A last dash to finish Lancashire before the new Beer Guide “drops” (ugh), though as at 17:55 on Tuesday 2nd November I’m still waiting, as Diana Ross famously sang about the late delivery of the 1972 GBG.
Let’s go to Blackpool.
I have a confession to make. I’d already pinked the No. 10 Ale House, making the easy mistake of confusing it with the similar sounding Pump & Truncheon I suspect, before blogging legend Blackpool Jane kept writing about No.10 in a way that made it obvious I’d been nowhere near it. Declaring a pub “ticked” in error is a crime punishable by a pint of York Guzzler in Maidenhead’s Honeypot, and that’s not a euphemism.
The route takes me through Stanley Park, rather than Blackpool’s famed cultural quarter, and what a gorgeous park it is.
Art Deco cafe,
with obligatory gin puns.
It’s not as cosy as the ballroom, but I feel a frisson of fin de siècle elegance as I munch my lamb burger (NLBSS 3.5).
Jane tells me the No.10 is a main pre-game meeting point, but perhaps not at 14:51 on a Wednesday.
Yes, I sneak in 9 minutes before published opening, in the slipstream of a determined regular and hence avoid the annoyance of a lovely lady behind the bar who is putting up 15 balloons, which is how many goals the Tangerines intend to put past Preston that week.
Looking back at this photo I now realise the white stuff below is Halloween related, rather than the netting retrieved from the Wembley goal after the 1953 FA Cup Final.
It’s a lovely pub, with superb and cheap local beer, far from the intensely beer-focused micros of certain placed down south. You don’t get the Saturdays on the stereo in Sidcup,
or a giant TV screen which I thought was showing Blackpool Tower before I realised it was the lesser Eiffel version before PSG’s match.
Pints of Warsteiner were pulled (my notes say “Warneister”), and prostate problems discussed at length. Welcome to my world.
Great place, and I left before official opening time, which is always nice.
*OK, perhaps a few too many cultural reference for the Yanks today.