Clearly no-one is interested in IndyManBeerCon in 2022, it’s as old hat as the Arctic Monkeys or financial prudence, but Matthew is heading there tomorrow for the first time and it’s TRADITION, dammit, that I bring you a report from my sixth (6th) successive Mancunian celebration of high strength thirds in refurbished Victorian baths.

But first, Americano and pistachio at Sheffield’s Caffe Tucci. You need lining for those 10% Imperial Stouts.

The highlight of the East Mids fast train was a Scouser mansplaining Stockport to his silent girlfriend. The entire trip. It’s to Manchester what Potters Bar is to London, apparently.

Mrs RM had opted out of the trip at the last minute despite the promise of craft doughnuts,

a shame for me as I’d have to drink all 10 thirds myself, and I broke my normal rules by taking the No. 192 (a £2 single from Piccadilly to Ardwick) so I could be in the mile long queue on the dot of 11am, a civilised time to start drinking murk.

Rather like my annual music festival in Dorset, it’s worth doing IndyMan for the architecture,

outside and inn. The fish mosaic has been visited by more crafty beer fans than any other artwork.

I had a shortlist of beers to try if Mrs RM had joined me. All the thirds cost a plastic token, (£25 for 10), so only an idiot wouldn’t start with the strongest and work down.

I dropped any pretence at a plan immediately, and just wandered from room to room looking for people to annoy, and picking beers at random. There was a bit of cask, but pouring this Zapato stout into a third pint looked a tough ask.

My only tactic was to avoid breweries with tap rooms like Cloudwater and SMOD who I can visit anytime, and also to avoid any beer with a weird name like “Bitter” or “Mild” or “Doom Bar”.

But really I just wanted to take in the architecture,

and the music, and quiz strangers from Bolton and Runcorn and Cardiff and Rossendale about the local pub scene.

And then hide in a changing room with an Exhale Oona and an IPA doughnut.

The doughnuts and industrial strength coffee were, again, the highlight of a 4 hour session I very much regretted this morning.

But the 10% Salt Imperial Stout was dazzling, the Sierra Nevada on cask a bit meh, and I got to stop at a Proper Pub on the walk in the rain back to Picadilly;

And when Matt goes on Sunday, he’ll have Pastore’s range of Waterbeach brewed sours to explore. What a time to be alive.

8 thoughts on “364 SLEEPS TILL INDYMAN ’23

  1. I’ve a feeling I might actually have swam in those baths, back in the day when they were used for their proper purpose, rather than a venue for sipping craft murk!

    I might be wrong of course, but the memory plays funny tricks, as one gets older, but during my time in Manchester (1973-78), I do recall going for a dip at a rather ornate, Victorian swimming baths, in the south of the city.

    Liked by 1 person

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