Saturday 19th November
Cheshire III was upon us, and with Audlem, Barnton and Bostock Green all safely tucked under my belt, 'Bollington' was flashing for the first time since a August 2017 trip to tick the Vale & Poachers.
First up though, a trip to Poynton, where the Cask Tavern had failed to thrill me in December of the same year. Could this 'Spoons offer hope for the day ahead?
Not for me Clive. Ecclesiastical ski chalet is a bold stylistic move, so full marks for that, but I could only see it as an eyesore. Once inside, too much light. Too airy. Clean & tidy, but soulless. Gimme a North London late eighties grot hole any day. Ever been to the Hain Line at St Ives or the Powder Monkey in Exmouth? Similar. I'd have guessed Kingfisher, Poynton (2769 / 5254) was a rare new build 'Spoons, but no, a former pub in fact, I would never have guessed! Service is Saturday morning slowness. Not helped by the bloke next to me asking for a 'bacon bun'. Throws the staff completely. One even asks if he means a bacon & egg bap. He appears rather agitated now. He hates eggs. More than life itself. And he despises life. Carpet is a watery 5/10, resembling a river. Perhaps as a nod to the Kingfishers who live on its banks. I'm in the mood for a pale beer to start, so go for one by Evan Evans. Hang on, this isn't remotely pale! Red maybe. Increasingly watery, as per the carpet. Only the rock hard Welsh could claim this is pale, deary me. A twild in pumpkin print pyjamas falls off her chair and starts wailing, an accident I could seeing coming a mile off. And Mummy would've too had she been concentrating and not shoving sausages & San Miguel down her gullet. Disapoynton.
Well that was a bit shit but I know somewhere which isn't, Macclesfield! Altogether now and sing with me .... "Iy-iy-i luv Macclesfield ya get gravy with your fish (if you're Blackpool Jane), Iy-i-yi luv Macclesfield ya get a decent pint o' bitturrrr".
Don't play the CD when your Mum's in the room.
Can you believe I've not ticked a pub here since 6/12/14? Churn has been kind to me. And in fact, I start my Macc adventure by effin' off 30 minutes on foot down t'country lanes, past mine and Daddy BRAPA's favourite pre-match pub of the early 00's the Railway View (not seen in the GBG for a while but happily still standing) towards a place name which makes you wanna pull a weird face .....
Staff are doing something technical so I have to carefully step over that tripwire like orange hose that you can see. Funny ole' game at the Olde King's Head, Gurnett (2770 / 5255), Marie Celeste in pub form. 90% of the tables decked out for dining, something I'd get used to in Oxfordshire a few weeks later, an army of staff sat on their haunches, expectantly? Impatiently! Tapping at their Tik Toks, waiting for a hungry cavalry to arrive that never does - or at least not during my 40 mins stay in peak Saturday lunchtime period. There was one other couple in, but you'd only see them if you went for a wee. I've made them sound like Moaning Myrtle now. Harry Potter ref for all you fans. A flurry of tiny harvest flies put me off sitting by the fire so I take my (excellent) pint of 'Old Dude Suckling a Badger in Wincle' to the raised area. Nice upper carpet, soft furnishings, but a proper Bjorker (i.e. oh so quiet and still).
Uphill walk back into Macc, ey up, careful of t'thighs (or something) but no fear as solace was just around the corner .....
I turn immediately right into a tiny but perfectly formed front bar. Oh Castle, Macclesfield (2771 / 5256 ) where have you been all my pub ticking life? Well, being spectacularly refurbished in 2021 and winning conservation awards as a result, according to WhatPub. But you don't read BRAPA for facts so it is more noteworthy to say the room was singing to me, even when empty. The Bad Kitty meanwhile, usual a fan favourite, was strangely muted. The room soon fills up, it only took an old bloke, his son, and another old bloke. Inevitably you get chatting at such close quarters and I'm shocked to hear how far down the pyramid Macclesfield Town are now - remember when they used to regular stuff it up us! Home today, top of the league, so fingers crossed for a National North return. I'm picturing Gregor Rioch and getting soaked on an open terrace I reminisce. A loo trip shows me the pub is as characterful even in its wider booty areas, and when I return, the ailing Macc pub scene is being discussed. But long live the Castle, we can only hope it survives for eternity!
In an exciting twist, I'd been contacted by my Derby mates Rich & Steve who you might remember from such heroic tales as 'Like a Kniveton through butter' , 'Plungared into Leics' and 'Under Matlock & Key'.
They are driving me around Derby the following week, but by chance, were having their own pub ticking crawl of Macc and the surrounding area. Finding a meeting up time and point had been tricky, but the next venue fitted nicely .....
Also the sort of place I might like the distraction of company if my visits to their other ventures in Altrincham and Manchester were anything to go by. Jack in the Box, Macclesfield (2772 / 5257) are POP UP bars with beers from Blackjack in food halls. Whilst I've always rated the beer, the prospect of trying to enjoy it on a communal bench with a bearded student eating Nepalese curry on one side, and a knitted sweater hippie eating a Morrocan spiced vegan wrap on the other, isn't really the type of 'pub' experience I go for. Of course, it isn't supposed to be. Helpful barman encourages me to hop aboard the 6.2% Nice One Cyril. "Tim's Fave" says the label. I ask who Tim is and he is described to me as this mad skateboarding kid who is causing mayhem everywhere saying stuff like "aye carumba" and "eat my shorts". I'm relieved when Rich & Steve arrive quicker than expected so we can sit communally together. These two aren't full time tickers, but they are making strides to fully cross over to the darkside, and we have a good half hour intense GBG catch up before they disappear to Gurnett (where I'd been earlier) whilst I'm off to Bollington (where they've just come from). They made the experience here more bearable, plus I always worry Colin is going to be diced into a nearby frying pan.
Awkward 3pm opening plus Bass lantern above the door had me suspecting that this next pub was going to be promising ......
And I enter a lively arena to the sound a double bass being slapped as sounds of country, bluegrass and old fashioned rockabilly fill my ears. Welcome to Cotton Tree, Bollington (2773 / 5258 ) , I didn't think a pub would push The Castle for POTD crown, but this wasn't far behind. Bass is on as per the lamp and I order the lonely looking end sausage roll. £4.80 for the two. Cash feels right here so I pay with a fiver. And 20p back to put on the greyhounds or something. It was fifth pub of the day haze after that, the Blackjack 6.2% now coming to the fore, but it was a joyous haze. Really good pub.
I can't remember how I got back to Macc so we'll say I rode a unicorn, which is the name of beer made by the owners of my next pub. I got myself to Heaton Chapel, possibly direct, possibly resulting from a change at Stockport, and then took a bus close to a bridge which may've had a troll living underneath it. Yes, the haze wasn't clearing. I was a small Erdinger in human form.
But not to worry because everyone in (and out) at Crown, Heaton Mersey (2774 / 5259) was pie-eyed-drunk-as-a-skunk, and I felt relatively sober if anything - the table on the far wall offering a bit of breathing space to face the punters and take it all in. I enjoyed this Dizzy Blonde more than many previous DB's, shame I messed it up by calling it Robbo's instead of Robbie's. I was rightly reprimanded for my #PubMan sins by a NW committee ominously headed up by John Clarke and Tandleman. Luckily I escape with a warning, I vowed to learn lessons ... I guess if there was a brewery called Robson's (which there probably has been), Robbo's would be acceptable. Great pub to have a drink in, straightforward, honest and true.
I'd learned lessons regarding my two previous Cheshire trips this season, and booked myself back to York after 8pm.
That meant the seventh bonus tick was on, I'd drunk through the hazy barrier and 'I could see clearly now the pain had gone' as the bus zooms back past Heaton Chapel station, wave at the bridge troll, north this time to a funny little place I'd never been to before called Reddish.
A tonal shift from what had gone before at the Crown, this beer centred smart Micropub is called Reddish Ale, Reddish (2775 / 5260) and I ruminate on how many clowns come in here, order a beer, hold it up to the light, and exclaim "this ale ain't very reddish at all, I want my money back lolz!" and the staff have to chuckle along whilst rolling their eyes internally. Anyway, like I say, I was sober now so I wasnt falling into any traps. Besides, the barman is endearing in his Mario or Luigi get-up (can't remember which one), we'll call it Nintendo plumber chic. Welcoming. Good host. The mustard walls prevent the interior feeling too stark, and with vinyl records spinning and DJ Colin on the turntable, "no more Eurythmics please mate!" I could be pushed to go as far as to say cosy and atmospheric, especially as the Courier bitter (named after a bangin' Against Me song) was drinking supreme. Pleasant end to a productive ticking jaunt.
An unnecessarily long bus ride back to Piccadilly followed, I think I could've done it more direct but despite earlier claims of sobriety, I found it easiest to just jump on the first bus I saw!
I didn't even feel up to my usual Bull's Head pint, or even York Tap, it was coffee and straight home to bed, well via KFC obvs.
I'm enjoying these Cheshire days with bonus GMR at the end. Shame I keep booking weekend trains to the South East really, must keep the Cheshire momentum going.
You made it to the end! Heroic. Goodnight, Si
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