Mashed

I hereby declare the 2007 Summer Rampage open for business.

And the business of the day was a return to an old stamping ground of mine, back up to North Yorkshire, Harrogate. Been going there for years for various reasons and various people, I feel as at home there as anywhere else, haven't been back in a while. The business of the day was that popular old favorite of mine, beer drinking and drinking beer. In this case, the Harrogate Beer Festival. Now, if you've not been to one of these before, the idea is basically to turn up and drink a load of beer. Complicated, it's not. Nice, it certainly is.

Packed a daybag, bought tickets, bought a newspaper and jumped on the permanent way over to the north west. Changed at Doncaster, also at Leeds and duly ended up at Harrogate station on time, no crisis of any kind, no drama. Believe me, this is unusual. As there was time aplenty, I took the opportunity to refresh my acquaintance with one of my favorite establishments, Alberts bar and restaurant on Albert Street. Last time I was here was in honour of a departing Big Gay Al; it all went dreadfully wrong; vast amounts of champagne chugged, mixed with beer, sambucca and tequilla. You just knew it was going to end badly, and indeed, I broke myself rather stylishly. Anyways up, I can't honestly say I've not missed the place, I was very glad indeed to stroll in, buy a much overdue pint of delicious Black Sheep ale and munch on a dish of their special home made Parsnip Crisps - still warm, and a nice steak sandwich.

Under ordinary circumstances that would have been my afternoon made up, but there's business to take care of in this town. Made my way over to the international centre in good time, to be told that the beer festival didn't actually start until six. Ah. Knew it had been too well organised to last. If this had been a CAMRA beer festival, the odds were on all day opening, or at least an afternoon session. This, however was a Round Table effort, such things aren't to be taken for granted. Should have thought of that. Or even checked it on the website. But I didn't, hey ho, got three hours to kill, half cut in the middle of town. Nothing lost, only gained. Strolled back into town with my trusty Good Beer Guide in my hand, searching for a pub that might have the rugby on. I had in mind the Coach and Horses, it's been a few years since I've been in there, but as it happened, I happened across the Old Bell Tavern instead.

Now what is is about me? Am I putting out some kind of pheromone only detectable by gay blokes or something? I can't seem to go out at the moment without finding a nice gay lad to have a conversation with; not that I have a problem or a predjudice with this - I don't, but it'd be nice to modify it to work on women with big knockers and dodgy morals instead. Once again, my afternoon is spent talking to a very nice chap of the pink persuasion called David and drinking lots of very decent beer. I've spent copious time in H'gate over the last two years and I can't for the life of me work out why I've never been to this pub before. It's a good one. I think that one of the things you can judge a pub by it's bogs, and this one's got very interesting vintage porcelain, from an era with a GR stamp on it; if it's survived that long, the pub's not the sort of hellhole with broken Armitage Shanks that I avoid. More Black Sheep (why muck about with a classic); Saxon Strong from the Mighty Oak Brewery; Sparth Mild from Riverhead Brewery and nice European strawberry beer from Chapeau. The thought struck me that I'd blown seeing the rugby, so I got the scores texted to me instead; the rather more ominous thought arrived that I'd be ratarsed by the time I got to the beer festival. Hey ho. I'd had the idea during the afternoon that it'd be nice to go over to Knaresborough during the three hours I had to kill and have a bevvy in Blind Jacks, but I'd clearly killed the afternoon effectively already, this plan was shelved. But will be returned to another day soon.

There's a lot of the Harrogate International Centre. Eventually found the right door, and even then, there were dickie bow tied hordes going to see the ballet in a different hall, as this crop headed, drink addled grinning creature in denim jacket and big leather boots wobbled through to the door marked "beer". I love the anarchy and confrontation of moments like that. Or am I just a pretentious tosser? Could be. Found my way in - unusually for a Round Table effort, you got a proper marked souvenir glass with your entrance fee, which was very reasonable. The hall itself was unusual; quite the least characterful hall I've ever seen. Shiney white floor, walls and roof. Almost clinical in it's nature, and very brightly lit.

According to the tasting notes I chomped my way through Daleside Special (the local boys); Consett Red Dust (tasty, that was); Rudgate Ruby Mild; York Lubelski (made with Polish hops, is there no sphere of life those buggers won't infiltrate) and Sierra Nevada Pale Ale from the USA. Now, while it's nice to see the septic's having a go, and although I have to admit it was nice enough, I made the rather caustic comment in my tasting notes that it was "a bit like lager spliced with kerosene". I think they're a long way from worrying the Europeans on beer quality yet. As my allotted time came to an end, I grabbed a picture of a crowd of very strange chaps... they paid money to get into a real ale festival, yet they're sat there drinking bottled Wife Beater by the gallon... weird.

All good things must, and do end. The appointed time, stupidly early, had arrived, my cab was waiting and off I scuttled. Yes, I know the station is within walking distance, but I'm not a well man, ok? As I was slightly intoxicated by this stage, it was acceptable to eat a kebab (yuk yuk yuk, see my previous comments on this subject) so in the spirit of reviving old acquaintances I popped in to Skewers while waiting for the train to arrive and proceeded to stuff my horrible prize down my neck before anyone I knew could report my drop in culinary standards. And what was amazing was that the journey home went by with no major or minor mishaps. Two changes of train to negociate, with the ipod, hip flask for my company... nothing went wrong. No falling asleep on the train, no other foolishness... textbook.

It must be saving all the disasters up for next weekend.