Adnams Brewery Tour, Southwold

For Christmas my mum bought all of us (the family and our respective partners) an Adnams Brewery tour. A few months later I relocated to Kent, sending my mum into a panic that she would 1, never see me again and 2, have wasted money on a perfectly good gift that I would never use. She needn't have worried, on either count. I love a good brewery tour and Southwold (home of Adnams) is one of my favourite places on the planet, despite it becoming over-populated by weekend Londoners.

I've been going to Southwold since I was about 3. Sometimes in the winter my mum would drive us there, park on the seafront and just watch the waves. We wouldn't even get out of the car. Somehow just being there made things a little better. As an adult I would visit occasionally and in recent years it became a place I would spend rainy Valentine's Days. I'd not been back since the last Valentine's visit a couple of years ago, I couldn't quite bring myself to go after the relationship that took me there had ended. It's funny how places can become synonymous with a particular time in your life. Until the actual date for the tour had been booked, I'd resigned myself to never going back.

Don't worry, I'll get to the beer bit soon.

As we pulled into Southwold town my eyes pricked with tears, but as soon as I saw the sea front and pier any sadness disappeared. I saw brightly coloured snowglobes in the pier gift shop and immediately bought one. I collect snowglobes from anywhere I visit but had never seen a Southwold one before. I decided it was a sign. After a picnic on the seafront, where my mum had brought enough food for twice the people present, as she always does, we headed towards the brewery. While two of our party went for their gin making tour, the rest of us had a quick pint...

Where: The Red Lion
What: Ease Up IPA, Adnams

When in Rome... Ease Up IPA is a favourite of mine and as we sat on a bench outside I could see the sea and, as I always find when I am enjoying a beer-by-the-sea, I felt at home. Ease Up is an IPA with flavour, from Adnams' Jack Brand, perfect for a warm day. I enjoyed it so much I forgot to take a picture before I drank it.
We would have stayed for another but turning up to a brewery tour already a few beers in is bad form.

Where: Adnams Brewery
What: Clementine pale ale, Mosaic pale ale, Ease Up IA, Innovation IPA, Blackshore Stout, First Rate gin, Spirit of Broadside and Limoncello (yep)

I'm fairly sure that's the complete list...The tour was informative and the guide honest (including which Adnams beers she really didn't like). She also said most tours don't finish all the sample beers, but as this tour was mostly men she wasn't surprised (I was the only female in the group), as men drink more beer than most women. I'm not most women and my dad reassured me that I was an exception to the rule. I didn't think I would find the process of brewing and seeing the vats etc as interesting as I did, but brewery tours might be my new favourite thing.

The two beers I wanted to try but couldn't were the Crystal Rye and the Earl Grey lager. My dad had the Blackshore Stout (I only sniffed it, not being a stout fan) and I really liked the Innovation IPA that I not had before and enjoyed the Clementine pale again. After staring a cockatoo in a tree outside the sample room, trying to work out if it was real or not, we were ushered to the gift shop via some free spirit samples.

The gin with Elderflower tonic was delicious and the Limoncello an oddly welcome shot of sweetness, but I passed on the Spirit of Broadside as I'm not a fan of whisky tastes. I collected my free bottle of beer (went for Ease Up, couldn't see a Crystal Rye but I was a little beer-buzzy so I could have been stood right next to it for all I know) and we all headed to the pier. We watched the water clock, as is traditional, and got our photos taken in the pirate cut-outs meant for children. As we drove home I ate some leftover picnic snacks and pondered where my new favourite snowglobe would go.

The Canterbury (T)Ales

A few years ago a friend of mine moved to Canterbury. A month ago I moved to Gravesend and with the free time proffered me by being 'in between' jobs (or 'unemployed') I decided to take advantage of my new proximity to my old friend and spend the day in the cathedral city.

As I got off the train a creepy bloke started smiling and trying to talk to me, then followed me out of the station. I hastily googled nearby pubs and began to walk to the nearest. The White Hart was technically my closest port of call, but I fancied something other than Shepherd Neame for a change so I carried on a little further to a pub that brewed its own beer on site.

Where: The Foundry

What: Invasion of the Hop Monster, Canterbury Brewers

My friend met me shortly after I arrived at this pub, set (unsurprisingly) in an old foundry. It smelled weird inside (probably because of the brewing) but the weather was so nice outside there was no way we were sitting indoors anyway. I chose the Hop Monster, mainly because I like a hoppy pale beer and it seemed a reasonable strength (3.9%) to be starting my afternoon with. It was a nice session ale, with enough about it to avoid being forgotten. My mate had just come back from a poker playing trip to Vegas and, as promised, had brought me back some tacky souvenirs which made me very happy indeed. I spent two pints looking at his photos and asking more and more in depth questions about poker. He didn't seem to mind though. After grilling him about all things casino, we took a wander down the high street in search of a beer garden and some pub food.

Where: The Lady Luck

What: Dry Hopped lager, Adnams

I had heard of The Lady Luck many times, but had yet to visit it. My fella had played there with his band (although it's hard to imagine where a band might fit). It was dark inside and despite it being mid-afternoon on a Friday, had a few tattooed drinkers at the bar already. I wasn't in the mood for a Doombar, and I already knew I didn't enjoy Musket's 'Trigger', so I probably should have plumped for Pure Gold by Purity ales, but my mate suggested the Adnams lager and I agreed. When will I learn that even 'real' lagers give me crazy hangovers?! My mate bumped into a pool league friend at the bar and we all sat in the cosy walled garden at the rear of the pub. We discussed jobs, cats, the pool league. I watched a couple of women sit opposite each other for 45 minutes, not saying a word, while one constantly took selfies and the other looked as though she was just trying to stay awake. After having something to eat we decided to have a wander. I suggested a pub we had walked past earlier. My two companions were not entirely convinced.

Where: The Cherry Tree

What: Hop House 13, Guinness

This little pub looked like a proper old english pub, had nice looking tables outside and seemed to be busy so I thought it might be good for a beer. My friends hadn't been there in quite a while but were open ti the suggestion, despite some reservations. It was my round and as I stood looking at the pumps and finding no real ale I wanted, instead of saying 'hey lets try a different pub', I found myself saying 'three pints of Hop House 13 please'. Again with the lager!! As I waited for my beers, a bloke at the bar said...something unintelligible. I replied "I'm sorry, I have no idea what you just said". He repeated, with a little more effort on not being so pissed and said "you look like her, with hair" motioning to the barmaid with the Sinead O'Connor cut. The barmaid looked nonplussed. "Because we both have glasses?" I replied. He said something even more slur-ey and I repeated that I had no idea what he was saying, while feeling increasingly uncomfortable. 

Back at the table the change in the feel of the pub was the topic of discussion, as well as people they knew who had been barred and the infamous (and awful sounding) Pig F*cker cocktails they sold. After the barmaid came and joined us for a cigarette, and a shoulder-shrug about the drunken barflys, we moved on.

Where: The Bell & Crown

What: No. 5, Gadds

This pub was chosen because of it's location relative to the train station, as I'd just discovered my last train was at 9.30pm. We grabbed one of the last tables outside and my friend went to the bar. He came back with a best bitter, not my first choice and it didn't go down too well but it did stay down. We discussed relationships while watching the street traffic starting to busy for the Friday night ahead and I was a little pleased to be heading home soon. 

After promising to let him know when I got back safely, I put in my headphones and started to dance on the platform. I can't remember a time when I  cared so little about anyone else around. My fella and his friends were in our local, and he asked me to pick up some beers on my way back. Unfortunately the shop was shut at 10.30pm, so I joined them for a beer anyway.

Where: The Windmill, Gravesend

What: Birds & Bees, William Bros. Brewing

I had my usual, in my new local and joined the conversation, blissfully unaware that I was a fair few beers ahead of everyone else. It didn't stop me trying to get a job as a barmaid though or from carrying on at home for a couple of hours. I had that moment many drinkers have - it's only when your friend finally says 'I think I'm going to go home' that you realise just how tired you are. I slept into lunchtime on Saturday and swore never to drink lager again. 

The York Tavern

I wrote this for my PSB column in Outline Magazine, but it wasn't used, so here it is in full!

Where: The York Tavern, Norwich

What: UBU, Purity Ales

It’s been a good few years since I last visited The York Tavern (I have to make a concerted effort to get over that side of the city). From memory it was a spacious pub, with a pool table and outside smoking area (I never made it as far as the garden), wooden floors and unintentional mismatched furniture.  A little rough round the edges, but nicely worn in. This time I walked into a pub painted what my dad would call ‘fashionable greige’, with candles on the tables and a trendy menu serving artisanal pies. The place was spotless, the barman was friendly, knew his stuff, and the plush red booth-chairs looked inviting. The atmosphere was comfortable and as I ordered an UBU, from Purity Brewing, I wondered why I felt so odd. Much like UBU, a drinkable amber ale at a middling 4.5% with nothing offensive or challenging about it, The York Tavern had become standard. Don’t get me wrong, I won’t complain about a decent, clean pub with friendly staff (or a perfectly drinkable beer), but I realised that sat in this pub I could have been anywhere. It looked like any other upmarket gastro-accessible pub (The Unthank and The Rosebury spring to mind). Nothing wrong with it, lots of things right with it, but nothing to make it stand out either. As my party decided the pool table was never going to be free, we played a card game (of which I still don’t understand the rules), laughed and drank and went home to eat Chinese food. Standard.

The Kings Head, Magdalen Street

My last PSB (published) column for Outline Magazine before I moved away from Norwich -

Sometimes I want to go to a bar with tattooed bar staff, retro yet trendy music, a wide selection of craft beers and some kind of mash-up, Tex-Mex tapas-pizza street-style food available. Other times (more and more frequently these days) I just want to sit in a pub with a few (preferably local) real ales to choose from and few (preferably local) old man drinkers in a (preferably local) local and a have a quiet evening catching up with friends. The Kings Head on Magdalen Street fits this desire perfectly. Read the full column here. 

The Rumsey Wells and Christmas Drinkers

I know I'm behind on my column posting but, here's my December column for Outline Magazine

Ah, the work Christmas party. Some people look forward to going, others make their excuses, some (like me) feel like they should go and hope it’s not too much of a disaster. I generally try to avoid drinking in city pubs during December – too many part-time drinkers who can’t handle it and either get aggro or paralytic, taking up space at the bar usually reserved for all-weather beer lovers like myself. Read the full column here. 

Norwich Cocktail Week

My column from Outline Magazine - 

I usually prefer a pint, but sometimes I fancy something a little…fancier. Norwich Cocktail Week has been going a few years now and Norwich has a lot more cocktail bars than I imagined. Read full article here

National Winter Ales Festival

I got given some guest tickets to the National Winter Ale Festival (thanks Outline Mag), handily being held in my home city of Norwich this year. I took my dad with me and between us we made quite a dent in the beer list seeing as we only had 3 hours. Dad even squeezed in a portion of macaroni cheese.

I tried to at least mark every beer we had, my dad sticking to porters generally and me sticking to blondes and pales we covered a lot. I made no attempt to make notes (I didn’t have anywhere near enough hands) and managed to take three pictures before giving up and just enjoying myself. At festivals I always try to drink beers and experience breweries I’ve not had before, which I managed for the most part. I tried a beer from Boudicca that I’d not had (even though I’m familiar with the local brewery) and was really disappointed when the Weird Beard ‘Little Things That Kill’ wasn’t on (mostly for the name alone) so settled for the Marianna Trench which I’ve had before.

My dad complained that all porters listed chocolate and/or coffee as tasting notes, then complained that there were tasting notes at all, then said my pale ales tasted like water. I said his porters tasted like burnt toast and wrinkled my nose. He loved the Lacons Old Ale (he wrote ‘V Nice’ next to it, which is as close to a glowing review as m’dad does). The recommended Pale Four from Tring stood out for me, in a good way, but other than that I just walked up to a space in the bar and asked for a recommendation. As usual the volunteers were beyond friendly and happy to chat about beer and the festival in general.

At points in the evening I lost my dad, thinking he’d wandered off, only to realise I was looking for him in the wrong place and should probably have eaten some mac and cheese myself. The evening went so quickly but I was still glad when my mum pulled up outside to give me a lift home yes, I'm in my thirties and still get lifts with my mum). I think the number of beers combined with the storm I might have ended up in the river if I'd have walked home…

Below is our final list, in no particular order:

Fyne Ales – Jarl

Boudicca – Golden Torc

Mordue - Northumbrian Blonde

Loch Lomund – Southern Summit

Tring – Pale Four

Weird Beard – Marianna Trench

Fullers - London Porter

Monty’s – Dark Secret

Adnams – Old Ale

Moor – Old Freddy Walker

Sulwath – Black Galloway

Lacons – Old Ale

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!

Good Guys, Bad Boys and Total Drunken Arseholes

I write a version of this blog, once a month, for local magazine Outline. I get 250 words or so each issue, about a quarter page, and I focus on something amusing that has happened to me, in a local Norwich pub, while I mention a beer. Or two. I'd like to say it's all organic and practically writes itself, but it doesn't. I usually end up realising I have a deadline looming at the end of the week and frantically rack my brain to find a pub I haven't written about before, that I actually want to drink in, then find someone who wants to come with me. It's not usually difficult, as being in a pub is awesome.

But, being a writer and gal-about-town, I don't always need or even want someone to drink with me, so occasionally head out on my own. The right pub can feel like a home from home, a place where you know people enough to be in their company but can be left alone if required. This was one of those occasions. It is unusual, still, for women to drink alone in pubs, but being the eye-catching chick I am (currently with half-shaved blue hair and tattoos) I tend to find that people either do their best to ignore me or will strike up a conversation for the entire evening.

Most of the time conversation is welcomed, as the general population of Norwich are lovely and I like chatting to new people, especially new people who appreciate a decent beer. Occasionally it takes a turn for the creepy and slightly saddening. Unfortunately today ended up being the latter. This isn't a rant about how awful it is when guys approach girls and chat them up. Done correctly that should always be a compliment, whether it turns into something more or not, but over the last few months I've been approached by a few chaps who managed to make it a very sad affair, not only for themselves but for decent chaps (and chappesses) who enjoy a drink and a chat without their partner from time to time.

I clocked this particular chap as soon as I walked in. He was the youngest of three guys at the bar and eyed me for a little longer than was completely necessary. Well, I do have blue hair, so fair do's. Then he came and chatted to me. No problem there either, all polite and friendly. Then he asked if the barman was my boyfriend. Negative, just a mate. Did I have a boyfriend? Yes I did. Again fair enough, I appreciate someone being up front, life's too short etc. Was I waiting here for him? No, just here having a drink on my own. Odd question, but the guy was a good few beers ahead of me so, benefit of the doubt. After that he offered to buy me a drink, which I accepted (as he knew I had a fella I didn't see any chance of leading him on by having a pint). We chatted a little longer. He spoke to the two blokes next to us at the bar. One had recently had a baby. Drunk chat-up guy said his girlfriend was expecting a baby soon and he was worried about it.

Yep, you heard right. Girlfriend.
Pregnant girlfriend.

If you're thinking 'well he didn't actually ask you out, he's done nothing wrong', strictly speaking that's true. But if a guy is asking if you have a boyfriend and where he is, he's interested and trying to actively get somewhere. End of.

He then bought himself another drink and invited me back to his house as he and his mates were having a party. "I don't know about you, but when I get drunk I just want to have lots of sex".

How interesting. Oh no actually, how awkward and creepy.
After turning down his kind offer of joining him and his friends, he persisted with his invitation.
"I did say I had a boyfriend"
"Oh yeah, you did. I've got a girlfriend but, y'know"

Unfortunately yes, I do know. Still not interested.
He left soon after, but not before discussing with the neighbouring chaps how he wanted a 'blowie' when he got home.

This whole exchange not only creeped me out, but made me very sad. I felt sorry for his girlfriend. I felt sorry for myself actually (do I come across as the kind of person who cheats on someone? Am I worth that little?) and I felt sorry for the two other guys at the bar too.

After Creepy McDrunkard left, they looked at me with a mixed expression of 'How weird/gross was that?' and 'Are you ok?'. They then told me about their girlfriends and babies and how they had to leave soon as because they'd promised to be home by a certain time and didn't want to be late. How they liked their partners and didn't take the piss by rolling home smashed. How guys like that gave nice guys a bad name, and made girls paranoid about 'letting' their men out on their own. One told me I should meet his girlfriend as we'd really get on. The other insisted on showing me a photo of his new baby girl, the massive grin on his face partly made up for the previous hour or so.

Unfortunately the horrible part of that evening is not unusual. It won't stop me going out on my own, and it won't stop me talking to people (as my faith in people refuses to be shaken), but it will contribute to the growing girl-paranoia that leads to pub-bans and arguments. Don't get me wrong, it's not just girls who do the 'are you going to the pub again?!' rant. I'm constantly grateful to be with someone who let's me be myself, and go to the pub alone and as many times as I like, who trusts me not to be a cheating dick (although with Creepy McDrunkard around I'd rather stay at home with my chap, so maybe that's his thinking?).

My point is (if there is one to be gleaned from this) if you've got a nice partner, let them go to the pub. It will make them happy and more likely to come home to you.
If you don't trust your other half to be out drinking without you, ask yourself why that is?

February Outline Magazine - The Owl Sanctuary

Pint Size for February's Outline Magazine is all about The Owl Sanctuary. A pub I have actually worked in (and spent more time than any other drinking in) was about to be shut down. The alternative community of Norwich rallied round, campaigned, raised money and ultimately saved their venue and their home from home. The story caused a lot of response across the country (I had friends as far as Cardiff tell me they'd heard of the imminent closure)
The soul of the Owl now has a new home (which I look forward to drinking in as soon as humanly possible).

My column is online (and in print of course) here.

Long live The Owl.

Beer, Networking and Unicorn tears

Anyone who knows me knows I hate networking. It feels like sales disguised as false social niceties. Both of these things I hate. If I have to go to a 'networking event' I do my utmost to be straightforward. "Hi I'm here from company X and we do Y. Does any of that interest you? No? Great, what do you think of the vol-au-vents?"

Last night I was asked if I wanted to attend the Norfolk Food & Drink Network's first networking event for my day job.

"I don't really like networking"
"Redwell brewery will be there and they're talking about brewing."
"OK, I might be interested."
"There's free beer."
"Why didn't you lead with that?!"

So off I went, with the apprentice (who doesn't drink) to schmooze and drink beer. One of these things is my favourite thing in the world. The apprentice politely refused free samples of beer while I made the most of mine. One of the founders of Redwell gave a talk about setting up the business and her background and the mistakes they made along the way (and of course the debacle with Redbull). I got to try unfiltered Steam Lager (which I actually preferred unfiltered), as well as the West Coast Pale Ale (which I don't think I've had the pleasure of before, but I will definitely keep an eye out for) and finally the Kofra Coffee Stout. I don't like stout and I don't really like coffee, but this I could drink. The burnt taste was subtle and not cloying and didn't make me feel as though I was drowning from the inside.

At the end of the talk one attendee was saying how he'd spent time in America and hadn't had a nicer beer in the whole of the States. I like Redwell beers, but even so. Was he just drinking Coors Light and PBR over there or something? (Actually I quite like PBR but that's another story.) Someone actually started talking about buying and recommending beer to go with certain types of food. It was clear I was a different kind of beer drinker than most in the room.

As is probably evident by the offhand and slightly gonzo nature of this blog, I know no more about beer than any other average beerlover. I couldn't tell you how different beers are made and I certainly can't taste grapefruit in anything. I like a decent pint in a decent pub and if something amusing happens on the way, then fantastic. I desperately wracked my brain for an interesting, non-networking question to ask at the end of all the talking and all I could think of was asking about Unicorn tears (see a previous blog where I visited the Redwell Brewery). No one else knew what I was talking about, apart from the people from Redwell of course, and they didn't feel the need to explain (making me feel smug, like the little anarchist beer-snob that I am). They said the brewery had a dedicated room on site, filled with crying unicorns. The image this conjured up made me very happy indeed.

I gave my Bullards gin sample to a friend (it did smell lovely but I draw the line at shots of neat gin), gave a few business cards out (boss will be happy) and went home, happy with an evening well spent. I might have to email Redwell asking for a tour of the miserable unicorn room though...

PSB is on twitter, if that's your bag, and sporadically on instagram. But drinking beer is always better than tweeting about it.

Pint-Size in Print - The Lord Rosebery

My latest Pint-Sized Blonde column is in January's Outline Magazine​. If you are not blessed enough to live in the Fine City of Norwich to pick up a copy, you can read it online here. It involves beef in handbags. No, seriously.

Brighton Bier Weekend

"Hey I've got tickets to see a chick sing in Brighton, want to come?"
"Er, sure, why the hell not?"

This tends to be how my weekends, evenings and well, just about anything I do, seem to come about. Unbeknownst to me, or my chap, the weekend in Brighton would be more unplanned and spontaneous than even we had foreseen. And would also include a metric fuck-tonne of beers.

Sunday - 
After a bit of a 'mare booking the hotel, and then cocking up my train tickets, we grabbed a couple of 'crikey we deserve these' beers for the journey and got onto the Brighton train. I'd never been there before and was excited to say the least. I love the seaside and I love going to new places. Brighton also had a carousel. On the pier. Give me a decent beer and that's heaven right there. Off the train and straight to the pub (it's a good job my chap likes drinking as much as I do, or we'd be short lived). First stop was The White Rabbit, a brilliantly quirky looking pub, fairly standard for Brighton I was pleasantly surprised to see, with outside seating. The ladies loo door had a poster of horror clown on it. After getting fella to open it for me (I really, REALLY hate clowns) I discovered there were similar posters on each cubicle. *gulp*

A pint of 'Free State' by the Brighton Bier brewery helped (see what they did there?). It had a reassuring bitter taste, a beer with a decent colour and some body to it but nothing outlandish. Sat outside with us was a guy playing acoustic guitar and various hippy / student / arty / weirdos filed passed as we drank. I declared my undying love for the town and I was only half a pint in.
Next pub, near our hotel, was a Brew Dog fortuitously. They were having a mash-up event (or something). I was left to choose the beers. A rye IPA for myself from Moor Beer // Brew dog Bristol and a black coffee IPA from Crafty Devil Brewing Co. // Brew dog Cardiff for the chap. It was then I decided rye IPAs were my favourite (it's only taken, what, twenty years of drinking beer to find that out?) and I even liked the black coffee brew. The barman happily chatted to us about the beers, even after I'd told him I wanted a pint not a half, thank you very much, then he told me they were served in two-third pots. Oops. He even gave us a little glass each of 'Wild Gift' as he had over poured. Apparently this beer had 'infections' in it. Charming. Tasted slightly sour but nice if that's possible. Not sure if a pint of it would go down as easily though.

Checked in at the hotel and there was still enough time for a pint before the gig. The Mash Tun looked promising, if the gig posters in the windows were anything to go by. Unfortunately the place smelled of vomit, but fella being the gentlemanly type he is (and having an inferior sense of smell) told me to grab a table outside while he got the beers in.

Two quick, but very enjoyable, pints of DNA by Dog Head Brewery later we were watching Joanna Newsom while sipping mediocre 'large venue' beers. Yawn (the beers not Ms Newsom).
After the show Brewdog was still open so we had one there (probably the same that I had before, but to be completely honest I was a little tiddly by this point and didn't write it down). After a quick stop in a corner shop we were sat on the pebbled beach of Brighton, drinking bottles of Tyskie, while I drunkenly tried to point out constellations in the sky in the hopes of being romantic, but actually just being a plum. In an extra act of plumness I dropped my phone on the beach and had to go back looking for it. I blame the sea air. And the many beers.


Monday - 
OK not technically the weekend but I'm freelance so every day is the weekend to me. First port of call was Irregular Choice. This wasn't a brewery but a shoe shop. I like shoes as much as, if not more than, beer and IC are my favourite shoe designers. Ever. Beers tend to be cheaper but don't seem to last as long, but too much of either make it difficult for me to walk. After trying on about eight different shoes, and running around like a loon with a manic grin on my face we wandered round some other vintage junk and gem shops before, you guessed it, stopping for a beer. Hey, we're on holiday, alright?

The Prince George was having a beer festival. Win. I chose the W.G.V. (I think) by Firebird Brewery, on gravity. I wish I drank dark beers as I would have totally been swayed by the 'Scary Man' beer with a picture of death on it. The description of mine said 'earthy' which I would totally disagree with. It was bright in colour and had an odd zingy taste to it, with a lingering after taste too. After a pint I was undecided whether I liked it or not but we were off anyways.

After a bit more wandering we stopped at the Fiddlers Elbow, an Irish pub that didn't seem to be a pastiche. How refreshing. They had Darkstar on and it was one I'd not seen before. 'Revelation' had an almost religious and very beautiful pump clip, like a stained glass window and was a nice beer but nothing to blow my mind.

After this we went into the Hope & Ruin, a very trendy looking bar in the shabby student / fairy lights and DIY chic style. I had another Brighton Bier I believe and then my favourite Velvet Underground track came on. Was quite literally having the best day. On the way down to Brighton I had googled 'Brighton rock pubs' and found the Caroline of Brunswick. It had a giant three-headed dog hanging over the bat and a dread-locked barmaid. Pints of Hobgoblin (of course) and some very cheesy metal, sat under a Siouxsie album cover and I was over the moon.
It was about then that we decided to stay another night in Brighton. Earlier that day I had been told that my 9am Tuesday meeting had been cancelled, effectively giving me the day off (told you I was freelance). Initially I was livid, having booked a timed train ticket for Monday evening, even though my fella had Tuesday off, cutting our trip short. I looked at him and said 'Shall we stay another night?' and I think I had time to blink before he said 'Yeah why not?'. More googling and one flash of my MasterCard later and we had trendy accommodation booked at The Artists Residence. We went for food in the Hobgoblin (a pub that should have been a rock pub but disappointingly wasn't and I'm fairly sure they served us our beers in plastic glasses). A pint of Gun Brewery Pale Ale and a Hellfire burger later, we checked into the hotel and went to another pub.

The Victory Inn had a gorgeous front with those deep green gloss tiles and a traditional sign. Inside it was wood and brass and we got chatting to the chaps sat next to us at the bar who, despite initial reservations turned out not to be drunken lecherous idiots. I genuinely have no idea what I drank, I may have stopped caring by this point.

Tuesday -
I didn't drink today. I know, unbelievable right? I did, however, go into an awesome bottle shop and buy my flatmate a present for feeding my cats - a bottle of Zodiak with a black label and luminous green alien logos. He assured me that when he drank it later that it was awesome. Instead of pubbing we went on the pier and had an awesome breakfast outside a cafe. My journey home was a bit of a 'mare (I traveled for about 8 hours that day) but it was totally worth it. We're going back again very soon.

Pint-Sized Blonde for Outline Magazine

This month I visited the Belle Vue pub. We did the pub quiz. We won the pub quiz. We won the bonus cash as well. No one in the pub liked us very much, but we really didn't care. We were a bit pissed and £10 richer. You can read the piece online here or pick up a copy of Novembers Outline Magazine if you are fortunate enough to live in the Fine City of Norwich