[Note: Tesco had 4 beers for the price of 3 and Funny Names was the first theme I spotted; previous entrant here.]
Ahh, if any beer name is good for a juvenile chuckle, it would have to be Deuchars. On the other hand, it has a smoked malt mouth that really earns the respect of a mature drinker. As an IPA, it has floral hints that are like honeysuckle but the hops also strip the fats of the snacks from the tongue. Consistently one of the best beers on the shelf or, now that the amusing name beer fest is over, I should say USED to be on the shelf. Time to restock.
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[Note: Tesco had 4 beers for the price of 3 and Funny Names was the first theme I spotted; prior entrant here, next one here.]
Butcombe ales always make me snigger like a 13-year-old. The Brunel 200 IPA was very good, though, floral and citric with a bitter aftertaste like furniture wax solvents (the palate wants what it wants). With only one more left in the amusing name beer fest we have already done Old Peculiar Lech Butcombe.
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[Note: Tesco had 4 beers for the price of 3 and Funny Names was the first theme I spotted; prior entrant here, next one here.]
The sofrito for the paella was cooking down (I let it go for 3 to 4 hours) and the movie, No Country for Old Men, was harrowing. The appetising odours, the west Texas landscape and the dramatic tension demanded chorizo and lager and, as luck would have it, both were hiding in the fridge. The lager, chosen for the amusing name, was Lech, a strong and bitter Polish brew.
So, thus far, it looks like Old Peculiar Lech are the theme for the day.
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[Note: Tesco had 4 beers for the price of 3 and Funny Names was the first theme I spotted; next one here.]
Settling into an afternoon watching No Country For Old Men and cooking a pan full of paella, I cracked open a lovely bottle of Old Peculiar out of respect for my new place in racing society. How àpropos that this was the first beer of the amusing name beer festival. As viscous as milk and dark like swamp water, the flavour is complex and satisfying. At times like a mild and at others like a lighter bitter, this is one of my favourites to chop onions and crush garlic to.
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I claimed awhile back to have gone to every pub in RWB and no one corrected me to include the Phoenex (yes, that’s really how they spell it). But, with my daily mileage and my weekly kebab behind me and a bus every twenty minutes, this seemed like the day to put things right. The bar used to be the neighbourhood Workingman’s Club and you can still take advantage of the drink discounts by joining, but as this was just a quick one for rehydration purposes I deferred the membership for now.
A private party was being set up in the back room which was enormous and could probably hold 500 people safely. The woman singing at the sound check had a great voice and Dave, the manager, told me later that she can be even louder once she gets rolling. I, on the other hand, was mostly quiet with my pint of Carling and her private serenade as the soundtrack to some sloppily played international cricket (India v. Pakistan).
They’re open Monday-Thursday evenings, Fridays they close mid-afternoon, and all day on the weekends. Go visit.
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[*kpw = kebab per week for 2013, as noted in an earlier post and the 27th entry for the 2013 Challenge]
Famished from the shamefully slow race and the rain-soaked runs to the start and from the finish of the Broad Town 5, Oscar’s Grill was a welcome sight and I dragged my wet, tired ass in for a kebab. The reviews have been good for this one, but it should be noted that this is a small town with an inordinate number of pubs nearby so the judgement rendered by the other reviewers might not be of the most reliable quality.
However, the small kebab was made of good quality döner–neither fat nor dry and salty but not perniciously so. Veg was standard for kebab shops which is to say: awesome. The pita was yummy and the blackened bits from heating it over the charcoals enhanced the fresh bread.
I was wary of the chilli sauce, though, and the first bite confirmed my fear that it was catsup based. This concern turned out to be meritless, though; the chillis ground into the base were sneaky devils and quite warm and flavourful from bite two onward. Well done, Oscar.
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Planned a run today, anyway, but there was also the Broad Town 5 mile race the start of which was 3.2 miles from a bus stop in Wootton Bassett so I signed on for it. This was the first race I’ve been in since the London Marathon a little over a year ago as well as the first since I entered the 50-59 age group–which the running club sponsoring the event calls “Super Veterans.” Yikes…I really am old, but at least I’m not in the 60 and older group, which they refer to as “the Poor Dears, Bless ‘Em.” Don’t ask me my t-shirt size, fer fuck sake, just see if I have a favourite hymn I’d like played in the unfortunate but inevitable case, etc.
The jog to the race HQ was in a steady and drenching rain and included a steep downhill start from RWB and then a relatively flat bit out to Broad Town School. Assuming the rain would continue , I stayed in the wet kit and stashed my bag with the organisers and took shelter with a bunch of club runners under a marquee (it was also the day of the School Fête). Five minutes before the start, the clouds dissipated and the sun broke through along with some blue sky.
The race didn’t have a big timing clock and the starter was a guy hollering “mark-set-go” as a single word before anyone could really jockey for position on the line. There were probably 150 of us so the normal crowding in the first mile was minimal. Except for the strong winds (20 mph steady, 40 mph gusts), the conditions were perfect.
Start in view of the Broad Hinton White Horse
I would have been happy to break forty minutes on this loop (I stopped timing my runs a couple of years ago, so really didn’t have a metric on my capabilities). At the 4 mile marker my watch showed 30 minutes and I felt pretty good; the crest of the dreaded hill (not much to speak of, really) was just a few dozen yards away so I decided to blow out the last mile at as high a pace as I felt I could maintain…just about 6 minutes for the last bit, passing a bunch of wheezing folk along the way. Without a clock or anyone calling finishing times at the end, I have to guess–for now–that my watch is correct: more than 36 minutes but nowhere near 37 [36:38 officially, and 32nd of 153 finishers so not too bad].
After a 5 minute break to stretch a hamstring cramp, I found my way out of the Fête and got back on the road to Wootton Bassett just as the rain resumed, stopping at Oscar’s Grill and the Phoenex [sic] Bar for well earned snacks and a beer. Roughly 12 miles on the day and a successful race showing in the grandpa division.
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