Hulloo,
just an advisory note readers, the following tome contains multiple references to and details of EXCESSIVE consumption of luffly bose. And not just ordinary bose. Naeow. Proppah bose. I digress, of course, but here are some details of what some of my dear friends told me happened during that mad week last month.....
Last month, and the period thereafter, has been hot. So eagle eyed readers will notice what I have done. Its an joge. A play on words if yer like. because the weather....was not wet. Its just that my actions were primarily aqueous.....
It began....in Shakespeares. As, indeed, did everything. When the first wriggling atoms of life splashed free into the furthest pool of life's construction, that, was in Shakespeares. Absurd, admittedly, but you can see where my allegiances lie. Its not my second home for nothing. Its all Earth's lifes second home.
Adam had put on North Brewery Transmission American pale at 6.9% on cask, one of the world's best beers, on. I arrived for my crapulent downfall at 15.07 with S.o.J, soon joined by Helen and Chris and Malc, and had a pint. And then another. Other than the first I paid for none. And still the 568mls of joy came unabated. Carried away on a tide of friends kindness and nobody knowing who the delicious pints were for, I probably had six. Or seven. Or more...
One surprising side effect of this bibulus undertaking is that I became hammered. So much so that I "briefly" nodded off. Indeed, am still hearing about persons who turned up at or around 20.30 whom I have no recollection of seeing. Steve took me to the loo. And I dare not report what WK had to explain away about my trousers as I tried to leave for the taxi.
The next day, having somehow not died, I awoke earlyish to find Matty strimming the lawn in drizzle, and friends and WF started to congregate to board a minibus driven by Paddington. Having been too destroyed to read my Faceache messages I hadn't realised we were meeting on the main road. WF was not impressed. Although, WK offered to drive his car to him, pick him up. drop him at the bus and then drive back, park the car and run back. WF was having none of it. We left 40 minutes late.
Arriving at the Ye Olde Rock Inne at Upper Hulme at 13.00 we soon ordered food and all had fabulous meals and mainly numerous pints of Wincle Sir Phillip. Excellent snap, even if the mobile phone bound lass behind the bar never collected our plates in the hour following our meal. Heading through excellent countryside back to Sheffield, we stopped at Tescos Abbeydale, where me and Davefomtshop walked there for me to buy bose and WF embarked on a tri-millennial dawdle to the loos. We arrived back home late, with WF half asleep, to find that Tash and Matt had done a wonderful job cleaning the house and finishing the garden. Much supping, burgers and music then occurred, til I finally went to bed about 01.30.
The main part of the weeks libations transpired to be my actual birthday, where after a half of Mad Clown in the Rutland we headed to Shakespeares. Here, the Transmission pump was inhabited by a 6.9% Howling Hops IPA, which I had several pints of. Perhaps seven, maybe six. Carlos very kindly drove me home, and having watched me open the gate, clamber down the steps, open the door and enter the house, I texted him half an hour later, to tell him I was home...
All in all I had a wonderful birthday week, although I have to zay, a wz veh, veh drank.
Your very envious health!
Wee Beefy
Showing posts with label Wincle Sir Phillip. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Wincle Sir Phillip. Show all posts
Monday, 16 July 2018
Sunday, 8 September 2013
Three stags, two sessions, one beer.
Hello,
your oft absent blogger is back from another sojourn, this time only a short hop away to Litton in the peak district. I had made grand plans to visit Brizzle before coming to my senses and planning a short and more affordable trip away in Derbyshire.
The criteria was simple - I would select a National Inventory pub, and find a B and B nearby, thus enabling me to have a proper late night session in said pub. First idea The Royal Cottage, as well as not actually being on the N.I, isn't exactly surrounded by accommodation. Meanwhile everywhere in Elton or Winster (for the N.I listed Duke of York in Elton) was either full or far too expensive. Luckily, a place to stay 15 minutes walk from the Three Stags Heads at Wardlow Mires was found. And so began an epic stint sitting in and soaking up the atmosphere of this fantastic unspoilt pub.
Arriving in Litton at tea time and having dumped my stuff in my room the first thing to do was go to the pub. Obviously. Very little point being a beer blogger if you don't even venture to try the local pub. The Red Lion is a popular old boozer situated overlooking the village green, and serves good quality food and more importantly, real ale.
On the bar was a choice of Abbeydale Absolution, Acorn Forester, a mainstream national beer and my choice of tipple - Wincle Sir Phillip. At £3.30 for a 4.3% beer its a bit steep but it was the prefect accompaniment to my meal, and just to make sure I had three pints of it. A very satisfactory start to the night.
I then walked out of the village, diced with death walking along the A6 before visiting the Three Stags Heads. The pub was packed out when I got there and I ended up sitting in the Green Room with a couple who, much to my horror, were flagrantly ignoring the no mobile rule! That's two such incursions witnessed in just one year! Clearly the pub will be a themed sports bar by next week at this rate....
The beer range is Abbeydale and more Abbeydale - Brimstone, Deception, Absolution and Lurcher in order of strength. The Absolution is a more than reasonable £3.00 a pint (5.3%) and so it seemed daft to have anything but that. As the crowds thinned a little I ended up sat with the landlord who was talking about their upcoming (Saturday and Sunday 14th and 15th September) pottery and food festival.
Against a backdrop of a fire in the range, a tumult of dogs and good natured banter this was a fantastic session. So often when I visit the Stags I'm on borrowed time, waiting with bated breath to be informed by whoever was kind enough to drive me there that we needed to leave. Now I was sat in walking distance of a bed and constrained only by how late I thought I could realistically get to sleep and still make breakfast at 8.30. This was bliss.
Saturday saw me off down Cressbrook Dale below a canvas of cloud strewn skies and fleeting bursts of sunshine that changed the appearance of mt surroundings constantly. I came back into Litton via Tansley Dale and walked slowly back towards the Three Stags, passing the landlord on the way walking his dogs. Robbie the barman was on hand to dispense beer and conversation and so began another, perhaps even more enjoyable session on the Absolution.
Being there for 6 hours reveals the Stags' contradiction. The pub is a relaxing refuge from the madness of the modern world, yet it's simultaneously an ever changing scene, constantly filled and emptied by a steady flow of customers including walkers, cyclists, a family training for a Forth Bridge abseil, pottery fanatics, sightseers and locals. All washed in and out of the tiny bar, lit by the sun streaming in through the front door, and as ever almost overwhelmed by dogs of all shapes and sizes. To cap it all the Absolution was on great form and had it not been that I was off to Fluff's 40th birthday party I might have been walking back to Litton for the last bus - or contemplating another night away.
As it was, a possibly drink inspired cheeky request to a couple I hoped were Sheffield bound resulted in them giving me a lift back - they even dropped me at the Beauchief Hotel, the venue for the party! Well, after all, if you don't ask, you don't get.
In respect of which, what I got, as well as a helping hand, was a day of exercise and sloth, and excellent beer and company in a fabulous, unspoilt National Inventory pub, which was a fantastic end to my Summer holidays. AKA, exactly what I was after.
Cheers!
Wee Beefy
your oft absent blogger is back from another sojourn, this time only a short hop away to Litton in the peak district. I had made grand plans to visit Brizzle before coming to my senses and planning a short and more affordable trip away in Derbyshire.
The criteria was simple - I would select a National Inventory pub, and find a B and B nearby, thus enabling me to have a proper late night session in said pub. First idea The Royal Cottage, as well as not actually being on the N.I, isn't exactly surrounded by accommodation. Meanwhile everywhere in Elton or Winster (for the N.I listed Duke of York in Elton) was either full or far too expensive. Luckily, a place to stay 15 minutes walk from the Three Stags Heads at Wardlow Mires was found. And so began an epic stint sitting in and soaking up the atmosphere of this fantastic unspoilt pub.
Arriving in Litton at tea time and having dumped my stuff in my room the first thing to do was go to the pub. Obviously. Very little point being a beer blogger if you don't even venture to try the local pub. The Red Lion is a popular old boozer situated overlooking the village green, and serves good quality food and more importantly, real ale.
On the bar was a choice of Abbeydale Absolution, Acorn Forester, a mainstream national beer and my choice of tipple - Wincle Sir Phillip. At £3.30 for a 4.3% beer its a bit steep but it was the prefect accompaniment to my meal, and just to make sure I had three pints of it. A very satisfactory start to the night.
I then walked out of the village, diced with death walking along the A6 before visiting the Three Stags Heads. The pub was packed out when I got there and I ended up sitting in the Green Room with a couple who, much to my horror, were flagrantly ignoring the no mobile rule! That's two such incursions witnessed in just one year! Clearly the pub will be a themed sports bar by next week at this rate....
The beer range is Abbeydale and more Abbeydale - Brimstone, Deception, Absolution and Lurcher in order of strength. The Absolution is a more than reasonable £3.00 a pint (5.3%) and so it seemed daft to have anything but that. As the crowds thinned a little I ended up sat with the landlord who was talking about their upcoming (Saturday and Sunday 14th and 15th September) pottery and food festival.
Against a backdrop of a fire in the range, a tumult of dogs and good natured banter this was a fantastic session. So often when I visit the Stags I'm on borrowed time, waiting with bated breath to be informed by whoever was kind enough to drive me there that we needed to leave. Now I was sat in walking distance of a bed and constrained only by how late I thought I could realistically get to sleep and still make breakfast at 8.30. This was bliss.
Saturday saw me off down Cressbrook Dale below a canvas of cloud strewn skies and fleeting bursts of sunshine that changed the appearance of mt surroundings constantly. I came back into Litton via Tansley Dale and walked slowly back towards the Three Stags, passing the landlord on the way walking his dogs. Robbie the barman was on hand to dispense beer and conversation and so began another, perhaps even more enjoyable session on the Absolution.
Being there for 6 hours reveals the Stags' contradiction. The pub is a relaxing refuge from the madness of the modern world, yet it's simultaneously an ever changing scene, constantly filled and emptied by a steady flow of customers including walkers, cyclists, a family training for a Forth Bridge abseil, pottery fanatics, sightseers and locals. All washed in and out of the tiny bar, lit by the sun streaming in through the front door, and as ever almost overwhelmed by dogs of all shapes and sizes. To cap it all the Absolution was on great form and had it not been that I was off to Fluff's 40th birthday party I might have been walking back to Litton for the last bus - or contemplating another night away.
As it was, a possibly drink inspired cheeky request to a couple I hoped were Sheffield bound resulted in them giving me a lift back - they even dropped me at the Beauchief Hotel, the venue for the party! Well, after all, if you don't ask, you don't get.
In respect of which, what I got, as well as a helping hand, was a day of exercise and sloth, and excellent beer and company in a fabulous, unspoilt National Inventory pub, which was a fantastic end to my Summer holidays. AKA, exactly what I was after.
Cheers!
Wee Beefy
Saturday, 25 August 2012
Friday night in North Staffordshire
Afternoon,
after me and Barraharri's failed camping expedition saw us miss the Quiet Woman, and after Cliff at the Royal Cottage mentioned that he'd not seen my Dad for a while, a chance conversation with Wee Keefy and Wee Fatha resulted in a plan to head out into the dark brooding landscape of the moorland border between Derbyshire and North Staffordshire.
I have started a lengthy break from work as of 17.00 yesterday so was in the mood for some good beer and pubs and the chance to visit two of my favourites was the perfect finish to a great day. We picked up Wee keefy before 19.00 and headed out via Ladybower, Bamford, Bradwell, Millers Dale, Brierlow Bar and Longor to the Royal Cottage on the A53.
We arrived early, its surprisingly easy to make the journey from Crookes in an evening, so we parked up outside in the rain and waited for the outside light to come on at 20.00. Every time me and Wee Fatha visit the Royal Cottage it rains, is foggy, or there are high winds. Or all three. Somehow, the meteorological maelstrom is the perfect accompaniment to a visit to the Cottage, and true to form, since Summer is now officially gone, the fire was lit as we walked in through the passage to be met and licked to death by Jessie the friendly Rottweiler.
Just like last time there was one customer already in, presumably a friend, and he sat with us and Cliff the landlord to talk about just about anything really, whilst I supped a bottle of Old Speckled Hen, WK a bottle of Newky Brown and Wee Fatha a Manns Brown Ale. There is something calming (despite the rather busy garish wallpaper and carpets!) and relaxing about sitting in the Royal Cottage listening to the stoic, measured conversation, especially between Cliff and his regulars. Apart from that those words, the only sound is the odd vehicle whizzing past on the main road outside.
As mentioned before, the pub only really seems to be busy at the folk nights on the last Friday of each month, on all other occasions, I've never seen more than 4 customers including us. Sat near the fire with Jessie slumped like a dead weight on my leg listening to Cliff suggest my Dad's recollections of the local railway were from the Thirties (now that's harsh!) and calmly arguing with the bucolic chap next to me about the number of dogs at the Butchers Arms 30 years ago is, despite my description, the epitome of traditional pub atmosphere.
We stopped for a few beers in here, Wee Fatha had to go to tomato juice after a bit, and I made a rather unwise decision to try the draught. I noticed Cliff was on the Tetley smoothflow, and whilst that's not a beer I like particularly I thought I'd give it a go.
The more militant amongst you will view what I did next as a travesty, as might those with a nod to medical knowledge, but I drank the beer, even though it was unlike almost any other beer I have ever tasted. And that's not a compliment. It was, through the first two layers of odd earthy sourness, reminiscent of the nitro cream edge of all smoothflow beers, and there was a hint of Tetley malt in the background, with bitterness indiscernible from the sharper flavours. It reminded me of the odd "beer" they sold at the Seven Starts at Halfway House in Shropshire - identifiable only as beer by echoes of malt and hops. Maybe I'm soft not to refuse to drink it. So be it. At least when he offered to top it right to the line I declined....
All too soon another customer had arrived and unfortunately it was time to move on, to leave the darkness of the bar and the harsh single light above the tables and the amazing flock upholstered and covered furniture behind. Having only been visiting for about 6 years I can hardly be accused of having a blinkered memory lane view of this unique pub, so perhaps I have a blinkered view of it now. I can't find fault, well, other than the draught, and that's not really something I say very often. Opening times, as confirmed last night, really are only 20.00 to later on, Friday and Saturday. I continue to believe that the effort of factoring in a trip is well worth it.
We drove back through Longnor next where its clear that the Crewe and Harpur has closed (a light or two on but curtains drawn and the big door shut, no outside lights) and then down through Crowdecote and left up the little lane into Earl Sterndale where Wee Fatha's settling dog parking habits ensured a tantalising wait for entrance to the pub.
Inside it was quite busy and there were 3 beers on, with the excellent pork pies and meat pies on the bar (along with fresh eggs on the piano top) offering a choice of Jennings dark Mild, Marstons Bitter and Wincle Sir Philip. I had intended to keep up my tradition of having a pint of mix but I love Wincle brewery beers so couldn't resist the complex fruity allure of the Sir Phillip.
We got sat down in front of the bar and got chatting to a bloke who used to live in Sale - not that remarkable, until you consider that is where Wee Fatha grew up, and it turns out they lived round the corner from one another. The last time such a co-incidence occurred was in the Royal Cottage, where we got chatting to a man who used to play in the woods near the Jacksons Boat Inn near Sale. I love small world stories like that.
Being somewhat short of good draught thus far I probably had 3 or 4 pints of the excellent Sir Phillip in here, with WK departing for a Dark Mild for two of his, and I got chance to chat to Ken the landlord who is a veritable font of knowledge. Turns out he and Cliff went to school together, and I learnt more about the Royal Cottage in ten minutes than I could have - or indeed would have tried to - in 10 years of visiting.
Alas eventually we had to head home, and with very little traffic we were back in Crookes in 50 minutes, and back home a little further on for me I sat down with a bite to eat and a satisfied positive feeling of having been to two of the best pubs in the area.
All we need to do now is go back and visit the pub at Crowdecote - where rumour has it, an enterprising new landlord of this formerly Worthington or Tetley only pub, has gone mad and put on four guest real ales. Its just another excuse to go to the Royal Cottage of course, but why not?
Cheers!
Wee Beefy
after me and Barraharri's failed camping expedition saw us miss the Quiet Woman, and after Cliff at the Royal Cottage mentioned that he'd not seen my Dad for a while, a chance conversation with Wee Keefy and Wee Fatha resulted in a plan to head out into the dark brooding landscape of the moorland border between Derbyshire and North Staffordshire.
I have started a lengthy break from work as of 17.00 yesterday so was in the mood for some good beer and pubs and the chance to visit two of my favourites was the perfect finish to a great day. We picked up Wee keefy before 19.00 and headed out via Ladybower, Bamford, Bradwell, Millers Dale, Brierlow Bar and Longor to the Royal Cottage on the A53.
We arrived early, its surprisingly easy to make the journey from Crookes in an evening, so we parked up outside in the rain and waited for the outside light to come on at 20.00. Every time me and Wee Fatha visit the Royal Cottage it rains, is foggy, or there are high winds. Or all three. Somehow, the meteorological maelstrom is the perfect accompaniment to a visit to the Cottage, and true to form, since Summer is now officially gone, the fire was lit as we walked in through the passage to be met and licked to death by Jessie the friendly Rottweiler.
Just like last time there was one customer already in, presumably a friend, and he sat with us and Cliff the landlord to talk about just about anything really, whilst I supped a bottle of Old Speckled Hen, WK a bottle of Newky Brown and Wee Fatha a Manns Brown Ale. There is something calming (despite the rather busy garish wallpaper and carpets!) and relaxing about sitting in the Royal Cottage listening to the stoic, measured conversation, especially between Cliff and his regulars. Apart from that those words, the only sound is the odd vehicle whizzing past on the main road outside.
As mentioned before, the pub only really seems to be busy at the folk nights on the last Friday of each month, on all other occasions, I've never seen more than 4 customers including us. Sat near the fire with Jessie slumped like a dead weight on my leg listening to Cliff suggest my Dad's recollections of the local railway were from the Thirties (now that's harsh!) and calmly arguing with the bucolic chap next to me about the number of dogs at the Butchers Arms 30 years ago is, despite my description, the epitome of traditional pub atmosphere.
 |
| Wee Keefy in the bar room |
We stopped for a few beers in here, Wee Fatha had to go to tomato juice after a bit, and I made a rather unwise decision to try the draught. I noticed Cliff was on the Tetley smoothflow, and whilst that's not a beer I like particularly I thought I'd give it a go.
The more militant amongst you will view what I did next as a travesty, as might those with a nod to medical knowledge, but I drank the beer, even though it was unlike almost any other beer I have ever tasted. And that's not a compliment. It was, through the first two layers of odd earthy sourness, reminiscent of the nitro cream edge of all smoothflow beers, and there was a hint of Tetley malt in the background, with bitterness indiscernible from the sharper flavours. It reminded me of the odd "beer" they sold at the Seven Starts at Halfway House in Shropshire - identifiable only as beer by echoes of malt and hops. Maybe I'm soft not to refuse to drink it. So be it. At least when he offered to top it right to the line I declined....
All too soon another customer had arrived and unfortunately it was time to move on, to leave the darkness of the bar and the harsh single light above the tables and the amazing flock upholstered and covered furniture behind. Having only been visiting for about 6 years I can hardly be accused of having a blinkered memory lane view of this unique pub, so perhaps I have a blinkered view of it now. I can't find fault, well, other than the draught, and that's not really something I say very often. Opening times, as confirmed last night, really are only 20.00 to later on, Friday and Saturday. I continue to believe that the effort of factoring in a trip is well worth it.
We drove back through Longnor next where its clear that the Crewe and Harpur has closed (a light or two on but curtains drawn and the big door shut, no outside lights) and then down through Crowdecote and left up the little lane into Earl Sterndale where Wee Fatha's settling dog parking habits ensured a tantalising wait for entrance to the pub.
Inside it was quite busy and there were 3 beers on, with the excellent pork pies and meat pies on the bar (along with fresh eggs on the piano top) offering a choice of Jennings dark Mild, Marstons Bitter and Wincle Sir Philip. I had intended to keep up my tradition of having a pint of mix but I love Wincle brewery beers so couldn't resist the complex fruity allure of the Sir Phillip.
We got sat down in front of the bar and got chatting to a bloke who used to live in Sale - not that remarkable, until you consider that is where Wee Fatha grew up, and it turns out they lived round the corner from one another. The last time such a co-incidence occurred was in the Royal Cottage, where we got chatting to a man who used to play in the woods near the Jacksons Boat Inn near Sale. I love small world stories like that.
Being somewhat short of good draught thus far I probably had 3 or 4 pints of the excellent Sir Phillip in here, with WK departing for a Dark Mild for two of his, and I got chance to chat to Ken the landlord who is a veritable font of knowledge. Turns out he and Cliff went to school together, and I learnt more about the Royal Cottage in ten minutes than I could have - or indeed would have tried to - in 10 years of visiting.
Alas eventually we had to head home, and with very little traffic we were back in Crookes in 50 minutes, and back home a little further on for me I sat down with a bite to eat and a satisfied positive feeling of having been to two of the best pubs in the area.
All we need to do now is go back and visit the pub at Crowdecote - where rumour has it, an enterprising new landlord of this formerly Worthington or Tetley only pub, has gone mad and put on four guest real ales. Its just another excuse to go to the Royal Cottage of course, but why not?
Cheers!
Wee Beefy
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)