Wednesday morning meant “Le Grande Tour“. A designated heritage trip through east Cheshire, with only a small Branson Premium applied as it manages to bypass Stoke. I resisted the craft beer options on Crewe Station. Yes, my Big Day In Stafford with Paul (t’other) Mudge and Quosh, a first time out for this particular trio.… Continue reading ON MY BOD IN STAFFORD
Yes, new cover stars for our penultimate Preston post. Note the Two Mudgies (BBC 4, Thursdays, 1.30am) discussing the pronunciation of Thwaites. Reaching the inevitable climax now, we headed back toward the market and, er, the Market. Whether the Market Tavern or Tap, I care not. Well, I’m going with what it says on the… Continue reading JOHN SMITH’S AND JESSIE’S GIRL
Next up in York was what we call a speculative pre-emptive (ASP), which I bumbled to via this impressive building. The new, second branch of the House of Trembling Madness would be a shoe-in for the Guide in Yeovil or Yaxley, but in York is has stiffer competition. HoTM (1) was an early indication, along… Continue reading MORE TREMBLING MADNESS. AND PLUM PORTER IN YORK.
What are those #PubMen looking at ? I guess they were eyeing up my yummy Plum Porter at the Victoria, our fourth Rugby stop. This was the longest walk of the day, a mammoth ten minutes out towards the former Bass stronghold of Hillmorton. Ten minutes, and four excellent pieces of jaywalking from our… Continue reading I SUCCUMB TO THE PLUM (PORTER)
OK, that title only really works if you pronounce your favourite East Yorkshire resort as “Bride“, but bear with me. The train from Hull rattled past Beverley and Driffield, normally homes to at least one new GBG tick each year. This must have been a first tick in Brid for a decade, since the wonderful-looking… Continue reading UNBRIDLED JOY IN BRIDLINGTON
So, only three of us standing at the end of MancCrawl 2018 in the backroom of the Circus. Quite how Paul persuaded me into the Grey Horse (as well as the Lost Dene for breakfast), only he knows. Never try to keep up with the Stafford Mudge. But it was only half six, my bedtime… Continue reading A NIGHTCAP
Yes, still more from my Birthday I’m afraid. Having lost track of time AND forgotten I could only use my return ticket on the Welsh chugger back to Piccadilly, I had 27.5 minutes to kill in Wilmslow. No great undiscovered boozers, no micros, not even some weird street art down a dark alley. Just a… Continue reading A TRAIN BEER FOR THE PICCADILLY TAP