Bit too confessional at times, this blog. I suppose admitting to inadvisable pubbing isn’t as bad as public urination or moth cuddling.

I really didn’t need a night of it in Bradford, with a week in Manchester and West Scotland ahead.

But who can resist the siren call of a dark West Yorkshire industrial estate on a Friday night?

You’re not in Haworth anymore, retiredmartin
Typical West Bradford (2)

I blame LadySinksTheBooze. She lauded the Boltmaker in the Cock recently, despite my less inspiring experience last year, and she’s always right.

And besides, it’s the Fighting Cock, innit?

One of the very best

You’re in the Fighting Cock!!!” was in fact the first thing I heard as I entered, said in the manner of “You’re in Manhattan!!!!”.

It seemed in particularly chipper form, “Hotel California” accompanying the chink of cocktail glasses as a young covers band warmed up.

Guess the song

Following Kirsty’s lead, I asked for Golden Best (keep up).

They’d stopped selling that, threw too much away, so I got the Boltmaker I meant to ask for in the first place. And pretzels.

And a little table in the corner where I could see, if not hear, a band doing covers of James deep cuts (“Laid”) and It wasn’t me” by Shaggy.

Bemusement at covers choices

There are few better pubs in the world than the Cock. With cocktails and a few smartly dressed folk paying by card (card!) it felt a bit more cosmopolitan than previously.

A bit like the Vine in West Brom, but with Snyders rather than kebabs.

Nine handpumps, locals all on Lindenboom and orange juice , visitors on cider and Mary Jane.

So the Boltmaker was exactly what you’d expect, despite a decent ale turnover. OK, but what’s the fuss about?

But pubs aren’t about beer, are they ? They’re about life and laughs and all the other stuff you don’t get sitting in your underpants with a can of Lost & Grounded watching GoT.

So I stayed for another. A Mary Jane would have been sensible.

But, no, I had to have the Green Devil, didn’t I?

It was the best of decisions, it was the worst of decisions.

I stayed long enough to hear an old boy reminisce about seeing Nazareth in Bradford in the 70s, before stepping out into them for real.


  1. I’d find it difficult not to go to the Fighting Cock, our friend in Bradford lived round the corner from it so it was our local. Do they still have the autovac dispense that gets so many beer enthusiasts (and the beer) in a froth?

    Liked by 1 person

      1. Ooh! Creamy Green Divil, that sounds worth a try. I’ve seen them used badly in a north wales pub so can fully understand the angst, but it’ll be a sad day indeed when the minnies finally get their way and everything’s served in sterile pouches. Of course this pour is only really appropriate for pints of sessionable beer, not schooners of murk, which is probably the root of the problem. Besides, I’m sure the pot plants appreciate the extra oxygen in the beer…

        Liked by 1 person

  2. “Boltmaker in the cock ” is that some sort of euphemism ? Despite living very near to Bradford for many years it was not somewhere where Leeds folk ventured unless it was to Odsal for a bit o’ Rugby league action ! Looks like it has some reasonable drinking establishments nowadays


  3. I love how “You’re in the Fighting Cock!!!” was said as you entered; was it something they said *to* you, or just something that happened to be said to someone else at that moment? I’ve got this image of them shouting it to each new customer who steps into the place. 🙂


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