The tainted smell of death

... pervades this house. Something vile is stalking this place.

It's my guts.

Ladies and gentlemen, beer has happened this weekend and beer has happened in a very big way. The evidence would point to the Ship and Mitre beer festival, in parts west. I'm not a fan of pub beer festivals, as when they do it over HERE it's just an excuse for Wetherspoons to get a few extra barrels in and have a commercial opportunity. The S&M did it properly. Stillages and gravity barrels in the bar, no marked glasses but then we can't have everything eh. Of course, it was necessary to have a couple in Doctor Duncan's on the way there; it's rude not to and that place is uncommonly good. It has to be said, if I lived on that side of the country I'd have a real problem with selecting a local, and my weekend round would be enjoyable but expensive and destructive. But anyway, the beer tick list lists the damage.....

Banks and Taylor: Crooked Hooker

Bradfield: Who's the daddy

Coverdale: Dark and Delicious

Hawkshead: Oatmeal Stout

Mauldons: Georges Best

Northern: Dragon's lair

Old Bear: Bear's AAZ

Saltair: Blackberry Cascade (liked that one)

And cider... Broadoak Perry, Thatchers Medium and a couple of pints of Addlestones on the go all the time to keep my palate fresh. 2008 is, if nothing else the year of the apple. Haven't shifted so much cider since I was 15. Ahem, 18, honest officer. Hmmm, should have pre booked an ambulance.

And then of course, after closing time, it's on to the Swan because it's suuuuuch a good idea, for a couple of cheeky european fruit beers. A bit of a tactical error, that. Dozed off over one, and woke to a pair of knockers in the close vicinity of my eyeline, attached to a female person of the "younger than me and didn't come into this pub WITH me" persuasion who'd decided it was a good idea to have a natter with the snoozing one in the corner. Awww, ain't that nice, I've got a fan club. See, all those years ago I KNEW girls were impressed with my beer drinking ability (as I slid down the wall). How I got out of THIS one with my knackers still attached to my body and not in a carrier bag is probably testament to my hard learned skills of ad hoc beer diplomacy. Either that or I'm getting old....

The journey out was interesting: took the train for once; this breeds complications of it's own, but more of that later. A comfy chair, a pint before I left, a book to read and an ipod to listen to. Nice. Must do this more often. Beats the knackers off raging down the M62. Found myself in alien territory. Aggggh ! It felt like home a year or two back. Dry walls thrown about like rope, tiny fields in insane topography, a red routemaster bus parked at an mad angle halfway up a hill (whaaaaaaat!!). It's Yorkshire. Doesn't feel like home any more. Have I become south again? Or this northern southerner hybrid that some folks say I have? Or do I just need to spend more time out here? Does anyone care? Do I? Leave that one with me, I'll think about it. Train travel contains other complications too. That's what to do when you miss your train by a couple of minutes and they're on Sunday hours.....

Well, you go to Doctor Duncans of course. And then you go to the Head of Steam (station bar, ginormous, but with not a lot of ale on after the Saturday match day rush. Then Ma Egerton's (theatrical pub, no real ale as I remember, but a reasonable pint of Mann's mild) The Globe (Black Sheep, hidden away local, very nice). And then The Lord Warden (Black Sheep).

And by this time, you're struggling to catch the last train of the night which connects at Sheffield to get you back to codland by morning. Sheffield station. Now THERE's a thing. How is it that a town with industry that's frankly knackered can afford to build a modern art, multi coloured, electronic extravaganza like the fountain setup outside Sheffield Station? And then you have to ride past the dead steelworks as you ride on the lines that they made?

And then of course you wake up to death in your guts...... :o)