Just before we left for Scotland I managed a trip to Halifax, the beer capital of the world.
But I couldn’t find my notes, till this morning when I realised that Mrs RM had bought me a new phone for Scotland and my ‘fax facts were on the now abandoned Huawei.
But here they are, in all their glory, placed here so I can use them to jog my memory as I write this rubbish.
What can it all mean ?
For a start, the new Guide pub isn’t actually the Old George, it’s the Upper.
And how can it be new in Halifax when it’s a Greene King pub and not a shiny craft bar called “Dyson’s Dazzling DIPAs” or something ?
Never mind. The town, which was heaving, continues to reassure and surprise in equal measure.
How had I never noticed the George before, tucked away in a courtyard behind Totally Wicked Vape shop.
Not as famous as the courtyard pub in Borough, of course, but better in every respect that counts.
Great welcome, professional service,
CAMRA discount, exemplary cool, crisp Acorn Porter (NBSS 4).
On the table next to me a couple of gentlefolk were on pints. The wife read out the contents of her “In Sympathy” cards she’d bought from Hallmark Cards while the husband (naturally) showed complete disinterest.
And then she started to sing.
“Ooo ooo here she come, watch out she’s a man….eater“
“Oooo, I just died in yer arms tonight“
“I’m finding it hard to believe…. WE’RE IN HEAVEN !”. I was singing along now, sad to say. The husband eyed me suspiciously, as if we were auditioning for a talent night in a Hipperholme WMC.
And then the Joan Armatrading came on.
“Drop the mahout, I’m the easy rider“. 35 years ago, what can it all mean ? Who cares.
As I left, to the sound of pool balls cracking and apologies for the lack of cider, she was starting on “Atomic“, and I realised she was making a better job of it than Debbie Harry would now. Mind, Debbie is older.
An unexpectedly wonderful pub, but now I needed curry.