Pandemonium at the Pub

As I neared the end of my walk to the pub yesterday I was on my last quarter mile when an approaching car going downhill away from the pub stopped. It was some of our regulars who had just bailed. "It's rammed in there - you'll have trouble getting in the door." I laughed, exchanged New Year's greetings and trudged on.  Boy was he right. I literally fought my way in through a throng of strangers, push chairs and children. Crikey! Dotted round the edges of the bar were a few regulars, but otherwise I didn't know a soul.  I elbowed my way to the bar and got served.  Not much waiting for us bread and butter types and that's how it should be on days such as this.

Our pub is unusual in many ways. Firstly it is fairly remote, set amidst four farms in the middle of a country park and a mile from either Royton or Middleton, up unmade farm lanes which are used mainly for the milk wagon, farmers getting to and from fields by tractor,  livestock and by walkers.  The pub itself is small, old and has just two rooms. The landlord can only make it pay by working the shifts himself entirely. It is really a "hobby pub" where the way of life is part of the deal.  Now of course walkers are part of the passing trade and are very welcome, but this was of a different magnitude. If only some of these once a year drinkers would come a little more often, life would be better for all. We need some more regulars.

I squeezed in at the bar as the pub got busier. I'd only been there a few minutes and watched as orders for soft drinks, teas and coffees, slowed down the serious business of getting a pint or two of beer.  One lady asked the landlord if he remembered her from last New Year's Day.  He replied that he didn't as he whizzed up and up and down. She ordered two coffees. Regulars helped by clearing tables and fetching empty glasses back to the bar as the crowd was three or four deep.  More locals arrived and found a corner here or there.  At ten to three the bell was rung in earnest for the first time I can recall in years.  All waiting were served,  the bell was rung again and that was that. The strangers supped up and left. Not us regulars though, nor those who fancied more than one. The bar opened again shortly after three fifteen for a couple of hours and we carried on supping in a much more civilised manner.  Anyone who passed was admitted, locals or not. The doors weren't closed, but the pub was much more convivial and the landlord got a much needed breather.  He'd worked hard and deserved one.   

The Lees Bitter and Plum Pudding were excellent and when the pub closed, we bailed to the Ship for half an hour while waiting for a taxi.

It was strangely reminiscent of the old days when pubs stopped serving at three all the time.  I quite liked it, but then again I knew I'd be getting another drink. I did too then in my Liverpool local come to think of it. What goes round, come round and being a regular has some advantages!

Colin's Coat

One of our Sunday crew, Colin, has a record of losing his coat from our pub. Always it has turned out that someone else, known to him and to the rest of us has taken it by mistake. The sort of mistake that you may well infer has a degree of alcoholic influence behind it.

Last Sunday after a typical session. We - Colin me and E - were offered a lift down the lane by one of the other regulars whose wife had called to collect him in a big 4x4. We accepted as it was inclement and well, who in truth really fancies a mile walk down a rutted, cow shit filled lane in the dark?  E and I were in the car, Colin was in the pub rummaging for his coat. He couldn't find it. The curse of Colin's coat had struck again.  With all of us hooting disrespectful comments from the car, he reluctantly left the pub and jumped in, casting wistful glances back into the pub. At the bottom of the lane E and I hopped out. Our benefactor was passing Colin's door and dropping him off there.  We turned to the nearby bus stop and I put my hand in my pocket to find an unfamiliar object there. It was Colin's cap. I was wearing his coat.

Well. What to do? E nipped along a couple of hundred yards to Colin's with the coat and I, fortunately with a thick jumper on given that it was chilly,  trudged wearily back up the lane for the mile to the pub to fetch my own coat.  I met a couple of our lads on the way down who were not entirely sympathetic to my predicament.   I may even have heard the buggers laughing as I walked on.  John the landlord did keep a sort of straight face, but not by much, when I re-appeared.  At least the walk down was warmer and downhill.

This Sunday when I arrived at the pub I was subjected to many coat based comments and much ribbing.  One of the things about having a local is from time to time you take a fair bit of stick.  Still, it's nice to belong.

When on that lane at night alone you realise how creepy it is.  And bloody dark for a fair bit, as lighting only goes half way up.  E was meantime as snug as a bug in Colin's house.  Despite a fair few pints, my extra two miles certainly sobered me up.

More Stouts Please

Porters seem very fashionable these days and when we talk of fads (or trends if you like) in beer, there is IPA, saisons, sours etc. but you do see an awful lot of porters. Or a lot of awful porters -  but they rarely seem to get a mention.  Now I like stouts and though the line between a porter and a stout can be a blurry one, I tend to subscribe to the view that porters are sweeter and less roasty and stouts are bitter and include much more by way of roasted barley.  They should also in my view at least, be hoppier, particularly with a bit of hop resin to finish. It counters the other flavours within the beer and makes you want more. Stouts too should be full of mouthfeel. Nice and thick.

When I brewed a stout with Allgates Brewery some time ago - with others - we wanted to produce a stout that ticked all these boxes and I believe we did though perhaps we could have got more of a resinous finish. But that's probably just me.  Yesterday I tried JW Lees Archer Stout - one of their seasonal beers and just released yesterday.  Now Archer Stout is named after those Middletonians that went to Flodden Field in 1513 to fight the Scots. Their weapon was the bow and arrow, hence Archer Stout.  Their feats are commemorated in our local Parish Church here in Middleton by a venerable stained glass window, reputed to be the oldest war memorial in the world.  (A war memorial has to have the names of those that fought). I have seen it and it is rather fine, as is the (partly) Norman Parish Church. Worth a visit if you are ever in this neck of the woods and in need of culture.

But what about the beer, not those misguided souls that killed so many innocent Scotsmen? Well the brewery describes it thus: "A ruby/black beer made with five different malts and Target hops to a roasted molasses nose and a roast chestnut and liquorice taste." It weighs in a 4.6% and it has been some years since it was last on Lees seasonal list, though its brewing origins go back to 1951. I remember though it as a bottled sweet stout of much more modest strength. It disappeared when Lees stopped doing their own bottling a good number of years ago.

Yesterday at the Tandle Hill Tavern, in atrocious weather, I went to try some.  John, the landlord greeted me warmly and around me were many trying this dark brew. "It's going well" said John.  The beer is rich and dark, with a bitter-sweet taste that melts into a roasty, liquorice middle and a fairly short finish.  I didn't detect the chestnuts, but it was a good beer, with enough body and taste to make you want a second. I could have done with my favoured resinous, hoppy finish, but you can't have everything. It is a very decent stout and I reckon it will do well judging by the positive reaction in the THT.

It was served through a tight sparkler to give a tight, creamy head and trust me, it had condition. 

The previous seasonal, Plum Pudding is though to me the pick of Lees seasonals. Glad to say they are now making them so much different in taste to the bitter and it is telling in excellent sales. I have nagged them on this point over the years, so claim, if not credit, foresight.

A Welcome Sign

They say a picture is worth a thousand words.  So here is my picture from a warm Sunday.

The pub was heaving. Nice to see it trading well. 

We drank the place dry of Lees seasonal beer, Hoptimist, which is really rather nice stuff.

Local Update

The new landlady is now fully ensconced in the pub and getting things moving again. I've mentioned before how when there is a change or impending change of licensee in a locals pub, how it has a very unsettling effect on us regulars. We worry about the beer, who they'll try and attract, what changes will be made and a thousand other trivial things, though mostly we just put it to the back of our mind while asking of each other in hushed tones "Any news about who's taking over yet?" It is normally considered bad form somehow to ask the current incumbent, though of course surreptitiously we do. After all who would be in a better position to know?

A sure sign of things returning to normal is eggs appearing on the bar for sale, a full range of beer and the promise of Lees seasonal appearing soon. The pub is attracting its usual crowd and the casual walkers from the nearby country park. The walls look a bit spartan however, as the new landlady has yet to put her imprint on them, but we are content enough.

Why do we bother? It is hardly convenient, being on top of a hill, up an unmade farm road, a mile from the main roads on either side. It's a bugger to get to in the winter when it snows and not so pleasant a walk when the wind howls or it is chucking it down.  Like all people that attend a local, you can't exactly say, except the familiarity of it once you've hoofed up the lane, the calls of recognition as you enter, the welcoming roaring fire in winter, the conviviality of our friends and the usual banter and conversation is what does it I reckon. It's a little piece of publand that somehow belongs to us.

It kind of sticks with you too. I had a call from the Landlady, an ex tenant who is in sunny Cornwall on her hols. After the usual exchange of pleasantries she asked "How's the Tavern?

She always does.

Read what Beer Writer Arthur Taylor said about it here. It was some time ago, but gives a flavour.

Ring in the New

My local is getting a new landlady. The current incumbent has given it a good shot, but has decided it isn't for her. We've known for ages and the pub has been struggling, as inevitably enthusiasm has waned, particularly as the licensee has a new job. The uncertainty about the future of pubs is is a common enough phenomenon I suppose and at least, though it has taken ages, we are getting someone to take over. Not everyone is that lucky in these days of closures. We are all glad and just want to get back on track beerwise and for a period of stability to commence. There has been a few issues in the period of change, or rather, waiting for change to happen. Beer quality has sometimes been poor, so much so, that yesterday a mass evacuation to the Ship was undertaken. There, there was much relieved supping of quality beer, mostly on cask, but in my case it was Bohemia Regent, which has become a firm favourite.

The date of the handover has been agreed and the new lady - for it is a she - will take over from the 13th August. I've already met her and she tells me she likes her cask ale, so to cement her into that, I gave her a CAMRA membership form.

We have no idea what her plans for the pub are yet, but a liking for cask beer is a very good start.

Strawbeery

Lees Summer seasonal is the delightfully named Strawbeery which as the name suggests, has real strawberries in it. It was on in the THT yesterday and I asked for a taste before committing. It got the thumbs up from me, but the boys I think it is fair to say, were unanimous in not particularly liking it, but I thoroughly enjoyed a couple of pints. The nose is distinctly of fresh strawberry fruit and it's there again in the taste, but it is not overwhelming, more of a subtle hint and the beer itself is astonishingly pale and clear, with a dry, herbal, bitter (not hoppy) finish.

It is quite a departure in style for Lees and one that will divide opinions, but I liked it a lot and as today is starting off bright and sunny, I think it will be perfect later for a few.

Seek it out and see for yourself.

Sorry for the poor quality photo.

Bumpy Lane

I have once mentioned our pub's special beer in this blog way back on Christmas Eve in 2007, but I think it is the only time I have done so. The Landlady pestered Lees for another beer to enhance her cask offering. The result was a dry hopped version of Lees Bitter which was named after the rutted lane which leads to the pub, hence Bumpy Lane. As an aside it was named after a competition for a name for the new beer, some of which had particular local meanings and allusions and were exceeded in their inappropriateness, only by their libellousness.

We had wondered if a change of licensee would bring an end to this unique little feature - and it is unique to our pub - I confirmed this with the Head Brewer yesterday - but no, it is still there and is selling well. I have never been a total convert to it, but I do enjoy a pint of it now and then. My way on a Sunday is to start slowly with a couple of pints of mild then move on to Bitter and I did so this Sunday too, but detected that tell tale taste that the bitter is nearing the end. Not enough to complain, but that slight loss in condition and very faint, but recognisable taste of "bottoms" where the beer is picking up a slight touch of the sedimented detritus of the cask conditioning process. So I switched to Bumpy Lane and this was a very good sample of it, with a distinct dry hoppiness which lifted the beer considerably. If you ever come to the THT, do try a side by side comparison.

So, things are shaping up nicely at the pub and a return of in form Bumpy is another good thing, as is the reappearance of the seasonal beer. Nice to see my local and new landlady Sarah, doing so well.

Bottoms refers to the lees at the bottom of the cask as a result of the secondary fermentation. It has no other connotation.

A New Landlady

As expected our new landlady has been signed up (or should that be snapped up?) by Lees and duly installed in the Tavern. Sarah is a local farmer's daughter and knows the place, so all should be well at the THT. Her family has run the pub before in the dim and distant past. She is in fact related to the alleged pub ghost, though I fortunately never encountered that even late at night and alone in the pub. She has brightened the place up a little (less red, more white) and the beer was fine. The food menu has been cut back to substantial snacks rather than full meals, though what came out of the kitchen still looked good and all the meat is locally sourced. The pub was busy and it seems that on her opening night it was so full that the till shuffled off its mortal coil, or, went to silicon heaven in its case.

A host of farmer's daughters were helping her on Sunday and all seemed well with the world. We all breathed a sigh of relief as our pub is safe for a while at least. It will take some time for Sarah to stamp her personality on things and get the place the way she wants it, but a start has been made. Lees seasonal beers will appear soon and from my point of view the only negative is that San Miguel has replaced Bohemia Regent, but I'm guessing Sarah feels that San Mig will be the better seller.

My next visit will be Wednesday for our Quiz League match where after match snacks are required. "No problem" says Sarah. Good stuff.

Photo to follow. I forgot on Sunday.

Ticking Over

Our pub, bereft of Landlady continues to provide Sunday entertainment for us. It is being run more or less on a wing and prayer, as despite having departed for pastures new, the Landlady remains responsible for it until a new tenant is found. It was busy yesterday and the beer was in very good form, so we battled on regardless. I have done a few shifts behind the bar, lit fires and looked after beer, as have one or two others. We are pitching in. It isn't in our interests to see the pub close, even though opening hours are severely limited. We all hope a new tenant is found soon and we listen eagerly to the various rumours of who might or might not be interested.

This is the thing that those who don't have a long term local just don't understand, that is, why me and others are prepared to do things for nothing just to keep a pub open? But it's our pub. We have been going there for donkey's years now, seen several tenants come and go and we will be there after the next one has come and gone too. Good publicans make pubs, but good customers do too and we have some brilliant customers. There is even various talk of co-operatives if all else fails, but we doubt if it will come to that. We reckon someone from not too far away will take it and we can all relax again.

On a similar note, on Saturday night I was a guest at another landlady's leaving do in another lovely pub. Like our pub, the locals are worried about who will take over. This is a bigger operation altogether and the ingoings are hefty. Everyone who drinks in pubs sees the "Tenancy Available" signs all around and that same nagging worry that no-one will be found, eats at their regulars too. The pub was heaving on Saturday night, but you couldn't help but reflect on two things. Firstly that pubs always used to be as busy as it was that night and secondly, that if all the people that attended the farewell party had come more often, there probably wouldn't have been the need for one.

On a more positive note, the Landlady is doing well at her new pub. All the smooth beer has been dumped and four cask ales installed. The place has been made over in her own inimitable way. It is trading well. Our loss is Thwaites gain. Likewise the other licensee has gone to Robinsons and will no doubt be a success - she knows her stuff. I don't know the full stories behind either departure, but whatever it is, two local pubs to me have lost two splendid landladies and that isn't good.

The silver lining in this pair of clouds though, is that at least they aren't leaving the trade and clearly still have faith in pubs. As a pub goer and trade observer, I'm pleased about that.

End of an Era

It was a surprising and eventful day at the pub yesterday. The landlady has handed in her notice. She has been struggling and the terrible winter weather has caused a lot of customers to stay at home, the lane has been the worst anyone can remember and while heating bills soared and other costs rose, the pub has not traded well enough. Her part time job has gone to service her rent and the dray money to the brewery. The pub has always been marginal in terms of making a living out of it, given its isolated location. and now the landlady has had a better offer elsewhere from another family brewer, in a pub with more potential, so with heavy heart she is leaving. She loves the place to bits, but she has to eat.

We are all a bit shocked, but this is the way of things in so many pubs. I'm sure the landladywill do well elsewhere, but it leaves all us regulars indulging in selfish speculation about what will happen next. You see in a pub like this there is a delicate balance between the tenant and the customers and the wrong appointment by the brewery can bugger things up. There is speculation one of the locals may bid for it, but we just don't know. I think we'd all prefer someone who knows the place, limitations and all, rather than see someone come in with high hopes and see them dashed, wrecking the place in the process. As I said, its our pub too and our motivation is admitted self interest. We'll likely outlast any tenant, as most regulars in a pub do.

So, unless things change, it will be change, not for changes sake, but for the harsh economic reality of the pub times we live in. I'll keep you informed of developments.

A Surprising Winner

Our beer tasting went well. A shiveringly cold mile walk up the rutted lane to the pub was rewarded by the eager boys being ready for the event, a cheerful landlady with glasses, beer ready to go and a roaring fire. A warm up pint of mild to lubricate the old innards and we were off.

We started on the Potton and Everards Tiger, the latter provided by the landlady who hails from Leicester and is a former Everards licensee. The Potton was mid brown, inoffensive and easy drinking. Middle of the road, or rather, middle of a very conservative road. The Everards was thought to toffeeish and not hoppy enough, the landlady chipping in that it is better on cask. It was IPAs next; first up a ten year old bottle conditioned Bridge Port from Portland Oregon. It had been kept cool and in the dark for all of these years and opened with a satisfying hiss and a whiff of hops. All agreed the hops were somewhat subdued though the bitterness was there. It wasn't stale or oxidised and it was good. Next was Jaipur which got an all round thumbs up. It was delicious and a revelation to those that hadn't had it. Punk IPA was thought harsh and one dimensional in comparison by most, though I liked it, but not as much as the Jaipur. Meantime IPA again divided opinions with the majority, me included, feeling that it somehow missed the mark, but it was an interesting beer, being an attempt to reproduce an older style of beer, rather than a modern interpretation. Clearly though and interestingly, it was the modern Jaipur that struck a note of approval.

Stouts next, though we agreed to leave Tokyo to the end on account of its strength. Whittington's Black Cat Stout was liked by all. Tasty and full bodied, though I'd have liked a more hoppy finish. Meantime Chocolate (Porter) split opinion. Its intense chocolate reminded one drinker of a stout to which an infeasible measure of drinking chocolate had been added. One or two loved it. The sensation was though the Bridge Port Black Strap Stout. Not bottle conditioned, it was intensely black, smooth, bitter, treacley, hoppy and belied its ten years in the dark; we all wished for more. It was a unanimous "yes".

At last we reached the one I'd been really waiting for. My five year old Orval. It poured clear, had an orangey nose and a deep orange background, little brett character, but just enough to lift it and a wonderful perfumey lavender note throughout. It was lovely. We all without exception liked it. Outstanding Barley Wine at 7.4% was powerful, intensely hoppy and again an opinion divider, but just getting a positive nod.

Schlossbrauerei Doppel Hopfen provided the palate cleanser before the Tokyo. Good it was too, with a typical South German Pilsner profile lifted by a good dose of noble hops. Likeable and very drinkable. Tokyo poured with an off white head. It was black as the ace of spades and had an explosive alcohol kick, with intense liquorice and roast malt flavours, as if the whole thing had been reduced like a cooking stock. There is a lot going on here, but in truth nobody liked it. It was just too much, too intense, too strong and difficult to drink and to this author at least, drinkability is the name of the game in beer.

We had a vote at the and for fun and the one, two, three, was:

Bridgeport Black Strap Stout; Jaipur / Orval

Mike our vote counter said that really, the Orval and Jaipur were neck in neck, so a joint second was agreed. I should mention the only beer we hated, though it isn't mentioned above. Leyden Forever Bury! Bottom of the poll.

So, in conclusion, it wasn't scientific or professional, but it was a lot of fun. Well done Bridge Port and Orval. Old beers can be delicious and of course Jaipur was just great, even bottled, as I'd only ever had it on cask previously. I was personally pleased that the Black Strap won, as it is brewed by Karl Ockert the founding brewer of Bridge Port who was once kind enough to give me and E a private tour of the brewery. I'll drop him a line I think, to see what he makes of it.

I still have two more bottles of that Orval. Lucky me.

Tasting Beers

Well we all do that don't we? Tomorrow I'm conducting a fun tasting of beers at the pub. It's a chance to put some of the beers I never get round to drinking at home to good use. It's just for my mates and there will be around a dozen beers. One of the boys is chipping in a Brew Dog Tokyo. The landlady will be joining us and providing the third of a pint tasting glasses and will see what bottles she has. There won't be any scoring, but it should be fun at least. For those interested, here is the provisional line up:

Brew Dog Punk: IPA and Tokyo
Bridgeport (US): IPA and Stout (These are old so we'll see)
Meantime:IPA and Chocolate Porter
Outstanding: Barley Wine
Orval (Belgium): A five year old sample
Potton: Shambles Bitter
Schloss Brauerei (Germany): Doppel Hopfen (Thanks Nick)
Thornbridge: Jaipur IPA
Whittington: Black Cat Stout

Whiteout

We didn't make it to our remote pub yesterday. Our Sunday table was bereft of us. E and I set off in hope of getting there though. An effort had to be made. We walked the mile or so to Midd in deep snow and snow showers and got a 17 bus, the first for a long time according to the impatiently waiting queue. The traffic was gridlocked. Rochdale Metro had not it seemed, gritted the roads. Snow had fallen on already icy roads and they were treacherous in this hilly town of ours. Cars slithered and wheels were spinning impotently. The bus took 20 mins to go 300 yards. In the meantime phone calls were received from the boys. The lane was very dangerous; Colin had gone on his arse twice while walking his dog. John had fallen too. Dave's missus had decided it was too dodgy to take him. We were stranded in Middleton. In short, the game was over for today as far as the THT was concerned. I texted the landlady to have the attendance book duly noted.

Feeling slightly cheated, we baled out of the bus, me grimacing at paying £7 for the privilege of a 300 yard journey and repaired to Middleton Cricket Club for soothing pints of Lees Bitter, then down to the Old Boar's Head for more of the same. We enjoyed the beer, but missed the familiarity of our pub, the welcoming roaring fire, the conviviality of our friends and the usual banter and conversation that we'd have had. That's why we go there, why our local is so much part of our lives. Without it, Sunday just wasn't the same.

Later we walked home, back up the hill in more snow. We just missed two 17's leaving the bus station at exactly the same time. Insult added to injury.

The photo shows a well wrapped up E outside the Cricket Club

Most Definitely in the Christmas Spirit

I haven't written much about our pub for a while. It just ticks on being happily good, but I want to share this with you. We have a few old regulars who used to serve in the Lancashire Fusiliers and the pub supports them and the Royal British Legion in the usual way in the build up to Remembrance Sunday, by selling poppies and providing a free Sunday Lunch to the old servicemen when they return from the Cenotaph.

This year the landlady wanted to do something extra. The usual festive Christmas tree is up, but this year, instead of the normal baubles and tinsel, it is decorated solely by poppies. These are the big ones and are signed by the purchaser who then pins them to the tree. Minimum donation is a pound. The photo shows a small section of the tree, which positively bristles with poppies. I think this is rather fine and clearly, judging by the number of poppies, so do the customers.

Sometimes the term "place in the community" is used in a vague way to describe how a pub fits into its locality. I reckon this illustrates it perfectly.

Polecats Apart

A couple of weeks ago I arrived at the pub on Sunday rather later than usual. I immediately noticed a pong. The source of this became evident as sitting not too far away was a young man and woman of, shall we say, unconventional attire. It was not them though that produced the niff, but their accompanying two rodents, one a ferret and the other a flat faced polecat. The sweet musky smell of the polecat pervaded the pub, but fortunately they left soon after and all was well, leaving us locals shaking our heads with incredulity.

They were back yesterday and in bigger numbers - the humans, not the animals. I noticed the young girl had a kind of cage backpack for her beasties. Again luck was with us. On a very fine day indeed there was nowhere for them or their malodorous mammals to sit, so they went and sat outside, again leaving the sickly smell behind them. I didn't get a chance to have a word with the landlady about her views on this, but to me it didn't seem right to allow such niffy creatures in our small pub.

What do others think?

Lees Brewery Trip

Our CAMRA Branch went to Lees last night. As ever the hospitality was mighty. Pre trip highlights were the Peroni drinking Landlady's (hitherto hidden) ability to swoop pints of John Willie's Bitter down her neck, outpacing me, when we had a warm up drink in a nearby hostelry and the fact that despite me very rarely drinking in said local, I was recognised as the "Beer Man". Fame at last.

The tour was excellent with Michael Lees-Jones, the Head Brewer (pictured) taking one half round and Paul Wood the Brewhouse Manager (Second Brewer in old money) doing the honours for the remainder. Beer and chat flowed, grub was provided and all was well with the world. A good night.

After they chucked us out, the Landlady and I joined our pub quiz team for the second half of our away match against the league leaders. We didn't contribute much funnily enough, but we won anyway. I was still on Lees Bitter, but the Landlady had by then reverted to Peroni, her point having already been proven.


The other photo shows the Landlady listening intently on the brewery tour.

Thornham Time

My local has been in the press today. No less than the Daily Telegraph. It is a nicely written piece by Arthur Taylor, who I have met (though quite some time ago) when he came to pick brains for a different article he was writing. He is a nice guy.

He finishes by saying: "The customers are almost entirely local but welcoming, tolerant and utterly at ease with strangers. Quite right. Nirvana is here and it is theirs."

Told you it is good.

Read the article here.

A Day at my Local

It was a wintry walk to the pub yesterday. Muck spreading was in full swing and the scent of it accompanied us for most of the one mile uphill walk. The lane was covered in an unappealing mixture of slush, mud, cow muck and silage. We picked our way through it, fearing that the many dogs that come to our little boozer would be very smelly indeed. The pub was busy and the beer and company good. There were many dogs and indeed some were smelly, a fact that their owners are either oblivious to, or choose to ignore. A stranger's Jack Russell snapped at the pub cat. Bad form. A murmur of discontent rippled through the room, but Snug, the cat was fine. She retreated to a barstool and went disdainfully to sleep.

We couldn't get our usual table causing much mirth with the staff and regulars. We are so much of a fixture in that position that we look out of place elsewhere. Eventually, nearly two hours late, we managed to grab it and all was well. The Lees Bitter was in fine form. We left in a snowstorm to catch the 18.10 bus, which didn't show. Thanks again for nothing First Bus - the only real blot on a good day.

The second picture shows the back of the fleece the daughter of one of the farmers was wearing. It amused me anyway.

The Pope's Chair

The most comfortable chair at our Sunday table at my local is nicknamed the Pope's Chair. It is a venerable and ample beast, round, with arms. It is sought after and fought over keenly by members of our group, as it is not only comfy, but it commands an excellent view of proceedings for the avid pub watcher. For some time though it has been in a state of serious decay. The stretchers have popped, been re-glued by me and others and popped again. It was becoming so dangerous that its attraction waned. No-one wanted to be in it when its inevitable collapse came and for safety reasons it was recently withdrawn from use. It'll probably end up on the fire.

The Landlady bless her, has been scouting around for a replacement and to our astonishment, a more or less identical chair was located in a second hand shop, re-covered and placed in the pub in its normal place on Saturday. There was a cutting the ribbon ceremony performed by my mate John, who is one of the keen contesters of the seat.

Our pub is special in a lot of ways, but that was a particularly nice touch.