Ramblings: Stoke-On-Trent

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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