Hophead by Dark Star Brewery

This is a new topic heading to cover beers outside of the normal pub reviews.  It will appear very occasionally as 1) I almost always note beers within the pub reviews and 2) not so many really knock my socks off or on-the-other-hand are especially horrible.

The Jolly Brewers in Milton have new ownership and have reopened so I decided to run there after work and grab a beer then catch the bus as it trundles through at 6:25, but the new ownership opens the doors at 6 and I didn’t want to wait 15 minutes just to be in a hurry, so I walked over to the White Horse and had a fantastic ale called Hophead.

Amber in colour, the flavour and aroma remind me of that first draw on an old marijuana pipe that hasn’t been used for a couple of years, after packing with some crystalline Northern Lights or Sneeuwe Witje but before touching a flame to it.  Floral and evocative as that is, it drinks fairly easily and is dry to the point of astringence.  Oh, the years past come flooding back to me with maudlin urgency, crying out for a trip to Amsterdam or at least to Brixton High Street.  Good beer, seek it out.

The Fountain, Ely, Cambridgeshire

The run from Littleport ended with me facing a 45 minute wait for my bus from Ely, so I trotted over to the Fountain which completes my dance card for Ely.  I had avoided the place at night because there always seem to be some hoodlum kids hanging out on the green out front but I realise after visiting that these are probably posh kids escaped from the King’s School dormitories and no threat at all.

The young bartenders (perhaps a couple, perhaps the proprietors) were especially friendly to all and the place had a very nice vibe to it, like the folks in there may come out of their way to spend a little time in the joint even if they don’t especially fancy a drink.  I, on the other hand, fancied a Budvar (the original Budweiser).

After changing into some dry clothes in the gents, I settled into the barber chair near the window and red the front section of the Gaurdian.  The flow of conversation was animated in the groups of other customers and I listened in, but it was obvious that these conversations started weeks or even years ago and that points of reference necessary for admission were missing from my conversational pocketbook.  Fair enough, I’ll be back.

The Plough and Harrow, Littleport, Cambridgeshire

As a starting point for a run from Littleport to Ely, the Plough and Harrow leaves a little to be desired sitting as it lies on a stretch of road entailing a couple of miles without pedestrian pavement.  But, it seems like a fine place to lift a beer and that’s all I really stopped for.

On a Friday afternoon I expected it to be packed but there were no cars in the lot and only a large guy in cooking whites (who was enjoying a large glass of rosé behind the bar) to speak to, and even he didn’t want to chat.  I wandered around a bit to survey the place, but the door to the garden was locked.

In the States I would assume a cavern like this would be a money laundering operation and that the large dude in butchers’ togs probably had done a big favour for a local hoodlum at some point to get this gig.  But, what are the chances it would be the case here?

Funny thing about the garden being locked…a Beer In The Evening review also noted it was locked when the reviewer visited in September.

Dates were not on the shopping list

At Tesco, how could I resist this product:

Ass Expressway

I’m behind on writing up a lot of the recent events around here, and I’m going to skip the tourist pictures of Wales altogether except for these…lets start with the map in the hotel info packet in Criccieth, and imagine having bad eyesight like mine (Jamie saw it, too):

The village of Criccieth was very pretty :

And, as it happens, the village is dominated by the ruins of its 11th century castle:

Marine Hotel, our holiday home, from the castle

In fifteen minutes, rainclouds rolled in again

Atheist adverts

These were from the summer, but I just stumbled across the photos. I would prefer “There’s no god, so grow up and let me live my own life,” but sometimes equivocation is a necessary aspect of diplomacy:

Spick and Span

Okay, I thought that spelled this way it was only used to denote Mexican twins but aparently janitorial services here use the extra ‘k’ in the spelling.  Hmmm…janitorial…hang on, there….

Tafarn Snowdonia Parc Brew Pub, Waunfawr, Caernarfon

The camera was simply not up to the task of rainy, running, shaky photography

At just over 20 miles into the Snowdonia Marathon I was pretty sure I wouldn’t see another pub until the end, so the Tafarn Snowdonia Parc Brew Pub (part of the national park) was a welcome sight and a warm respite from the rain and the run.  There were crowds of campers and trekkers in there already and most seemed bent out of shape that the marathon was clogging the narrow roadway, but they were especially friendly to me as the only participant that seemed (to them) there for the same reasons…there in the park for the scenic beauty and there in the pub for a complex and refreshing beverage.  When I put out a fiver to pay, three stoners stopped me and threw in their own coins to cover it.

Less than 10K to go so, sure, I DO fancy a pint

We stood by the window and they pointed out several spots where you could just make out the runners at ever increasing altitude.  This is the point at which the mountain is climbed on this race and as far as we could make out my compatriots up the hill in the village, there was at least five times that altitude to climb in the next couple of miles thereafter.  I should probably have picked up another round and tried to weasel a joint out of the boys, but the race had to be completed sometime and off I went.

Picture from the web...I think this is how it looks in good weather

The Cwellyn Arms, Rhyd Ddu, Caernarfon

The Cwellyn Arms had some rude pub reviews and had I not been so desparate for another pub stop at 16 miles into the Snowdonia Marathon I would have passed it on.  But, I thought, what the hell I’m only having one and if they gouge me on the price then I still have another pub visit down.  I’m really glad I opted for the stop, though, as this was a very friendly, warm, and charming little pub packed with both diners and folks taking a break from watching the marathoners pass by in the rain (which was starting back up).

I had a Thieving Whippet from Cottage Brewing Company, which was pleasant enough, and tried to chat with the Polish bartender but her ear was barely tuned to the Welsh accent and she couldn’t make heads-nor-tails of mine.  A family nearby did talk a bit about the town and how they come out for the race because so many neighbours are in it and it brings a good class of folks to the area that might not otherwise have visited.  I wiped off my glasses and my face with the bar towel the keeper brought out, handed her the glass and said my thanks and loped off into the stream of fools.

Saracens Head, Beddgelert, Caernarfon

The Saracen’s Head was the first pub that was both open and directly on the Snowdonia Marathon route.  I knew it was coming up just after 12 miles and so while the other runners all veered left toward the water table set up by the race volunteers, I moved to the right and dashed off the course and into the welcoming arms of the pub.

The assembled drinkers (the place was packed at noon:30) had a nice chuckle and one of them asked if I was dropping out.  “Nope, just fancied a pint,” I said as I pulled out my beer money.  “I’ll have that one, please,” I pointed to a Robinson’s something or other (my glasses were coated with rain and sweat and were fogging up pretty badly).  I stood and chatted with the friendly bunch and tipped them off to look for the CNN coverage of the 30 Pack Marathon if they thought this was odd.  “Am I the first marathoner in today?” I asked, earnestly.  “Ever,” came the reply from both bartenders and the owner who had just returned with a camera.

I cleaned up the spectacles and finished my beer while making fun of the fools we saw running by in the rain.  Then, making my excuses and bidding fare well, I left to rejoin them.