Saturday 11th May 2024
Worst night's sleep of the year so far! Not that the Premier Inn bed wasn't of the utmost comfort as guaranteed by Lenny Henry, but it was so hot in my room. Managed to get the window open fairly wide in the grand scheme of Premier Inns. And I found a big fan which blew on me all night, but it was deafeningly industrial.
Compounded by my ongoing post-Devon man-flu. I'm fine when I'm vertical. But as soon as I'm horizontal, my face fills up with all manner of nasty sticky stuff! Ugh.
I guess I should've sat at my window and looked for the Northern Lights, but it probably would've just been the Premier Inn purple glow, like what those hapless Norwich kids suffered.
I was feeling zombified but try to put a brave face on it as I arrive in Didsbury on another sunny Manc morning for pub one.
Didn't help when this scally couple of cider drinkers jump out at me on the pavement, all Gallagher brother style flailing limbs, before the bloke and his missing teeth get right up in my face and sings "Andy Pandy pudding and pie, kissed the girls and made them cryyyyy, in the sunshii-iine". What happened to Georgie Porgie? I didn't ask.
In some ways I was relieved.
Didsbury had been threatening to go down to Chorlton route on my previous Wine & Wallop visit, but this was more like my OG Didders experience with that fantastic Hyde's boozer near the Metro station and that good but terribly situated 'Spoons.
And this Marston's booze-hole, the Royal Oak, Didsbury (2804 / 4964) managed to effortlessly straddle that tricky halfway ground between tatty local layabout and 'pub run to a really high standard'. With central tiled corridor and rooms dotted each angle of the bar, it was a greatest hits of all that is good about old skool Manc. And the Banksies was exemplary, a beer so variable in recent times, this was definitely a noteworthy pint. Open early too, noon I'd read but judging by the number of tiddly punters out and in, I'm thinking 10am easy. A 'Citeh' pub you see, they were up for some premature title winning celebrations, match kicking off at lunchtime. It isn't long before a silver platter of rolls, or whatever the Manc word is for a West Midland cob, is carried through. The main lady looks over at me, then points at the guy I reckon is the guv'nor, and explains 'Yanited fan! He shouldn't even be 'ere' I chuckle and make a Hull City gargle in solidarity. Always nice to be included from a distance. Big fan of this place. Ooof actually, let's not, still scarred from my own big fan.
A couple o' stops on the tram to my other South Manc outlier, at my old 'mate', Chorlton-cum-Hardy. My debut here was memorable for their street side sunny cafe culture setting my teeth on edge like no other.
Well okay, like Bishopthorpe Road in York, but at least there, you can turn one corner to where the Cygnet and Old Ebor used to stand, and it is more like Doncaster, NOT that that's a good thing, just with Chorlton I always feel suffocated.
Full of heavily pregnant women on my debut, I returned for more ticks three years later and the pubs a full of toddlers. Made sense I guess! All school age now?
You know the film 'The World's End' where Simon Pegg tries to recapture a legendary pub crawl of his younger years, and the first few pubs are identical, in a sort of Greene King way? Well, Chorlton is like the craft bar equivalent. In my eyes. I know most of you love it. So I'll shut up now.
Staring at a Vietnamese place next door waiting for 1pm opening was a bit daft, but when my mates Lizzy (of Scunny fame) and Christopher (not Chris, never Chris, of outer Edinburgh fame) wander down the street to join me, I quickly realise I'd been looking at the wrong building. Fell Bar, Chorlton-cum-Hardy (2805 / 4965) and we edge our way entrance-wards .... the barman is still setting up and I don't want to make him cross but he seems a canny lad. Authentically Cumbrian? I have my doubts, but probably not a pre-requisite of the job. The Ghyll is pleasant but unremarkable, much like the interior. The 7/10 rug is just too small. But we stay a whole hour nursing our drinks, Lizzy and Christopher's big passion is following the band The Cribs around the globe (in a non-stalkerish way), and their stories of last gasp Brighton & Texas gig going almost make BRAPA sound tame, but you could see the similarities. Hobbies are cool. That's the conclusion. Farewell to Chorlton, until we meet again! But please can we say five more years.
I cross my legs on the tram sufficiently to get through Victoria and out t'otherside in that always self-motivated Oldhamy / Rochdaley direction for pub three. Very close to the Metro station which is always appreciated for a chap with my bladder ....
And we return to the earlier Didsbury atmosphere for this one (note I took my photo from quite a distance and zoomed in!) at the Railway Hotel, Hollinwood (2806 / 4966). At least they'd kept their tops on so One Step Beyond Higher Broughton, yes I was still ska'd from yesterday! (Thanks). Plenty of 'Ow do's' as I enter, Carly with her tan and Romford facelift wonders where the boyf Jake has disappeared to. Hope he ain't wi' Our Becki. Again! Best order some cheesy chips and lout and sup up and say nowt. A group of middle earthers in the corner play cards. I'm sure one has an eye patch. This is like a dystopian Western film. 'Two fingers of Sarsaparilla barkeep .... and pass the spittoon!' Wilde Child was a fun beer to see, but the more I drink, the more I think it is below the required GBG standard. A bloke says it is his birthday, has a puff of his inhaler, and then clears away an empty J20 bottle. It really was 'that' type of pub.
Not far from my Prestwich digs was a tramline stop called Heaton Park.
The sun is baking hot by now .... and the pub looks very Franny Lee. 'Interesting, very interesting, just look at its front!'
£3.10 a bitter, yes please! Straight into the Games Room, the only empty part of the pub, a shrine for darts but with a fine pool table at the Royal Oak, Prestwich (2807/4967) and eventually I get the attention of the fantastic landlady, one of those heart of gold types who are adept at dealing with local ruffians. I hop aboard the Hyde's guest ale, but it is warm and furry, and peering across to the busy main bar I could see this is very much a lagerboy gaff. I'm enjoying the solitude, with Jocky Wilson and Eric Bristow leering at me from the wall but thankfully not Ted Hankey. Our host is obviously worried I'm getting lonely or too hot so tells me there's a garden out back. Out of politeness, I acquiesce and go exploring. Chaos out here on the astroturf, worse than Greenmount last night, kids race around the covered smoking area close to where I'm sat, near an elderly couple who look as timid and out of place as me! A malnourished looking boy stares me out for a good ten seconds, before his little sister circles me about five times, just scowling! Colin ain't even out of my bag. The couple are laughing at this scene. "I should be scary to them, not the other way around!" I wail, and they indicate they got the same treatment when they first sat down. The parents are totally oblivious. Proper rough house this, but sorta fun, Hyde's pubs can feel a bit bland and safe at times, but not this place!
I remember as long ago as 2017 during a visit to Wigan, I speculated that pubs called the Royal Oak were the edgiest in the land, and today had done nothing to dissuade me of this.
I was blinkin' knackered, and so close to my Premier Inn, it was dangerous.
To tick Bolton / Farnworth or head back into Manchester and revisit a couple of classic before watching The Men They Couldn't Hang at the Gorilla? Decisions decisions.
I had a headache. Then I noticed Eurovision was on later. So I buy a huge platter of snacks, two craft cans and three fizzy soft ones from Tesco, take them back to my hotel, have a cleansing mug of green tea and a poo, sleep for two hours, and sack off both my ideas in favour of the most low key Eurovision party for one ever! #Living
Besides, I needed to be back in York and at the Fox Inn at 1pm for my sister's 40th birthday drinks. So I think I made the right decision.
Still buggered but better than I would've been.
White Rat makes everything ok.
Join me on Friday night when my new Google Pixel makes its BRAPA debut as we meander around the Hope Valley before righting those Bolton wrongs.
Si
