Brown wobble
So, it's been a while since I've really had time to sit down and do this. Let's put last weekend into perspective, shall we?
It was a beery one. Oh yes.
Friday night...kicked off with a jacket potato and tuna before I left the house; I'd love to say I was on some kind of health kick; the fact was that I'm running out of food and it was that or nothing. Only used half the tuna... the intention was to use it in some cunning low price dish later, but as it was the cat got an excellent supper. No, I have no resistance whatsoever to the small boy putting on the charm for the benefit of his belly. Then cycled off to the station for what I consider the height of sophistication and civilisation... beer by local branch line train. What a great idea. Doctor Beeching, what were you playing at?
Off this time to Stallingborough station whereupon met up with the locals, cabbed up to a pub and before battle commenced I took the time to phone my Gran who turned 81 that day, came back from my family duties and indulged in a couple of pints of the Shifty Abbot. Otherwise known as Abbot Ale; the Shifty Abbot is not to be trusted and will sneak around your back and do dreadful things at the slightest provocation. I grew up twenty miles down the road from his home and have made his acquaintance many times in my youth, I know of what I speak. Anyway, the pub in question was deemed to be pants because it didn't do bar food and we couldn't afford the new mortgage required for a restaurant meal so back into a cab it was to take us back to the pub right next to the station that we'd driven past half an hour earlier... c'est la money. Suitably lubricated, found a nice comfy bus shelter to spend the nig.... NO, to catch the last bus back to Cod Town and practised my quick reaction skills bus recognition skills as I realised with about five seconds to go that the big bunch of lights coming towards me wasn't a van but in fact something rather more important to my immediate future. Sometimes I can move pretty fast for a fat pissed bloke and the local bus company is to be commended for the quick braking reactions of their drivers. Whereafter it remained only to pop to the station, via the Wetherspoons next door to collect my bike, and to find a taxi big enough to put it in. Yes, healthy lifestyle goes only so far.
Saturday... an excellent notification from the excellent Miss J of County Durham of a short notice beer festival in that rather excellent area; unfortunately this was ruled out part by shortness of money, part by the fact that there was one already lined up just down the road. Next time, kiddo. Beer by train again is the order of the day, trundled down to the station which is rapidly becoming my favorite place and hopped on the local service to Lincoln with a bag full of cameras and a street map, which upon arrival I proved myself quite unable to use by navigating in the wrong direction for a valuable half hour of drinking time, and getting quite stressed by the apparent lack of cashpoints; although this was later explained by the fact that we were walking OUT of the business district. Navigation amended, quickly got sorted and found my way to the Drill Hall, which although a nondescript looking building now converted to art centre/venue use, as demonstrated by the enormous metal face on the side of it, and cleaned and refurbished; is just dripping with history and ghosts if you engage your brain for ten seconds and consider when and what it was actually built for, and the people that have passed through it in the past.
Clearly I was meant to be here, bought my commemorative glass to discover a rather groovy print of a Vulcan Bomber, an old favorite of mine... two Vulcan bases within spitting distance of Lincoln during the aircraft's service and it's fifty years since the first squadron of this gorgeous big Delta formed there. Wow. Watch this space. They're getting one in the air again next month.
Anyhoooo, struck it lucky with the first couple of beers, a couple of really tasty, easy on the mouth bitters. By the end of the afternoon, the tally was something like this....
Beartown "Bruin's Ruin" (5.0).... (Mikey's tasting note; YUM and a smiley face)
Beeston "On the Huh" (5.0)... MTN "Oooh! A boy's one! Dark, tastes of old mens pipes"
Hambleton "Hot to Trot" (4.0) ..... MTN, a smiley face. Must have liked that one.
Hook Norton "Cotswold Lion" (4.2)
Loddon "Bamboozle" (4.8)... MTN, a smiley face and "nectar. Almost cider" And it was.
Oldershaw "Vulcan's Thunder" (5.0)... Festival special ale
Thwaites "Lancaster Bomber" (4.4)
York "Stonewall" (3.8)
Fugglestou "Hewitts Bitter" (4.0)
The latter a replica of an old Grimsby beer from the long dead Hewitts Brewery.... all I can say is it's a damned shame, that's a gorgeous drop and well worth hunting out. But all things must come to an end, even good things so back to the train it was. Because there was a party to go to. Does it ever stop??? Not if I can help it. Remember, this is Summer Rampage. One of the lads from work got hitched in the 'States a couple of weeks back, and was having a small bashette in a venue in town, local club sort of affair; you know the drill. Cheap beer but not really worth drinking, so a night on the spirits ensues. Oh dear. Spilled out at ungodly some hour of the night, onto a some ungodly late bar in Cleethorpes, whereupon decided that the late bar was a really bad idea, and back into another late cab back to Fortress Shadey.
Sunday.... a morning slobbing in front of Top Gear repeats. Yeaaah! Lots of coffee, and then... off to ASDA on a beer supply run before a barbeque beckoned. Yes, weatherwatchers, it was pissing down with rain all day. So the meat deal happened, erm somewhere, while we all got pissed indoors. You'll notice these reports are getting shorter? So are the memories. Yes, there was an amount of beerdrinking, shot drinking, certain amounts of dead animal got troughed, Scratch the dog had a very good afternoon and evening indeed although his afternoon walk (to the shops to buy more vodka) was spoiled by Drunkogirl the Dog Handler shouting "Don't crap, that's rottttttten!!!!!!" as the poor lad did what he had to do, to her embarrassment. Never mind. And then? More shot glasses and beer glasses, one lady had "Twat" writted on her forehead in big black magic marker, a huge waterfight ensued between the girls (hey, since when did I ever turn down a wet T-shirt contest) and as for mud wrestling, the closest they got was the hostess being pinned down and covered in brown sauce for no reason I could especially work out. Hey ho.
Oddly enough, my plan to spend all of Bank Holiday Monday in the pub came to nothing. I wonder why..... Beered out? Could be....
It was a beery one. Oh yes.
Friday night...kicked off with a jacket potato and tuna before I left the house; I'd love to say I was on some kind of health kick; the fact was that I'm running out of food and it was that or nothing. Only used half the tuna... the intention was to use it in some cunning low price dish later, but as it was the cat got an excellent supper. No, I have no resistance whatsoever to the small boy putting on the charm for the benefit of his belly. Then cycled off to the station for what I consider the height of sophistication and civilisation... beer by local branch line train. What a great idea. Doctor Beeching, what were you playing at?
Off this time to Stallingborough station whereupon met up with the locals, cabbed up to a pub and before battle commenced I took the time to phone my Gran who turned 81 that day, came back from my family duties and indulged in a couple of pints of the Shifty Abbot. Otherwise known as Abbot Ale; the Shifty Abbot is not to be trusted and will sneak around your back and do dreadful things at the slightest provocation. I grew up twenty miles down the road from his home and have made his acquaintance many times in my youth, I know of what I speak. Anyway, the pub in question was deemed to be pants because it didn't do bar food and we couldn't afford the new mortgage required for a restaurant meal so back into a cab it was to take us back to the pub right next to the station that we'd driven past half an hour earlier... c'est la money. Suitably lubricated, found a nice comfy bus shelter to spend the nig.... NO, to catch the last bus back to Cod Town and practised my quick reaction skills bus recognition skills as I realised with about five seconds to go that the big bunch of lights coming towards me wasn't a van but in fact something rather more important to my immediate future. Sometimes I can move pretty fast for a fat pissed bloke and the local bus company is to be commended for the quick braking reactions of their drivers. Whereafter it remained only to pop to the station, via the Wetherspoons next door to collect my bike, and to find a taxi big enough to put it in. Yes, healthy lifestyle goes only so far.
Saturday... an excellent notification from the excellent Miss J of County Durham of a short notice beer festival in that rather excellent area; unfortunately this was ruled out part by shortness of money, part by the fact that there was one already lined up just down the road. Next time, kiddo. Beer by train again is the order of the day, trundled down to the station which is rapidly becoming my favorite place and hopped on the local service to Lincoln with a bag full of cameras and a street map, which upon arrival I proved myself quite unable to use by navigating in the wrong direction for a valuable half hour of drinking time, and getting quite stressed by the apparent lack of cashpoints; although this was later explained by the fact that we were walking OUT of the business district. Navigation amended, quickly got sorted and found my way to the Drill Hall, which although a nondescript looking building now converted to art centre/venue use, as demonstrated by the enormous metal face on the side of it, and cleaned and refurbished; is just dripping with history and ghosts if you engage your brain for ten seconds and consider when and what it was actually built for, and the people that have passed through it in the past.
Clearly I was meant to be here, bought my commemorative glass to discover a rather groovy print of a Vulcan Bomber, an old favorite of mine... two Vulcan bases within spitting distance of Lincoln during the aircraft's service and it's fifty years since the first squadron of this gorgeous big Delta formed there. Wow. Watch this space. They're getting one in the air again next month.
Anyhoooo, struck it lucky with the first couple of beers, a couple of really tasty, easy on the mouth bitters. By the end of the afternoon, the tally was something like this....
Beartown "Bruin's Ruin" (5.0).... (Mikey's tasting note; YUM and a smiley face)
Beeston "On the Huh" (5.0)... MTN "Oooh! A boy's one! Dark, tastes of old mens pipes"
Hambleton "Hot to Trot" (4.0) ..... MTN, a smiley face. Must have liked that one.
Hook Norton "Cotswold Lion" (4.2)
Loddon "Bamboozle" (4.8)... MTN, a smiley face and "nectar. Almost cider" And it was.
Oldershaw "Vulcan's Thunder" (5.0)... Festival special ale
Thwaites "Lancaster Bomber" (4.4)
York "Stonewall" (3.8)
Fugglestou "Hewitts Bitter" (4.0)
The latter a replica of an old Grimsby beer from the long dead Hewitts Brewery.... all I can say is it's a damned shame, that's a gorgeous drop and well worth hunting out. But all things must come to an end, even good things so back to the train it was. Because there was a party to go to. Does it ever stop??? Not if I can help it. Remember, this is Summer Rampage. One of the lads from work got hitched in the 'States a couple of weeks back, and was having a small bashette in a venue in town, local club sort of affair; you know the drill. Cheap beer but not really worth drinking, so a night on the spirits ensues. Oh dear. Spilled out at ungodly some hour of the night, onto a some ungodly late bar in Cleethorpes, whereupon decided that the late bar was a really bad idea, and back into another late cab back to Fortress Shadey.
Sunday.... a morning slobbing in front of Top Gear repeats. Yeaaah! Lots of coffee, and then... off to ASDA on a beer supply run before a barbeque beckoned. Yes, weatherwatchers, it was pissing down with rain all day. So the meat deal happened, erm somewhere, while we all got pissed indoors. You'll notice these reports are getting shorter? So are the memories. Yes, there was an amount of beerdrinking, shot drinking, certain amounts of dead animal got troughed, Scratch the dog had a very good afternoon and evening indeed although his afternoon walk (to the shops to buy more vodka) was spoiled by Drunkogirl the Dog Handler shouting "Don't crap, that's rottttttten!!!!!!" as the poor lad did what he had to do, to her embarrassment. Never mind. And then? More shot glasses and beer glasses, one lady had "Twat" writted on her forehead in big black magic marker, a huge waterfight ensued between the girls (hey, since when did I ever turn down a wet T-shirt contest) and as for mud wrestling, the closest they got was the hostess being pinned down and covered in brown sauce for no reason I could especially work out. Hey ho.
Oddly enough, my plan to spend all of Bank Holiday Monday in the pub came to nothing. I wonder why..... Beered out? Could be....
posted by Fred the Singing Bandit at 9:25 am
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