Friday 19th January 2007 Manchester

Yup, Mid week Tone, Pedro, Craigee, Granpop Bill, Keithee, Richee, Bolt and Phone a friend

The first event of 2007 was an afternoon session of the National Winter Ales Festival held at the New Century Hall Manchester, followed by a balti at Lal Haweli’s in Rusholme.

High winds had bought down fences and trees over the previous day or so, so the inevitable delay of the virgin arriving on time at Stoke Station was expected. Still, we caught the earlier 11.41 train which had been delayed, as did many others by the looks of it, but had to stand for the full journey to Manchester. Pedro started talking in Chinese to some young girl who frantically found a seat as soon as she physically could.

‘Right, we’re here then’, declared Tone, emulating Peter Kay (or was it Gee?) as we strolled through the Piccadilly station foyer. Pedro looking particularly nervous, keeping his hand on his wallet (no change there) but Craigee took to tripping up over everyone’s suitcase which helped relieve his tension.

There was a free shuttle bus to the centre, two in fact, and as usual we chose the wrong one and ended up outside M & S. It would have been quicker to walk but at least it gave us time to eye up the shops.

A short visit first to The Marble Arch pub on Rochdale Road for lunch was planned before heading back into the centre for the beer fest. The Marble Arch was a gem of a find; a steel beam framed structure with a timber ceiling, home of an organic vegan brewery and open all day with an excellent selection of ales both light and dark. The Manchester bitter was superb, light and clear, an ale Mr Tahoohigh would have died for.

Blackburn Beer Hotpot, with crusty bread and red cabbage was the day’s speciality but most opted for the toasted sandwiches with lashes of mayonnaise (whether you wanted it or not) and home-made chips. Music played in the background which took Keithee back to his student days; and that was some time ago. Pink Floyd were on as we left, much to his annoyance. He’d never walked out of a pub in his life whilst Pink Floyd were playing on a jukebox until today. There’s always a first time though eh.

The wind was still fierce as we walked back to the Beer Festival at the New Century Hall. Granpop Bill, with Desperate Dan might, straightened up an enormous direction sign, which the wind had forced over along with its foundation and half of the footway.

At the Beer Fest we paid the full amount of £3 to get in. Pedro lied about his CAMRA membership which had run out just to get an extra quid knocked off!! Full pint and half pint glasses were available. Bolt went straight for the manly full pint glass whilst the rest of us opted for the usual half pint size. A pie poster hit us as we entered, advertising the Wigan Beer Fest, but we refrained from adding more calories to the days taking. Bet Ali Gee wouldn’t have done!

The fezza was similarish to the Stoke fez but better laid out somehow and held on 2 floors. As it happened we were restricted to the upstairs room only until 5pm and the only breweries available were those beginning with letters A to M. Still, there was a plentiful choice of light and fruity ales amongst the darker winter ales, even to satisfy Craigees taste. Eeeeeh Mr Tahoohigh would have loved it.

Continuing the organic mode from the Marble Arch we started with the jester organic ale from Butts, Trade Winds by Cairngorm, First Light by E & S Elland and continued with … I can’t remember! Tone tried the Magnus ale by Durham but was disappointed. Still, he’d started so he finished. Granpop Bill and Bolt tried virtually every dark porter ale available whilst the Beardee boys and Phone a friend saw sense and stuck with the lighter ales. Phone-a friend found a seat and became engaged in a heavy discussion with a couple of anoraks who were sipping and snorting their drinks, until he was rescued by Yup who nicked his seat. Keithee disappeared for what seemed like quite some time, for a lie down perhaps, but leaving his glass with Pedro was a mistake. Bolt appeared, also having been missing for a while, sporting a half pint glass which he’d swopped for the original pint glass he’d struggled with since he arrived. Obviously he couldn’t take it. Unanimously, he was formally christened ‘Downsized Dave’.

At 5pm the downstairs bar was opened. So we joined the queue and soon entered. Somebody cried Wolf but we ignored the Jackal and went for the ‘Dr Hextor’s wedding tackle, which was a fair old mouthful and finally finished off with Tone’s stronger Jaipurs IPA of Thornbridge.

‘Yer dunna get this in Australia’ someone said to Bill who had rushed back from a poor performance of cricket by the England boys in Oz z z zzzzzzzzzz. ‘Not much room in the bogs either’ he replied, ‘not like Stoke youth’.

Taxis were called outside which took us to Rusholme and avoid the rain which had started. Pedro couldn’t believe the numbers of people scurrying about in the city and questioned why they did it. Lucky for us they did or else we’d be going somewhere else for a curry.

A choice of 3 or 4 indian restaurants picked out bu Yup were quickly checked out and Lal Haweli was chosen, aided with advice by a couple of passers by. 3 bottles of red house wine and pints of Cobra on draft were swiftly ordered by Keithee. The house wine miraculously changed to Merlot later during the meal. The food and service was excellent and the explanation of the difference between the peshwari and the rashmi nan breads made no sense at all at the time. We would return.

After the curry we jumped on a bus to return to the centre and walked along Portland Street via a local pub or two evidently before jumping on the return train at 21.54. Keithee paced around the station for a further 10 minutes before catching his train back to Sandbach, and avoid falling asleep on the platform. He managed that but then fell asleep on the train, to luckily wake up just before his stop. Granpop Bill also had to be woken on the way back to Stoke, still jetlagged from his trip to Oz, and dreaming of England knocking up a few runs. No wonder he was asleep.

Regards

Yupmester

(enjoy yer baltis)