Greetings all,
last year, having been out the Friday before and realised only at about 22.00 that the fest was on the next day, myself and Tash did not make it to the bus based Drone and other valley beer festival. We probably slept in late and then went out afterwards. This year I also remembered only on the Friday, having likely confirmed I was going on Faceache, but Tash encouraged me to go. What is a man to do when faced with this challenge? Decline? Well, not I. And albeit later than usual, I headed out.
It took about 3 and half years to get to town because the bus was full of pricks. People who couldn't get on, determine the fare or indeed their destination, or their reason or living. This is the first example of bus rage. Its something I will get over, one day. Probably....
I got the tickets at 14.45 and nipped in the Sheffield Tap for a quick half, of Magic Rock Rapture. I raced this down my throat outside in the sunshine, and soon I was on the 15.05 train.
I bumped into fellow Sheffield Beer Blogger Paul Holden - it was his first festival and he was meeting friends and his other half. As I was on a mission, I left him to ponder where this would take place and raced to the Dronfield Arms. Unsurprisingly, as well as the 6 real ales and keykegs in the pub, there was also an outside bar and plenty of seating on hay bails in the sunshine. I sat down on one with a pint of Steel City and Hopcraft Midnight in Antarctica and met up with Paul and his Brother-in-law o be Chris. A further delicious half of Bad Seed pale Ale followed, before we began the bus horror.
I explained to Paul that I suffered from bus rage, how many times this had happened at previous festivals and how nonsensical the service would be. Sure enough, the first two buses to arrive were A and C. We wanted B. It was then that we bumped into some gents that Paul knew and secured a timetable, before popping into the White Swan whilst waiting. There was a bar in the packed outside, but it was a cider bar. Inside there were two real ales, Adnams and Moonshine, so we got a half each, served in a pint plastic glass with no lines on. I know the pub isn't claiming to be a real ale mecca but the barman did not even speak or look at us, and we weren't convinced of the measures. A disappointing stop.
Round at the bus station, two buses turned up about the time ours was due. One changed from C to A and waited, the other remained as A and set off, allegedly to Barlow Brewery. Asking the driver of the other A where B was he had no idea. Luckily it did turn up - as a C. And not long after we arrived at Hundall for the Miners Arms.
Those of you who have visited Hundall before will know that its small. Very small. More a hamlet than a village. That the Miners Arms remains open, selling, I think, 4 real ales normally, is a credit to those running it. It does, however, mean that turning a large double decker bus round in the junction with some less than intelligent parking is a nightmare. Full marks to the driver for persisting the bus round the tiny gap.
In the pub the bar was rammed - they appeared to be selling 3 or 4 Pictish and Saltaire Raspberry blonde, but Chris was sure they had a Titanic cherry bitter on. This was in the outside bar - not the cider playground up the top - but the small one round the back of the pub. An enviable line of ales included the Titanic, which was surprisingly bitter for a fruit beer and which Chris and Paul had, along with a fantastic Siren Craft Oatmeal Pale Ale which I had. Chris thought the beer was a bit lacklustre being served from the barrel, and I agree in comparison to being forced or pulled up through a tight metal tube it has no or little head, but if the beer is of good quality that should let the flavours shine through. IN both cases this is what happened.
We were joined by other halves here and bumped into Josh and Louise. They had rather more sensibly arranged a lift from Eric, Louise's Dad, and he was on soft drinks bless him. Josh had returned form a long wait in the bar with ta pint which he shared and I stood with them whilst Paul and Chris caught up with their group. I then got a lift to the Travellers at Apperknowle.
This was the star of the show, and, in fact, my final stopping point in the festival. As well as 5 or more real ales inside, there was a large bar in the car park selling 20 or so real ales. Many where from Scotland and all 3 of us wanted the amazing Fyne Ales Jarl - alas this ran out whilst we waited at the bar. Gah! Instead, the three of us had pints of the excellent Oakham Citra. All beers were £3.00 a pint as well.
The views and scenery around the Travellers make this a lovely spot to spend time, and coupled with the excellent beer range this was easily the pub of the festival, although maybe tied with the Dronfield Arms. I had another pint of the Citra and got chatting to Tim Higham. I was introduced to Tim and his friend, whose name alcohol has taken from me, a few years ago by Barraharri. We were on a short 3 Valleys Tour in Dave's car and I met them at the Three Tuns. I haven't seen Tim since Dave's leaving do but he came up and gave me a nod and a hug and having now lost track of Josh et al, I sat with them.
My final two beers were Windsor and Eton Conqueror and Skye Black Gold. I supped these with Tim and also caught up with Paul and his friends before heading for the bus. This time, the transport worked fine, and I arrived at the station before 20.00 to catch the 5 past train to Sheffield. I nipped into the Sheffield Tap at this point and bumped into Mr Morton, who had also been to the festival. He noted that he had gone to the first and other early ones and there was little comparison with the hugeness of the modern festival, which he felt was a shame.
I can see his point of view in some ways. There are some, albeit less striking, resemblances with the Trans Pennine real ale trail - people turning up just to get hammered, people drinking before and on the transport, people treating the venues with disrespect. However, overall, the above aside, I think the 3 Valleys beer festival is a resounding success. Each year more pubs get involved, and each year delicious beers are served from local and national breweries in pubs who, for the most part, make a real effort to provide for the festival goers.
I had a fantastic time, and so did all the people who I spoke to who had been, maybe with the exception of the buses.Long may its increasing success continue.
Cheers!
Wee Beefy
Showing posts with label 3 valleys beer festival. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 3 valleys beer festival. Show all posts
Sunday, 7 June 2015
Friday, 1 June 2012
Three Valleys Beer Festival 2012
Hello,
apologies for a long stint without posts - I have swapped Internet provider, and after having a reckless 3 hours connectivity on Wednesday night, have had no chuffing signal since! Intermittent signal my arse...
3 Valleys
Anyhoo, the main purpose of this post is to remind you of the excellent Three Valleys beer festival 2012 which is taking place tomorrow, Saturday the 2nd June. This year, as you would expect, the venue list is reflective of a burgeoning real ale scene in Dronfield, and it seems there is much less interest in Holmesfield, which is a shame - not even the consistently excellent Rutland appears to be involved this time, which is surprising.
As usual there will be a festival bus running between the Castle Inn at Bradway, Barlow, Holmesfield and Dronfield, and as last year Barlow Brewery will open up their bar and their premises to accommodate drinkers bands and food for the day.
A link to the festival website can be found here , including a download of the rather perplexing bus timetable - my reading is that the Miners Arms at the top of Dronfield is the centre of the route, so for instance you can get there by festival bus from Dore station, then either wait for a bus to Barlow, or carry on down past the Three Tuns to Dronfield. That's what I'm doing, starting at the Three Tuns.
One last tip is to check which side of the road the bus stops on at the Coach and Horses in Dronfield - it seems to only stop on the side of the road heading towards Sheffield, then turns round at Bowshaw roundabout and comes back past the other side heading for the station - but in previous years the driver hasn't picked up on the opposite side, even though there have been 30 or 40 people waiting. Lets hope its a little more clear this year!
Hope you can get along on Saturday, all the best
Wee Beefy
apologies for a long stint without posts - I have swapped Internet provider, and after having a reckless 3 hours connectivity on Wednesday night, have had no chuffing signal since! Intermittent signal my arse...
3 Valleys
Anyhoo, the main purpose of this post is to remind you of the excellent Three Valleys beer festival 2012 which is taking place tomorrow, Saturday the 2nd June. This year, as you would expect, the venue list is reflective of a burgeoning real ale scene in Dronfield, and it seems there is much less interest in Holmesfield, which is a shame - not even the consistently excellent Rutland appears to be involved this time, which is surprising.
As usual there will be a festival bus running between the Castle Inn at Bradway, Barlow, Holmesfield and Dronfield, and as last year Barlow Brewery will open up their bar and their premises to accommodate drinkers bands and food for the day.
A link to the festival website can be found here , including a download of the rather perplexing bus timetable - my reading is that the Miners Arms at the top of Dronfield is the centre of the route, so for instance you can get there by festival bus from Dore station, then either wait for a bus to Barlow, or carry on down past the Three Tuns to Dronfield. That's what I'm doing, starting at the Three Tuns.
One last tip is to check which side of the road the bus stops on at the Coach and Horses in Dronfield - it seems to only stop on the side of the road heading towards Sheffield, then turns round at Bowshaw roundabout and comes back past the other side heading for the station - but in previous years the driver hasn't picked up on the opposite side, even though there have been 30 or 40 people waiting. Lets hope its a little more clear this year!
Hope you can get along on Saturday, all the best
Wee Beefy
Tuesday, 31 May 2011
3 Valleys Festival, Bar 360 West One, Green Room, Trippets, Cliff Inn Crich
Now then,
an unexpected fortuitous decision by Nationwide to take my insurance payment after the bank holiday rather than a day early, meant that what looked like being the most depressing bank holiday weekend for years started, continued and ended on a high note. A wretched innings at the crease of my employer's ironed underpants, or my job as its more catchily known, prompted me to lust for a refreshing and hopefully relaxing pint in that Sheffield straight after work.
I stayed as long as my brain could manage and walked past the Shakespeare on Shalesmoor, to see how work was coming along. To my untrained builders eye I have to say it looks as dire and untouched as always, although perhaps the fact that days after buying the pub some nobheads broke in and stole all the pipework means that the owner wants it to look like nothing new is happening inside.
I walked up Brook Hill from here and past the church near Jessops before heading down to Harrisons 1854. Inside, more changes were afoot, the cider was back in its box, apparently, despite the boxes ability to keep the juice fresh, the slow turnover and long pipes meant before you could enjoy a pint 3 or 4 had to be discarded, so the pump dispense was abandoned.
The beer range was Moonshine and Deception as usual, fair enough there isn't enough demand for a third at present, and most importantly, the comfy seating has appeared downstairs, likely but hopefully not what attracted a gaggle of youths. Although it was quiet around 19.00 onwards, there was also another member of staff in anticipation of it livening up later.
I still had chance for a chat with sommelier turned Mrs mop Dave who had committed the lamentable crime of picking up a fixture from under the bar, and realising that it needed cleaning. We realised that the 3 Valleys festival was on the next day, and, having secured some funds, hatched a somewhat cock-eyed plan to meet at 12.00 in Dronfield the next day.
Arrangements in place I headed off on a mission - to find an unusual American bottled beer in one of the West One bar/restaurants. The above was all the instruction I had, and I noted there were a few to go at; I knew Vodka Revulsion (do you see what I've done there? I have changed the name, and everything....) wouldn't entertain such a concept, and something unmemorable next to Antibos looked a bit too food orientated. Las Iguanas I knew was hardly a good bar for a quiet drink but admirably, on my last visit they sold a very quaffable dark Brazilian beer.
So I headed for Bar 23, where the music sounded a bit more, erm, well alternative than the noises from other venues. There was some nice seating and some interesting places to hide, and the barman was incredibly helpful, alas though he could not confirm that they sold any but the most widely available American beers, and recommended the Bowery.
Blurred Moon
En route I popped in - once I had found an entrance to, Bar 360. Its Round. Do you see what they did there ? An opportunity missed I say, since it could so easily have incorporated 360 entrances, with only one operational. Like the Sheaf Island for example. Anyhoo, once inside I started my unusual American beer shtick and straight away was shown a bottle I did not recognise, and purchased it.
Blue Moon wheat beer is from the Blue Moon Wheat Beer co, and according to the blurb is a kooky but marketable (is this a claim or information? ) orange flavoured wheat beer. Not noted on the label was that it was a little cold and extremely fizzy, but still managed to be very nice indeed, accompanied by an eclectic musical selection.
The info on the back makes much of its wholesome beginnings - I can't recall which high fibre nutritional slice of the States it came from, I am, rather like Doris Stokes "getting" Colorado, but it makes much of how it is just a few friends getting together to make beer that is an unusual twist on classic beer styles for their own enjoyment, with a trifling and little explored monetary dimension that they seem to forget.
I moved my attention to a rather muddy playing of Firestarter by the prodigy next whilst getting my head round, almost literally, the interior. It is indeed a large round building with toilets emanating in the right hand side of the straight feature which is the bar (they are curved inside ), a long table, possibly some pushed together, on the right part of the circle as you enter, and some comfy settees which are a good vantage point for watching people parading around West One - not literally.
Thing is, this smooth city centre concept bar was detracting me from my ultimate goal to sit down somewhere comfy and quiet for a pint so I opted to sup up and head off, but not before reading the finer points of the bottle label. To my surprise, not only did these friends appear to have moved production to Canada, but also the sole distributor was Molson Coors, who also seemed to be the sole owners. I thought Molson were a giant Canadian conglomerate now swallowed up by the unseemly behemoth that is now Molson Coors and thus even more enormous and power crazed. So how rare is this beer, and how long will it remain so ?
No answer was to be had, but I suspect this is another cherry picking by the interplanetary big 3 brewers ( OK, I know they don't brew on other planets yet, but rest assured anyone who did would be swiftly made an offer they couldn't refuse by caring Big Daddy bear Inbev, or Coors or SABMiller).
So, on next to look at the Bowery, a literal description since despite its favourable music choice and long list of bottled classics, I was tired and waining and wanting a comfy sit down, so I did not linger. I was heading for Henry's but passing the Green Room, an enigma of real ale uncertainty for some time now, although I knew I would get no where to quietly sit, I decided to pop in anyway.
A landlord pump clip was turned round and the other bare, possibly the same sight that had greeted me on my last umpteen visits, but I was past caring by now. Still, I meekly enquired if real ale was or would be available, and then came an epiphany for me, when a man with a thin face, a niggly voice and what I recall, likely wrongly, as a pork pie hat, told me that they didn't sell it anymore. So, finally they come clean - all we have to do now is wait for the next change in management or a rethink, and I will be finally tempted to go in.
So, off for my final destination, I dithered over a trip to the Wick At Both Ends, but worried that I may not have a good beer choice, and Henrys seemed too far, so I headed for Trippets, which was very busy with punters and a "disc Jockey" playing "records" as I believe the young folk are calling them.
The lighting was a bit naff but sort of amusingly so, the main area was packed so I was sat at the back of the place watching the Long Play record spinner bang out some choonz, or something in English, whilst enjoying a nice pint of Thornbridge Alchemy, once again. All in all a satisfying night fact finding, of not a very relaxing nature, and a good precursor to a Saturday out in the countryside.
Droning on about the Valleys.
So, the cock eyed plan aforementioned was that I would get a lift off Wee Fatha, from Handsworth to the Coach and Horses, for which I would tender a pint, and meet Dave Barraharri as he shall now be known, at the pub for a few halves before he left for work.
In reality, Wee Ftaha was in the grip of financial anxiety and so virtually metered me all the way to the pub, although he did lend me a tenner to negate my planned trip to the cashpoint. Alas, this would have filled in time, since having got there at 11.30 and assuming the staff milling around and doors being open and lights on meant they were trading, was told that i could not buy a beer for another half an hour. They offered me the chance to sit outside reading the beer list and deciding what to buy, but this felt like invited torture so I walked out to try and find a lovely path to yomp along for 30 minutes.
The Drone Valley no doubt has some lovely bits to it, but I get the feeling you kind of need to know where they are. Fortuitously, after only 5 or 6 minutes walking, I did find a path, but its only signed in one direction, so I spent most of my time circling the edge of the field seeking a stile to get out over. Once found, I clambered this broken edifice to follow a real path to another stile/path conundrum, following a sign into a field the only visible way out of which was blocked, and then out onto the Dronfield Rotary walk. This was ominously taking me away from the pub and my starting point, so I hurried back to find Barrharri outside the pub already ensconced with a half.
Dave had White Swan or similar from Thornbridge dispensed from the bar inside, and I quickly fetched a half of the Arran Red Squirrel. I have never had this before on draught, and it was a pleasing malty ale which lacked a little in body, and seemed to lack condition. Next Dave got a half of the Dark Star Festival, which he transferred from his wobbly plastic cup into his cherished half pint glass, and I went for a pint of the Buxton Dark Dales, which was as chewy and uncompromising as their Axe Edge, the difference being this was a Dark IPA.
The smell of the barbecue was making me hungry, but luckily for me The Coach and Horses had imposed dietary restrictions on me by asking £5.00 for a burger. On my limited budget, no amount of beer hunger was going to tempt me to part with that kind of cash, and I did ask how the burgers were going, hoping the kind lady behind the bar would detect and appreciate my subtle irony. She did neither.
Still, I stayed on for a couple more, Dave had another beer, and I a pint from the inside of a Derby Brewery beer with a rabbit on - confirmation to follow ! This was a flat lifeless ale that looked like it had been sat in a jug for two hours and tasted nothing like a hoppy Derby offering, with an odd dry malt and no discernable predominant flavour, a bit like one of those unfathomable Millis beers that they brew in Kent - the irony of a hopless Kentish Ale, stop it Millis, it hurts....
Luckily I pretended the beer was refreshing, bearing in mind that at first and somehow at the end it tasted OK if uninspiring, before using my real glass to get the best pint of the day, a fantastic 568ml of Fyne Ales Avalanche, which quickly rid me of the odd taste of the last pint whilst I waited for the bus. My stop ended about 13.50 as the coach arrived so I ran off to catch that to the Miners Arms in Dronfield.
his is possibly my first visit to the pub, and despite the inconvenience of arriving just as they stopped serving food, I was able to choose a tasty half from the range of Rev James, Black Sheep Bitter, Kelham Island Easy Rider and Hook Norton bitter which I had a very nice half of. I didn't try any of the other beers due to time, but the bitter was in great nick and the other festival goers all seemed to be enjoying that and the Rev James.
The Millthorpe Conundrum
Out next onto Festival bus route 3 to go onto what I assume is valley number 2, that being the end of the Lineker Valley, and up to the Barlow Brewery. On the timetable it clearly marks the Royal Oak at Millthorpe on this route, but the driver barely paused at the bottom of Millthorpe Lane. Some passengers commented and it turned out that persons not from the area, and so not able to notice we were passing the pub, had fancied a visit, but there was a goodly wait until the next bus.
I noted from the 3 Valleys website that there was no mention of the Royal Oak, but there was a (then) pictureless reference to the Devonshire Arms - no idea which one it was, the only one I could think of was the one at Middle Handley, making it the opposite side of the Drone Valley heading for Unstone and Chesterfield, and not served by any buses, I now know its on all 3 routes and the 30 - could it be the one at Dore ? And does that make the furthest Valley Abbeydale? I concede I am not hot on valley knowledge, and I never thought to ask when I was out, and I now think there's a Devonshire in Barlow, so who knows....
So why the omission ? I noted that some of the pubs at the end of Holmesfield weren't involved this year, but that seemed inevitable for the Horns with its beer calamity last year, but surprising for the likes of the Angel, which offers real ale anyway as far as I know ( The George and Dragon was again offering Peak Ales, so perhaps they always sell them ? ). The Royal Oak was not featured last year, but no bus went nearer to it than Holmesfield, but this year was surely a golden opportunity ?
Well, for whatever reason, they didn't seem to be involved, and when I got there by car en route from the brewery to the Rutland courtesy of Dave later on (thanks mate, a very kind offer ), it was resolutely shut. Now i realise it may not usually open all day Saturday, but why not make an exception today, even if not involved ?
It seems incongrous for a pub saved by the locals after a possibly 15 year fight by the owners to close it down, that the pub should be so reticent to invite trade. I mentioned the puzzle to Wee Keefy yesterday, he has visited a few times with me, and he noted that there was a no bikers sign outside. Obviously, the pub is thriving sufficiently well to be choosy, and to risk alienating a chunk of passing trade, but this does not seem sensible or plausible. So where is the Royal Oak going one wonders ?
Anyway, gripe over, the Barlow brewery were participating by opening their tiny bar ( and it is literally just that, with seating in marquees and a food van outside ), and providing some decent bluesy entertainment from a singer called Whiskey Bob Shaker, who played two Tom Waits songs to open (albeit likely covered by Waits himself ), which immediately prompted me to not go for the bus but to stay and cadge a lift instead.
Beers wise I had half of the Barlow Dark and half of their impressive imperial stout. I secured a chair and sat in fleeting windy sunshine soaking up the music and sipping both beers, with the imperial stout being surprisingly drinkable. All too soon however I had to leave and Dave Barraharri picked me up outside and whisked me off via my getting him lost using my "knowledge " (and taking him to the closed Royal Oak as previously noted) en route to the Rutland.
Here there was the full compliment of Black Sheep beers, as advertised, along with Castle rock Pale. I nursed a half of this sat in a corner between the bar and a magnificent shiny copper flumed fireplace, watching people queue thirstily at the bar. I only stayed for a half here because really I needed to eat by now, and it appeared that the imperial stout may have been a bit too refreshing.
So, I staggered up the winding lane to Northen Common, and went in a new pub for me, the Hearty Oak (pub and kitchen), formerly more sensibly named the Hearts of Oak I think. Outside was a barbecue, inside was rammed with drinkers and diners and on the bar were a couple of Raw and a couple of Abbeydale beers. I tried pints of both the Raw Centennial and dark Peak, the latter probably the better since the first was a bit tired, and gorged on a cheeseburger and then a sausage butty, both with an extra piece thrown in as it was burnt - note, I did get a say in this, one of the staff members even brought me the extra sausage in in case I anted to cram it in my bun, which is both what I did, and not a euphemism.
After this a mild discombobulation befell me and having missed the bus to just about anywhere soon, I walked round to the Miners to catch one back to the Brewery, with a group of festival-goers including someone called Spencer, a friendly bloke who seemed interested in real ale and probably had a web identity of spencerocks or similar. Either way I feel sure he would have left with this blog address in his possession.....
Whilst here I had the Barlow Festival IPA and Calendar Ale, which I supped under cover whilst chatting with my new afable cohort and the inimitable JB, whom I spotted sitting nearby. As was only fitting in his presence, the subject of the next bus out came up and true to form he had all the information I needed. Soon I had said my goodbyes and was off to the Hearty Oak, only to swap buses, and then down to the Castle Inn off Twentywell Lane.
Many people had crowded onto the bus to get here this time and inside it was rammed. It was busy anyway with food trade and in the room to the right people were amassing for the Champions League Final. On the bar were Bradfield Blonde, a Blue Bee beer which I only noticed later, and two Oakwell ales, which I had a half of each, their Oakwell bitter and the senior. Both were refreshing if a little innocuous compared with some of the earlier ales tried but they were well kept.
From here I walked down the main road to Abbeydale Road and thankfully flagged down a bus into town and was home quicker than I expected, in time to watch the end of the match and to make some tasty food.
The festival was another enjoyable day out, the travelling time ensuring that you probably end up drinking less then you'd expect if you are out for say 8 hours, and also of course the bus is essential in helping you to get to the pubs which this year, perhaps more than before, are spread over a larger area. The only regret is that I had not started at the other end and took in the George in Holmsfield and the Cross Scythes at Totley, or maybe even the mysterious Devonshire Arms. Perhaps next year.
Crich on a chuffin bike.
So, with bank Holiday washed out, it was inevitable that my desire to get some exercise would wind up getting me soaked, and Monday was the chosen day of punishment for a Lea, Crich and Derwent Valley yomp. Alas, its getting late so am going to have to reign in the details, but suffice to say route wise we walked from lea to Lea Bridge near Smedleys Mill, up over the hill through woods to the Cromford Canal then along to Crich Carr and up an extremely long and steep hill to near the Tramway Museum, and into the Cliff Inn, before following the road, Leashaw, back to the car.
(no bikes were actually usedi n this slog)
The Cliff Inn used to be Hardy Hanson's pub, likely doing a roaring trade in food, possible a long ago regular in the guide along with the tramway, and now somewhat reinvented as a traditional pub selling real ales and some home cooked food. They don't appear to have a website but an enthusiastic review at Peakdistrictonline.co.uk/peak-district-pubs which for some reason I can't copy over (possibly an HTML anomaly) which gives a fairly ingratiatory splash on the merits of the pub.
One of its central themes is the fact that the pub serves locally brewed real ales, with much reference here and in the GBG of beers brewed within a 15 mile radius of the pub. It may not specify that all the ales fall into this category, and indeed on this visit two dont - (perhaps Black Sheep and Landlord are regulars?) but the two guests were, and this is a development to be encouraged.
Wee Keefy had a half of the Brampton Golden Bud - which at £1.50 is a bit steep for a half at 3.8; and I a pint of the Thornbridge Kipling, which is bear 6% and had a £3.30 price tag to match, although thats not dissimilar to Sheffield these days. Prices aside its great to see a pub signing up to the idea of getting beer from as near as possible instead of shipping it in via sometimes 3 different distribution plants and wholesalers. Given the overkill caused by so many places selling the same beers in the area (with noticable exceptions, the Thorn Tree Matlock, Royal Oak and Hope and Anchor Wirksworth, and Bear Inn Alderwasley excepted ) its nice to see a good range of beers reflecting the diversity of Derbyshire brewing.
If this plan could be rolled out nationwide, this could form the central tenet of a practical plan to secure the future of many threatened pubs around he UK, based on them selling as much local products as possible and thereby repaying the local community for their custom with tacit support for small local businesses. Selling local ale on its own wont halt the hostelries decline but it might make pubs more enticing to visit and more active in the wider local economy.
More news soon, likely on my return from Scotland next week.
Wee Beefy
an unexpected fortuitous decision by Nationwide to take my insurance payment after the bank holiday rather than a day early, meant that what looked like being the most depressing bank holiday weekend for years started, continued and ended on a high note. A wretched innings at the crease of my employer's ironed underpants, or my job as its more catchily known, prompted me to lust for a refreshing and hopefully relaxing pint in that Sheffield straight after work.
I stayed as long as my brain could manage and walked past the Shakespeare on Shalesmoor, to see how work was coming along. To my untrained builders eye I have to say it looks as dire and untouched as always, although perhaps the fact that days after buying the pub some nobheads broke in and stole all the pipework means that the owner wants it to look like nothing new is happening inside.
I walked up Brook Hill from here and past the church near Jessops before heading down to Harrisons 1854. Inside, more changes were afoot, the cider was back in its box, apparently, despite the boxes ability to keep the juice fresh, the slow turnover and long pipes meant before you could enjoy a pint 3 or 4 had to be discarded, so the pump dispense was abandoned.
The beer range was Moonshine and Deception as usual, fair enough there isn't enough demand for a third at present, and most importantly, the comfy seating has appeared downstairs, likely but hopefully not what attracted a gaggle of youths. Although it was quiet around 19.00 onwards, there was also another member of staff in anticipation of it livening up later.
I still had chance for a chat with sommelier turned Mrs mop Dave who had committed the lamentable crime of picking up a fixture from under the bar, and realising that it needed cleaning. We realised that the 3 Valleys festival was on the next day, and, having secured some funds, hatched a somewhat cock-eyed plan to meet at 12.00 in Dronfield the next day.
Arrangements in place I headed off on a mission - to find an unusual American bottled beer in one of the West One bar/restaurants. The above was all the instruction I had, and I noted there were a few to go at; I knew Vodka Revulsion (do you see what I've done there? I have changed the name, and everything....) wouldn't entertain such a concept, and something unmemorable next to Antibos looked a bit too food orientated. Las Iguanas I knew was hardly a good bar for a quiet drink but admirably, on my last visit they sold a very quaffable dark Brazilian beer.
So I headed for Bar 23, where the music sounded a bit more, erm, well alternative than the noises from other venues. There was some nice seating and some interesting places to hide, and the barman was incredibly helpful, alas though he could not confirm that they sold any but the most widely available American beers, and recommended the Bowery.
Blurred Moon
En route I popped in - once I had found an entrance to, Bar 360. Its Round. Do you see what they did there ? An opportunity missed I say, since it could so easily have incorporated 360 entrances, with only one operational. Like the Sheaf Island for example. Anyhoo, once inside I started my unusual American beer shtick and straight away was shown a bottle I did not recognise, and purchased it.
Blue Moon wheat beer is from the Blue Moon Wheat Beer co, and according to the blurb is a kooky but marketable (is this a claim or information? ) orange flavoured wheat beer. Not noted on the label was that it was a little cold and extremely fizzy, but still managed to be very nice indeed, accompanied by an eclectic musical selection.
The info on the back makes much of its wholesome beginnings - I can't recall which high fibre nutritional slice of the States it came from, I am, rather like Doris Stokes "getting" Colorado, but it makes much of how it is just a few friends getting together to make beer that is an unusual twist on classic beer styles for their own enjoyment, with a trifling and little explored monetary dimension that they seem to forget.
I moved my attention to a rather muddy playing of Firestarter by the prodigy next whilst getting my head round, almost literally, the interior. It is indeed a large round building with toilets emanating in the right hand side of the straight feature which is the bar (they are curved inside ), a long table, possibly some pushed together, on the right part of the circle as you enter, and some comfy settees which are a good vantage point for watching people parading around West One - not literally.
Thing is, this smooth city centre concept bar was detracting me from my ultimate goal to sit down somewhere comfy and quiet for a pint so I opted to sup up and head off, but not before reading the finer points of the bottle label. To my surprise, not only did these friends appear to have moved production to Canada, but also the sole distributor was Molson Coors, who also seemed to be the sole owners. I thought Molson were a giant Canadian conglomerate now swallowed up by the unseemly behemoth that is now Molson Coors and thus even more enormous and power crazed. So how rare is this beer, and how long will it remain so ?
No answer was to be had, but I suspect this is another cherry picking by the interplanetary big 3 brewers ( OK, I know they don't brew on other planets yet, but rest assured anyone who did would be swiftly made an offer they couldn't refuse by caring Big Daddy bear Inbev, or Coors or SABMiller).
So, on next to look at the Bowery, a literal description since despite its favourable music choice and long list of bottled classics, I was tired and waining and wanting a comfy sit down, so I did not linger. I was heading for Henry's but passing the Green Room, an enigma of real ale uncertainty for some time now, although I knew I would get no where to quietly sit, I decided to pop in anyway.
A landlord pump clip was turned round and the other bare, possibly the same sight that had greeted me on my last umpteen visits, but I was past caring by now. Still, I meekly enquired if real ale was or would be available, and then came an epiphany for me, when a man with a thin face, a niggly voice and what I recall, likely wrongly, as a pork pie hat, told me that they didn't sell it anymore. So, finally they come clean - all we have to do now is wait for the next change in management or a rethink, and I will be finally tempted to go in.
So, off for my final destination, I dithered over a trip to the Wick At Both Ends, but worried that I may not have a good beer choice, and Henrys seemed too far, so I headed for Trippets, which was very busy with punters and a "disc Jockey" playing "records" as I believe the young folk are calling them.
The lighting was a bit naff but sort of amusingly so, the main area was packed so I was sat at the back of the place watching the Long Play record spinner bang out some choonz, or something in English, whilst enjoying a nice pint of Thornbridge Alchemy, once again. All in all a satisfying night fact finding, of not a very relaxing nature, and a good precursor to a Saturday out in the countryside.
Droning on about the Valleys.
So, the cock eyed plan aforementioned was that I would get a lift off Wee Fatha, from Handsworth to the Coach and Horses, for which I would tender a pint, and meet Dave Barraharri as he shall now be known, at the pub for a few halves before he left for work.
In reality, Wee Ftaha was in the grip of financial anxiety and so virtually metered me all the way to the pub, although he did lend me a tenner to negate my planned trip to the cashpoint. Alas, this would have filled in time, since having got there at 11.30 and assuming the staff milling around and doors being open and lights on meant they were trading, was told that i could not buy a beer for another half an hour. They offered me the chance to sit outside reading the beer list and deciding what to buy, but this felt like invited torture so I walked out to try and find a lovely path to yomp along for 30 minutes.
The Drone Valley no doubt has some lovely bits to it, but I get the feeling you kind of need to know where they are. Fortuitously, after only 5 or 6 minutes walking, I did find a path, but its only signed in one direction, so I spent most of my time circling the edge of the field seeking a stile to get out over. Once found, I clambered this broken edifice to follow a real path to another stile/path conundrum, following a sign into a field the only visible way out of which was blocked, and then out onto the Dronfield Rotary walk. This was ominously taking me away from the pub and my starting point, so I hurried back to find Barrharri outside the pub already ensconced with a half.
Dave had White Swan or similar from Thornbridge dispensed from the bar inside, and I quickly fetched a half of the Arran Red Squirrel. I have never had this before on draught, and it was a pleasing malty ale which lacked a little in body, and seemed to lack condition. Next Dave got a half of the Dark Star Festival, which he transferred from his wobbly plastic cup into his cherished half pint glass, and I went for a pint of the Buxton Dark Dales, which was as chewy and uncompromising as their Axe Edge, the difference being this was a Dark IPA.
The smell of the barbecue was making me hungry, but luckily for me The Coach and Horses had imposed dietary restrictions on me by asking £5.00 for a burger. On my limited budget, no amount of beer hunger was going to tempt me to part with that kind of cash, and I did ask how the burgers were going, hoping the kind lady behind the bar would detect and appreciate my subtle irony. She did neither.
Still, I stayed on for a couple more, Dave had another beer, and I a pint from the inside of a Derby Brewery beer with a rabbit on - confirmation to follow ! This was a flat lifeless ale that looked like it had been sat in a jug for two hours and tasted nothing like a hoppy Derby offering, with an odd dry malt and no discernable predominant flavour, a bit like one of those unfathomable Millis beers that they brew in Kent - the irony of a hopless Kentish Ale, stop it Millis, it hurts....
Luckily I pretended the beer was refreshing, bearing in mind that at first and somehow at the end it tasted OK if uninspiring, before using my real glass to get the best pint of the day, a fantastic 568ml of Fyne Ales Avalanche, which quickly rid me of the odd taste of the last pint whilst I waited for the bus. My stop ended about 13.50 as the coach arrived so I ran off to catch that to the Miners Arms in Dronfield.
his is possibly my first visit to the pub, and despite the inconvenience of arriving just as they stopped serving food, I was able to choose a tasty half from the range of Rev James, Black Sheep Bitter, Kelham Island Easy Rider and Hook Norton bitter which I had a very nice half of. I didn't try any of the other beers due to time, but the bitter was in great nick and the other festival goers all seemed to be enjoying that and the Rev James.
The Millthorpe Conundrum
Out next onto Festival bus route 3 to go onto what I assume is valley number 2, that being the end of the Lineker Valley, and up to the Barlow Brewery. On the timetable it clearly marks the Royal Oak at Millthorpe on this route, but the driver barely paused at the bottom of Millthorpe Lane. Some passengers commented and it turned out that persons not from the area, and so not able to notice we were passing the pub, had fancied a visit, but there was a goodly wait until the next bus.
I noted from the 3 Valleys website that there was no mention of the Royal Oak, but there was a (then) pictureless reference to the Devonshire Arms - no idea which one it was, the only one I could think of was the one at Middle Handley, making it the opposite side of the Drone Valley heading for Unstone and Chesterfield, and not served by any buses, I now know its on all 3 routes and the 30 - could it be the one at Dore ? And does that make the furthest Valley Abbeydale? I concede I am not hot on valley knowledge, and I never thought to ask when I was out, and I now think there's a Devonshire in Barlow, so who knows....
So why the omission ? I noted that some of the pubs at the end of Holmesfield weren't involved this year, but that seemed inevitable for the Horns with its beer calamity last year, but surprising for the likes of the Angel, which offers real ale anyway as far as I know ( The George and Dragon was again offering Peak Ales, so perhaps they always sell them ? ). The Royal Oak was not featured last year, but no bus went nearer to it than Holmesfield, but this year was surely a golden opportunity ?
Well, for whatever reason, they didn't seem to be involved, and when I got there by car en route from the brewery to the Rutland courtesy of Dave later on (thanks mate, a very kind offer ), it was resolutely shut. Now i realise it may not usually open all day Saturday, but why not make an exception today, even if not involved ?
It seems incongrous for a pub saved by the locals after a possibly 15 year fight by the owners to close it down, that the pub should be so reticent to invite trade. I mentioned the puzzle to Wee Keefy yesterday, he has visited a few times with me, and he noted that there was a no bikers sign outside. Obviously, the pub is thriving sufficiently well to be choosy, and to risk alienating a chunk of passing trade, but this does not seem sensible or plausible. So where is the Royal Oak going one wonders ?
Anyway, gripe over, the Barlow brewery were participating by opening their tiny bar ( and it is literally just that, with seating in marquees and a food van outside ), and providing some decent bluesy entertainment from a singer called Whiskey Bob Shaker, who played two Tom Waits songs to open (albeit likely covered by Waits himself ), which immediately prompted me to not go for the bus but to stay and cadge a lift instead.
Beers wise I had half of the Barlow Dark and half of their impressive imperial stout. I secured a chair and sat in fleeting windy sunshine soaking up the music and sipping both beers, with the imperial stout being surprisingly drinkable. All too soon however I had to leave and Dave Barraharri picked me up outside and whisked me off via my getting him lost using my "knowledge " (and taking him to the closed Royal Oak as previously noted) en route to the Rutland.
Here there was the full compliment of Black Sheep beers, as advertised, along with Castle rock Pale. I nursed a half of this sat in a corner between the bar and a magnificent shiny copper flumed fireplace, watching people queue thirstily at the bar. I only stayed for a half here because really I needed to eat by now, and it appeared that the imperial stout may have been a bit too refreshing.
So, I staggered up the winding lane to Northen Common, and went in a new pub for me, the Hearty Oak (pub and kitchen), formerly more sensibly named the Hearts of Oak I think. Outside was a barbecue, inside was rammed with drinkers and diners and on the bar were a couple of Raw and a couple of Abbeydale beers. I tried pints of both the Raw Centennial and dark Peak, the latter probably the better since the first was a bit tired, and gorged on a cheeseburger and then a sausage butty, both with an extra piece thrown in as it was burnt - note, I did get a say in this, one of the staff members even brought me the extra sausage in in case I anted to cram it in my bun, which is both what I did, and not a euphemism.
After this a mild discombobulation befell me and having missed the bus to just about anywhere soon, I walked round to the Miners to catch one back to the Brewery, with a group of festival-goers including someone called Spencer, a friendly bloke who seemed interested in real ale and probably had a web identity of spencerocks or similar. Either way I feel sure he would have left with this blog address in his possession.....
Whilst here I had the Barlow Festival IPA and Calendar Ale, which I supped under cover whilst chatting with my new afable cohort and the inimitable JB, whom I spotted sitting nearby. As was only fitting in his presence, the subject of the next bus out came up and true to form he had all the information I needed. Soon I had said my goodbyes and was off to the Hearty Oak, only to swap buses, and then down to the Castle Inn off Twentywell Lane.
Many people had crowded onto the bus to get here this time and inside it was rammed. It was busy anyway with food trade and in the room to the right people were amassing for the Champions League Final. On the bar were Bradfield Blonde, a Blue Bee beer which I only noticed later, and two Oakwell ales, which I had a half of each, their Oakwell bitter and the senior. Both were refreshing if a little innocuous compared with some of the earlier ales tried but they were well kept.
From here I walked down the main road to Abbeydale Road and thankfully flagged down a bus into town and was home quicker than I expected, in time to watch the end of the match and to make some tasty food.
The festival was another enjoyable day out, the travelling time ensuring that you probably end up drinking less then you'd expect if you are out for say 8 hours, and also of course the bus is essential in helping you to get to the pubs which this year, perhaps more than before, are spread over a larger area. The only regret is that I had not started at the other end and took in the George in Holmsfield and the Cross Scythes at Totley, or maybe even the mysterious Devonshire Arms. Perhaps next year.
Crich on a chuffin bike.
So, with bank Holiday washed out, it was inevitable that my desire to get some exercise would wind up getting me soaked, and Monday was the chosen day of punishment for a Lea, Crich and Derwent Valley yomp. Alas, its getting late so am going to have to reign in the details, but suffice to say route wise we walked from lea to Lea Bridge near Smedleys Mill, up over the hill through woods to the Cromford Canal then along to Crich Carr and up an extremely long and steep hill to near the Tramway Museum, and into the Cliff Inn, before following the road, Leashaw, back to the car.
(no bikes were actually usedi n this slog)
The Cliff Inn used to be Hardy Hanson's pub, likely doing a roaring trade in food, possible a long ago regular in the guide along with the tramway, and now somewhat reinvented as a traditional pub selling real ales and some home cooked food. They don't appear to have a website but an enthusiastic review at Peakdistrictonline.co.uk/peak-district-pubs which for some reason I can't copy over (possibly an HTML anomaly) which gives a fairly ingratiatory splash on the merits of the pub.
One of its central themes is the fact that the pub serves locally brewed real ales, with much reference here and in the GBG of beers brewed within a 15 mile radius of the pub. It may not specify that all the ales fall into this category, and indeed on this visit two dont - (perhaps Black Sheep and Landlord are regulars?) but the two guests were, and this is a development to be encouraged.
Wee Keefy had a half of the Brampton Golden Bud - which at £1.50 is a bit steep for a half at 3.8; and I a pint of the Thornbridge Kipling, which is bear 6% and had a £3.30 price tag to match, although thats not dissimilar to Sheffield these days. Prices aside its great to see a pub signing up to the idea of getting beer from as near as possible instead of shipping it in via sometimes 3 different distribution plants and wholesalers. Given the overkill caused by so many places selling the same beers in the area (with noticable exceptions, the Thorn Tree Matlock, Royal Oak and Hope and Anchor Wirksworth, and Bear Inn Alderwasley excepted ) its nice to see a good range of beers reflecting the diversity of Derbyshire brewing.
If this plan could be rolled out nationwide, this could form the central tenet of a practical plan to secure the future of many threatened pubs around he UK, based on them selling as much local products as possible and thereby repaying the local community for their custom with tacit support for small local businesses. Selling local ale on its own wont halt the hostelries decline but it might make pubs more enticing to visit and more active in the wider local economy.
More news soon, likely on my return from Scotland next week.
Wee Beefy
Wednesday, 21 July 2010
3 Valleys beer festival
Having somehow contrived to more or less run out of cash half way through the month (its always a bad sign when you need to start adding the number of weeks left before your pay allows you to live again) I was going to spend the weekend of July 17th doing nothing and resting my hole ridden foot in my cumbersome Herman Munster boot that the hospital had insisted I wear.
That was until I got a text from Fluffy.
Yep, that’s right. I have a friend called fluffy (although he amusingly tries to pretend that it’s actually his name for me which clearly, it isn’t).
Luckily, I am not in SMS contact with a feline or silkily pelted dog, instead Scott is his more drinker friendly name and he lives in that London so we see each other rarely, although more recently since a chance conversation with a mutual friend. Anyhoo, his invite to join him at the 3 Valleys festival proved too strong to resist, especially when I saw the beers that might be on.
The idea is simple. Twelve (or perhaps ten) pubs put on special events and or special beers like they are having a beer festival of their own, all of the pubs are in the S18 and 19 area (according to the website) and you travel for free between them all by a festival bus paid for by the pubs.
So, on Saturday me and Chala headed into town and dawdled unhelpfully down to the train station - the idea was that rather than catch the 15.05 train with Scott et al, we would catch the earlier one (which I guessed left at 14.05 but hadn't checked) so we could go to the Coach and Horses in Dronfield and steal an hours drinking on them, on the assumption that we would be home early like good kids and them lot would be out all-night like rapscallions.
Alas, strolling into the station at the exact time the train left we quickly had a rethink and bumped into Scott en route to check bus times. We realised there was probably no point trying for a bus so filled in time before meeting everyone in the Sheffield Tap by buying tickets and gawping at a monsoon downpour whilst chatting to a bloke from Moss Side about his love of multiculturalism and ultra violence.
The Sheffield Tap was busy as usual, with a selection of some beers from the festival (the Coach and Horses is their sister pub) in addition to the usual Thornbridge range. Chala opted to avoid alcohol at this stage and I had a Pollards milk coffee stout, served in a European style strong ale glass and tasting of, well, milky coffee and stout, and ludicrously drinkable at 5%.
In no time we were on the train and then in Dronfield walking to the Coach. There was a blues singer on outside in the marquee along with an extra bar and, somewhat revolutionarily, a real till accepting real money. Plastic glasses mind you.
With it having poured down with rain on and off there was one large table free outside of the protection of the canvas so we dried that off and caught up and got to know each other, whilst sampling the ales. I started with a pint of Williams Bros Grozet, a gooseberry wheat beer which was intentionally and correctly cloudy and refreshing. Chala opted for a demure half of the Hawkshead organic stout which is a fantastic beer.
After a quick Fyne ales beer that escapes me, I recklessly embarked on the first of two halves of Brewdog Hardcore IPA, which is 9, or possibly 9.2%, packed with hops and almost criminally easy to drink. In between I had a Williams Joker IPA to calm things down a little, but my logic - that we would be out for only a couple of hours so could drink like a mentalist - was flawed, as the unfolding events would demonstrate.
Scott and the others ( John, Steve, Trudy, Simon and Amy - just proving that I can recall names ) headed off on the last clockwise free bus to the Hearts of Oak at Dronfield Moor, whilst cannily, realising we had probably reached the best beer pub of the festival route, we opted to stay for an extra 40 minutes to sample more delights.
Chala finished our Coach drinking as another shower enveloped us with a half of Maredsous from the pub bar, whilst I had a fantastic pint of Murmansk Baltic Porter at 7.2%. Leaving for a bus back to the station and then a bus back out to join the gang at the Rutland in Holmsfield, chaos reigned as no-one could agree where the bus would stop.
We saw it pull up outside but there were plenty of people on both sides of the road, so we ran over and made sure the bus was going to turn round at the roundabout and come back past the pub to the station, which it did. What we weren't expecting was that no-one would join us, and that the bus driver, admittedly following his instructions but flying in the face of logic, fair play and a desire to help, simply drove straight past the waving and shouting crowd on the basis that he did not pick up after the pub-side stop.
That may be the case, but the confusion of having 2 clockwise busses leave the station and drive past the pub along with 8 or 9 that only pick up at the same stop and take you back to the start meant that no-one was likely to understand the logistics, and as we boarded the tiny minibus which was to be the next vehicle picking up at the C+H in 50 minutes time, it was clear that guests were going to be dischuffed.
Anyhoo, putting these concerns behind us we set off again past the Miners to the Rutland at Holmsfield, where the others already were, having given up on the Oak on account of it having run out of festival beer and worse ( I realise nothing could be worse, but cant recall the exact details clearly enough to report the problem ).
The Rutland is somewhere I have been many times although not so much in the last 5 years and it was serving a good range of regional brewer’s beers along with Wharfeside Tether and Bays Gold. Perhaps only for reasons of the festival spirit I went for the Bays Gold (although I was given a taste first) when actually I probably from the taste I had after, preferred the Tether. Either way, an unusual beer from furthest Torquay making a nice change.
We moved on next to the Horns where a festival slump befell us once more, the sign outside and the website promised a few guest festival beers but there was only one, a Kelham beer which was off. We all took ours back and swapped it for John Smiths, and retired to the back room to catch up and listen to some music, but it was a shame that with 4 hours to go on the first day of the two day festival they seemed to have run out of festival beer (although they may well have been topped up on Sunday, am unsure how it works).
From here we headed up the hill to the George and Dragon, bathed in bright sunshine as he dark rainclouds moved away for a spell. Inside it is small and the bar was packed. They had two Peak ales and another and I had their Summer Sovereign which was very nice.
On discovering we had 8 minutes spare we opted to have a swift half in the Angel over the road where some of the party had gone earlier, where we found two Abbeydale beers on and a fortuitous fiver on the floor. Alas, as soon as we were served 3 halves of Absolution the bus turned up and, leaving Chala in the loo in the mayhem, we had to neck the lovely beer and run across the road to the bus.
Once on board the passengers regaled the no doubt grateful driver with a series of half remembered quarter length versions of popular songs, most notably show me the way to Amarillo. This wiled away what seemed a surprisingly long jaunt to Totley, whilst simultaneously making the driver pull a Dairylea advert bus driver face. It would have made my day f he'd grumpily said " ther Tony Christie mad them kids ", but alas he did not.
Eschewing the promise or horror of the Cross Scythes ( I don't think I’ve ever been in, but can’t find a single person with anything good to say about it ), we crossed he road and visited the Fleur de Lys, where there was a band on, and I definitely had a pint of Old Peculier. Or maybe more.
By this time its reasonable to point out that I was a trifle refreshed, which meant after a while spent lolling around outside and at the bus stop across the road we finally finished our festival crawl about 21.00 and caught the bus into town.
The group somehow summoned up the energy ad desire to head to the Rutland so we parted and me and Chala headed home on the 52 where, bearing in mind our slightly sozzled state, we were alarmed to find ourselves sat with an even drunker person who was remonstrating with her other half and various items of fixed seating and bus interior fittings all the way to Handsworth.
Overall a great festival idea, enabling us to try excellent Scottish beers too rarely seen in Sheffield, to try some new pubs and revisit some favourites, and not have to pay an entry fee to get in.
Roll on next year!
Wee Beefy and our lass.
That was until I got a text from Fluffy.
Yep, that’s right. I have a friend called fluffy (although he amusingly tries to pretend that it’s actually his name for me which clearly, it isn’t).
Luckily, I am not in SMS contact with a feline or silkily pelted dog, instead Scott is his more drinker friendly name and he lives in that London so we see each other rarely, although more recently since a chance conversation with a mutual friend. Anyhoo, his invite to join him at the 3 Valleys festival proved too strong to resist, especially when I saw the beers that might be on.
The idea is simple. Twelve (or perhaps ten) pubs put on special events and or special beers like they are having a beer festival of their own, all of the pubs are in the S18 and 19 area (according to the website) and you travel for free between them all by a festival bus paid for by the pubs.
So, on Saturday me and Chala headed into town and dawdled unhelpfully down to the train station - the idea was that rather than catch the 15.05 train with Scott et al, we would catch the earlier one (which I guessed left at 14.05 but hadn't checked) so we could go to the Coach and Horses in Dronfield and steal an hours drinking on them, on the assumption that we would be home early like good kids and them lot would be out all-night like rapscallions.
Alas, strolling into the station at the exact time the train left we quickly had a rethink and bumped into Scott en route to check bus times. We realised there was probably no point trying for a bus so filled in time before meeting everyone in the Sheffield Tap by buying tickets and gawping at a monsoon downpour whilst chatting to a bloke from Moss Side about his love of multiculturalism and ultra violence.
The Sheffield Tap was busy as usual, with a selection of some beers from the festival (the Coach and Horses is their sister pub) in addition to the usual Thornbridge range. Chala opted to avoid alcohol at this stage and I had a Pollards milk coffee stout, served in a European style strong ale glass and tasting of, well, milky coffee and stout, and ludicrously drinkable at 5%.
In no time we were on the train and then in Dronfield walking to the Coach. There was a blues singer on outside in the marquee along with an extra bar and, somewhat revolutionarily, a real till accepting real money. Plastic glasses mind you.
With it having poured down with rain on and off there was one large table free outside of the protection of the canvas so we dried that off and caught up and got to know each other, whilst sampling the ales. I started with a pint of Williams Bros Grozet, a gooseberry wheat beer which was intentionally and correctly cloudy and refreshing. Chala opted for a demure half of the Hawkshead organic stout which is a fantastic beer.
After a quick Fyne ales beer that escapes me, I recklessly embarked on the first of two halves of Brewdog Hardcore IPA, which is 9, or possibly 9.2%, packed with hops and almost criminally easy to drink. In between I had a Williams Joker IPA to calm things down a little, but my logic - that we would be out for only a couple of hours so could drink like a mentalist - was flawed, as the unfolding events would demonstrate.
Scott and the others ( John, Steve, Trudy, Simon and Amy - just proving that I can recall names ) headed off on the last clockwise free bus to the Hearts of Oak at Dronfield Moor, whilst cannily, realising we had probably reached the best beer pub of the festival route, we opted to stay for an extra 40 minutes to sample more delights.
Chala finished our Coach drinking as another shower enveloped us with a half of Maredsous from the pub bar, whilst I had a fantastic pint of Murmansk Baltic Porter at 7.2%. Leaving for a bus back to the station and then a bus back out to join the gang at the Rutland in Holmsfield, chaos reigned as no-one could agree where the bus would stop.
We saw it pull up outside but there were plenty of people on both sides of the road, so we ran over and made sure the bus was going to turn round at the roundabout and come back past the pub to the station, which it did. What we weren't expecting was that no-one would join us, and that the bus driver, admittedly following his instructions but flying in the face of logic, fair play and a desire to help, simply drove straight past the waving and shouting crowd on the basis that he did not pick up after the pub-side stop.
That may be the case, but the confusion of having 2 clockwise busses leave the station and drive past the pub along with 8 or 9 that only pick up at the same stop and take you back to the start meant that no-one was likely to understand the logistics, and as we boarded the tiny minibus which was to be the next vehicle picking up at the C+H in 50 minutes time, it was clear that guests were going to be dischuffed.
Anyhoo, putting these concerns behind us we set off again past the Miners to the Rutland at Holmsfield, where the others already were, having given up on the Oak on account of it having run out of festival beer and worse ( I realise nothing could be worse, but cant recall the exact details clearly enough to report the problem ).
The Rutland is somewhere I have been many times although not so much in the last 5 years and it was serving a good range of regional brewer’s beers along with Wharfeside Tether and Bays Gold. Perhaps only for reasons of the festival spirit I went for the Bays Gold (although I was given a taste first) when actually I probably from the taste I had after, preferred the Tether. Either way, an unusual beer from furthest Torquay making a nice change.
We moved on next to the Horns where a festival slump befell us once more, the sign outside and the website promised a few guest festival beers but there was only one, a Kelham beer which was off. We all took ours back and swapped it for John Smiths, and retired to the back room to catch up and listen to some music, but it was a shame that with 4 hours to go on the first day of the two day festival they seemed to have run out of festival beer (although they may well have been topped up on Sunday, am unsure how it works).
From here we headed up the hill to the George and Dragon, bathed in bright sunshine as he dark rainclouds moved away for a spell. Inside it is small and the bar was packed. They had two Peak ales and another and I had their Summer Sovereign which was very nice.
On discovering we had 8 minutes spare we opted to have a swift half in the Angel over the road where some of the party had gone earlier, where we found two Abbeydale beers on and a fortuitous fiver on the floor. Alas, as soon as we were served 3 halves of Absolution the bus turned up and, leaving Chala in the loo in the mayhem, we had to neck the lovely beer and run across the road to the bus.
Once on board the passengers regaled the no doubt grateful driver with a series of half remembered quarter length versions of popular songs, most notably show me the way to Amarillo. This wiled away what seemed a surprisingly long jaunt to Totley, whilst simultaneously making the driver pull a Dairylea advert bus driver face. It would have made my day f he'd grumpily said " ther Tony Christie mad them kids ", but alas he did not.
Eschewing the promise or horror of the Cross Scythes ( I don't think I’ve ever been in, but can’t find a single person with anything good to say about it ), we crossed he road and visited the Fleur de Lys, where there was a band on, and I definitely had a pint of Old Peculier. Or maybe more.
By this time its reasonable to point out that I was a trifle refreshed, which meant after a while spent lolling around outside and at the bus stop across the road we finally finished our festival crawl about 21.00 and caught the bus into town.
The group somehow summoned up the energy ad desire to head to the Rutland so we parted and me and Chala headed home on the 52 where, bearing in mind our slightly sozzled state, we were alarmed to find ourselves sat with an even drunker person who was remonstrating with her other half and various items of fixed seating and bus interior fittings all the way to Handsworth.
Overall a great festival idea, enabling us to try excellent Scottish beers too rarely seen in Sheffield, to try some new pubs and revisit some favourites, and not have to pay an entry fee to get in.
Roll on next year!
Wee Beefy and our lass.
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