According to horse racing people, going to The Derby doesn’t feel like going to The Derby anymore. Not since they moved to a Saturday from it’s previous long-standing slot on the first Wednesday in June. In it’s original place in the calendar, people had to take the day off work to go to Epsom for the race- it felt mischevious, it felt naughty, it felt deliciously like skiving. And now it doesn’t.

Well in the spirit of such devil-may-care bunking off, me and m’colleague Richard took this past Wednesday off work and set off to sample the Rail Ale Trail that is to be found headed out to the west of Manchester. At it’s heftiest this particular excursion can take in 8 different stops along the way between Stalybridge and Batley but only half of these paid host to us over the course of the afternoon – though another drink was tied on in Manchester at Official BadPoo Mighty Pub the City Arms Inn.

Two light ales and a debate on the merits of tiles in pubs.

Proceedings got underway at The West Riding Refreshment Room on Dewsbury station with a couple of perfect session-starting pale ales from Yorkshire’s Rooster brewery and Durham brewery‘s Magus. They both slipped down easily, light and refreshing- only serving to strengthen our belief that pale ales are the ultimate way to get a day’s session drinking underway; though this decision was only reached after lengthy and appropriately grave debate. In fact, like many of the establishments on this journey, The West Ridings is a place where a man’s conversation can turn easily to the most heightened of philosophical musings. Naturally, we choose to go on and wrestle with that most unwieldy of beasts- is tiled decoration in a pub acceptable?

This debate rattled on for so long, and we got so comfortable in the pleasant surrounds of this station bar (the food smelled particularly alluring) that we briefly forgot we were on a tight schedule and came close to missing our train. Luckily the journey from our table to the platform and onto the train took less than 10 seconds so disaster was happily averted.

Huddersfield next where, in the Head of Steam, you’ll find 4 rooms of varying decoration; including a games room, where you’ll find brilliant old-fashioned two-player arcade table machines nestled amongst the Connect 4. We take up residence on the platform side of the pub in a room clearly set up more for dining than drinking. This is a good hint at what you absolutely must do if and when you find yourself in this establishment. You must eat here.

For they serve proper chips. Big, crispy, fluffy, gorgeous, proper chips.

We both plumped for the usually safe option of a sandwich and some of those chips for some lunch as we hoped to avoid eating too much and being struck down by the dreaded affliction of PCL (Post Consumption Lethargy, acronym fans). However, owing to the size of the chips and the butties being made with the world’s fattest slices of bread, it’s a close call and we only just get away with it after wofling the nosh down.

Food and beer in the Head of Steam.

In between gorging on foody delights, we had the time to take in the decoration and a couple of pints. Decoration first, which in the room we were sat is a beguiling mixture of railway based art and promotional material for various Drinks That Time Forgot (Virgin Vodka! Carling Premier!). This is probably an attempt to differentiate themselves from most station bars which content themselves with plastering the wall with various bits of brass from engines and lots of old signs- all very pleasant and evocative but a little bit akin at times to drinking in a skip.

As for the beer – there was 11 listed to pick from and we ended up sampling Organ Grinder from the Brass Monkey Brewery as well as Whispers and Lightyear from the Glentworth Brewery who appear to name all their drinks after aspirational 80′s nightclubs. All beers were nice though, unfortunately, rushed at the death owing to The Huddersfield Dash. This is a tradition at Huddersfield where, every time I do this ale trail, I forget that the platform you arrive into Huddersfield on is not the one you leave from if you want to get to Marsden. This leads to a last-gasp charge across the station- an easy activity normally but difficult when already a few pints into a session and in the early stages of digesting those chips and that massive bread.

On to Marsden and, with a tight schedule to keep, we foresake the trek down the hill into the village itself (recommended if you have the time) and drop into the Railway which is on the station’s doorstep. This pub is not officially part of the Ale Trail- possibly owing to it being a Marston’s pub and therefore light on the independently brewed stuff. It’s a nice place though and there is a dartboard on which a quick round of 301 is despatched (no doubles to finish though, as we don’t have a spare fortnight) while we sup a Wychwood Dirty Tackle and Marston‘s Sweet Chariot- you may be able to spot a rugby theme.

A little deviation from the suggested route, but it saved time.

Game of darts over we settle down to read through Innspeak – a fine example of the magazines put together by real ale enthusiasts and usually frothing over with intriguing adverts for lovely looking pubs, notice of upcoming beer festivals, news about Debbie and Steve who’ve just refurbished the Lamb and Flag, and borderline hysterical invective against the government for whatever new law or taxes associated with drink that they’ve just come up with. These magazines are, almost without exception, brilliant and- since their written by enthusiastic amateurs rather than ego-riddled journalists- infinitely more informative than almost all other printed publications on the market. Plus, in the case of Innspeak, you get to find out about this issue’s Star at the Bar, the lovely Michaela who works at the Cross Inn, Halifax. You don’t get that in the NME.

A short stint on another train that we can watch arrive from the bar takes us to Stalybridge’s Buffet Bar and their choice of 7 ales from which we select Blair Atholl by Little Ale Cart and The North’s London Calling (or that could be the other way round, we never figured it out). Again, these are both very quaffable and it’s nice to report an entire days run without a single dodgy pint. Our conversation by this stage is hitting the ‘Hatching Mad Plans’ stage and there’s various talk of elaborate drinking holidays which’ll almost certainly never get followed up.

One of the few remaining Victorian station bars.

All this takes place surrounded by the Buffet Bar’s slightly odd decor of 70′s wood panelling and 50′s leather chairs all contained, in the bit we were sat, in a very 1990′s suburban conservatory. On the walls, meanwhile, the usual old fashioned pub paraphenalia (adverts for Martini and Bovril etc) and supplemented by a few maverick touches- like a certificate for a Domestic Millinery exam from evening classes at Ashton-Under-Lyne in March 1912.

Beyond this lies Manchester and our final drink of the day at The City Arms, but his isn’t part of the ale trail and this particular pub needs BadPoo consideration on it’s own sometime in the future rather than here.

And that was our day. I’ve done this ale trail on a weekend before where it’s so popular that the arrival at every station is marked by a mass charge to the bar by the dozens of people who’ve ended up on the same schedule as you. The descent down the hill into Marsden on these days really ought to be reclassified as an extreme sport. Far better is to skive the day off work and do it this way, on a weekday afternoon when you have have that little naughty thrill I mentioned earlier and where two men can find the time and freedom to experience 2 of the great means of opening the mind up to thought and contemplation – travel and a pint.

And where we can decide that yes, tiled decoration is acceptable in a pub.

Beers · Brass Monkey brewery · Buffet Bar · City Arms · Dewsbury · Durham brewery · Glentworth brewery · Huddersfield · Innspeak · Little Ale Cart · Manchester · Marsden · Marstons · Rail Ale Trail · Rooster brewery · Stalybridge · West Riding Refreshment Room · Wychwood

Binge-drinking reaches the polar ice caps

It’s three weeks into the new year and I’ve taken my first step in resolving to stick to beer where beer is good, and not pour any old crap down my neck just because there’s no other choice – I must confess I am capable of drinking John Smiths Smooth if it’s the only beer going. Along with Rich and Shakes I went along to the Manchester winter beer festival at the Sheridan Suite. This is the Wembley of pubs, the Maracana of bars, the Krakatoa of quaffing. Bearded pilgrims made their way down Oldham Road in threes and fours, probably suspecting that any area with a community centre with a brightly painted mural on the wall isn’t going to be the safest. Tower flats loomed on the other side of the road and the manic shopping of central Manchester suddenly seemed a world away.

And then, the Sheridan Suite. From the outside it looks like a 1990s suburban leisure centre, the kind of place where otherwise decent people collect to play badminton badly against one another and Gordon Brittas rules with an iron fist. What a deceptive appearance, though. Passing through the doors you’re met by a group of volunteers taking the £3 entrance (£2 for CAMRA members, more of which later) and then an elevator up to the arena. The noise of a thousand chattering people grows and then the sheer scale of the place hits you. I am sure the Great British Beer Festival is held in a larger space, but this was by far the largest festival I’ve been to. My domain is usually the marquee-tent-in-a-farmer’s-field kind of affair, with 20 barrels hoiked over a bit of scaffolding and a deafening blues band pitched up at one end. This, by comparison, was industrial festivaling.

A view of a man's back.

The sheer size of the bars probably worked in their favour. We were there for the afternoon session so probably didn’t see the busiest of the day, but there was never any trouble getting served. The volunteers had the usual charming absent-mindedness, as if Help The Drinkers had sent a busload of their most regular customers down to help out for the weekend. (And what a charity that would be. Fuck Haiti, text 80450 to donate £1 to victims of Fosters near you.) The Indian food, at £5 a tray, was enough to split between three to keep us going.

And on to the beers. Half glasses were in order and they were the best I’ve ever seen with a sturdy base and a handle that made you feel less of a ponce by eliminating that rogue floating finger you get with a usual half glass. Handles were the past and they are the future, I’d say. Shakes started with a Beowulf Grendals Winter Ale at 5.8%, a “sipper”. Rich tried the Boggart 5% Seethy, though the actual name of that one has been lost to the sands of time; damn smudging pens, damn you to hell. I was particularly happy to see a Brewdog beer on the list after so long waiting and reading about them, but to be honest I found the Punk IPA really nothing out of the ordinary. At 6.2% maybe it suffered from its strength as it really isn’t what I’d have called an IPA but for the name.

Three pleasures in one: Cains, the tranny of the ale world.

Distinctly underwhelmed so far, we went on a ramble and found Mecca: the Cains stand. One summer of my life will forever be associated with the unbeatable sheer quaffability of Cains Finest, and considering that summer was spent in a Last Orders pub you can imagine how much the beer had to do. The bogs may stink of piss and forever be associated with the smashed toilet seat during its days as a gay bar, and the regulars may be cocks who live off peanuts, but with Cains on at £1.20 a pint, it seemed alright.

The Cains stand was three pleasures in one. First, that brilliant moment of seeing it in the distance, an unexpected gift from the gods. Second, the anticipation building as we wove our way towards it, still comprehending how this could be here – could it really be here? And third, hitting the bar, a first taste of Cains for a long time. Rich couldn’t say no to the Finest and gave it a 4 for “good memories”. Maybe I was just having an off-day because I normally enjoy IPAs but again, I found their elaborately-named IPA weak and my only note left against it is “naff”. Shakes found the Mild watery and at 3.2% it’s not a surprise. Perhaps it’s a parable, then, to leave good memories where they best belong – in the past.

We took another wander and found the book stalls; I only just resisted a few knocking about down there. The Derwent W & M Pale Ale at 4.4% was a good session beer and my favourite so far. Rich ended up with a Dunham Massey Xmas Ale and at 6.6% it took some drinking. Shakes meanwhile was on a Stewart 80/-, and his run of bad luck continued with all he could muster by comment being “water”. My next was a Humpty Dumpty Reedcutter, at 4.4% a very caramel beer and far too sweet for my taste; at least it wasn’t another of Shakes’ tar-jugs though, and he’d finally hit a bit of luck with a Lymestone Foundation Stone, calling it drinkable and a good change of taste. Rich maybe made a schoolboy error by going for a big name, a J W Lees Coronation St, flatteringly labelled by him as “gas”.

The notes against the programme beer list begin to betray our decaying state of mind around this point as Rich’s next beer is scribbled down as “ALL GUNS BLAZING”, a 4.3% New Moon from his nearby Leeds brewery. This kicked off the heaviest session of the afternoon as we set up camp at the end of a bar and proceeded to work our way down in a chaotic order, fitting in a Marble Pint (Shakes: “grapefruit piss”), a Marston’s Ringwood Best Bitter and a decidedly-average Molson-Coors Red Shield. The wheels were in danger of coming off as Rich, in a display of patriotism, stuck with the Yorkshire beers, describing an 8% Otley 08 as like “fucking nice wine”. Time to reign things in a bit before we became the first people to be ejected from a CAMRA festival for inciting War of the Roses-based racial violence, and we hit the Stewart Copper Cascade which I could taste absolutely nothing of, the Yale Good King Senseless which at 5.2% Shakes simply said was “right good beer” and the Wells & Youngs Youngs Spl, a tame 4.5%. With a quick MOT under his belt Rich was back on top form and finished off with a Yates Yule Be Sorry, described as “smooth (head feels)”. I really don’t know what that means.

The man who took this zoomed in this close and sent it to a global network of naughty men.

The plan for the day was to finish off with a scrumps and so we did, using Rich’s free half vouchers he won by being the 151st person to join CAMRA that weekend. Don’t believe me? I’m sure he has some proof somewhere… I know the git got a bag with a Good Beer Guide in at least. The band were due on soon, but it was time to make our way home. Reflections? A very well organised festival, a perfect number of people (in the afternoon at least) and some good beers on the go. I’d happily go again at the drop of a hat and have told people it’s worth a look. Well done to those concerned and here’s to next year.

Beers · Beowulf · Boggart · BrewDog · Cains · CAMRA · Derwent · Dunham Massey · humpty dumpty · JW Lees · Leeds brewery · Manchester · Marble · Molson-Coors · Otley brewery · Sheridan Suite · Winter Ales Festival · yates