No, not the in-laws visit (day 5 of 14); the endless micros of the Amber Valley.
NOT because they were dull, they were without exception marvellous.
But we all have limits, and I’d nearly reached mine already by the time I reached Crooked Cask, a 3rd micro tick of the day.
“Please ring bell“. You know how I like ringing bells.
In years gone past I’d have nipped in here for a 10 minute half of Pale, but this is 2021 where it takes 10 minutes to get into a pub, so anything less than a pint seems pointless. As the sign in the Redemption says.
You may have noticed the Leica watermark on these recent photos. That’s a sure sign I’m worse for wear. The lack of notes is another prime indicator.
My ONLY note says “Black Shale Stout 3.5/4“, which I’ll leave to Beer Twit to unravel.
But I DO remember a young lad called Luke, son of the lovely owners of Crooked Cask, who looked a complete natural in a pub. Children in pubs are always a good thing.
I have zero recollection of the walk back from Heanor to Langley Mill Station, either,
but I know I popped in the (non-GBG) Railway Tavern 5 minutes before the train left for Sheffield, because the photos are still there.
No sign of a shaky hand, is there ?
My apologies to a landlord who obviously seated me and poured a half within 30 seconds, and had to put up with what undoubtedly was a terrible pronunciation of Gigglemug, an accurate description of me at the time I suspect.
You know, I’m fairly sure that was a 3.5, too. What a haul. What a place Heanor is.
I woke up at about 9pm that night. Sadly, I hadn’t quite missed all the football match going on that night.