Saturday 8th March, 3pm
Worcester strikes me as a rare example of a pretty city. I guess I have York. Oh there's Cambridge, Norwich, but most cities are too big and noisy, or just feel like large towns with a cathedral. Or they stretch out to never ending grey grim suburbs like a splayed arsehole.
On that note, let's get back to the pubbing,
Not Weavers Malvern levels, but considering what a modern lively chatterbox the Oil Basin Brewhouse, Worcester (2997 / 5482) was, it never annoyed me. Low lit unpretentious city centre drinker. Encouraging green benches. I' could tell by the pub name that I'd rate it. I like (Extra Virgin Olive) Oil - if it wasn't the price of posh red wine these days, I'd drizzle it on every meal. And I like a (wash) basin. I feel very centred when grabbing the sides of one, concluding my careful morning ablutions. Reasons why despite all this ale, I look younger than Danny McGrain and Steve Lynex did ten years younger. Dad's spied a cracking looking pump clip, a bloodied meat cleaver. They call it 'Butcher's Best Bitter'. Dad asks for a 'BBB'. Barman looks at him in wonder. No one has EVER called it that before. Hull City are kicking off down the road at Bristol, Dad reads out the team news. And that's about it.
Onto the next, pub five already, today was going well .....
Oh yes, a sure candidate for pub of the year at Plough, Worcester (2998 / 5483) and Dad says he cannot believe it will be beaten. But we've not been to Howden's Tailor's Chalk yet. In fact, he's told Mummy B. they're coming here for lunch on their April Malvern stop over. The most splendid selection of rolls I've ever seen in a pub. Still too far south to call them cobs, he gets a cheese & onion and we split it in two (we had other snacks). As soon as we walk in, this funny bloke at the bar starts chatting away, thought he was going to ask us to pull our own pints. Don't actually think he works here. The carpet is a 9.5 easy, best this year? Look at those Wisden's. I only ever got 1994. Mark Lathwell tearing it up (not literally). All good pubs should have Wisden's. Everyone looks so miserable but is inwardly contented. Everyone has an Aberdeen Terrier, and one woman asks about the best places to get whisky in Droitwich Spa. I have one of those usually horrid Ale Hub's to do a bus ride out of centre, probably in a splayed arsehole of the city. With the Salopian guest going down all the right holes, Dad's attitude "well I'm staying here, you can do what ya like". And I decide, for once in this ticking life, at such a great establishment, rushing about isn't always best.
What a way to end Worcester. But still time for a sixth tick and I need one in the afore mentioned Droitwich Spa, having done the Hop Pole in 2019 (very few memories of it but quite good I think).
But once at DS station, I vaguely remember the walk though the little brick tunnel underpass, lots of grey roads, but if you squint, some more of the beautiful wood frame ancient buildings we'd seen in Worcester and Malvern.
Pub itself looked like it was trying to be the Rutland in Sheffield, externally anyway. Oh dear, Craddock's beers, I never get on with them. Thankfully, a slight delay in service allows me to identify a Brummie Pale by Birmingham Brew Co and its a soft hazy drop. Not convinced Talbot, Droitwich Spa (2999 / 5484) will live as long in the memory as even the vague Hop Pole, but following the Plough was inevitably going to have an 'after the Lord Mayor's Show' element to proceedings - like whichever band has to follow Amyl & the Sniffers at this year's Glastonbury. We were the only customer's indoors, late Saturday afternoon, now that's gotta be disappointing for the pub.
Back up to Brum, plenty of time for the quite brilliant Craven Arms, my Parcel Yard of the West Mids.
A guy sat at the bar recognises me off of that BRAPA thing, he and a mate are about to tuck into a sausage roll but he's been here a while, so the staff are fast-tracking his service which is just as well because I've never seen the place so packed! The Doves are playing at the O2 tonight. Coo coo.
I finally get served (no idea what I ordered, couldn't see handpumps, I asked for a pale one, she said it was from Burton - Bass IPA?) and settled in a corner spot. Not the Craven at its best, but it won't put me off coming back.
Time for New Street coffee, and then the train back north does its job. Great day, I'm particularly pleased for Dad who losing a bit of faith with the GBG after our Tyne & Wear struggles two weeks before.
Join me on Wednesday, when I'll tell you what's going down in Thanet and Canterbury.
Si
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