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A Tale of Two Cities!

(A rail ale tour of Huddersfield and Marsden)

This, the first ramblings of a fat lad from Doncaster focuses on the 'Rail Ale Trail' with a twist; Richard of Wentworth brought the ale to the rail!
    The day began in bright, warm sunshine, as CAMRA members together with several members of the Swinton Mafia boarded the 12.42pm Northern Rail service from Meadowhall to Huddersfield ,calling at Chapeltown, Wombwell, Barnsley, Dodworth, Silkstone Common, Penistone, Denby Dale, Stocksmoor, Brockholes, Berry Brow, Lockwood and Huddersfield. The old railwayman is still in the blood! 
    Rotherham's answer to the great AW of the fells and 'AW' of the globe (for the un-initiated read Alfred Wainwright and Alan Wicker) came dressed for an epic journey. Rumours quickly circulated among the bunch of intrepid explorers that the said great man dressed that morning in complete darkness! Rumours incidentally, not perpetrated by your noble scribe or venerable members of CAMRA but by a member of the Northern Rail crew, again speculation from the same source claimed that on seeing him the driver of the train was extremely tempted to drive past! 
    The fearless fifteen landed at Huddersfield and de-camped in the Kings Head. Timothy Taylor's Dark Mild (ABV 3.5%) was consumed by the lightweights whilst a section of the Swinton Mafia swiftly drank copious amounts of Oakley Blonde (ABV 4.0%), well a pint and two halves!
    The next port of call was the real ale metropolis of Marsden. The packed train emptied with a mad rush to the nearest hostelry, it was every man, woman and child for themselves! First port of call the 'Riverhead Brewery Tap'. The place was absolutely bursting at the seams with hoards of eager drinkers anxious to sample their favourite tipple. Scenes reminiscent of the huge crowds that flock to the Keepmoat Stadium to watch the mighty Doncaster Rovers and the magic spun and weaved by that maestro and master tactician Mr Sean O'Driscoll! Bar staff of the aforementioned pub confirmed that it was the same every weekend. Then a sight to behold!! Goth Morris dancers! SCARY!!
    And so to the New Inn where menus were called for and fine food eagerly devoured, but keeping up with the 'Fat Lad' and 'AW' tradition your exuberant scribe sought and, after a long painstaking search, found a fish and chip shop. The fish and chips were good; the chips exceptionally so because on my way back to the station they were eagerly devoured by many of my new female friends!! Could have sold them twenty times!
    The courageous explorers arrived at the next destination Slaithwaite or 'Sloughit'. The Commercial Inn was the first hostelry visited with yet again huge crowds. By now fine ales are being consumed at a fair rate of knots. It would be at this time of the proceedings that John, the green army Geordie, would perform his famous party trick but sadly the operation now prevents this. For those unaware of the exploits of our bespoke leader and world record holder, here dear reader are the facts. The chair of the green army holds the world 'apple eating' record. Anyone can do that I hear you cry! But with a twist! The dynamic consumer of grannies finest ate them through the strings of a tennis racquet!! Again not a lot of people know this, but in the late forties and early fifties he toured the South West of England performing George Formby impressions. Unfortunately rapid strides in modern dentistry have provided our champ with a set of teeth reminiscent of a piano keyboard. 
    I digress, the Wharfside Inn was the next hostelry visited. Proper rugby league country this with Wigan Warriors playing Huddersfield Giants on all TV screens watched by families of all ages, what sort of game has un-contested scrums? Memories of Rotherham Titans being flattened by the knights of Doncaster!
    Finally the troops landed in the Grove, Huddersfield, eighteen real ales for consumption, DEEP JOY!! Team crisps and salted peanuts were devoured with great relish together with Mexican worms. Real worms that have probably never seen or even heard of Mexico but don't let that spoil a good a story. Volunteers were asked to relieve the said worms of their sombreros and try them, surprise surprise, no takers! Bring in the fat lad to save the day! A bit like eating solid sheep dip! 
    So the day ended with a mammoth hike back to the railway station and the train home. The valiant explorers duly landed safely in Rotherham. A massive thankyou to Phil who made all this possible!! If you enjoyed the above ramblings then another awaits, if you didn't then blame Phil!!

Elland Brewery and a re-enactment of the invasion of Huddersfield!

First of all dear reader I would like to quash the rumours that have circulated throughout South Yorkshire, namely, why a fat lad from Doncaster became a member of probably the finest group of CAMRA members in the country, even though it is in Rotherham! It simply isn't true that I had my pass revoked when attempting to enter the exalted town of my birth. The fact that I was an adopted Lincolnshire yellow belly at the time also had nothing to do with my new found allegiance. I digress, if you would allow me to be serious for the briefest of moments; the good that came out of possibly my worst year in 2010 was becoming close to two of the most awesome people that I have ever known. I won't embarrass them by naming them but you, my faithful followers, know who they are. The green army has just benefited by quite a sum of money!!!
    And so to more important matters in this the further scribblings of a fat lad. I will talk about some fine ale, a new meaning to the OBE award and a meeting with a notorious criminal and an audience with Simon Cowell!
    The day Saturday July 9th, the time 12.08pm, the destination Elland Brewery. Mr Page and the famous, some would say infamous, Warburton brothers occupied the naughty boy's seat at the back of the coach. Spirits were high in anticipation of another incursion of West Yorkshire. The mafia of Swinton were again at full strength though the dingle was conspicuous by his absence. 
    And so dear reader it came to pass that the 30 brave souls arrived at the brewery after a diversion via Leeds. Our host for the next few hours greeted us at the door and embibed health and safety tips for the troops to digest and adhere to. One such tip was the wearing of high heeled shoes and how this could present a hazard, exit stage right by the chair of the green army to change his footwear for fear of walking around the building with a drain cover firmly attached to the 5" heal of his black patent leather shoes!
    The beer was exceptionally good and drank with great relish. Kama Citra (ABV 4.5) was particularly pleasing and proved extremely popular with its pale colour and long, lingering citrus taste.
    Meanwhile an audience with the venerable Bede, aka Mr Sean Page, provided a whole new meaning to our gracious majesty's most prestigious award, the OBE. Twas whilst on a jolly to London accompanying the James Herriot of the legal profession Mr Stephen Smith who was to be bestowed with the illustrious award; whilst partaking of a beverage in a local hostelry they stumbled across one of the great train robbers. Conversation turned to the reason the duo from god's wonderful county was visiting our beloved capital. He's getting the OBE said Sean pointing to Mr Smith, 'One Behind the Ed' replied the 20th century Dick Turpin. 'What?' enquired the venerable Bede. 'One Behind the Ed', came the reply, 'that's what we gave the driver, One Behind the Ed'. Fits of laughter ensued that were mainly as a result of the Bede's rubbish cockney accent!! 
    The time 2-46pm, and fine ales are being consumed at a great rate of knots with the participants thawing out in the brewing area. There appeared, as if out of nowhere, a fine buffet lovingly created by the best looking CAMRA official it has ever been my privilege to set eyes on, Tracy isn't bad either!!! Just to say on behalf of everyone, Tracy, John AWESOME!! 
    Of all the beers, one that proved quite popular, Beyond the Pale (ABV 4.2) was quite tasty with its golden colour and lovely floral aroma. Another particular favourite was American Pale Ale (ABV 5.3) with a distinct hoppy flavour. But the undoubted star of the show was 1872 Porter (ABV 6.5) made to an original Victorian recipe, rumour has it, supplied by our esteemed chairman Jim Crowe from his scribblings made as a 13 year old school boy whilst attending Bluecoat prior to it being transformed into a local hostelry. 

My tale continues with the 30 courageous souls again entering that Mecca of real ale Huddersfield!

    The intrepid bunch of marauders dropped anchor at The Grove and sadly went their separate ways. This is where, dear reader, judgement becomes a little cloudy. I fear I was struck down by the age old affliction of 'scribe blindness'. Let me explain the afore mentioned medical condition, omitting the medical jargon I cannot decipher my incoherent scribblings; this despite the fact that I have my 'jam jar bottomed' spectacles perched precariously on my somewhat rather wide nose; typical of a fat lad from Doncaster I hear you cry!!! Thus the remainder of this yarn is written from memory. This, coming from someone whose work ID badge is worn principally to remind me of who I am, is quite an achievement.
    The two pubs that proved the most popular were the afore mentioned Grove offering 18 real ales from regional and micro breweries and Huddersfield's pub of the year the Rat and Ratchet. It was whilst walking between these two fine inns that the band of brothers and sisters stumbled across a Caribbean carnival with reggae and rap music echoing throughout the town. Enter Foggy, Compo and Clegg in the guise of Mr Paige and Messrs Warburton, who, again rumour has it, heard that a certain Simon Cowell was in the audience. They leapt onto the stage and unceremoniously grabbed the microphone from a startled and somewhat bewildered young rapper and continued to give the dumbfounded audience a rendition of 'My Way'. They certainly did it 'their way' amid loud calls of 'rubbish' and 'get em off' from the crowd who were rendered speechless by Page's body popping all over the stage! Not taking no for an answer from the illustrious Mr Cowell proved to be the parting of the ways for the crooners. Kev became detached and, using all of the knowledge he gained whilst serving in the Girl Guides, proceeded to go by taxi to the Grove. Did you know dear reader that there are two 'Groves' in Huddersfield? Nor did I and nor indeed did Kev, you know what's coming! Yes, he was dropped off at the wrong Grove. Departure time came and went, still no Kev. Suffice to say that the brothers were re-united amid tears of joy and boarded a train back to Rotherham. 
    Loyal followers of the 'Fat Lad's Gospels' will have noticed the sudden inclusion of references to beer. I thought it might be prudent to act upon criticism from the esteemed 'Booker Committee'. Yes dear reader, one of my loyal band of followers recommended my garbled prose for a 'Booker' literary prize! Needless to say the application was scoffed at with the words 'What has this got to do with beer?' rest assured that normal service will be resumed in the next edition of 'Scribblings of a Fat Lad from Doncaster' with a full and detailed account of an invasion of Moorgate. 
    It is with great sadness, and indeed a faint tear in my one good eye that I have to relate to you, my cherished readers, the demise of the Toad Brewery. For those who are unaware it was situated by the side of the Keepmoat Stadium, home of the finest football team in the wonderful county of Yorkshire. What a to do! Where to go for a pre match tipple?

A Day in Hawaii

Further ramblings of the fat lad from Doncaster.
Saturday July 2nd saw the intrepid explorers board a bus of the mini variety, destination the Arkwright Arms beer festival. The only thing missing in today's proceedings was the phrase 'Book him Danno'. I am reliably informed that the phrase was made famous by the hit TV show 'Hawaii 5 0'. I hope my source is reliable as I am too young to remember!

    The Hawaiian theme was in abundance with grass skirts, flowered shirts and pink wigs to the fore, that was just the blokes! The Swinton Mafia were today at full strength, sadly the number has dwindled with the resignation of the lightweight from Barnsley, Nigel the Dingle. Stevie B was resplendent in his flowered shirt from Next, emphasis on Next! However, his super cool image was truly shattered when the woman of his dreams stood next to him wearing the same shirt; a 95 year old Norah Batty look a like resplendent in grass skirt, varicose veins covered with wrinkled stockings and sandals! Robert the brave looked quite dapper in his cream Armani suit, Geoff Boycott type fedora and flower shirt, £3.99 from Asda!

    Fine ales were being consumed with great relish in the searing heat of a Derbyshire summer. The Raw Brewery's 'Apollyon' (ABV 6.8) was particularly fine as was the 'Grey Ghost' taste-a-like 'Hoprush' (ABV 4.8). 
The day was going swimmingly, a game of 'Spoof' was held on the veranda, must be a Rotherham tradition; the maths left a lot to be desired 3 hours into the epic mission. 
There were people present of all ages, shapes and sizes, your venerable scribe feeling quite slim!! A Goth dressed in shorts with boots large enough to sink a battleship tried the bouncy castle, needless to say the castle succumbed and quickly lost its bounce!

    The fat lad tried for a journalistic scoop but was unable to arrange an in-depth interview with the proprietor of Rotherham's newest, state of the art brewery, the famous, some would say the infamous, John Johnson. What actually prevented such a magnificent opportunity was the age old CAMRA tradition of drinking beer and talking ballcocks!!

A day at the races!

Yet again with the greatest of pleasure, my esteemed followers, I again bring you news of Rotherham CAMRA’s exploits in our magnificent county town of York.

But first of all dear reader I would like to quash the rumours that have circulated throughout South Yorkshire, namely, why a fat lad from Doncaster became a member of probably the finest group of CAMRA members in the country, even though it is in Rotherham! It simply isn’t true that I had my pass revoked when attempting to enter the exalted town of my birth. The fact that I was an adopted Lincolnshire yellow belly at the time also had nothing to do with my new found allegiance. I digress, if you would allow me to be serious for the briefest of moments; the good that came out of quite a dire year in 2010 was becoming close to two of the most awesome people that I have ever known. I won’t embarrass them by naming them but you, my faithful followers, know who they are. The green army has just benefited by quite a sum of money! What is the green army I hear you cry? Here my most noble readers I feel I must introduce you to the cast of characters that are portrayed in the ramblings of a fat lad from Doncaster:

·        Jim of the Crowe variety – our eminent chairman Mr Jim Crowe

·         The chairman of the green army/the Geordie Bristolian – John Hyslop  our beloved pubs officer

·        The Swinton Mafia – staff at a Rotherham secondary school, including yours truly

·        The venerable Bede – Shaun Page

·        The doctor – Steve Burns our eminent branch secretary

·        The bakers of bread – Mick and Kev Warburton

·        And not forgetting from the last edition – Keith the ferret.

So now to my tale of the exploits of the twenty four hardy souls who boarded a charabanc driven yet again by Frank our devout driver, despite numerous attempts to pay him off at the conclusion of every one of our incursions into foreign lands, or is it a Rotherham custom to bestow a gift of money for services rendered?

    Departure was delayed by a few minutes due in part to the ‘fat lads’ inability to count above twenty! But alas the merry souls and a bemused and befuddled fat lad set off, destination the York Beer Festival. After a brief introduction and an account of the plan of attack from the veteran of the green army we settled down for our expedition north.

    A slight change of plan saw the planned visit to the Rudgate Brewery cancelled due to fears around health and safety. Your venerable scribe can now reveal the truth behind one of the most unpopular decisions of 2011, my source revealed to me the fact that her majesty’s executive of the health and safety variety had caught wind of the disruption perpetrated by a certain west country Geordie at the Elland Brewery. For my new legion of followers let  me explain; the chair of the green army refused to remove his five inch black stiletto patent leather shoes when denied entry into the aforementioned brewery. As a result all green army members are banned from brewery trips of any kind until a full and detailed investigation has taken place.

    And so to York, the band of brothers and sisters included several new members on this, their first incursion of foreign lands. The ranks of the Swinton Mafia were also swelled by the addition of Rosie and Jim, sorry Rosie and Simon! A spider seems to have crawled across my copious amounts of scribblings rendering them unreadable in places.

    12.05pm saw the brothers and sisters attempt to enter a tent big enough to house a Vulcan bomber only to be confronted by a tango look-alike resplendent in a glowing orange tee shirt, four sizes too small, controlling the thronging mass of thirsty pilgrims. When asked if the said shirt came in bright colours he barked a command that had the fat lad quaking in his size 13 boots!!

    It is at this juncture my fearless, faithful band of followers that I have to describe to you a rather sad state of affairs involving two of the finest organisation in our green and pleasant land. I am sorry, and indeed deeply saddened, to have to relay to you, dear readers, an argument perpetrated by the chair of the green army. Howard, a fine upstanding individual and someone I have known for many years. I remember with great fondness the times we spent scraping our clogs on the cobbled streets to see who could create the biggest spark, happy days!! I digress; Howard was describing his favourite tipple from the Raw Brewery called Grey Ghost (ABV 5.9). ‘That’s not what it’s called’ claimed the chair of the green army the words spoken in a strong Bristolian/ Geordie/Yorkshire accent!! ‘Yes it is!’ replied Howard. ‘Oh no it isn’t!’ retorted the Bristolian Geordie. ‘Oh yes it is!’ replied Howard. ‘Oh no it isn’t!’ came the reply. ‘Oh yes it is!’ Howard again replied. On and on they went until our esteemed leader and arguably the best chair in our fair country intervened by extruding a luminous yellow card from his pocket, frantically waving it in the direction of a somewhat bemused pubs officer of the green variety. It is indeed dear reader called Grey Ghost as I’m sure many of you will know, and so a piece of Rotherham Camra history was made, the first person to be shown a yellow card was our cherished pubs officer! And then my noble followers to add to the mayhem Rosie of Rotherham jumped out of her seat, reminiscent of a fighter pilot ejecting from his plane, and became quite hysterical, ‘Oh my god, oh my god a lady has fluffed!’ all eyes were transfixed on the lady opposite whose name escapes me, sat with a contented and yet somewhat satisfying smile upon her face. What on earth is the world coming to? Behaviour of this nature would never be tolerated in the exquisite town of Doncaster!!

    The beer was running out at a fair rate of knots as the crowds flooded the giant tent. A particularly fine brew and one that took your noble scribe several attempts to acquire the true malty flavour was Cropton’s ‘Monkman’s Slaughter’ (ABV 6.0), a truly fine ale. I have to say my treasured followers that we of the Swinton persuasion were well and truly on a roll! A rival to Little Valley’s ‘Hebden Wheat’ (ABV 4.5) was discovered by Stevie B; Great Newsome’s ‘Wandering Wheater’ (ABV 4.2) a hoppy beer with a truly delightful floral flavour. It was at this part of the proceedings my beloved followers that, with a tear in my one good eye I discovered that my favourite tipple, Black Sheep’s ‘Riggwelter’ (ABV 5.7) was no more! Memories came flooding back of the fat lad’s suarray to the Great British Beer Festival at Earl’s Court and the cask of Riggwelter that lasted 35 minutes in the volunteers bar!

    Enter the Geordie of the west country variety who had in his slender fairy liquid type, super silky soft hand a tipple of his youth; heady days spent playing chicken on the old coaching road to London dodging milk carts pulled by a strange variety of horses and donkeys, Copper Dragon’s ‘Black Gold’ (ABV 3.7), a recipe going back to the 19th century.

    I feel I have to relay to you, dear readers, a serious breach of Camra etiquette and with it the showing of a red card to a bewildered, befuddled and bemused Stevie B by our illustrious chairman Jim of the Crowe variety! The crime, the ancient game of ‘furtling’! There is a magnificent money can’t buy prize for the first of my esteemed followers to explain to me the Victorian art of ‘Furtling’! Yes my loyal and distinguished audience, you could be the proud owner of a season ticket for the mighty Doncaster Rovers for the 2010-11 season!!

    We boarded Frank’s charabanc and arrived in the city of York where our first port of call was ‘The Maltings’ a quirky pub with antique signs and a few antique drinkers; one of which was literally sat on the throne graciously entertaining his flock of fellow drinkers. Jim of the Crowe variety was precariously perched on an early twentieth century toilet resplendent with wooden seat! He looked rather dapper and eloquent until the image was truly shattered when he stood revealing the afore mentioned toilet to allow the moths in his wallet their annual glimpse of glorious daylight!!

    Enter Rotherham’s answer to a hero of mine, Isambard Kingdom Brunel whose exploits I followed when I was at boarding school in the south of our green and pleasant land, or was it boarding kennels?? Nick the engineer lavished us with his tales of engineering genius, his words not mine! He had with him an innovative and unique bottle opener that he made from titanium, a material that he gathered from a recent jolly made by the afore mentioned innovator to NASA’s headquarters in Florida. The said openers can be purchased directly from Nick at, price 79p including vat and postage and packing!

    And so it came to pass that the intrepid explorers dropped anchor at the next port of call ‘Brigantes’. Legend has it that this fine hostelry was the birth place of Joseph Hanson and Jedediah Aloysius Hyslop inventors of the Hanson cab! Our illustrious chairman, who had left his ear trumpet on the chara, thought I said ‘handsome chap’ and immediately began walking up and down the bar through the thronging masses of drinkers as if on a Parisian catwalk performing endless twirls and pirouettes. It was at this stage of the proceedings that your venerable scribe found fame but alas no fortune! Whilst partaking of my all time hero Alfred Wainwright’s favourite food I became surrounded by a group of Japanese students. Undaunted, I bestowed on my audience of admirers the virtues of fish and chips. On completion of my sales pitch and several photographs later the said group entered the fine establishment and purchased a portion of AW’s finest!

And so my faithful followers yet another incursion by the merry men and women of Rotherham and a Donny fat lad came to an end. A good day was had by all and some fine ales sampled!

Rovers till I die,


Anyone for nibs?

 And so it came to pass my most noble readers and followers of the finest literature that twenty four intrepid souls boarded a charabanc yet again piloted by the fearless Frank. The day, Saturday November 26th, the time 10.05am, destination, the red rose county of Lancashire and a tour of the Manchester based Marble Brewery.

    Before I begin the further ramblings of a Donny fat lad I feel I must impart news of great woe. Sadly but alas not surprisingly, news has reached my one good ear concerning the lightweight from Barnsley who purports to be a member of the infamous Swinton Mafia, Nigel the Dingle. He has officially resigned his post of honorary chief miserable sod of the aforementioned assemblage of CAMRA members. So my illustrious followers, the search is on for a new chief miserable sod! Nominees should be forwarded to your noble scribe no later than the spring of 2017.

    The chara was duly boarded and the brave and hearty souls set off. The usual seating arrangements were observed with the Swinton Mafia’s answer to Foggy, Compo and Clegg occupying the naughty boy’s seat at the back. The eminent band of marauders finally dropped anchor and a tour of the brewery commenced but alas dear reader, not before an interruption by our distinguished and famous chairman Jim of the Crowe variety. He gave us, dear reader, a rendition of his favourite song ‘Underneath the Arches’; a song by Flanagan and Allen, his favourite boy band whilst he was a boy at Charterhouse School in 1932. Jim’s marvellous rendition was accompanied with all the actions and super smooth dance steps still fresh in his mind from his days as a tap dancer at the famous ‘Folies Bergère’ in Paris. I have it on good authority that our noble chairman was forced to return to dear old blighty to rid himself of the loathsome headaches sustained through a constant banging of the head when falling off of the taps! Amid howls of ‘Yer a good turn but yer on too long!’, we entered the magnificent Victorian railway arch that housed the brewery.

    The head brewer gave us a full and enlightening description of his brewing process and the beers that would be on offer at the first port of call the ‘Marble Arch’, the brewery tap. A fine Victorian hostelry built when the leader of the green army began an illustrious career as an apprentice Sheep Dipper in 1888. His masters, Jedediah and Josiah Jabacker were renowned, winning the World Sheep Dipping championships in 1887.

And so to business!

    The fat lad sampled Marble’s ‘Best Bitter’ (4.3 ABV), a hoppy tasting beer with a slight hint of caramel, a truly fine ale! If, my most noble followers, you ever find yourself on the wrong side of the Pennines then this old hostelry is a must! The original Victorian décor and architecture revealed several years ago brought back memories of working on Queen Victoria’s royal train as an apprentice Coach Builder in the celebrated and nay, world famous works in the town of my birth, the home of ‘Mallard’ and the ‘Flying Scotsman’.

    It was then my devout followers that a Trashy Blonde (4.1 ABV) reared her head in the second port of call The Angel. An exquisite ale from the Brew Dog Company; again a rather hoppy flavour with an aroma that the gallant group of drinkers could pin down, this was in no small part probably down to the copious amounts of smoke filling the room from a huge log fire, a smell reminiscent of the aforementioned Compo’s wellies! A choice dear reader had to be made, stay and choke or abandon ship! Needless to say the latter was the order of the day and so to our next port of call the Fubar; but what’s this? Your fearless scribe and teller of epic tales found himself surrounded by rats!! What I hear you cry? The Swinton Mafia are in? No No! rats everywhere, rats in cages, rats on the walls, rats on the ceiling, rats in cages, rats on full size motorbikes precariously suspended above the doorway.

    I feel I must digress and impart to you my valiant followers a rather disturbing episode in the said pub concerning a former friend of mine. Steve the Barnett made cutting remarks about my railway heritage that quite frankly dear reader reduced me to a quivering wreck! It simply isn’t true that as the fat controller my task was to ensure that Gordon and Thomas were always in full working order. I implored our esteemed leader Jim of the Crowe variety to show the scoundrel a yellow card but alas my pleas were ignored. I feel I must take these scandalous remarks further; I was responsible only for Thomas!

    My tears mopped, head up and shoulders back I found myself along with several other hearty souls, hand in hand with Steve of the Barnett, in an enchanting but somewhat rather dark pub, Robinson’s ‘Castle’. It was the highlight of my day; I sampled a fine ale designed by one of my favourite bands Elbow, named after their album ‘Build a Rocket Boys’ (ABV 4.0), a golden ale with a malt fruity aroma and like me with a rich rounded body!! The Castle is definitely a pub to be visited if you should ever find yourself on this side of the Pennines!

    It is at this point my exalted readers that my story is told, suffice to say that the weary troops went their separate ways to sample the atmosphere of the fine European market, my work here is done.

Rovers till I die