You left me in the Hop & Anchor, enjoying an eclectic soundtrack that Pub Ciurmudgeon would have warmed to.
I had certainly left the One True Path of cask by now and my wayward adventure around the craft kilometre reached its zenith at Casc & Cigar.
My subsequent research reveals that Casc stands for “Campaign Against Sassenach Crafties“, but I managed to get served, so check your security lads.
The electronic scoreboard may just have been the most colourful of the night.
It also had the most complex coffee making system seen outside Shoreditch. Americans may need an explanation on the workings of the kettle.
Clearly anticipating toilet troubles from BRAPA in 2033, Casc have set their, er, stool out early.
All a bit weird, but I like weird, and the Black Isle and Cromarty were priced by the pint, which made me wonder it they might be cask. No doubt Aberdeen CAMRA will send round a man with scientific equipment to find out.
Whatever, the Black Isle Porter was very good, and some folk even older than me were merrily testing all the beers.
Casc seemed to have a fixation on Anderson East, whoever he is.
You’ll be glad to know Mrs RM did show up eventually, and we popped back to Hop & Anchor to see Southampton manfully keep Leicester below ten. Well done, Saints.
We even popped in the Craftsman, yet another cafe-and-craft place where Mrs RM and I had too sit in a sofa, inches off the ground, to enjoy a hop monster and some ’80s pop covers from a talented lady feet strumming away by the foor.
Half a dozen pleasant, unpretentious places. Who needs cask ? Don’t answer that.
How we didn’t end up in Krakatoa I’ll never know.