November 2025. Norwich.
We daren’t travel too far at the moment, with declining parents and unsold properties, so it’s lucky I can get so much joy from an afternoon in a big city walking suburban streets,
gazing at street art and churches, and only having to choose which pub to nip in and eavesdrop on Narrrrfolk conversation about the Canaries and their new 3-5-2 with midfield overload.
Leaving the sole new Beer Guide entry on Unthank Road (yep, a real street, Russ), I weave through dull suburbia towards the Roman wall for 15 minutes, scanning What Pub the CAMRA app for a good revisit to end the trip.
Well, the Trafford Arms look nice.
A GBG perennial, and I haven’t blogged about it so it’s years since my visit. “Homely” is the word, a mix of unfussy if not heritage status seating.
More cheery neighbourhood local than beer shrine, but as prescribed by local CAMRA law you still get a scary looking hand pump count.
As I approach middle age I enjoy being proved wrong, and I’m delighted to say that not only are some Norwich pubs not irredeemably middle class (“suffocatingly Norwich” as Simon memorably wrote), but beer quality often defies my usual “one pump good, ten bad” rule.
More Fat Cat, a chewy Milk Stout just lacking that last bit of crispness to push it into the top tier (NBSS 3.5), but rich and chocolatey.
A perfect fireside beer.
Some brisk cask trade centres on the Nene Valley Simple Pleasures, which looks stunning sitting on the bar.
The Trafford is run by the famous De’Aths, who to avoid unintended offence should surely rebrand to Def and just play Public Enemy deep cuts in their lovely pubs.
Instead, you get “You’re the Inspiration“, “Take on Me” and Enya. If there’s a more Orinoco Flow city than Norwich I’ve yet to discover it.
On one table a group of friends have ordered the cheese platter. It’s SO enormous that even I say “WOW“.
A chuckling young lady drinking Strawberry cider is updating her white wine and Ghost Ship parents (or cousins, which is the same thing in Norfolk) on her exciting life. “He never got me tested” the tell-tale punch line.
In the Gents I head for the middle of three urinals, leaving a bit of a squash for the chap who follows me in. “You should NEVER pick the middle urinal” we agree.
Right, waddle back to the station, via the Red Light district,
and end the night with a shish kebab from Waterbeach Best Kebab, who are so posh they now have those vibrators that pings when your food is ready.
Golly it’s gorgeous.
retiredmartin 
A good stout by the fireside is now my mission for the day!! Great read, thank you 😀
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We enjoyed the Trafford so much in 2012 we each had 2-3 pints. After which we walked to Kett’s Tavern only to have the female publican try to sell us a calendar of nude ladies of Norwich. Back side only, of course. She proudly pointed herself out. We then walked to the Wellington in the pouring rain with assistance from a young lady in an office. It was dark and pouring so we could not read our map. It was worth the Oakham Bishop’s Farewell.
Dick
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