Alongside CAMRA Pub of the Year (must be the Weavers, surely), and Cider of the Festival, there must surely be space for Industrial Estate Brew Pub of the Year in the crowded awards calendar. Being strictly partisan, I’d have to vote for the one 200 yards from my Fenland home (Milton), but Fixed Wheel… Continue reading “I’M SPARTACUS”
“Where’s Cradley Heath ?” asked Charles, one of the more difficult questions to answer, along with; “Why is that pub shut when it should be open ?” “What do you think of these shoes ?” and “Why ?” Possible acceptable correct answers included; The Black Country North of Cradley (not the Worcestershire one)… Continue reading WHERE’S CRADLEY HEATH ?
I never forget how lucky I am to be able to go round the country, finding pubs closed, motorways jammed and Starbucks running out of Pike Place (or worse, replaced with Christmas Blend). Richard Coldwell was quizzing Simon and I last week about the downside of GBG ticking; how’d we feel about having to… Continue reading HALLOWEEN PARTIES AT STOURBRIDGE’S GREEN DUCK
We left the last post with my drinking buddy already two pints of 6%+ beer up, before the 6pm witching hour, and with two ticks left. Not a good place to start the a walk up the A491 to Wordsley. This is where geography gets complicated. I put Wordsley in the box marked “Greater Stourbridge”,… Continue reading WORD(SLEY) UP
Some people use pub cats to attract your attention; I’m sticking to weird Boney M references. And of course, the lure of Stourbridge. This was a Friday night beer and curry with Dereham’s top toper Charles. I think Mrs RM was “smashing the system” or something that night. We missed her. We chose a Friday… Continue reading HOORAY ! HOORAY ! IT’S A STOURBRIDGE HOLIDAY
I occasionally get odd requests from readers of the blog. You know, write about the worst pub in the UK, tell us about hopping rates, show us what your in-laws look like*. Well here you go, this is the Father-in-Law from Tunbridge Wells, England’s most unlikely capital of craft. There’s a Beavertown amongst those… Continue reading IN-LAW DRAMA AT TOAD ROCK
I’d had Beccles down as the “poor man’s Bungay“; now I see it as a rich man’s Diss. Only you can be the judge of whether that’s an improvement. A town of 10,000, which at least it has a railway station (trains to Ipswich or Lowestoft, very slowly), two Beer Guide pubs, and seemingly one… Continue reading BECCLES – (ANYTHING BUT) BORING BROWN & BITTER