You left me in the toilets at the Fighting Cock, admiring the art work.
The Green Devil was a bad idea, because you then lose rational thought and have to stop at every pub on the stagger back.
Which is why it’s called a Stagger.
Bradford sure looks good, if a bit quiet compared to L**ds.
I’m enticed by the Castle Hotel, a GBG regular until the surge of craft in North Parade.
I hadn’t been for 15 years, and it’s still run by a charming Indian landlord and still heaving, the busiest I’ve seen a Bradford pub.
Perhaps it’s the English folk, which magically gives way to Indian folk, storytelling in its purest form.
Perhaps it’s the free spread of pork pies and sausage rolls. I hope it was free. We’ll find out if Si goes there.
Mainly its the buzz, a cultural melting pot to match the White Lion in Walsall.
That means Folk War “Coal not Dole” T-shirts, reminiscences about Rory Gallagher and cans of Guinness.
It’s not the ale range that brings them in, though Jennings (NBSS 2.5/3) and Eagle will do me.
I should have recommended it to Lady Sinks the Booze when she visited , I really should.
retiredmartin 
Yes you should. It is an interesting pub. Great landlord.
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Have you been? Best on Friday night I guess.
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Yes, we visited on our Bradford crawl with a large group.
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Yes, we went in the Castle on our crawl of Bradford on Spring bank Holiday last year, and were treated to a musical performance by the landlord.
“Coal Not Dole”? Shh, don’t tell Greta!
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Yes, the musical performance by the landlord was a most pleasant surprise towards the end of our Proper Day Out.
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I am this very moment enjoying a pork pie and fantastic pint of London Pride at the London’s Pride Bar in LHR T2.
Cool,fruity and a great head.
I love to travel but by ‘eck it’s grand to be back.
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Welcome back, Prof.
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Thanks young Martin.
We had a fantastic trip. The Americans we met were their usual friendly selves exemplified by our last night in LA close to the airport.
It’s a bit of a sketchy area but just round the corner from our Holiday Inn was the Lei Aloha cocktail lounge.
Billed by hotel staff as an Hawaiian-themed bar it was actually like stepping onto the set of Shaft.
The place was full of hard-drinking but really sociable black people ( ” persons of colour ” ) TFIF-ing and singing along to Motown classics.
Within minutes complete strangers were buying us drinks and generally making us feel very at home.
Top people.
I suffered flying back across the Atlantic from too many shots of Bourbon which was why that Pride tasted like nectar.
The Fullers bar looks after its beer well – I could have shifted half a dozen it was that good.
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I’d like to step on to the set of Shaft.
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You don’t really step onto it.
More of a jive walk …
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Aye, we’ve all been “enjoying” plenty of those here since Al became PM, old boy.
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P P-T,
Now there’s a coincidence.
At just before 6.11pm yesterday I had a pint of London Pride in the Signal Box on Euston Station before the 6.43pm train for Stafford.
That was after three nights in Bath and plenty of pubs there and in Bristol.
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Incidentally, Paul, I see that Saltaire Pride, which I used to rate highly, appears to be sold now as “Titus”.
Would that have been a rights issue, perhaps?
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The “Buzz” is everything in any pub.
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Are those lads drinking tinned Guinness? In a pub?
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It happens, AP. Some people order chips with roghan josh.
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That is one gorgeous photo (the one below Turd that is). Good old Bradford, great city.
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So many interesting details in this one; love that one can encounter Indian folk music and sausage rolls in the same place.
Don’t know if I’ve told you about my Cathy-Price-inspired quest to visit every pub in the UK called “The Castle.” Sadly, I’ve only ticked one so far, but these things take time. 😉
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A journey of 237 Castles starts with a single step from Macclesfield Station.
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A proper piece of pubbery
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Ah glad to see that chap is still there, we had some great times in that place when Mrs M was living in Bradford and we weren’t at the Fighting Cock! They were always tied to Marstons but at the time used to get in some rare beers from Old Spot at Cullingworth – I guess he was found out, which is a shame, as they were the dog’s wotsits!
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