Impromptu Islington

In my other life as a writer (I have many lives, some are more interesting than others) I occasionally have to report on events. This Sunday was one such day so I'd gone down to London, with my photographer fella Niki in tow to take pictures for me. After snapping pictures of the catwalk and making notes, we popped out for lunch and for the first of very many beers.

Where: The Steam Passage
What: Hop House 13, St Jame's Gate

We chose this pub because it did reasonable food and was right next door to the event. The football was on so we chose a supposedly quiet corner. After ordering our food three big blokes sat next to us to watch the game. I immediately felt uncomfortable but then spotted one of them was wearing a Swingin' Utters t-shirt. He was also talking about how his anxiety was affecting his hairline. I reminded myself not to judge so quickly. The Hop House 13 was ok, but I think I mis-remembered it as something else, it was a lot more lager-y than I thought. After taking more pictures at the second show we headed a little further for a kookier beer.

Where: The Angelic
What: We didn't get that far...

The Angelic is ok, usually an alright selection of beers but it can be a little trendy/business-y. On a Sunday afternoon apparently it is a lot baby-y. As we got to the door there was a veritable creche happening inside and we pulled up short, turned around and went to the Islington.

Where: The Islington
What: Shoreditch Blonde, Redchurch

As we approached the bar I remembered how expensive this place was and was not-so-secretly pleased that it wasn't my round. I had the Shoreditch Blonde and as it was placed on the bar I remembered it wasn't an easy pint. Cloudy, wheaty and slightly sour it is a nice beer, just not a quick beer, but the other choice on tap was 7.4% and it was still the afternoon so...
There were two young guys sat in the corner, drinking tea and talking in English despite the fact it was clearly both their second language. They were talking about forming a band and how they liked each others' 'vibe'. One said to the other "I like Carole Carpenter, from The Carpenters" and his inflection was adorable. We talked about childhood bands, how rockabilly all sounds the same after a while and how Niki wished he had his camera ready to take pictures of pigeons. As we left a female vocalist was warming up in the other room, in a suitably hipster singer-songwriter kind of way.

Where: The Alma
What: Snakecharmer IPA, One Mile End

Not knowing Islington very well (other than the O2 venue and Electrowerkz) I was following Niki's lead. The Alma was on what looked like a market street, where I could imagine on a busy day there would be lots of street traffic to watch go by. I had to remind myself it was a Sunday and that was why the pub was so quiet. Almost deathly quiet. A few old blokes were scattered about, like they'd been left there to be collected later. I felt awkward when my boots clumped and jangled as I walked to a corner table and even more so down the stairs to the ladies. I had a Snakecharmer IPA, a decent pint but the head went nuts! It was at that point I was reminded I wrote a beer blog and perhaps I should get a picture. I'm rubbish sometimes...I can totally agree with the tropical fruits mentioned in the tasting notes, but I'll be damned if I can taste caramel, but as I've said before I'm no sommelier (and neither do I intend to be one. Beer is the accompaniment to a good time, not the sole focus. Also I never want to drink beer from a stem glass).

Where: The York
What: Dead Pony Club, Brewdog

This is another chain pub, but sometimes they're difficult to avoid. I played it safe and enjoyed a Dead Pony Club on tap while watching the odd collection of drinkers that an early Sunday evening combined with a chain pub attracts. Niki ate some hot nuts that were hotter than he expected. We still had time to kill before the after party started at Metalworkz and things were getting decidedly hazy...


Where: The Old Red Lion Theatre Bar
What: Mosaic Pale Ale, Adnams

I love this pub. It's kooky and shabby and someone clearly loves Norwich as Niki pointed out a neon Canary's football club sign behind the bar. (After reading their website the pub owner is a Norwich fan. They show all the Norwich games and even sell merchandise. New favourite pub found). I drank Adnams Mosaic Pale Ale just to get the proper hometown feel and kinda resented having to leave to go to a party with lots of pretty people and rubbish lager.

As expected the party at Metalworkz was loud and served Red Stripe in cans. We stayed for a bit then went home. We even had beers on the train and watched Commando, then Flight of the Conchords. It's nice to know I can still do an all-dayer, but equally nice to know I can go home and watch crap action movies and eat pizza.

St Andrew's Brewhouse

I've fallen behind with posting my monthly columns from Outline Magazine, so I'm attempting to catch up. Here's my column from la

"You know that phrase “life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans”? Yep, it’s bollocks, I know. I tend to find that actually a beer is what happens when you’re making other plans. And if there is no plan forthcoming, at least there will be another beer."

Read the rest here

Weird and Wonderful Whitstable

My fella and I decided to take a Monday off, ostensibly to make up for not being able to spend much time together in the run up to Christmas, but also because...we could. And no one likes Mondays anyway.

Having just woken up, he turned to me and said one of the best things ever. "Do you fancy going to the coast today?" After I said yes, like an over-stimulated and enthusiastic child who's just been given a bag full of sugar washed down with coffee, he followed it up with the second best thing. "I'll get the bacon sandwiches started then." Monday was improving.

A short drive later and we were in Whitstable (on the Kentish coast). It was grey and fairly chilly and I had possibly the most inappropriate shoes on, but the biggest grin on my face. I love the coast. I almost love it more when it's grey and chilly. Fewer people around, definitely fewer children, and more spooky gothic coastline atmosphere. After a walk along the pebbled beach, where I found three magic stones with holes in, we went into town and popped to a pub.

The Duke of Cumberland is on one of the main streets and the building is glorious. Stained glass and glazed tiles outside, log fire and wooden seats inside. They weren't doing food that day (which is why we went in) but we had a beer anyway. I chose a Whitstable Bay Pale Ale (when in Rome) as there wasn't a lot of real ale choice. Whistable Pale is an alright beer, but nothing particularly special. It soon became apparent that the Duke catered for the masses, and was probably packed on friday and saturday nights with people drinking lager. It had a DJ booth, a glitter ball and 'quirky' pictures on the wall (I swear one of the them was Snoop Dogg depicted as Jesus. I could be wrong, not being a huge fan of either chap.) On this Monday afternoon however it was very pleasant.

After that we wandered further down the street and my gothdar went nuts as I spotted a black pub, with black wreaths in the window and a black cross pub sign. The Black Dog pub (number Kentish 66 - amazing) looked VERY promising, but the chap made me go to a few shops first before hurling myself through their door. One of the many reasons I wanted to go to Whitstable was to visit some of the places on the Weird Whitstable blog, and pick up some WW merch. I love the myths and stories that surround coastal towns (look at Whitby for example) and this website was dedicated to exactly that. 'Weird Whitstable' seems to be the creation of one chap by the name of Quinton Winter. He blogs about paranormal goings on in the seaside town and produces pictures inspired by these happenings (he is handily an illustrator by trade). Sadly all the WW monster badges had sold out but I picked up a print of the Giant Fox of Squeeze Gut Alley. There are a few more in the series I will have to go back and get at some point too...

Anyway, happy with my purchases we went back to The Black Dog. I could not have felt more at home. The pub is just one room, long ways with the cellar and toilets behind the bar, giving it an almost shop-counter feel. Opposite the log fire, just inside the door, is a black dog statue, above it, covering the length of both walls, are pictures of oddities, Victorian circus freaks, inventors, taxidermied animals and gothic artwork. Benches run the length of the room, with rough cut wooden boards in front of them serving as tables, meaning drinkers sat on either side sit facing each other. The bar itself was very small, but filled with Black Dog mementos and some well designed merch. We were pleased to see that the bar also had some very decent beers (Arbour Ales, Oakham Ales, Burning Sky) but we chose the one we'd not heard of and seemed the most local. Kent Brewery Session Pale did exactly what it said on the pump clip. Easy drinking, no fuss, perfect afternoon beer that won't mess with the rest of the day.

The two fellas already in the pub were discussing Bowie and The Beatles as I stared fascinated at the pictures on the walls. Behind the glass windows of the Black Dog, in the dim light of the fire and fairylights, it didn't feel like Monday and I realised I probably wanted to run a pub just like this when my day job finishes me off. The barman told us how the owner used all reclaimed and recycled materials to build the furniture, and how he will only stock independent and/or local ales. He doesn't serve Coca Cola or any bar snacks with palm oil in. As I bought myself a Black Dog t-shirt I wondered if they would let me move in, I'd be no trouble.

Having not managed to actually sit down for food anywhere, we bought some chips to eat on the way home and I spent the journey home trying not to say "I've had the best day" so many times it might become annoying.

Mermaids, Beers and Infidelity

While some people like a fancy restaurant and expensive wine as a romantic treat, I prefer something a little less up market. My fella took me to Margate at the weekend to visit an underground altar, go on a carousel, get tattooed and go to a hop festival. If he had handed me a puppy I couldn't have had a better day. We sampled a lot of beers (not all good), saw some goths have a fight and had things revealed to us we didn't necessarily need to know. Also, there was a guy in a sequinned dress.

After looking round the creepy and fascinating Shell Grotto, chatting to the docent-with-the-mostent at the Margate Museum (she was in her 60s with white hair, tattoos and some potentially amazing life stories) we got ice cream and headed to the Dreamland funfair. I rode the carousel with the biggest grin on my face (yep, I'm a big kid) while my fella just wondered why the horses looked so manic. One ferris wheel and a disappointing twister ride later, I had potentially the worst souvenir snowglobe ever in one hand and a pint in the other. Happy as a...well, a beer blogger in a pub.



Where: Harbour Arms, Margate
What: Golden Moonshine, Milk Street Brewery

The Harbour Arms was almost right on the end of the, er, harbour arm. It had a gorgeous view of the harbour and inside was decorated like a seaside party pub. Nets were hung from the ceiling but they had random things 'caught' in them. A pair of pants. An inflatable mermaid. A zimmer frame. The bar had the cutest little dog and some lovely beers on. I'm familiar with the Milk Street brewery so chose their Golden Moonshine (I tried to be sensible, but it ended up being the strongest on the menu). It was light and hoppy and combined with the smell of the sea I could feel my soul returning.

After getting some fish and chips (of course) and running from the monster sea gulls, we popped into The Lifeboat.



Where: The Lifeboat, Margate
What: Dead Pony Club, Brewdog

We'd walked past this pub earlier in the day, but it was closed. It looked like an awesome old man pub - all dark wood and wonky. These are my favourite kind. Real beers, real people, possibly a grumpy barmaid and a regular's photo on the wall above the seat he used to drink in. Unfortunately this pub had been bought by Brewdog, which had clearly divided opinion (see Trip Advisor). I like Brewdog and their beers, but this pub looked like it could have been a gem. This is only conjecture, it could have been a hole, or derelict before they bought it for all I know. In any case the current barmaid was cheeky and chatty and the beer was good. As we sat at a barrel-cum-table, a Shar Pei dog walked in and my chap uttered the quote of the day "There's too much butthole on that dog."

After this we tried to get a random tattoo. One shop had been turned into an accountants, the other had no space. The third looked like we could get one of three tats - a flaming skull, a skull with a dagger through it, or a heart with 'mum' on it. We gave up. We popped into Ale Caesar for a bottle of Whitstable Bay Blonde Premium Lager for the train to Faversham Hop Festival.

We got off the train to a swarm of people, some wearing rings of hops around their heads. This was to be a beer festival the like of which I've never seen.

Where: The Whole of Faversham
What: Various. I really did try to keep track...

We met our friends at The Railway Hotel and grabbed a beer from the outside bar. We chose the Hop Festival ale. We chose unwisely. It had a liquor aftertaste, like whiskey, and it wasn't pleasant. It didn't get better with each try either. It almost got worse. We replaced it at the first opportunity.

Walking through the streets of Faversham was like the end of days. If the end of days consisted of hundreds of contented beer drinkers, a third of which were wearing hops about their person. Live music appeared to be coming from everywhere, the bins were overflowing with pint cups and the rain dampened nobody's spirits. We purchased pints from a street bar. I used my head and got Golden Braid, a light ale (in both senses). My fella chose with his heart and tried to finish an Incubus in 15 minutes before we got into the next pub.

Where: The Phoenix
What: Long Blonde, Long Man Brewery. I think.

All the pubs were rammed. As it started raining they got more rammed. We went into the Phoenix and straight into the garden (the only place there was space). I'm assuming the Long Blonde I had was from the Long Man brewery, but I can't be sure as I didn't go to the bar. It was pale and drinkable and that's all I remember as we discussed 'Nookie Corner' (in the back corner of the pub garden) and the state of other people's relationships. The mood was good though, despite the huge queue for the ladies and the constant stream of blokes who insisted on telling us there was no queue for the mens.


Where: The Albion
What: Pale Ale, Whitstable Brewery

The Albion was more restaurant than bar, so we sat outside again. I got a bit excited as we spotted a bunch of alternative types, but then they started arguing, quite aggressively. Thankfully there was no hair pulling or it would have been everywhere. Not much of a beer choice at this pub but an alright mid-stop all the same.

Where: The Sun Inn
What: Blonde Premium Lager, Whitstable Bay

At this point in proceedings a lot of the pubs had sold out of their guest ales. We had Whitstable lager again, not bad for a lager, and still local, but my tastebuds were no longer in command. My legs were barely in command. At the Sun Inn we stood in the garden again (it had stopped raining by this point) and I spotted a young chap in a see-through sequinned dress. Very fetching. I'm assuming birthday, stag do or a lost bet.

Where: The Bear Inn
What: Blonde Premium Lager, Whitstable Brewery. Again.

We walked into the Bear Inn, which was one of those pubs made up of lots of little rooms, and felt very traditional. Each room was full and some were full of old blokes singing. There were also lots of bears. On the walls and behind the bar. My notes were getting on the scrawly side by this point. A couple saw me scribbling away and asked what I was doing. "I write a beer blog". We got chatting. As we made to leave the woman of the couple grabbed my arm, leaned in close to my ear, almost uncomfortably so, and said "Make a note that this guy I've been seeing for seven years has been cheating on me and that I'm finishing with him tonight. Write that in your book."
I looked at her and tried to say, in the most relaxed way I could, "good luck to you".
It's odd what strangers will tell you in a pub.

After that we headed back to the Railway Hotel for a final beer, as it was near the station. I have no idea what I drank. We watched the covers band play (and we may have even sung along, against our better judgement)

There was talk of train beers but thankfully we thought better of it. We even managed to walk home. After buying some fried chicken. We slept very, very well.

One of the best Saturdays I've had in a long, long time.

The Wildman - Not So Wild

My latest column for Outline Magazine is available now. I'm in The Wildman, which used to be a lot wilder. But at least it's clean now.

"I remembered being thrown out of the pub’s previous incarnation, after a mate asked the landlord “who died and made you king of fucking everything?!” Ah, good times."

You can read the whole thing online here

The Sir Garnet & Goths

My latest column is in print in Aprils' Outline Magazine. I went to The Sir Garnet by Norwich Market and ended up drinking in a photo exhibition on a goth pub crawl.

"A last minute invitation to the pub resulted in accidentally joining the Deviant Society’s pub crawl (Deviant Soc being the UEA’s rock/metal group). It actually only ended up being two pubs due to a mix of apathy, it being a Tuesday night and the fact The Sir Garnet had some decent beers on."

You can read the whole column here or pick up a copy of Outline if you live in the Fine City of Norwich.

The (new) Owl Sanctuary

So after countless signatures, an incredible fundraising campaign and local government and CAMRA involvement, The Owl Sanctuary building was decreed an Asset of Community Value and therefore protected from being turned into anything other than a pub. At least for a while. In the meantime, not one to rest on his laurels, landlord Dan found another venue to host the city’s tattooed, pierced and green-haired music-loving community. The new home for the Owl is on Timber Hill and used to be a strip club and as such has no windows (and if rumour is to be believed, a large number of used condoms discovered behind the booths). Opening night was rammed, as one might hope and expect, and the place had been transformed with signature Owl colours of red and black and the huge Owl mural in blues and greys. It definitely had more of a club rather than pub feel but Ghost Ship was still on tap (albeit in a plastic glass) and tasting great, despite the short time Dan and the crew must have had to get a cellar up and running. As we walked up friends of ours were leaving, saying ‘they’re playing Ronan Keating, we’re off’. As we got to the bar Dido played and the barman assured me if I found out who put it on the jukebox I was welcome to smack them. In the ‘smoking tunnel’ a girl was overheard to say ‘He did me up the arse then we went to the Castle Museum’. I’m not sure anything else needs saying after that amazing piece of information. The Owl is dead. Long live The Owl!