retiredmartin

July 2023. Dudley.

Tuesday lunchtime. It’s raining in Brum (twinned with Glasgow) again.

I’ve no idea what logic saw me heading back on the train to Birmingham a mere three days after that Saturday of micros and brewery taps.

Certainly, it was safer to visit the Black Country once BRAPA had left, and an uncompleted county is an irritating thing.

But Dudley ? On a Tuesday ? In persistent drizzle ? When I could have been sat in the warmth of the Fat Cat debating the merits of the new Pale Rider pump clip (don’t care) ?

Sheffield-Derby-New Street-Wolves, stopping off at mysterious Dudley Port, which is nowhere near the town.

There’s an excellent piece on Sheffield’s pros and cons in Tribune, the on-line newspaper I subscribe to, where the newly-arrived-from-London author laments Sheff’s lack of public transport.

Blimey. You should try getting to Dudley. A half hour slog alongside a dual carriageway with only men made out of plumbing essentials,

and entertaining fonts for company.

At Castle Hill roundabout you get a little sit down, at least.

And a view of the castle, if your camera has sufficient zoom.

At Dudley’s ginormous bus station I get classical music (possibly Holst) under the canvas of Platform U, and then a bumpy journey out to Pensnett via Russell’s Hall PFI hospital. WHY (oh WHY) are buses so noisy ? I feel sick each time it rattles to a halt.

The trip takes 20 minutes; it would have taken 22 on foot, and saved me £2, though I’d have been drenched entering Penn’s Ale House.

And no-one wants to drip in a micro.

Penns is one of a host of small neighbourhood pubs set up to replace a larger closed one (though the Batham’s house just down the road is still open). No frills, but welcoming and cheery.

And as much trade from lager and wine as the cask.

Far, far, away (not the Slade version) from the Thanet model, reinforced by an M.O.R. soundtrack stretching to Spandau Ballet and the Eurythmics. Is “True” M.O.R. now ?

I’d neglected my lunch till now, but when in the Black Country a man should always have a glass of ale and a cob, though preferably not a pre-packed one from a fridge.

That list of ingredients is a bit off-putting, too. Who decided we need to know what’s in black pudding.

I made the best of a bad job.

Like the Golden Glow (cool, NBSS 3), it was alright, but I knew that there’s only one place to go for your cob in Brierley Hill, and it’s NOT Pensnett.