Menu

The gig that became a weekend and a school reunion. pt2

The morning spring day sun came streaming in through the window. A soft breeze blew through and cooled my face. Often in these situations I feel terrible, but I hadn’t drunk that much and this mornings wake up from the springtime elements put me in a good mood. I looked at my watch 0510… eugh! I lay in my bunk and I dozed in and out until about 0900, when I got up, showered, changed, and generally faffed around. I skipped breakfast and started walking.

I had two things in my itinerary. This evening I was meeting Jonny, Pablo and his wife, Elly, at the Roundhouse in Camden to see the legendary Sisters of Mercy. This will be the third time that I have seen them there, and at least the fifth time over all, but I have the feeling I’m forgetting another time somewhere else. I’m trying to count up the number of times I have seen them while I get my Starbucks, I’m stuck at five, but that just doesn’t seem right to me. I carry on walking to my first stop of the day as I ponder further, and listen to my podcasts.

I arrived at Mount Pleasant at about 1100. I sat on a wall outside and finished my tea, and let the podcast finish. Then I went into the post office museum. I had an allotted time of 1300 but that was for the mail rail part of it. The rest of the museum, which is down the street, I am allowed to visit at any time. So I go there first and look around the main exhibition. It starts with the history of the postal service, the old horse and carriages with the horns announcing their arrival. There were all sorts of old nick-nacks behind glass. Then there was the 19th/20th century and the modernisations which came. The use of telephones and morse code, vacuum tubes and telephone boxes. All of which were very hands on, with working telephone boxes which had recorded audio clips when you dialled certain numbers. You could also call the other boxes around the museum. I’m sure that would have been great for kids. I sat in a small cinema area which showed on a loop, old information films for 10 minutes, where they explained the process of designing a new stamp. There were a few more panels to read about considerations when designing stamps, as well as some interactive bits that I left for the kids that were running about to play with. The final area, should have been investable to me, but, alas, it was at first a shock. This is a museum about the history of one of Britain’s great bedrock institutions, of course we need to deal with a great deal of slavery and oppression. In this case the focus was very much on the packet ships which were powered by coal, and the slaves which mined and transported it.  The whole exhibition took about an hour and 15 to walk around. Just enough time for a quick browse of the gift shop before my turn on mail rail.

Mail rail is down the street from the main exhibition. You go in a separate door where there is another gift shop and the entrance to a kids post office themed play area. Of all the different sections of the museum the child’s play area was the only one with any significant queue. I walked past the queue of children and downstairs to the railway, where I was guided to the waiting area for the train. There was one man and his child also waiting. We were joined by one full family and one other gent on his own. This barley filled half of the train, so I got a carriage to myself. Thank the lord for that because these carriages are tiny. I’m not exactly a pro-basketball player, but I struggled to get my legs in. How they expect to fit two adults and two children in all together, I will never know.

The train does a loop of the passing tracks around Mount Pleasant, there are many offshoots and track points which serve as points of interest. There is an audio commentary which includes the voices of former employees of mail rail. When the train pulled into platforms, they used projectors to show how the station was used. It was quite effective. The whole thing lasted about 20 minutes. After we got out there was a further exhibition with more detail and interactions. There were a lot of cups which you could put to your ear and listen to more stories from the same voice over who was on the train. I think it was a good move to leave the story about a crash in the tunnels until after we were all out! All in all I guess I was in the museum for about two hours. Was it worth £18? Well I can say I’ve seen it. The mail rail was the best bit by far, which I can do again for another £6 and I can visit the rest of the museum again for a whole year for free! Quite why you’d need to do it again, I’m not sure, I think this is one of those “I’d understand if I had kids” things. But I don’t, so I doubt I’ll be back. I’d say overall 3 stars: a bit pricey but interesting, I’d wished for a bit more from the main exhibition. I could have done with a room of stamp stuff, not just a  few panels.

So I was on my way by 1330. The sun was shining and I was regretting not packing my sunglasses. The sun was beating down, and I had my jacket tied around my waist. But I wasn’t going to let a thing like that get me down, and I walked to Camden. I mostly took the footpath along the Regents Canal. The path was busy and, in places, narrow. I shouldn’t wonder if in high summer people fall in. The area just north of St Pancras station is a very quaint chocolate box image of what modern town planners think the canals used to be like. It’s very sanitised but pleasant. The grass is clipped and wildflowers bloom, but only where they are supposed to. As the path meanders towards Camden the graffiti becomes more gritty and real. The buildings become more utility and less playful. And the people give less fucks. I pass a woman who is painting an anti Israeli slogan on a wall with a paintbrush. She is taking her time as everyone passes her on the towpath. No one bats an eyelid as she glides her brush slowly and with purpose. This was no quick graffiti. This was a message she wanted to be clear and neat.

Eventually as I walked the smell of ganja in the air told me that I was nearing Camden proper. The markets have all been updated in recent years since the fire a decade or so ago. I had time to wander so I tried to get lost in the back lanes. I’ve been here too many times for that. I know where I’m going, even though the shops have changed. Some of the big hitters are still there. Cyberdog, for one, I thought about going in, but I peered through the doorway to see an IKEA style one way system. I looked at the other shops around, where were the cheap t-shirts and the knock off pocket watches? Where were the cheap sunglasses and the goth clothing boutiques? It’s very multicultural now, so much more is given over to good food, not just the overpriced noodle bar I remember from my youth. The noodles are still there though, so I allowed myself to feel better by knowingly being ripped off at £14 for half chicken, half red curry and noodles. The soul has gone from the market and it’s not coming back and no amount of noodles will bring it back.

I text Jonny. He is walking in from Catford, training for a future jaunt of ours. He’s going to be in Camden soon, but not soon enough, so I said I’d meet him in Brewdog, which is on Bayham St. This is directly next door to the job I had finished not 24 hours previously. I had a pint of Fruit Burst (4.4% pale ale). A nice pint but not worth the £7 price tag.

Jonny and I made our way on to the Ice Wharf, where we sat in the canal side garden. This is possibly my favourite spot in all of Camden. Cheap, good quality ales, a view to die for, sitting in a sun trap, watching the world pass on the tow path on the other side of the canal, and the occasional boat. When the weather is nice it’s idyllic. As it was, it was a bit cold, but the rest stood, so we caught up. Watched the world go by. A fight between two homeless guys ensued on the towpath. There was nothing we could do from this side of the canal but watch in fascination as the two men had each other in headlocks. Neither really came to any harm. It says a lot about the people of London that most walked past without a word. Not caring about the fight. Until the German shepherd, belonging to one of the men, took umbrage with a chihuahua. As you can imagine the noise of the small dog being  thrown around was… unpleasant to say the least. Now the people of London step in. It’s one thing hurting eachother, but a dog ‽ No sir!

Soon enough it was time for the gig. Pablo had already called to say he was running late. He had spent the day on a stag do. So it was just Jonny and I for the queue. The couple Infront talked to us about this and that, but mostly their recent visit to see The war of the worlds, the musical. I too had seen TWOTW a few years ago, so we compared and contrasted the differing lineups. This passed the time while the queue dwindled down. Jonny hasn’t seen it, so he said nothing. I feel bad for not moving the conversation on to something he can join in with, but I didn’t really have much time. The queue moved surprisingly fast. As we approached the front I said to Jonny, jokingly “you never know, Joe from school might be in there”. He was an old school friend who also likes the Sisters back in the day, but he wasn’t going to be there, he lived in Devon these days.

Pat downs and ticket checks complete. We got a drink and stood near the back for the support band. They were a Deftones wannabe band called Oversize. I liked their style, but they needed to work a bit on how they addressed the crowd. I always wonder about the wisdom in constantly pointing out that they are just the support. They played what seemed like a good length set and they had some talent. I think sometimes the worst bit about a set can be the sound guy making everything too bass heavy, causing too much reverb around the venue. For these guys, you could understand that might be a deliberate choice, so I didn’t let it bother me too much.

As Oversize finished the phone rang. It was Pablo and Elly who were just arriving. I asked them what they wanted to drink, so I could get them a round in. As I turned around who was there? It was only Joe from school. We spotted each other and both of our jaws dropped. We hadn’t seen each other for years.  It was a joy to see him. A few moments later, Pablo and Elly arrived. Elly stood back and made the joke that she was getting in the way of a school reunion. We swapped a few stories for 20 minutes before the lights went down and the sisters came on.

By now I have seen the Sisters of Mercy many times. And I had seen the reviews so many times of how Andrew Eldridge’s voice can be a bit hit or miss. I’ve never seen one of the bad ones, so was today going to be it? No. His voice was as good as ever. The sound guy kept the settings from Oversize, so there was some bass distortion. Pablo made the cynical yet very much still valid observation, that the bass distortion might be deliberate to hide some bad vocals. All I know is that it sounded good to me.

Joe went to the front with the rest of the gang that he arrived with, but he soon came back to the back to see the rest of us again, about half way through the set. As the set progressed the hits got bigger and better, and we sang our hearts out to all of it. The set finished. The encore Started. It could only end with this corrosion. We sang some more, probably annoying those around us with our football hooligan style of vocal harmonisation. And just like that, the set was over. What was months of waiting, for an hour and a half, which seemed to be over like it was just a few minutes.

After the gig Jonny had to make a quick getaway, but the rest of us stayed out in Camden, catching up until the early hours. I finally got back to my hostel at about 0330.

The gig that became a weekend and a school reunion. pt1

It’s Saturday 24th May 2025. Dad and I have just wrapped up the latest phase of a stupid job in Bayham Street, Camden. We could have finished the job last night but the powers that be all wanted to go home and come in again on the weekend instead. It’s their prerogative, I guess. I have been flicking through my emails when I get a message saying that tonight Wet Leg were playing at the Brixton Academy in well, err… Brixton. I had only seen them once before, and that was at Glastonbury, at the park stage, with Jonny. We had arrived there later than we hoped and were stuck at the back of the field without even a view of the stage. Now, they were back, they had a new album out and I had the opportunity to see them, for a very reasonable price. £40!

When we got home I looked at my phone and my bank balance. I was already going out the following day to see the Sisters of Mercy. The week before my bank balance had taken a major hit from my annual pilgrimage to The Great Escape in Brighton. Should I go? Or should I save my funds for another day? Screw it, you only live once. I booked a ticket for Wet Leg and pretty much had to go straight away.

As I walked to the station, I got my phone out and I booked the cheapest hostel in London. I just need somewhere to rest my head for this one anyway. £32 for two nights near to Marylebone. I thought that to be a very reasonable price. I got to the station and bought my ticket into town. There were posters covering the screens telling everyone to drive to another station to avoid having to take the dreaded replacement bus service. Dun Dun Daaaah!

The bus came very quickly indeed. I thought I’d have 10 minutes to pop around the corner and get some snacks for the journey. I did not. I got on the bus for what turned out to be nearly an hour and a half with only some past-their-sell-by-date chocolate cornflake cakes, which happened to still be in my bag. Headphones on – I listened to a podcast while the world sailed by. The coaches onboard radio blead through and I could hear Kylie and Abba and the like in the background as people got on and off at Luton.

It was at this point I realised that a man can not like on cornflakes and chocolate alone, and that I was going to have to get something to eat. Quite frankly the chocolate had set me off and I was hungry now, despite it only being 1530. So I had a look at the train times, to find when the next train was going to leave, that connected with the bus I was on. It left at 1550, and by my guess the bus was going to arrive in the next 15 minuets. That meant I had 5 minutes to find a meal. So I pre-ordered a pizza at Dominoes, a meat feast as you’re asking, and crossed my fingers, hoping that the traffic gods would be on my side. The bus arrived just as I had guessed. I power walked to the dominoes, which is just by the station. A pizza was waiting for me, which I grabbed and ran, and got on the train with moments to spare. I was slightly out of breath and had to give myself a moment before tucking in. The train was pretty much full, but I did find a seat. The pizza box, however, was soon empty.

Arriving in London, it was just a quick dash up the H&C to Edgeware Road. I checked in, climbed the three floors to my room and shoved my bag under the bed. The beds themselves were clean enough but the hostel on the whole was a little rough around the edges, but what do you expect for £15 a night in central London. It was hardly going to be the Ritz, was it?

Not wanting to particularly linger in the hostel, I looked at the time, I felt I had enough spare time to get a quick pint, and gain a cheeky cask marque. The Allsop Arms, on Gloucester Road was on route, so I decided to stop in there for a quiet pint, a quick breather after all the rushing around London and pizza speed runs.

It was not quiet.

My idea of a perfect pub has always been the country inn with the roaring fire, and polite quiet murmurings in the background. I think of this whenever I think of a pub I do not know. This is not always the reality. Other people think of the pub as a space to watch sports, and this is what I had stumbled into. It was the Sunderland vs Sheffield Playoff match and this was a Sunderland pub, and they had just won. The TV was showing the matches highlights. The crowd were responding to it as if they did not already know what was going to happen. I ordered a pint of Greene King IPA, scanned the cask marque and went outside with the smokers, where the London traffic, police sirens, shouting and fighting and general hubbub of the city was so much more peaceful than the absolute cacophony inside.

A group of supporters left the pub, one of whom had a county Durham flag over his shoulders. I stopped him and explained that I’d like a photo. He obliged, and asked me if I had anything. “Doesn’t matter what it is, I’ll drink it or smoke it” he explained. I had nothing to offer, so he moved on in a jovial mood. Sunderland had still won, after all.

Sunderland won the playoffs and these gentlemen were very happy.

Pint sank. This pub was not for me so I moved on. I got the tube down to Brixton. Where I had a quick pint of Doom Bar in Wetherspoons. This pub too, was busy. I shared a table with another man, he too was on his own and was drinking Guinness. He didn’t say a word the entire time we were sat together. There had been some confusion over whether there was one or two supports tonight, so I decided to get to the academy, just in case. If there were two, the first one would be on almost as soon as doors open.

I walked straight in, no fuss. A quick pat down, which is now standard at the academy. I bought my quart of Brooklyn IPA and sat on the shorter bit of wall, stage right. I sat there for maybe five minutes before I was approached by a lady, I’d later understand was called Lisa. She was about 5′ 5”, I’m guessing early to mid forties and had an accent that was hard to place, but gun to my head, I’d guess Brazil. It turned out that it was her first ever gig, which she too had decided to go to on the off chance, after hearing about it on Radio X. We talked about live music for a bit, and to what she could expect in the next few hours. If by any chance, Lisa, you are reading this, I hope you had a great evening, and also, thanks for the beer, you really didn’t have to.

Katy J Pearson played her support. Her laid back style and technical ability made me think that she had found about her level. A great warm up act for a big venue, but wouldn’t fill it herself. That’s not meant to sound disparaging. She just didn’t pack a punch which she’d need to do with her next release to make it further.

Wet Leg came on soon after. Opening with Catch these fists , a song that I didn’t know, this sort of set the tone. I felt quite quickly that I was getting the measure of this set. The new album was full of songs I didn’t know and which just didn’t grab in the way the first album did. I really should have done my homework before going. This was on me. I wasn’t enjoy it as much as I should because I didn’t know what I was watching. Some bands work when they are a surprise, others need you to sing along, Wet Leg are definitely the latter.

Wet leg on stage

The set finishes soon after an out of breath girl and her friend came up to me and asked if they had played Chaise Lounge yet. Clearly, they had just arrived. I said no, then they played it, and then the show was over. There was no encore. I went back to Wetherspoons where I chatted to chap who was into rally biking, before retiring to the hostel. There was no one in the common room to make friends with, so I went to bed.

Don’t it always seem to go…

Hi, it’s been a year since I last posted (I know, shit blogger or what!) and I wasn’t planning on blogging about this either, that is why there are no pictures. I’ve decided to ruminate over what happened to me last week more as a cautionary letter to myself than anything else.

Please be aware, I didn’t think I’d be blogging so all images are an artists impression, although I don’t think you can tell.

It was a Saturday and I was stuck in London. I had to get the train back to work but, advanced fares being what they are, I could only get one train at a semi-reasonable price, which meant I was stuck in the capital until 4pm. I had woke up, showered and checked out by half 10 and got myself a breakfast at the Polo bar outside Liverpool Street station (a bit pricey but highly recommended – and they’re open 24 hours!). A quick tube across town and I was outside Paddington with three hours to spare. What shall I do…

The previous night I had been out with a friend at The o2. I’m sure you will know that the drink availability is not only eye-wateringly expensive but also dire in its variety. Infact the bars that were near my seat at the gig had two offerings on tap either Budweiser or Bud Light. At nearly £6 a pint is it any wonder that the pub next door is always full of people trying to time it until the last possible second before running into the gig!

So, a pint of something actually nice was required. You will by now know that I prefer real ales and I’m always on the search for a new really god pub to add to my mental list of places worth drinking in. I therefore went to my phone, opened the cask marque app and took a punt one of the pubs around Paddington.

The Pride of Paddington was my first port of call and all I have to say was, it was lovely. Real ale on tap, friendly bar staff, quiet enough to read my magazine, clean toilets, wood panelling on the walls and soft furnishings to sit on. It was all reasonably priced too! I ordered a pint of Tribute, scanned their cask marque certificate and sat down to read my magazine. Before I knew it my glass was empty and I decided to try another pub down the road.

Just down the road and back towards the station is The Dicken’s. It’s a Greene King pub (which usually means the beer is at least well kept if nothing else). I walked through the door and was met with the screeching cacophony several TV screens all blaring out the football. This was a bit of a shock to the system after the calm, quiet and relaxing embrace of the Pride of Paddington. Nevertheless I joined the substantial queue at the bar and ordered a pint of something dark, Winter Star by Twickenham Ales. By the time I sat down I was thirsty and had several large gulps before I realised it was off. It tasted fine in the mouth but the aftertaste was repellent. I tried a few more mouthfuls but it really wasn’t up to scratch, but it was only in the aftertaste. I could swill it around in my mouth all day and it would have been fine. I know I should have told the bar maid but to be honest with all the noise I just couldn’t be bothered to stay in the pub anyway.

There were two other pubs to try, The Sawyers Arms (which was across the road from The Dickens) and The Beer House (actually on the concourse of the station). I went to try the Sawyers but as I approached I could hear the football before I even opened the door. I turned on a sixpence actually said “NO!” out load and went to the Beer House. I thought that this might be a good idea anyway as time was now moving on and it would be easier to catch the train.

The beer house is a small black wooden box sat on the floor between two platforms. Whilst inside it is a reasonable sized pub it is dwarfed by the canopy of the station. After my problems before I went back to reliable Tribute. I know tribute well and if it is off I can say with some authority. It was quiet.There were televisions on but they were muted with subtitles and they were showing some sort of long distance running. Whilst not really a problem it did keep catching my eye while I was reading, which was a distraction. The beer was good but they seemed to have an o2 pricing structure on their beer. I dread to think what the more exotic bottles would have been charged at! Otherwise not much to write home about.

I think the moral of the story is that while it is nice to try different pubs, sometimes it is also nice to stay in a good one that you have found. A friend of mine always joked that when we die we will all end up with a trump card of our lives with all the possible statistics imaginable. Some statistics (number of jobs:1) will probably be quite low but others (number of pubs visited: hundreds) will be the reason why my card will keep a player from losing but is it really worth it? Is training up this cosmic playing card going to help me enjoy life more? Answer, probably. I love discovering new pubs and always visiting the same one over and over would be dull. That being said, when I find a good one and the mood is right, I don’t think I’ll be as quick to move on just for the sake of an extra tick in the book as I used to be.

Quite a rarity for 7am

It’s 7 in the morning. It’s  the middle of December and it wont be daylight for another hour. Not that that matters to me because I am working nights all the way to Christmas this year. ^Horray^. I am just about to go to sleep but before I do I thought I’d share this rather lovely beer I’m drinking.

It is Morland’s Hen’s Tooth. I know its not going to set the world of craft beer alight any time soon but it is bloody nice and well worth a mention.

So just quickly then, it is a bottle conditioned, 6.5%, light amber coloured ale. Being Morland’s brand it is actually a Greene King beer, for those of you who have been living under a rock for the last 16 years. And it was bought in Tesco Blackpool under a 4 bottles for £6 offer. 

The important part. It isn’t the most intense beer in the world to start, infact on the nose there is very little at all. You can tell that its beer but nothing really stands out flavour wise. A first sip gives a malty, burnt caramel flavour with a well rounded moth feel. All the action lingers towards the end with a strong alcohol kick and a dry, at times ever so slightly acidic aftertaste with a christmas pudding punch thrown in right at the end leaving you wanting more.

As my Dad would put it “my doctor said I should have 10 of these a day”. Probably not sound medical advice but I’d go along with it. My mind does wonder how well it do if they  were to make a cask version. I could quite easily spend a long evening in a nice pub with a few friends drinking this. Hopefully  it would be even better, given that I am drinking out of one of those red plastic cups that all American house parties seem to have but beggars can’t be choosers, it is better than no beer at all.

The session – Porter

image

This months beer blogging session is titled porter. We’re  supposed to talk about  the style in whatever capacity we feel is appropriate and quite simply, I forgot. So tonight I was in the supermarket desperately looking for a porter to drink.

The Guinness was nice by the way.
It is amazing how few porters there are available in British supermarkets. In fact I could only find one, Guinness West Indies Porter. It is amazing that so few are available. There are loads of IPA’s but nearly no porters. Is the style doomed? There are a few stouts (mostly other Guinness  brands or equivalent competition). My question, are dark beers really just for beer geeks because the powers that be think most people dont want to drink it.  I have no answers. Does anyone else?

Luton Beer Festival 2016

Another year and another round of all our favourite beer festivals begins. There are several local festivals in and around the Bedfordshire area and they are nicely spread across the year. Always the first is Luton, which is run by the South Bedfordshire CAMRA branch. Despite the hectic nature of life I had a free day and was able to attend the Thursday session. I could be lazy and just right “for details see last year’s post” but as I went to look for last year’s post I found that it has not posted or has been lost. So for the first time on this blog let me introduce you to Luton.

For my money Luton beer festival has one major problem, its location. The venue itself is perfectly fine, just getting to the venue can put off some of those who have heard the details of what Hightown is like after dark. If you are local-ish you will know what I mean. If you are from the Anglia region, I’m sure you will have heard about it on the local news. If you are from further afield, just Google it.

Once you have braved the badlands of Hightown you are perfectly safe inside what is normally a local sports hall, given up for Thursday, Friday, Saturday, as a the place to go for the beer drinkers of Bedfordshire and beyond. There are two main rooms. One has the LocAle bar and the cider bar. The other room has the  national parks bar, the everywhere else bar and the bottled beer bar. As variety is the spice of life I suggest a wander around to try something from all the bars. There are great beers to be had at all of them.

Staff of the Black Lion receive their award from Local MP's
Staff of the Black Lion receive their award from Local MP’s

We happened to be in the first room when the local MP’s for Luton (North) and Luton (South) stood up on stage to declare the festival open, even though people had been drinking for six hours by now. They then went on to present the South Bedfordshire CAMRA pub of the year to the Black Lion in Leighton Buzzard. I was again with my mate Jonny on this outing and he took much dislike to this. He found that politicising what should be a fun evening out was a step too far for him. Especially as two barrels of beer (one in each room) was sponsored by the Labour party.

Strangely sponsored Barrels!
Strangely sponsored Barrels!

There were some other curious barrel sponsorships as well. One barrel just said “Luton Haiku” with no contact details at all. Google tells me there is a Twitter account that just does Haikus about Luton. That is all I could find on the subject. Apparently Clod magazine has made these short form poems into books, it is now on its third volume. More mystifying that this, however, was the barrel which mealy said “ALAN WHEELER LEGENDARY LUTON LIBRARIAN”. Err… yes, well done Alan.

The important bit to remember is that it’s all about the beer. With that in mind here are a few of my highlights. First of all it was my first chance to try something from the Ampthill Brewhouse. They are a relatively new brewery, taking over from the short lived Ampthill brewery and they are the nearest brewers to where I live. I am pleased to report that their 3.4% Session ale is a beautifully easy drink to settle into a night at the beer festival. Continuing the local theme Leighton Buzzard Brewery had their 4.2% Cuckoo originally only meant to be served in the Cuckoo micro pub in Toddington. Also, staying local I tried a medium/sweet Evershed’s Town and Country Cider, from the north of the county.

Brewdog's Vagabond - Gluten Free Pale Ale
Brewdog’s Vagabond – Gluten Free Pale Ale

Moving further away we tried several beers from far and wide in the non-local room, however the stand out for me in here was a bottle of Brewdog’s Vagabond, 4.5%. We had a lengthy discussion with the chap behind the bar about whether CAMRA should even be serving Brewdog products, not being real ale an’ all. I doubt there will ever be a definitive answer.

One final beer I want to mention was Sorachi City by Golden Triangle, 3.9%. If anyone out there has had a try of this fantastic beer please get in touch and tell me what that flavour is I get on the nose! It is driving me mad. I asked the guy behind the bar and he instantly said blue cheese, his speed in response proved that there has been previous discussions about this beer. I can see where the cheese idea comes from but I can’t be sure that is it. There is certainly a very creamy mouth-feel to the drink which could convince some of the cheese flavour but I’m not so sure.

If you like the sound of Luton Beer Festival it is on the third weekend of February each year at the Hightown Community Sports & Arts Centre, York Street, Luton LU2 0JD. For more information: http://southbeds.camra.org.uk/

 

The Curfew Club and a cheeky pint

The Curfew Club is a monthly musical gathering in a small and intimate setting showcasing some of the local talent, especially those with acoustic or Americana bent. The session was first bought to my attention while reading The Bedford Clanger, a magazine highlighting all the cultural and art stuff going on in Bedford as well as getting behind local businesses and local talents. It was only a short article, not much more than an advert really, but it intrigued me. I mentioned it to Jonny, who is always up for a gig, and we decided to go.The Curfew Club poster

The first thing we had to do was sort out some drinks. Not only is this event free to get in but it’s also BYOB, so a great way to spend a cheap night out. So, because we are classy, we made straight for Lidl. A cornucopia of delicious and tempting ales it is not, however it is cheap. I through a few bottles of ale in the basket, Jonny went for the cheap pear cider.

The Weillie's interior
The Weillie’s interior

We had deliberately got into town early for two reasons. Firstly, being a small gig in a small venue it is limited to 40 people and Facebook said that there were 48 going. We wanted to make sure that we got in any queue early as to avoid disappointment. The second reason for going early is that just down the road from the venue, #44 Harpur St., are a couple of pubs (I think you can see where this is going).

Pint of Welsh Black
A Pint of Welsh Black in the wellie

First of all is the Wellington Arms, or the wellie as it is more commonly known. Previous visits to the wellie and its 14 handpumps had shown us the delights of B&T’s Fruit Bat and bottled beers such as Timmermans Kriek. With it’s range constantly changing who knows what we had in store. It’s always hard when you walk through the door of a pub and the bar maid immediately asks you what you would like. There are 14 choices and you haven’t even read them all yet. I went with Great Orme’s Welsh Black. As the name suggests it was a dark beer, a mild in fact and as dark as they come. It was a nice, if a bit lifeless, I’m guessing it was coming near to the end of the barrel.

A Pint of Doom Bar
A pint of Doom Bar in The Flower Pot next to an open fire (which isn’t blue, unlike this picture makes out)

After the wellie we moved on to the Flower Pot, I always thought it was a Greene King pub, but not serving any of their beers I guess I was wrong. They do serve Fuller’s London Pride and Sharp’s Doom Bar. Jonny and I both went for the Doom Bar. We sat by the open fire with views out of the window down Harpur Street so we could look out for any queue that might form.

No queue did form and we ended up having two in the Flower Pot, who can argue with a pint of Doom Bar and a warming fire on a drizzly February evening?

We were admitted into the venue at around opening time, it all seemed very friendly. I had worried that I had misunderstood the BYOB thing but no one queried our bags of beer as we walked through. Eventually the room filled out with more and more arrivals. I didn’t notice anyone getting turned away but I would have said that there were about 40 people there.

Gwinny performing at 44 Harpur St.
Gwinny performing at 44 Harpur St.

By about half 8 the first act was on stage and doing what she does. Her name was Gwinny and it was just her and an acoustic guitar. The act had two very distinct parts for me. The first half were all songs which had a distinct Laura Marling bent to them. This is a girl who clearly liked the album alas, I cannot swim. The second half of her songs, were much less easy to pin down, more individual in many ways and just as enjoyable as the first songs. For me the stand out song was Come away with me, which isn’t anything to do with the Norah Jones song of the same name. Gwinny was accompanied, for me at least, by a bottle of Bornem Abbey Blonde Beer which I found to be quite a sharp and didn’t settle well after the well served Doom Bar in the Flower Pot.

The Darling Mundaring performing at 44 Harpur St.
The Darling Mundaring performing at 44 Harpur St.

The headline act was The Darling MundaringAfter the bread and water that a girl + acoustic can be it was great to hear the full roast dinner that a full band can be. A much more polyphonic affair but nevertheless taking the same acoustic route as Gwinny had before but with added cello and percussion. It was a gorgeous , rich and beautiful noise which I loved listening to.There were several songs which they performed which I could easily see, given the right set of circumstances, could get picked up by the mainstream. October, Books, and As good for me are all stand out tracks that could get these guys on the radio. Their accompanying beer was a bottle of Hatherwood’s Golden Goose, a beer brewed specifically for Lidl (Not all that great either).

To sum it up them The Curfew club provides a showcase of some fantastic local talent in the Bedford area and allow you to discover some great new acoustic music. Both of the acts we saw were great. Lidl provide beer that is cheap.

More information of the Curfew Club’s Facebook page: http://www.facebook.com/curfewclubbedford, the next session is on 9th March at the Cavalier Barber Shop.

First walk of the new year

I know what your thinking. New year? But it’s February. That’s true. I just haven’t been for a walk so far until now. I had mentally been telling myself that I needed to get walking again. I have been lounging around at home doing very little and slowly the numbers on the scales are creeping up. This will not do. On top of that I have been neglecting the blog, hardly posting more than a handful of times a year. I uaed ro excuse myself for not posting because my phone was terrible but I have a new one now, and a good one at that. This is supposed to be the turning point. New year, new phone, new posts.

The route out of town.
The route out of town.

So I woke up this morning to bright sunlight streaming into the bedroom. I instantly thought that today would be the day that I’d finally get back to walking. I was ready to go in half an hour.

New phone in tow I set about turning on the GPS tracking app. Last time I had used one of these was two phones ago and drained the battery in a few hours. This phone should do better. Being the size of a dinner plate it can afford a huge battery. One which so far has been lasting several days at a time. Will the power hungry GPS put pay to that? We’ll just have to find out.

I left hime by the path that skirts the edge od the woods. The path leads out to Steppingley is muddy on all but the driest of summer days. I was going to get muddy today anyway so why pussyfoot around the first path? The wind was quite strong and there was a bit of a chill in the air. Wet, muddy, cold. What a great day.

I was in a bit of an inquisitive mood and took a lot of paths that I wouldn’t ordinarily use. The first was on the way into Steppingley. Usually I’d take the road past the Drovers Arms but today I took the back way, taking the footpath past the church. As I walked up the path a girl came the other way walking a dog. She was talking to herself and crying almost uncontrollably. What do you do in this situation? Do you ask if everything is OK? If you do you have to sit and listen to a tale of woe that I really wasn’t that interested in. If you don’t are you just a bastard? I decided just to smile. She tried to smile back but it was clearly difficult for her. I’m sure the dog will keep her company.

Steppingley postbox
New post box design

Walking into Steppingley from this direction is new to me and I never realised what fantastic houses there are around here. Some are clearly very old indeed. I covet these places dearly. Moving on I passed the church and the pub. The village bus stop has now got a small library in it. I’m not sure why you would leave books in the minimal shelter of a bus stop but there you go. Just down the road the village postbox has been revamped. I don’t know if this is the new desing being rolled out across the country of if its just here but I like it.

My destination was the Rose and Crown in Ridgemont. And to get there was no more than an hours walk from Steppingley. I walked out of the village via a country lane with high hedgerows on either side. In the distance was a Red Kite circling overhead. I had hoped to catch up to it but, alas, it was gone.

Most of the route from Steppingley to Ridgemont was fairly uneventful. I said hello to some cyclists. I followed the usual footpaths. I crossed over the roaring M1 on a farm bridge. I paused for a moment, as I often do, just to marvel at the motorway. I find it amazing that we all get in these little tin boxes and ride up and down these thin strips of tarmac at a steady speed, smoothly all getting to our destination without crashing (mostly).

Segenhoe Church
Segehoe’s abandoned church

I also marvel at how quickly the roar becomes a murmur. A small background noise that van be drowned out by the wind in the trees. By the time I passed the abandoned church at Segenhoe I could barely hear it at all. I don’t know what it is about abandoned churches that I like so much. Perhaps it’s that you get to appreciate the beauty of the building without the fear of being accosted by a member of the clergy, trying to bring you into the fold. Anyway, I couldn’t stop. I wanted to make this a fairly quick walk as the weather report wasn’t great after three o’clock.

Rose & Crown - Ridgemont
The Rose & Crown in Ridgemont

The Rose and Crown in Ridgemont has been on my list for a long time. It’s so near and yet so far. I wasn’t expecting anything special but its another one tick off. When I arrived I noticed a cask marque sign (good start). I scraped my boots on the scraper by the front door (must be walkers friendly, even better) and walked in. The bar maid was friendly and helped me with WiFi. A pint of Directors went down too quickly as I talked to the girl behind the bar and before I knew it I was back on the road going home by another route.

Millbrook Warren
The path around Millbrook Warren

I crossed the M1 and the A507 simultaneously as a new footbridge crosses them both. This is the new route of the Greensand Ridge path, a route I want to do in its entirety one day. I followed the GRW as far as Boughton End and turned to take its original route back across the main road. This path soon took me to the edge of Millbrook Warren or as most people now call it Centre Parcs™ – Woburn Forest. I have mixed feelings about the holiday resort on my doorstep. On one hand the Warren is now fenced off, only accessible to paying customers. The rights of way have been striped and we, the public can not enter. On the other hand employment is up and the nearby towns are prospering from the tourist money. On top of that there are new footpaths replacing the old routes through the Warren and other existing paths have been improved considerably. These are obviously good things, but it doesn’t mean I have to like the heart being ripped out of what was once a peaceful place.

I took one of the new bridleways to the road and one of the improved footpaths via a new bridge over the railway into Ampthill. Us walkers have never had it so good, and neither have the train spotters who use the bridge to get a better spot for taking photo’s of trains. Two were sitting on the steps by the up line with a camera and a big telephoto lens. They were to engrossed in train chat to even pass the time of day.

On the other side of the line is an industrial estate. It’s dirty and unkept but we need somewhere to put the scrap metal merchants and the digger merchants. As I walked through I heard the sound of a train passing. I could tell it was a diesel freight loco. Good, I thought to myself, I’d imagine the trainspotters on the bridge will be pleased with that.

The final part of my walk took me back to my teenage years as I followed the route I used to walk home from school. It has changed quite a bit in the intervening years. A new housing estate, the petrol station has been towrn down and replaced, there is a football academy on the field I used to use as a shortcut and they seem to fit in new houses in the smallest of gaps. Progress I suppose.

[sgpx gpx=”http://likelymoose.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/20160207.gpx”][/sgpx]

People of Staffordshire: Knot in your name

To everyone in Staffordshire, please take the time to real the article below and then get in touch with the Flag Institute and ask them to think again before including the Staffordshire county council coat of arms design to their register of county flags.

The session #108 – Snowed in

image

It’s been a while since I have done one of these beer blogging sessions. I intended to always join in but life gets in the way. Sorry guys. Never mind though, I’m back now and the first topic is “snowed in”. Being hosted by Jon Abernathy at The Brew Site and he asks us what beers do we go for when we are stuck in the middle of winter with nowhere to go but the beer cellar.

Thanks Jon, thanks for posting for my first topic after my long hiatus a subject which is near impossible for me to answer. I live in Bedfordshire, England, a place which does get the occasional snow shower but never anything to leave you stranded in your own home. In fact it I have to cast my mind back three of four years to remember a snow bad enough to even affect the traffic.

I have been giving this some thought, however, and I have a few little snippets of my past that were very cold and I remember the beers I reaches for then. Here is one small account of beer and the cold:

Last year we had a lads weekend to Amsterdam. It was October and not all that cold. We have been several times before and we know which bars we like and which serve some really good beers. That being said we always try and seek out a few new places. This year it was suggested that we visit the Ice bar. Now I know it’s a tourists trap and there is nothing authentically Dutch about it and I know there is one in London which is only 40 miles from where I live, but it’s a lads weekend, if we were there for the culture we’d have visited much more sensible places than that.

For those who haven’t been, here is a little description of what it’s like. First of all you have to book your time slot. You then arrive about have an hour before where you are let into an ordinary bar provided you have a ticket. You are given a few tokens, some to spend in the first bar and some to spend in the Ice bar, these are part of the ticket price. You drink with the tokens in the first bar for about half an hour, until your time slot is called up. You then queue with approximately 30 other people who are all given gloves and huge coats to wear before being let in. Above you is a video playing which is a flagrant rip off of Pirates of the Caribbean meant to suggest that we’re all going on an ocean voyage which ends in us all being shipwrecked in a tiny ice cave. You are then walked into the ice bar. The bar itself is made of ice (no surprises there) and the walls too are made of frozen water. You could almost believe it is a frozen ice cave if it wasn’t the red LED clock giving you constant temperature read outs. It was about -10°c if memory serves. You spend the two tokens you were given outside and nothing else. No cash in the Ice bar. They time it all about right so the next group comes in just as you are finishing your second beer. The beers are served in a glass made of ice (no licking or eating of the glassware, by order). All in all you have three or four half pints, two of which are even colder that usual. You are then ejected from the premises where you wander off into the  (relatively) warm Amsterdam night. You then bump into a bunch of girls who were on your flight who you try to avoid but end up having a conversion with before leaving the final bar of the evening to raid the Febo machines. *

So there you are, in a cold room with a cold glass. Your fingers are slowly numbing and your face feels like you’ve been slapped with a shatterproof ruler. What sort of beer do they serve? There is only one option. Logically there is only one thing it could be. Which beers taste best when they are on the verge of freezing themselves? Beers that have always been known for their refreshing clarity and crispness? Of all the beers which taste the most repellant when warm? It has to be Lager. And which Lager? Well we’re in Amsterdam, you’ve got two choices and its not Amstel.

image

*That last part may not happen to you, it is just an example of what can happen in Amsterdam when the beer flows. There are numerous other outcomes to an Amsterdam evening which you can Google for yourselves.