Off
we go to the Cotswolds although with a change of plan as Parker had to go into
work, so we left the Britannia in Northampton at 3:00pm. Not before we had a
chance to sample their delights, sadly there weren’t any. One good thing is
that they only had two boring ales to choose from instead of the usual 4 boring
ales. The only stuff on offer were Greene King’s IPA and Abbot Ale, oh dear.
Citra and Fuggles suffered great derision from Mrs Fuggles who had popped in
for a quick gulp down of something orange. We decided to have a half of GKIPA,
yes a half, much to the aghast of Mrs Fuggles who persisted in generally taking
the piss. Needless to say the good lady was sent packing back home. To be
honest it’s not a bad pint of half pint, it was in decent condition so once Mrs
Fuggles had buggered off we had another half. Parker arrived before Satan
tempted us with another and we were soon on our way. By the time we were
driving though the leafy lanes and over the undulating hills of the Cotswolds
it was almost dusk, so we didn’t get to appreciate what the scenery was all
about. I’m sure it was lovely; we spotted a few pubs that might serve us well
on our way home and made mental notes accordingly.
We
arrived in Cirencester at around 5:00pm, duly parked up and made our hasty 10
minute trudge to the first pub, The Wheatsheaf,
a very pleasant establishment with inordinate amounts of footy memorabilia
across all the walls, programmes, shirts, you name it, it was hanging on a wall
somewhere near us. A good selection of ales on 5 hand-pumps, although 2 had the
same ale on Butcombe bitter, also available was Wickwar Falling Star, Dorset
Brewery Tom Browns and Marstons Christmas Pudding. Citra went for Butcombe, we
had this on the Paulton trip so we knew all about it. Parker tried Tom Brown
and I went for Falling Star. Tom Browns is an amber ale coming in at 4%, good
condition with a reasonably tight head, slightly bitter but perhaps more sweet
than bitter, hint of toffee, lovely, well Parker didn’t complain. The Falling
Star is a refreshing premium bitter golden ale at 4.2%. Quite drinkable without
bursting the palate, perhaps more pleasant than outstanding, ok though. All
ales were in good condition and well kept. We were nearing the bottom of the
glasses when both Parker and Citra starting talking about the next potential port
of call, the Arkells owned Brewers Arms. Both whipped out their phones to plan
the route, little did they know it was just 100 yards away across the road.
Using all the skills they attained during acquisition of their Duke of
Edinabucket awards. They eventually managed to find the pub on the phone maps
but couldn’t quite establish if we would be turning left or right when we moved
on from the Wheatsheaf. As it happened we came out of the pub and turned left
and crossed the road. We reached the Brewers Arms in a matter seconds later, we
peered inside and didn’t really like what we saw, nice enough on the outside
and on the inside I suppose but there was no one in the bar other than a lad
playing pool. A glance at the bar we could make out 3 hand-pumps but only one
adorned a pump-clip and that was 3B. Oh dear, not for us, maybe we wouldn’t be
drinking Arkells tonight, quite disappointing really.
Undaunted,
we trudged on for just a couple of minutes when we came across the Twelve
Bells. What a delightful brewpub, home of the Ciren Brewery. 4 hand-pumps,
guess what, you’ve guessed bloody Doombar was there to contaminate the bar, nevertheless,
Cottage Brewery’s Scrooged and Ciren ales Bells Bitter and Best Mate improved
things considerably. Parker was now on the coffee, whilst Citra and I went for the
house brews Bells Bitter. A nice enough ale but not a show stopper, fairly
typical session ale for the locals to knock back, it was ok with a strength of
3.8% and in good nick, nice and clear with a loose head just about clinging to
the glass. We thought we’d better try the other house brew Best Mate, there was
a bit more depth to this ale, more rounded with malty roasted flavours, decent
bitterness quite pleasant actually, a dark amber ale and very clear with a
loose head. A nice pub with food a very important part of the turnover, a
glowing open fire to warm the punters on a cold winter’s night. A couple of
other PRATS went to the pub just after we left, Marshall, Petit Chemise, Betweenthesticks
and another chap.
We
were now pacing out way back towards the car, but first we had to find the
Marlborough Arms, we missed it when we first arrived even though we knew it was
close to where we the car parked. Low and behold it was across the road from
where we’d parked up and what a fantastic pub, bustling with after work ale guzzlers.
The sign on the door had us enter the pub with some caution ‘Swings Both Ways’
I looked at both Parker and Citra, “what do you reckon”, I asked, “Bugger it”
Citra replied. The range of ales was superb, 8 hand-pumps adorning the rather
hectic bar with just one chap beavering away trying his best the serve
everyone. At the end of the bar was a wall of cider boxes, not sure how many
there was but the selection looked good for cider lovers. The 8 ales looked
very interesting, North Cotswolds Windrush; we had that during our visit to
Stratford. Box Steam Piston Broke we’d seen somewhere on our travels this
season already, however we hadn’t seen Going Conker before, but being a dark
chestnut ale and with Parker not drinking that was given a wide birth. Sarah
Hughes Ruby Mild is always a beauty at a whopping 6% but not tonight. The Cheltenham
Brewery or is it Battledown? I’m not sure which, as both names adorn the pump
clips, nevertheless the Porter looked interesting but none of us are Porter
drinkers, however, Natural Selection was selected, naturally by Citra. I went
for Yubberton Goldie and also picked up half of the Heck brewery Shankar IPA.
Parker had a coke. Natural Selection is a 4.2% golden ale, spicy and hoppy with
slight citrus finish, Citra would enjoy this. Yubberton Goldie is a lovely
golden ale with a strength of 4%, quite hoppy and very refreshing and in superb
condition as are all three ales. We had a half pint of the Heck Brewery’s
Shankar IPA as it’s a whopping 5.9%, both Citra and I had a sup, quite sweet, a
bit like drinking barley sugar with a very hoppy yet dry finish, lovely. What a
great pub the Marlborough is, the walls were adorned with all sorts of breweriana, if we come back to Cirencester next season I
think we’ll just set up camp here, not a pun about swinging both ways I might
add, and so on to the Corinium Stadium.
We
arrived at around 7:15pm only to find that the Poppies team bus had arrived
late and the kick off was now 8:00pm. A decent set-up with a new bar and events
room, all very smart, easy to be envious. The ground was clean and tidy,
although if you ever wondered where the Berlin wall went, it’s here all around
the ground concrete wall/fencing even in front of the terrace at the top end of
the ground, what’s that all about. The game, well, we huffed and we puffed,
even when the Centurions had a man sent off it made no difference whatsoever, a
bit like a eunuch in a brothel, no penetration. Whereas the Centurions battled
hard throughout and earnt their 1-0 victory.
It
was time to go home and drawing on our mental notes we advised the disgruntled
Poppies flock towards the Village Pub
in Barnsley. Definitely a swanky pub for the well-heeled, the clientele looked
as though they had a few bob. All the
tables had enormous candles flickering away and most set for diners. 3 hand-pumps
all serving local-ish ales, 2 from Hook Norton, Lion and Greedy Goose and
another from North Cotswolds Shagweaver, the name of the latter drew us in so
that’s what we had. A lovely 4.5% pale ale brewed with 3 New Zealand hops, this
would prove to be a delightfully refreshing tasty hoppy ale. By now the Poppies
horde had arrived scaring off the locals, in all 10 grumpy fans turned up,
Marshall, Petit Chemise, Betweenthesticks, and the other chap. Pharp blew in,
then in came Flopper, (no he hadn’t walked there), with King Edward Shorty, one
of the clubs common taters. Citra was getting all excited; he asked the barmaid
if any of the local Barnsley celebrities frequented the pub. She hadn’t got a
clue and asked which celebrities he was referring to “why no other than Michael
Parkinson and Umpire Dickie Bird of course, two of Barnsley’s most famous sons”
Citra proclaimed. Oh dear, time for home.
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