Si was in that cheery mood that differentiates Pub Men from Beer Bores, and proved great company as I gave him a blow-by-blow account of road junctions on the way from Bradford to Batley. Sometimes I forget Simon has never driven the A652 or B6124 and has therefore never really lived.
I’d actually passed Hanging Heaton, named after a punishment inflicted on an 80s Yorkshire popster for inflicting “A Little Time” on the world, barely 2 months ago on the way to my first jab, which I’ve made a lot less fuss about than you-know-who.
The nice folk at the Cricket Club had not only sounded pleased to see me, possibly as they knew I’d bring better weather than the storms that had blown the canvas off during the week. They’d also added some Doom Bar livery to their giant sign.
Sadly, the Doom Bar had been drunk by the Dewsbury hipsters, drawn by a soundtrack of Billy Ocean’s “Red Light Spells Danger”
and something by China Crisis*, so it was Bradfield’s best for Si.
I managed a quick shot of the interior for Si while the beer was fetched to the door; it’s typical of 97.7% of sports clubs but no worse for that.
The latest Beer Guide’s new entries are dominated by Sports Clubs, micro pubs, and brewery bars, which really need to go the extra mile to distinguish themselves from the pack. Hanging Heaton has Extra Cold Carling and a flashy yellow defibrillator.
It also had chatty locals, the best beer of the week (NBSS 4) and a great view of the action.
I think it must have been the innings break or something.
The club steward popped over and asked if the Blonde was OK.
“Lovely, nice” said Simon. A man of few words, but great ones.
*Don’t ask what it was, Mark.