
June 2025. Manchester.

A lot of gigs in Manchester this endless Summer, all from angsty American females you’ve never heard of, so a chance to tick a few pubs in the GBG’s greatest chapter.
All the fast trains from Sheffield head through Piccadilly towards Liverpool, but I have to change at Oxford Road, home to students, theatres and cranes.
“Can I break my journey ? I need a pub” I tell a disinterested lady at the barrier.

Yes, it’s another Mancunian Tap, there’ll be one in Weaste next (Weaste Tap, geddit !), the Oxford Road unit a pleasant little spot with more attractive seating than the Victoria.

Not the most cutting-edge beer line-up, you might say,

perhaps a man shouldn’t leave Sheffield to find Bradfield and Thornbridge.
Increasingly rare to get Adnams anywhere, though,

and this is a cool and reasonably convincing 3.4% start to the day, a choice applauded by a young barman who couldn’t have been cheerier.
But then, he gets to listen to his chosen soundtrack of deep cut Straits,

and high cut (?) Dr Hook from ’79. I wish I could have played my favourite music at work in my twenties.
I last passed through Oxford Road station, from Piccadilly to Leeds, in mid April and somehow noticed the old Hotspur Press building more than I had done before. Now it’s all but gone.
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Yes, who could have predicted that a planning dispute between a developer and the council over what to do with a derelict historic building would lead to it burning down in a mysterious fire?
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There was a lot of discussion about this on Blue Moon, the intelligent Manchester City forum, yesterday.
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Was the lady at the barrier disinterested in that she’s not on commission from the Oxford Road Tap to let people out of the station to drink there? ☺️
I know the cheery barman you mean, he really is a credit to his profession.
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Having carefully considered what might be done in twelve minutes without any pre-planned aids I have the following suggestions:
Inwardly sing four Stock Aitken and Waterman singles.
Mentally prepare two hard boiled eggs.
Imagine every detail of rushing for a non-existent nuclear shelter four times.
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12 minutes is sufficient to return a duff pint of Brain’s Bitter and be told “It’s meant to taste like that”.
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Hope that hasn’t happened to you recently. The last time that I had a duff pint of Brains the landlady snatched it out of my hand – before I could taste it – and said that the boss had just told her that the barrel was going back – as it was a duff batch.
Tell you what though, I’ve just discovered how Wye Valley HPA is meant to taste at the Three Tuns in Hay-on-Wye and it was marvellous. Does it not travel well, I wonder, as I’ve never previously had one anything like as good.
Bass was on at Kilvert’s too, which was…OK.
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Arrive at Oxford Road 12:26. Time of connection 12:39. Time for a pint? Back on platform at 12:30. Good stuff this beer.
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Good work.
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