Yep. I am him.
yet it's tragic to consider that today is my birthday and not only have I been to work, but I'm also not out drinking tonight. And to properly dub my bowed head with a turd crown, now I'm writing a blog post about the celebrations attached to my aging anniversary.. What, in the name of Satan, am I thinking of?
Still, yer cant't learn nowt when tha dunt se nowt. As no-one has ever said. Ever.
Sunday was Fathers day, sandwiched somewhat inconveniently between two raucous birthday related drinking events, but thankfully not the day after my annual barbecue (although, it looks like its going to chuffing piss it down all day this coming Saturday so that plan has backfired) so me and Wee Keefy whisked Wee Fatha off to the Ouse Estuary to gawp at birds. In a strictly ornithological sense. Via a bacon butty in a sinking church opposite a closed pub called the Angel in Reedness, (as yer do) we headed to Blacktoft sands for a few hours. We then repaired to nearby Eastoft for a Sunday lunch at the River Don Tavern.
The lunch is £6.95 and doesn't scrimp on the meat. There was loads, and it was cooked to perfection. You then got yorky puds, 2 types of stuffing and as much tatties and veg and gravy as you could fit on the plate. Ours was washed down with halves of Fulstow Northwood IPA, at 4.3% and £2.80 a pint for Wee Fatha, whilst WK had a pint of, and I two and a half pints of, the rather excellent Wold Top Tenner, brewed to celebrate their 10th anniversary. Served mercifully slightly cool, on a belting sunny day, this was a great advert for the pub.
On Tuesday I was meeting Chala for "either" a coffee or a pint. Whatevs. We headed for Shakespeares where the Muirhouse mild dark type affair didn't really tempt Chala so she had a pint of Blue Bee Lustin for Stout, whilst I had a pint of the Roosters Wild Mule. I have to say it was a somewhat underwhelming beer, but I had my eyes on sterner stuff. I soon moved onto a half of the Blue Bee, thus confirming it's excellence, and a half of Ska Brewing Modus Hoperandi.
Obviously as a fan of modern hop forward brews its a prerequisite that I have to actually achieve orgasm at the very mention of Modus Hoperandi, and though it was good, it could probably have benefited from a smidgen more balance. As all too often demonstrated by hop clumsy lupuliholics, a splurge of hops is not everything in a beer. That said, it was still very nice. I finished on an equally very nice bottle of Anderson County Barney Oatmeal Stout at something around the £3.50 mark, which was incredibly full flavoured but in a canny, subtly layered way.
Off next to the Fat Cat so we could "eat food" (nope, I don't understand that either) and sup beer of course. Here I had a pint of something dark that I have forgotten the name of. It was from a Yorkshire brewery. Probably. It was OK. The food was very nice as always though. And it was god to catch up with Stephen.
Round at the Ship we were literally the only customers - for a whole hour. Not even the advent of 21.00 provided any company. Chala ordered and abandoned a worryingly sweet Staropramen (I'm certain its not supposed to taste like that) but moved onto a house brandy and coke for a very reasonable price, whereas I had a pint of Abbeydale Brimstone. Am not sure Chala was taken by the Ship as much as I am but it was still a good place to sit down and catch up.
A hop on the tram brought us to the end of West Street and Chala sensibly went home, whilst I went to DAda. Behind the bar was Jamie - on it was his Peach IPA, Melba. Oh my good God. That is a fantastic beer. Absolutely exactly what I wanted and needed, not overly sweet like Timmermans, since its a peach IPA, just very refreshing. Annoyingly though it ran out so I opted to move up an ABV. Or 6.
I had a half of Thornbridge Imperial Russian Oatmeal Stout, which had been maturing 6 months so could have been stronger than 11%, at £3.15 a half. It was brilliant. Pretty soon, having texted a few mates to tell them about this delight, I was joined by Clare and Gav, along with Adam and Lofty, and things took off somewhat from there.
As we all moved onto the stout I bought half a Chiron and then shared a bottle of Kernel Export Stout 1874 or something. The same beer that I am drinking now, in a curiously restrained birthday undertaking. After this happened I'm not clear on a few points, but I remember suddenly running out at 23.25 to get a bus, actually not falling asleep on it, and getting home. To fall asleep on the settee. Classy.
Tomorrow and Friday I am out and about at pubs and stuff so may see some of you, before Saturday heraldss the barbecue to end all barbecues. Or possibly one that you just wish would end. In a dismally English wet upper lip washout. Only 18 pints of a pale bitter beer will ease the pain (and that's not all for me I hasten to add).