. But, in my post-Tokyo state, anonymous brown bittery stuff was literally pale by comparison.

So why did we stop in the Albert for a drink as well? I've always had nothing but below-average beer in here, it's never going to have a beer the equal of anything at the festival. But, every year, like a dog returning to vomit, we stop for a drink here. At least it allowed me to a) go for a huge crap, b) eat the chicken sarnie I bought earlier and c) water the plastic hedge with whatever fudge-like bland crap it was that Comrade Brian bought me.

And what's with plastic hedges? Are they wash wipe? I ruddy well hope so, the amount of crap beer that must get poured on them. Is it modular? Do you slot in seasonal varieties - holly for winter, hawthorn to prevent gatecrashers? Or is it part of a gigantic oversized Playmobil set? Is there some eight foot tall freak queuing for the BBQ in the rear beer garden with a crash helmet hairdo, poor fashion sense and no genitals?

Off to the train, then, and some light relief. The upside of the pricey 'peaktime' tickets was that the Cross Country service wasn't stuffed to the gunnels with shrieking PAs and unemployable students. Comrade Brian treated us to a grand precis of left wing political theory (I think) and Cycling John nodded in all the right places. Though I preferred Brian's excellent Tommy Cooper impersonation. At least, I think it was the Coopermeister - I had nodded off five minutes before.

Back into Derby in good time, then, for our Survivors Club pint in the Brunswick. A White Feather is always welcome, even at the end of the beeriest day. Mind you, I was so tired by this point that my photos turned black and white. But it had been a cracking day - top nosh, great range of beer, high quality, excellent Reluctant Scoops and some enjoyable old faves. A couple of dire pubs, mind you, but overall it was a day that reminded me that some CAMRA fests are worth drinking at and are fun to write about after all. >