retiredmartin

July 2023. Wolverhampton.

It had taken three hours to get from Sheffield to Pensnett for the penultimate West Midlands tick. You’ve seen the photo of the cob; you’ll know whether that slog out from Dudley was worthwhile as well as inevitable.

Now it got even more tricky. Look at the map and Wolverhampton looks mere minutes from Pensnett.

And it is, if you’re a crow or have a Bernard Everitt Esq. to taxi you around. But with only legs (2 hours) or bus (an hour into the edge of Wolves) as options, I took the Number 15 bus, and prayed the bladder would hold. It was hell, with no dedicated bus lanes and a determination to avoid a straight line at all costs.

Now I appreciate this may be a good way to halve my readership, but Maggie Thatcher was right when she said “A 58 year old bloke on a bus doing the suburbs of Wolverhampton may be considered to be a failure in life“. Or whatever.

If you’re successful in Wolves, whether by kicking a football or smelting iron or brewing other folks beers, then you get to live in handsome 1930s houses in the south-western suburbs of Penn, Bradmore and Finchfield.

What a lovely thought on the church of St Philips (I had to guess that from the road sign, like a detective).

Living in Sheffield I don’t get to see actual street trees any more; this is a cracker (as long as it falls on a Tesla).

No-one would call a Sizzling pub aspirational, but it’s smarter than a Flaming Grill, and they’re all the rage in Good Beer Guide ’23.

The Chestnut Tree even has a beer range that looks like it’s come from a Nicholsons, just half the price.

Now, you’ll be wondering how a family diner can get in a GBG packed with micros, taps and Royal Societies of Buffalos, I guess.

“What beer should I go for, mate, which is going fastest ?“. Always call your serve “mate”.

“Mmm” worrying pause “I’d go for the Hophead or the Wain..“

“Hophead. Just what I thought“.

I guess you can trust Dark Star beers now they’re made by a big company, even if it’s in Chiswick rather than Wolves.

Despite an extravagant foamy head that would go down well in Stockton, this was cool, crisp pint worth the 3.5 that inevitably finishes any Guide chapter.

But would anything actually happen ? I moved my pint from the low dining tables to the high hell of the darts room where the Sky Sports “news” was in full flow.

“You ‘ear ’bout Rashford, two hundred fifty grand a week“

“Fair play to the lad, fair play“

A chap came up and said “scuse me mate, we’ve reserved that table“.

And indeed, tucked six feet away in the far corner facing the wall, was a tiny reserved sign. WHO reserved a high table in the public bar ?

I only had to move three feet to another table, all a bit odd.

But the beer’s not odd, and while I was awaiting a little easing of that initial 3.5, it never came. Hurrah !

And hurrah for pink marking !