Thursday 30th January 2025
Four above average pubs. Four good pints for £3.50 each. Two in Merseyside. Two in Greater Manchester. Two areas I've supposedly 'pubbed to death'. Proof that as regions go, the north west is one of the UK pub heavyweights.
I've been trying to bring back tank tops since 2001, but it still ain't catching on judging by the expressions on the Newton-le-Willows to St Helens slow stopper .....
I'm sure I could've found a more expedient route to St H., but never mind, I'm here now.
And firstly, I wanted to check on the status of the apparently shut GBG entry, the Royal Alfred ....
The front door is open, but the bar isn't very bari. A bunch of dusty blokes are having a laugh and sanding down some surfaces. Gutted. The pub, not me, I don't mind an expected shut pub alert.
I'm told that the landlord just got fed up one day and wandered off, leaving the pub open! Massive if true. Oh well, maybe today's activity is a sign that it will return to pub glory, and whilst it won't make the 2026 GBG, maybe it will return in 2027 like a phoenix from the ashes.
Onto a pub that is open ......
And the sort of phoenix/ashes story to roast the cockles at Lamb Inn, St Helens (2922 / 5407) - a street corner classic revived from the dead a couple of years back to create an unpretentious (to quote CAMRA) 'welcome addition to the St Helens beer scene'. Despite a smattering of thrilling green tiling and some top patterned floors, I found the decor a bit 'safe' (well, grey), there's an echoey airiness (not helped when a bloke starts doing some drilling which is becoming a #ThirstyThursday trope of late) a pub in need of a couple of centuries of 'lived in' feeling. But the folk are friendly, I'm offered CAMRA discount to get by beer down to £3.50, a superb Abbeydale, and a decent dollop of community hubbub hums around me. Assuming the Cricketers and Turks Head are as amazing as they were when I visited all those years ago, it has some way to go to reach these levels, but this certainly feels like a pub which is here to stay, baaa'ing an Alred-esque catastrophe.
A short bus ride to Haydock follows. My first ever tick in this sprawling suburban metropolis which I'd only previously heard about in horse-racing terms, presuming it is the same Haydock.
Bus driver ignores my bell push cos I'm York scum, but luckily sees a local man's long arm sticking out so stops at the next one.
Oh, a club! And the winner of a plethora of recent awards judging by every single wall, door and surface you look it. 'Entrance this-a-way!' points a shouty arrow to an unlikely side door. I have to ring a buzzer which I hate. I try waving to a codger through the glass but he's too busy smiling into a pint of Sovereign like he's just seen a friendly worm with the face of Humphrey Smith in the bottom of his glass. Second time lucky, the door releases and I'm inside Haydock Reading Room, Haydock (2923 / 5408). It's blimmin' massive, firstlly a lounge full of locals including Mr Wormface. Huge long barroom where I sit all alone. Huge snooker room where the toilets are and I nearly make a tit of myself for failing to see the 'Gents' sign 2cm in front of my face. "Let's not have this conversation stood in the khazi, it looks weird" says one bloke to another as I walk in. Especially true when I hear the first three words of said story are "That Young Girl". Our long-bearded host really elevates this club. Yet another discount reduces my pint to £3.50. He later comes over to ask how I'm enjoying my beer, Lunar or summat, we think they are newish, I had it at Waterloo's Volunteer Canteen during my moment of phone-charging bereftness. (If bereftness is a word, which the red squiggly line on Wix suggests it isn't). He's interested in why I'm visiting, stuff you love to see as a ticker. And although I drink alone for the most part, the place radiates quality. Give them ALL the awards. Oh, that's right, they already have them.
The same bus takes me cross-border into Greater Manchester for today's third tick, only one now left in Merseyside which I'm hoping to mop up in Feb.
A third visit to Ashton-in-the-M. following 2018's old skool Caledonian and 2022's new skool Twisted Vine.
This is better than both, the super motivated Hingemakers Arms, Ashton-in-Makerfield (2924 / 5409), almost certainly nicknamed 'The Minge' judging by this bawdy toothless crew of reprobates in 'n around the joint. Barmaid's a class act, a livewire, chirpy like a songbird, people skills she learnt on the streets. Strong personalities are needed to work in pubs like this. "You like your ales then?" she chirrups as I order one. I indicate that this is a fair assessment based on the current situation we find ourselves in. £3.50 again, no mention of a discount, either she silently applied it using my confirmation of ale love, or Ashton is dirt cheap, which previous experience has taught me is indeed true. Fair to say Wigan is the centre of the universe, and the guy who created Wigan loves a cheeky discount in its environs. She brings me a beermat a couple of minutes later to complete her 5* performance. Good carpet too (the pub, not her). 'Are you watching, Oxfordshirrrrre?' I want to chant. I'm sat facing a Sky Sports screen where a cute couple look bemused by Rekorderlig. Breaking News ..... Stevie G has left some Middle Eastern club, and that sparks a latent memory in my mind .... the local 'Spoons is called Gerard somebody, is this a sign from the Wigan gods I should visit? After all, every Wetherspoons is pre/post-emptive.
I wasn't entirely convinced that this WAS a sign from the Wigan Gods, but when I see the next bus isn't for another 35 minutes on a day where the buses have been every 15-20 minutes, I simply must obey our pie-munching deity.
As I approach, I notice a thatched roof, some ornate medieval features, and I'm about to declare "wow, this is a town version of the Horseshoe at Ebbesbourne Wake in rural Wiltshire" when I rub my bleary eyes and realise I'd been deceived.
And it never recovers from this anti-climax. Not that there's anything wrong with Sir Thomas Gerard, Ashton-in-Makerfield (2924 / 5410) - had it been a current GBG entry, I wouldn't have labelled it 'undeserving'. The beer is good enough. £1 for half a Crafty Fox in line with today's solid pricing. The carpet is an irritating 'pick me' 6.5/10. Very much the Leanne from Traitors of pub carpets. There are genuine bookcases in the darker corners, and for this reason the pub reminds me of Derby's Babington, now that is a stand-out 'Spoons in my opinion, or at least it was in 2005 when I got very drunk in the Flowerpot and I could barely focus on Stuart Green's first minute wonder strike. 20 years on, my inability to focus let me down again! But the biggest turn off is the rooflight. From the one in Barnet, to Exmouth's Powder Monkey, to St Ives thankfully defunct but utterly abysmal Hain Line, rooflit Wetherspoons are ALWAYS the worst.
I nearly miss the Wigan bus but thankfully there's that many schoolkids getting on, it is still stationary by the time I reach the stop.
After a quick wee I have to pay for by getting a 20p in change from a tenner (I buy a bottle of Oasis, Nik-Naks and a Yorkie), the Wigan-Bolton bus is even more chaotic. More schoolkids, a blind lass, a zimmer man (not Bob Dylan) and an idiot pub ticker from York all in one place.
When I jump off, the pub looks weirdly 2D like something from Daddy BRAPA's model railwaying ....
But not only does it have a 3D indoors, but Colliers Arms, Aspull (2925 / 5411) is a strong candidate for pub of the day. Rural farmhouse, bubbling fireplace dated 1700 AD, warped timbers, like a cosy indoor Saffron Walden with nicer accents, and those Escape beers I had in Adlington's Old Post Office which I quite rate. I go for the stout, £3.50 yet again! It is the only appropriate beer style to go for given the atmosphere - a few sleepy old farmers with awkward hairlines steeling themselves for the long walk back to their wattle n daub huts where their wives called Martha are making them a Ploughman's whilst they watch vintage Emmerdale Farm on t'firestick.
Back to Wigan, and then a train to Manchester Victoria where I have an hour to kill before the 8pm York special. Bonus pint? Go on then, I don't want to stray too far, but I want to choose one I've not been to in a while so I opt for the Hare & Hounds.
I have absolutely no recollection of this one. My spreadsheet tells me I ticked it on 25th November 2017 alongside a lot of modern sounding Manc stuff on a day when earlier on, SeeTheLizards held Nick in Erlangen upside down in a gastropub in Church Minshull. And then Tom Irvin joined us. Maybe my brain had shut down to protect me? Was an eight pub day too. Anyway, a soothing low key Holt's effort and I choose White Rat which thankfully drank better than the Holt's Mild last time I went in one of their pubs in Patricroft. Strong doubt I paid my regulation £3.50 here though.
My journey home is plain sailing, and ain't it reassuring to find such good old pubs in counties I thought I knew like the back of my hand?
First holiday of 2025 is coming up shortly, so doubtful I'll be able to tell you about a rare West Midlands disappointment before then, but I'll try.
Thanks for reading, Si
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