Mardy chops gets beered in Oasis Town

Well, it's still Sunday morning by a little bit, the palmtop tells me there's a ton of things for me to do today and frankly, I reject them. I'm not in the mood. There isn't a single reason to get out of bed today, except for risk of starvation and bedsores and I don't know why I'm worried about them. A four day break from the fun factory (nothing good, just means they're lining me up for an evil long stretch) and nothing fun to fill it. Bah. A day of domestic filing already has shown that my CD writer doesn't like my blank CD's, and my microSD media adaptor doesn't like my PC anymore. Joy. Marmite on toast for my solo sunday lunch, boys and girls, your correspondent is fed up.


So. Been travelling this week. Aggressive monobrows with harsh accents and mod jackets who are dancing to the indicator lights at the traffic lights? Must be Manchester then. Ah, don't you just love regional stereotypes. And if it's Manchester, it must be Beer Festival. Last year you got a proper review on this event, this year... ah well, not so much. Took the day off, and at a somwhat later hour than I'd hoped (had the blokes in doing some work on the Fortified Compound) I jumped into the funbuggy and drove an enormous distance through seriously rubbish weather and traffic to join the Hobbit just in time to walk up to Lime Street and jump on the Permanent Way back to Manc' Victoria. Can't remember which company provided transport, but it wasn't Merseyrail so I cannot comment on the popular local assertion that "Merseyrail stinks of sh*t". Was travelling sober this time, having not had time for the customary several pints in the Ship and Mitre first, and avoided the cider beforehand as well. None the less, upon arriving at Manc' Vicky, it turned out that I was in the "been here before, but not QUITE aware of where the venue is" territory. Never mind. Sensible patrolling around the local roads found it soon enough, and got in for about half eight which gave a couple of hours of beer time before it was time to go. Who needs more.

Certainly not this lightweight, whom it can be said that his big drinking days are over and that's no bad thing. So, the National Winter Ale Festival at Manchester. Jolly days. Zoomed up the steps in full sail, got signed in, got my guide book and festival glass (another of those jolly half pinters with the mark for the third; the Hobbit went for the pint on the basis that Beer Festival staff miss the mark and overfill a half pint measure, but who needs that) and it's off to find the main bar, via the pie stand. Well, haven't eaten all day and you've got to line your guts, right? Now, I'm not allowed pie. Pie is firmly on the banned list. But I take the treat from time to time, ever three months maybe. Wasn't the greatest in the world, but the lack of pie in my ordinary life increases its worth magnificently. Splendid. Now, time for beer.

I love beer festival, no matter where it is. Good flavors, good smells, lots of interesting things and people generally pretty well disposed to their fellow man. Yeah! Usual bloke is on the T Shirt stand, although this year I didn't get to go insanely stupid with the expenditure. Not as if I really have any more room for shirts anyway. But festival is a good thing, especially when one has been struggling to find decent winter ales all season locally. And yes, they did have Tally Ho on, and the Hobbit did agree it was magnificent. Well, I knew that of course. Although to my horror, upon blind tasting it, I didn't recognise it - at least, not until I'd cleared my pallete with a swig of cider. Just goes to show how strong tasting beers can addle your tastebuds if you're not careful. So, after careful consideration we reckon you aught to give careful consideration this year to:

Adnams - Old (4.1%) and Tally Ho (7.0% and jolly marvellous); Boggard - Waterloo Porter (5.0%); Fullers - Golden Pride (8.5%); Hop Back - A over T (9.0% fear it); Hopstar - Dizzy Danny Ale (3.8% but a big smiley face written in the guidebook); Joseph Holt's John Willies (4.5%); Northern - Flaming Embers (6.0%); Spire - Dark Side of the Moon (4.3%); Wickwar - Station Porter (6.1%) and 3 Rivers - Yummy Figgy Pudding(7.5% and quite outrageous). Plenty more where they came from, but we neither had the time, the stomach or the legs. Had a look in the downstairs bar and was horrified to discover it was actually as big as the upstairs, with a lot of very interesting bevvies in it. Never even got to look at it last year.

Right. That's enough of this happiness stuff. Back to grumping...

Bad week for the good guys

Patrick Mcgoohan,

John Mortimer,

David Vine,

Tony Hart

Oi, Reaper. Leave my youth alone!

And still G W Bush breathes, and Russell Brand is even touring again. Bah.

Combine 'arvester

I appear to have spent part of Saturday night standing next to that bloke who sings for the Wurzels. Well, not really, but even coming from the sticks I've never met someone with such an appallingly cliched accent, all "yaaar" and "arrrr", sounding very much like he'd had his throat cut at some point and he DIDN'T appear to be either taking the piss or an out of work actor, although he did appear to have been very well soaked in Adnams bitter for a period of years beforehand. Hey ho.

A rare night out in the much honoured Hometown became the order of the day, or rather the night after I dropped down unannounced to say hello to my mother on her birthday. All together now, "aaaaaah, what a nice son". Yeah right, I'll probably use it to my advantage later, just storing up points ;o). Having done the family thing and done it well, I scuttled off to the old family homestead out in the villages where I was staying, blagged a lift back into town and set about an evening of exploration. Started off with a couple of pints of Broadside in a fine bar in the town square where I ran into a known reprobate of seriously scary form, Raymondo; removed myself to the Plough for a pint of something national, seasonal and not very special, before I strolled off to the Spread for a nice pint of Adnams and a catchup with the Man of Darkness who I've not seen in a some years. A pattern was forming here; most of my buddies either weren't coming out to play, or where elsewhere in the country. Hey ho. Another factor was making itself felt; I can't put the beer away like I used to. Maybe no bad thing.

The next stop was a very serious ale pub, liable to end up with quite a lengthy session and I was feeling a tad full; so decided to knock it on the head for a night and head back for an early one. Bloody hell, what's this, heading for the ride home before closing time? Am I going queer? Have my bollocks dropped off? Unheard of! Redeemed myself somewhat by grabbing a deathburger from one of the vans on the way back - my doctor may not approve, but they have no such thing in Northtown and a one off can't be THAT bad, can it - and popped into the Greyhound for one once reaching the sticks. Shocked to calculate that it's been about eighteen years since I've set foot in that pub. Yikes. How time doth fly. A little bit provincial, but still a better pub than the Green King microwave pub grub outlet across the road that the chaps always preferred, and does a decent pint of Adnams bitter. Always a good thing.

So, looking for a way to conclude. Not sure there is one. Took the stroll up the hill to the original homestead; the old butchers shop converted into an enormous private home; the house next door where we wasted many evenings gaming in the attic before my mate's folks' moved away; the house formerly inhabited by the lass from primary school that I had such a crush on in 1982; the small estate across the road where she now inhabits, married to a drongo. A stroll up to the bus stop where I looked out so many times; a brief reflection on the lass I used to queue with who got killed in '93, and a whole lot of other past stuff. If I didn't know better, I'd swear I was getting nostalgic. But what's the point. Anything waiting down there? Nah, I can be on my arse as well up here as I can back there, for half the cost.

Off to my old port in the morning; a brief sentimental journey if you will. One of my favorite spots to waste time, the viewing area is. Not a bad morning for it either. Took Bosscam.

Poetry corner, and coughing and spluttering

I met with an old boy in my local,
He was looking downheareted and glum.
"I'll buy you a pint, tom" I offered
"if you'll give us a smile, my old chum".

"Taint the beer that's makin' me mournful" he said,
"it's this new fangled law"
I can sup all the ale I've a mind to.
But I can't smoke me pipe anymore."

"For sixty odd years I have drunk here,
exceptin' of course for the war.
Now they've the cheek to inform me,
I can't smoke me pipe anymore."

"Is this their land fit for 'eros,
The freedom that we struggled for,
When they bans the last of me pleasures.
And I can't smoke me pipe any more."

The trendy young barman who served me,
as I went to the bar for my beer,
said "I'm sick and tired of him moaning.
It's time he was gone out of here."

"Oi you, you owd bugger" he shouted,
"I've told you enough times before.
"We're healthier now than in your day,
and you can't smoke your pipe anymore."

"In fact, it's time you were leaving.
We don't need your sort anymore.
Your day is done, it's time you were gone.
And on your way out, close the door."

Old Tom, he passed on not long after.
He's entered those bright pearly gates.
He's having a pint with St Peter,
and a mardle with all his old mates.

He is where there's no persecution,
or insults from ignorant tykes.
Where the publican never calls closing.
And he's smoking as much as he loikes.

(not mine, nicked it from Arthur Fox (2008))

Well, is this a small return of the lurgy? Feel rotten, my decision to take a day off seems well planned. Getting housework done ("can you hear the laundry spin"), cleaning and binning stuff; can't get my airband to talk to the computer which is a bit of a bugger, and the software's just eaten all my afternoon's programming but I can live with that. Through the power of fuckup, my trip south is kyboshed until the morning. There may be beer in them their hills. But it'll have to wait.

Arse!

New year hmmmm, and tales of statistic catistics

Taken a day off today; although strictly speaking I have to go into the fun factory later to write up a bunch of reports to do with yesterday's shift... one of those things, a busy job happened right at the end that I'm the only person trained to deal with, although I've not actually had to deal with that job since I had my course 14 months ago. Typical. All knowledge rusted away. So, a goodly amount of stress, and cram reading guidance notes was in order. What was it my doctor said about avoiding stress? Ha! He's having a laugh in this place.

At the same time, I have to prepare for a short trip south which I shall enjoy, but it's as always a question of just how much I can cram in to my time while I am down there. Is it worth chucking the big camera in and having a session at the 'Hall on Sunday morning? What's the chance of me not being laid down with a huge hangover? I don't know. Bottom line at the moment is that I've got a lot of stuff to do, and not a lot of energy. For which, read none. Four early shifts on the bounce, with crap sleep between them do me no good at all, this shift malarky gets no easier with age. Running on empty here, folks. Not that I'm after the sympathy vote or anything here, I just record this stuff as much for me as anything; it's just that I've got a bunch of stuff I want to do, a bunch of stuff I have to do and I can't much see how I'm going to work up the steam for anything. The weather doesn't help; how the hell are you supposed to work out the power to smile after another constant day of freezing grey cloud with no respite? Hate this time of year; can deal with autumn but the late winter has never held anything for me other than discomfort.

So, onto the 2008 Catististics. Not looking sparkly, if you're a small black predator and live in my house. Don't know if the comfort's getting to him, the prey are getting smart, other cats are cutting into his action or (more likely) the war with new neighbour Foul Ginger is taking his attention; and I may not have helped by getting rid of Christine the Hellbound Honda, complete with mouse nest in the engine. But the figures cannot be avoided.

Mice: 8
Small birds: 2

Total kills: 10

And that, ladies and gents is it.

Compared to 2007:

Mice: 31
Small birds: 14
Large birds: 3

...for a total of 48, looks like the credit crunch is affecting mousers too.

Winter Warmers, pt.2

It's that time again. During my travels as part of Operation Southern Santa - the long distance present run made necessary this year due to grotty illness and professional commitments over the festive season I have managed to sort out the lack of winter warmers that I attempted to address a little while ago, as described here. Remember them?

"Winter warmer is a traditional malty-sweet English Strong Ale that is brewed in the winter months. It is usually quite dark, but not as dark as a stout, with a big malt presence. Sometimes, winter warmer has a few spices, especially in the United States, and the average alcohol content by volume ranges from 6.0% to 8.0%."

That's them.

While I was in Hometown, I thought I might as well take the trip to my old local, where I drank when I was living on The Street on the Hill. The house was old and crap, but was perfectly sited
between work and my favorite pubs, and I had much fun there. Whereas this one is newer, far nicer, well positioned for work and the pub, but I have very little fun at all. Hey ho. Never mind. Anyway, digressing. I availed my self of the hospitality of the pub called "Fat Cat", and had one of their very fine Scotch Eggs for lunch - these things are enormous, moist and possibly the best Scotch Egg in the world. I'm not sure I'm still supposed to be eating them, but yada yada doc. Had a single pint of something non offensive with which to wash it down, as being Mr Wheels, more powerful things were not appropriate, local plod get quite enough business as it is, thank you. And then spotted the Warmest of Warmers on the list. Tally Ho. YAY! The real deal, the Big Bollocks, the original article, the wearer of the crown. Two pints of that, into one of those marvellous take out containers packed very carefully into the back of the Goldie Lookin' Car to avoid spillage, and my quest is complete! Hurrah!

Oh, and speaking of quests, a quick "meow" to the beneficiaries of Operation Northern Pussy, that is a ginger tom called James and a little grey girl called Grace who were loaded into Mr G's hated cat carrier today upon collection from a young lass who lives near me, and duly delivered north of the water to the abode of Jules of the parish of this blog, to be spoilt rotten and annoy the teenage existing feline occupant of that house...

Revolting Toady

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/americas/7809214.stm

" a sad day for the people of the Bahama's, a sad day for the people in America".

What? Get a grip and a sense of perspective here, you sycophant, and get off my television. Because a millionaires son has died? No matter how how unfortunate, I don't think you'll find most people give a toss beyond the second mouthful of cornflakes.

Minging

Well, the start of the new year's no fun. Back at the coal face, but nobody's told the working world that we're ready to hassle them again. Maybe they're put off by my lot's spectactular success previously? Who knows. Maybe it's just that the whole world of transaction's has gone "phut". But anyways up, I've had a sucession of very, very dull days where there's been nothing going on, I've been hating my job and the boss's boss hasn't had the nerve to show his face, in case he should be keelhauled around, erm, something with a keel. Tonight I'm supposed to be down south in Hometown, but the gods of time, tide, present procurement and wrapping say otherwise, and I have the Fortress of Solitude to myself again. Mind you, getting a few things done around here so that's not a bad thing in all respects. Yes, I still have christmas business to attend to. I know this is slack and sad, but the fact is that the combination of flu, courses down south, a heavy cold that hit just before when my immune system was still on it's knees and having to work every day the graces send at my ridiculous fecking job, even there's precious little work to do (and you can't get a decent sandwich within five miles) means that my christmas shopping and delivery schedule was totalled. I saw a total of precisely no rellies over chrimbo and I was not even remotely happy about it. Was even less impressed when it turned out that the hobbit is an even bigger christmas grouch than me; I'm not going to be outgrinched by anyone, so changed tack and tried to enjoy the day, but with the lurgy still doing it's thing, that just wasn't going to happen.

Anyway, I'm digressing here. Where was I?

Oh yes, 2009's throwing a few googlies already, and I'm talking about the style of cricket ball delivery, not any references to addictive users of internet search engines. The plural of google addict is simply "sad wanker", right? Especially dischuffed to read that a certain regular guest on this page has been having a shite time in the last couple of days, due to child minding foolishness. Chin up girl. Northern Santa says you're on the Nice list.

End of Year review type posting thing

This time I thought I'd be clever. Since I've recently been reminded of New Years Eve 2007, suffering with lurgy in a local seafront bar, and saying something along the lines of "if I can't pull something better than THIS out of the hat next year, for god's sake shoot me", I'm quite pleased that I thought to head over to the bright city lights of Merseyside this year. I mean, that's GOT to be better than North East England, right? A full on city? Yeah, must be. All those people. I consulted the local knowledge, and scuttled away from a very fine pub in time to make it up to midnight in the area of Lime Street Station where allegedly it gets "rammed" to use the local colloquialism (or "really really busy", if you speak English).

Sod it. Next year I'm going to London. It was as dead as a doornail. There was just one other group, three or so adults and about four kids who'll be bitching about being kept up that late for nothing until next Christmas. Now it might be that things had moved on, and there was a fine party going on in another part of town. But to me the place seemed lacking in the buzz that you'd expect from a major city; a few bars we passed looked decidedly empty and unloved. And the Dizzy seemed to be lacking in sensible hours extensions, turning your scribe away at around midnight twenty, which can have very serious consequences for your balance sheet, if you're a pub that's clearly selling Cains Raisen Beer. Hey ho. Decamped to The Swan instead for a couple of cheeky ones, including somebodies attempt at a winter warmer ("Scrooge", or something, I'll stand to be corrected on this one) that was around seven percent. Anyway, back to the Hobbit's burrow for sandwiches and that's about that for 2008.

2008?

Well, it's been a rough one. It's been very forward, bouncy and up; and utterly shite in measures that I'm not altogether sure are equal but certainly were powerful. Some things rocked my world; others things blew goats and on occasion, the things were the same. Go figure. Personally, I've been drinking a lot more extreme cider this year; not sure that's such a good thing. Also I went under the knife bigtime; didn't much enjoy that. Probably more than some folks in Gaza are enjoying their end of year party with the Paveway series of ordanance though, and certainly I had a better time being chopped up by the medico's than the chaps in Woolworths, MFI and Max Spielmans are currently enjoying. Who'd have ever thought we'd have been talking about those firms going down in once sentance. I shall come back and reread this in a year to compare what else has gone tits up. I suggested today a walk through the shopping centre with a digital camera, and to compare the view in a year. I think there may be drama. Back in my world, I'd not say 2008 ended well, and it looks like 2009 is shaping up into a bag of shite already. There, that's a nice big bag of negativity flying through the air already.

Looking forward to coming back and seeing just how wrong I've been.