Dickens scholars will know that in 1865, at the age of 53, our greatest fictional author (apart from BRAPA) was involved in the Staplehurst rail crash, after which his writing took a turn for the worse (see: latter chapters of Our Mutual Friend).
Now, I’m not comparing myself with Charles D, he was strictly a fun pub man by all accounts, but my own “Staplehurst moment” at the ancient age of 53 is the loss of my mouse function on my laptop*, which is making these blogs immensely irritating. But I persevere, just for Russ, who’s right now checking if I’ve spelt persevere correctly.
So don’t expect any posts over 500 words, though I am planning a “Long Read” for Boak & Bailey day on why you should vote Simon Everitt for the CAMRA NEC.
Anyway, a final West Mids tick at the Pup & Duckling. Which you’ll be delighted to know was open on the dot of 5pm, just as promised.
A fairly traditional small micro, with a plainish front bar and pleasant back room.
And you can bring your takeaways in from next door, just like in the Coopers.
Or just eat tons of Pipers.
One of the most reliable cask line-ups for a while too.
“Oh, it’s gotta be that Cootch, hasn’t it”
A rare wise choice, as cool and chewy as you’d get in Newport (NBSS 4).
Of course, I don’t go in pubs for beer. I only had to wait 5 minutes for the arrival of the two Brum pub regular, dogwalking couple and HiVis jacket man. They all said Hi.
“Oh, it’s gotta be that Cootch, hasn’t it“
Could Tiny Rebel’s signature beer really be the next Doom Bar ? Or is it a modern day Workie Ticket, loved and cast away in favour of something more extreme ?
While I contemplated Cwtch, the big dog licked his doggie biscuits off the table in front of me. I guess it could have been worse.
Anyway, here’s that lovely pinked-in West Mids GBG extract. Note the No Real Ale at the Eagle & Ball. I’m not going back a third time.
*Yes, I have an IT Consultant wife, a Undergrad son studying Computer Science, and a techie teenager and they can’t fix it.