Long Itchington Beer Festival 2011

"What we need", someone will have mused, "Is an excuse for a really good party. Tell you, what, have a word with that Royal chap and tell him it's time to make an honest woman of his girlfriend, then everyone can have an extra day off and bunting sales will go through the roof."

And so it is that this years Long Itch beer festival runs for 4 days, and the whole village is bedecked with more bunting than you'll see in the rest of your life. It's everywhere.

Anyway, this year there was a plan. Turn up early and go home having drunk some beer but not on the last bus in case that nice Mr Cameron cancels it before it arrives leaving us to hijack the dray that provides a pub-to-pub service for those unable to walk the distance.

First stop, The two boats for a nice Maldon Gold. Standing on the towpath in the glorious sunshine, you don't get much better. A single boat chugged by, people walked past - sometimes with dogs dragging them along and apart from two kids racing past on their bikes (one nearly ended up in the canal, there would have been a cheer), nothing to disturb the massed crowd of drinkers spilling along the banks.

Then a quick stroll through the village centre to the Green Man where I had been promised a free pint involved passing a couple of shire horses working the Hook Norton brewery dray. How nice it was to see these fine beast and how unsurprising to watch as a BMW pull up beside them, honked his horn and then drove off. The horses looked unperturbed but the dray man wasn't impressed. I'm not sure where the car ended up, and I looked out for it as we continued, but if there is any justice it was in a stone wall at the loneliest spot on the road network.

Reaching the Green Man and squeezing inside, the staff were very busy and so I decided to hang on and pay for my pint as well as the commemorative festival glass. Looking at the signs, I knew there was only one beer for me - Chocoholic.

The contents of the glass were dark brown and at first tasted of very little. Then, all of a sudden, there was a real taste of chocolate. Good stuff too. Not strong, but pleasant. I'll confess to being a little wary as this sort of thing can be a bit gimmicky but it's not bad. One pint was sufficient but definitely worth a try.

Wandering around the back of the pub, past a sign that said "Slow Children Playing" - handy as you know you won't have to try too hard to hit them - we found the pub garden along with another bar. This time I was determined. After waiting for the queue to subside, I enquired and my glass was filled with some Flying Dutchman. A really nice golden pint, all the better for being free.

After a few sips I felt the need to make a trip to the gents, partly for the obvious reasons and partly for journalistic purposes. After last years write up, I had been advised that the facilities had been refurbished. I didn't think there was anything wrong with them before but had mentioned an odd barrier to stop people falling into the urinal. This has gone to be replaced with a unit further up the wall. While performing a full test of this, another person arrived and stood alongside me.

"God, wearing this skirt really gets in the way." he said.

For some of you, these might not be unusual words to hear in a toilet. Me, I quickly finished up, washed my hands and left him to it.

All quickly became clear though a few minutes later. Into the middle of the garden strode St George, The Black Knight, a couple of other characters and a bearded mad wearing a dress. Think Snow White with a few days stubble. These were the Coventry Mummers who were putting on short plays at each of the pubs in return for donations and beer.



St George took on the Black Knight in a fight and was killed. A Doctor brought him back to life with a few drops of Speckled Hen beer. They fought again, the Knight managed to wrest Georges sword away from him and things were looking bad. At the last minute the patron saint of England pulled out a pistol and shot the Knight.

We all cheered. It's not Ibson but than you don't want heavy drama when you are in a sunny pub garden drinking beer do you ?

As well as checking out the toilets, I'd been recommended toward the Noodle Bar in front of the pub. This was a good move - the cardboard box of freshly cooked sweet & sour chicken noodles was delicious. I did try with the chopsticks but quickly reverted to the wooden fork instead.

You know what it's like though. You have a Chinese meal and a few minutes later you fancy another one. We wandered back to the Harvester where I bought some Liemass Fruit beer. Pricey at over a fiver a pint but since it contains fruit it must be healthy. Mind you I think Jaffa Cakes count as one of your "five a day" so I might not be any more reliable than "Dr" Gillian McKeef on this score. The colour was a lovely red and it tasted nice.

It also made the idea accompaniment for a Water Buffalo burger. The meat is finer textured than normal beef, but otherwise I'll be honest and admit I couldn't really tell the difference. Perhaps less ketchup would have helped my palate ! Nice though and this year I didn't manage to get it all over my shirt which was a bonus.

The pub car park/garden was busy. In the corner were some of the local youth who provided entertainment for those who spotted them. One wearing florescent sunglasses managed to accidentally snap the leg off his metal char - the ground isn't level and I think he tried leaning back on it. For the rest of the time we were there one or other of them could be seen perched on it concentrating hard trying to pretend that 3 legs was as good as 4 so the landlord didn't spot them.

Finally, with the sun setting it was off the Buck and Bell. Our timing was excellent as we managed to get the drinks just before the beer ran out and customers were greeted by pumps with no labels and a cry that the barrels were being changed. My final pint of May Queen was light and refreshing but it's delivery from so near the bottom of the cask might have strengthened the flowery/washing up liquid taste a bit, something I can never decide if I like or not - for at least one pint anyway ! Still, at least we were inside as the temperature dropped and the place was quiet apart from the huge scrum on the road at the front. It's not often the biggest crowd is on the road.

Another good event. Lots of nice beer, too much to drink in a single day anyway. As the T-shirt says, Same again next year please !

See all my photos including every pint and bite here.

Visit the official beer festival website

Long Itchington Beer Festival 2010

The trouble with this interweb thingy is that you don’t know who’s reading your words. Worse, you can’t tell how upset they are going to be when they do read them. So it was that after last years trip to the Long Itchington beer festival, the organiser got in touch with me and moaned that I hadn’t given his pub a mention, instead describing it as the mystery pub we couldn’t find.

Therefore, this year I had absolutely no choice but to go and try the festival again. It’s not ‘cos I wanted to you understand, it was my duty.

According to the weatherman, the village would probably be washed away by the monsoon conditions predicted. Luckily the afternoon was fine, dry and the bus into the wilds of the Warwickshire countryside, not too late. Riding in unusual backward facing seats didn’t provide the greatest start especially as after a couple of miles, one of the other passengers shut the only open window so that he could feel the full effects of the vehicles very effective heating system. It’s a measure of the true nature of the British people that we politely allowed him to decide on the temperature despite being unable to understand the correct way to wear a pair of trousers. After all, someone who wakes up in the morning and decided that the waistband should be low enough that he has to do a belt up tightly over his own wedding tackle is possibly slightly odd. And can sing falsetto.

I’d taken the precaution of printing a map off from the festival website but we didn’t need it to find the first stop – The Buck and Bell just behind the duck pond. The roads around the building had become a temporary beer garden with crowds standing around enjoying a drink and watching others pass by on the way to their next refreshment stop. Rather than confine us inside, the Buck had laid on a small bar under a gazebo at one end of the building and a very tempting hot food stand at the other.

Last year we had a little bit of a problem explain that the beer should be served in the commemorative glass. This year the problem was getting the glass itself ! The outdoor barman was under the impression that they weren’t on offer this year. A little training was obviously in order along the lines of reading the pubs advert in the festival guide which said, “Festival shirts and glassware available here” Oooops !

On the other hand the beer, Darling Buds from the Warwickshire Brewery, was delicious and more than made up for slight confusion. While enjoying the pint there were plenty of traditional British beer festival characters on hand to provide some entertainment too. For example, “The Trainspotters” were carefully working through the list of brews and highlighting those they had already sampled so as not to waste time repeating a tasting. When I say highlighting I mean with a real, bright yellow, highlighter pen one of the team had probably pinched from their office. Judging by the dayglo effect on the pages they’d been working hard for most of the day too – a glimpse of the book was both blinding and sufficient to provide the viewer with a healthy looking suntan...

Underneath a tree was rarer sight – a genuine drunk person. You might think that a festival devoted to beer would be full of people out of their heads, and ready to make an appearance on a Channel 5 documentary on “Broken Britain” but no, festival goers are decent, honest and upstanding people who are there to sample and appreciate the panoply of tastes on offer. Not for us the “shot” of alcohpop, no we want to savour our drinks – just like people say they do on the continent but without having to learn French or wear a beret. Our drunk may have had an unusual haircut but all he did was sit on the grass drift off to sleep while everyone around him carried on as normal.

Finally there were a few people in costume. At least one St George was present plus some cohorts dressed in related attire. One was carrying an enormous axe – that would have given the TV people a shock, no concealed weapon here – another appeared as a ginger wigged woman. Admittedly this last costume was not very convincing, you’d have needed big, thick beer goggles to have been fooled. And of course there were Morris Dancers. Luckily there performances had finished but the law says morrismen must drink their own bodyweight in real ale every day and that’s what they were trying to do.

After the first pint we moved on to the Harvester. Inside the small bar there was a healthy queue. Better still, commemorative glasses were on offer but I couldn’t decide what I wanted to drink. Eventually I delayed the glass buying and went for halves of “Lilly the pink” and something that mentioned lemons. While waiting one of the other customers, who looked like an aficionado, asked if there were any more pumps. Exhibiting my local knowledge I said this was the entire bar, upon which news he mumbled something about the beer being gassy. Then he ordered a Budweiser. The Englishman in me nearly saw him dragged out to the street and given a stern dressing down – dammit, it’s a beer festival there is no need to order an American “beer” when nice stuff is available.

Anyway, The Square became the beer garden for the crowds unable to fit in the pub. Local planning has not been kind to this street as despite its name, the half timbered houses look out onto a sea of tarmac. Along here drove one or two locals not looking too impressed at the revelries taking place. Mind you, they looked like the sort of people you can’t please any of the time as they sat in air-conditioned and very clean 4 wheel drives and Mercedes so we just made way politely and carried on supporting the local economy.

We also made way for the horse drawn dray that was doing the rounds. Well, once we’d all had a stroke of the cute horsies anyway. There’s a little something in everyone that is drawn to fuss hairy animals and these good natured beasts were obviously well used to it. Even when one of the cars squeezed past they stood their ground although the look their handler gave them would have scorched the paintwork...

Then off on a voyage of discovery. Past the school. Past the Co-op with its handy cash machine. Past quite a few houses and eventually we found the Green Man. I’d been keen to come here since festival organiser Mark promised me a free pint last year for my previous blog entry. If you are thinking this is mercenary then you are right and yes appearance can be bought on this website for the price of a beer.

Yet again, the pub was packed. My first call was to relieve myself of earlier drinks in the Gents. Ladies may wish to turn away now as I have to describe the room. If a man needs a quick pee, there is a nice wide porcelain urinal available. It’s the white wall with gutter communal variety rather than a series of single receptacles. So far so normal. However in front of the gutter there is a solidly constructed, stainless steel device – a fence with a sloping (towards the gutter you’ll be pleased to note) top about shin or knee height depending how tall you are. Neither myself or the man who walked in after me had seen anything like this before.

“Bloody hell, what’s that ?” he exclaimed.

As a guess, I suggested, it’s to stop us falling in.

“Hmmmm” he replied and then got on with the job in hand.

All I can assume is that the male population of Long Itchington are prone to a bit of urinal snorkelling or that they have a tendency to fall in to the inch deep channel and need to be rescued, hence a fence to keep them out and stop soggy feet returning to the carpeted confines of the bar. To be fair, it worked and no one drowned while I was in there.

Back in the bar there was no immediate sign of Mark and I wasn’t going to push my luck trying for the free pint with anyone else, the man with the giant axe had been heading this way last time I saw him. Some amusingly named “Bear Ass” was available (The Warwickshire heraldic device is a bear and staff) and a nice new souvenir glass came my way too. In a side room a folk band played away but it was too crowded to stay inside and listen – anyway one strummer was sitting in front of the door so as to block any potential audience out. Assuming the sound would be audible outside we repaired to the wooden benches in the sun.

Outside again we discovered that the musicians had been put in a room with no open windows. Whether this was an oversight or comment on their standards of playing I didn’t get the chance to find out as Mark found me to say hello. It appears that despite me being rude about all the pubs last year, I wasn’t about to be chased out of the village by pitchfork wielding locals. In fact his disappointment was that I hadn’t been rude about his pub, which of course is his own fault for not putting any maps out for us last year. This year, much better and we could all get around as well as someone who has been living there for several generations.

Finally able to sit, I perused the enormous beer list and discovered that there was drink from the Castletown brewery based on the Isle of Man available at the Two Boats. Being a big fan of all things Manx, once the glass was empty, it was time for the trip to the canal.

On the way a stop was made for a Buck and Bell burger. At first glance a fiver might have looked steep but this was a proper burger. Un-round in the way only a decent hand-made burger can be, it was best part of an inch thick and complete with plenty of salad. It was this that was my undoing. I’ve always had a problem with tomatoes in sandwiches. They always seem to squirt juice over me as I eat and after just one bite, my shirt was splattered. Thus the rest of the evening was spent looking like the sort of sad act who walks around with food down his front.

It was worth it though. Delicious. Ronald Mac can only dream of producing such quality fayre.

The Two Boats is a canal side pub. To my disappointment the Castletown beer hadn’t lasted very long into the day so I drowned my sorrows with an alternative. The towpath drinking area was full but taking a stroll up the cut a bit seemed popular with most drinkers getting as far as the nearby lock before returning with a thirst. It certainly seemed a less wet option that the inflatable canoe being tested by a couple of hardy souls. I wondered if the large number of barges moored were related to the festival but then spotted glasses of wine sitting on the roof of one and a couple drinking canned poncy lager on another so perhaps it was just chance. The wall of boats probably did save the odd drinker from a dunking though later on as you couldn’t easily fall into the water.

Finally there was just time for a quick half at the Cuttle Inn the only other pub we hadn’t tried this year or last. It’s a posh place which is probably a haven for those who feel a bit pushed out by the incomers who only turn up once a year and can't be bothered to walk up the hill a bit. Behind the bar they discussed how Peroni glasses are more trouble than they are worth because they just keep breaking. Not knowing what one of these is, I took my Owl Screech and departed to the patio area. Here it was, overlooking the car park with Porches sporting signs warning the owners not to leave them here all the time as the spaces are wanted for other people, that we saw the only proper, TV style drunkenness.

A group of lads were out for the night and some were wearing fancy dress. In particular, one of their number who I seem to recall was named “Seth”, was dressed up like a polyester Richard Gere from “An Officer and a gentleman” in a suit slightly to big for him. For some reason he decided a beer throwing session was in order despite the protestations of his friends. Well, here is a handy hint for the future – If you are wearing a bright white suit, presumably with the intention of standing out in the eyes of the opposite sex, do not get beer and lager all over it. At the end of the film, Debra Winger was not swept off her feet by someone who looked like he’s been urinal snorkelling.

And so back to the bus. Just in time to escape before the predicted monsoon. With a bit of luck I’ll still be able to go back next year. Seth will have dried out and I might even claim my free pint.

Official Long Ithington Beer Festival website

I took a load of photos which are on Flickr for your amusement.

Long Itchington Beer Festival

Ah, the joys of the English village. Where better to while away spring evenings with delightful, locally brewed, warm beer* beside the duck pond whilst morris dancers whack each other with sticks in a traditional manner ?

In theory, this is just what Long Itchington beer festival promises, apart from the men in bells. The website takes a bit of a dig at nearby Harbury's festival by trumpeting the fact that the festival is spread over 6 pubs rather than the village hall. That way you get to sample the ambiance of the area rather than just one anonymous building, or at least that's the theory. In other words, you can have a drink and see our waterfowl, not be stuck in a municipal building albeit one with alcoholic beverages.

Pub One: The Duck on the Pond.
Nice pub with but with pretensions top be a restaurant, the drinking space is seriously filled with tables, chairs and diners (the pub gets good food reviews in at least one guide to my knowledge). Annoyingly, that drinking space there is in the bar was filled with a circle of friends who hadn't cottoned on that they were taking up all the space where people wish to order and were oblivious to anyone else so didn't move down the bar.

The festival glass is a couple of quid and the beer that fills it eats the rest of the fiver. My mate also buys a glass and then orders beer – which the barman pours into a different, ordinary glass. “I thought you would want to keep this one as a souvenir” he says when the faus pas is pointed out, but then pours the beer from one to another after it's explained that the souvenir would be even better if it had been christened.

With no space inside, thanks to the aforementioned bar hoggers, we move outside to the er, car park. While the village pond, complete with baby ducklings, swans and other wildlife, can be seen from the pub doorway, it is separated from it by a tarmac car park which is home to a collection of exceedingly clean four wheel drives and executive saloons. To make things a little more hospitable tables are set out at the pub end with umbrellas. Nice touch but it's still a car park. The beer's not bad though.


Pub Two: The Harvester.
The plan was to drink a pint in each pub before catching the last bus home. Strolling past the pond we headed for what will soon be known as pub three. It looked a bit busy so we aimed around the corner for The Harvester. To be honest, as none of us knew Long Itchington we just followed people who looked like they were heading for beer. Clutching a pint pot is both a giveaway and helpful sign for those who “Bain't be from round 'ere” and don't know where all the pubs are.

Despite it's name this isn't a chain pub, more your traditional working man's village local. Again, food seemed to be the thing that kept the place afloat and the warren of interconnecting rooms were again full of tables and chairs. Decor was in the manner of a seaside bed & breakfast in a lower class resort so I'd suspect this is where the locals ate or those for whom price mattered more than presentation. The bar staff didn't have to wear corporate clothing or name badges, just like a proper British pub where if you want to know who someone is, you simply ask them.

The bar was heaving. One group of women were discussing the smell of one of the beers. By chance I ordered the allegedly aromatic one and so a round of sniffing ensured. The consensus was that it (unsurprisingly) smelt of beer. Not having a problem with this I took a sip and it tasted of beer too. The complainants then decided that it must have been a different beer and that one had definitely smelt odd. The barman tried sniffing the others on offer but they also smelt of beer. Scooby Doo not being available to solve the mystery we looked for a space to drink – and it was suggested that it was “nice out back” so out we went.

Into the car park.

And what a car park. For a start there were no cars. Hardly surprising as it turned out – access is through a locked gate under a archway. There was a reasonable sized crowd sitting round a couple of tables beside a pile of aluminium beer kegs. We sat at the other tables under some see through corrugated plastic. This was the legally mandated smoking area – hardly salubrious and probably going to put you off your fag in winter, which I suppose is the point. The view, apart from the crowd and kegs, was uninspiring being a wall and back of a few buildings. According to the fancy brickwork, one of these was built in 1861 but that didn't make it any more interesting. Again, a good pint and a busy little pub.

Pub 3: Buck and Bell
Escaping from the tarmac beer garden another attempt was made to get into the Buck. Crowds outside (the beer garden is a 6ft wide strip next to the road) promised a busy pub and we weren't disappointed. Inside, painted signs on the beams pointed us in the direction of the back bar and inevitably, a restaurant. Reaching the end we queued behind a large group already wearing the official festival T-shirts and ordered the same as they were having. While the beer was good I have a feeling that the attraction was the pretty blonde barmaid who had both the main attributes required in excellent bar staff – looks to bring the punters in and the confidence and personality to put them in their place when required !

The place looked like it had been on the end of a redesign from someone who had seen too many makeover programmes on TV. I think the style is called “Faux Posh”, a modern take on the traditional local. Not too many farm implements nailed to the wall I'm pleased to say but plenty of traditional features that were just a bit mock traditional. Add to this some accessorising straight out of a style magazine (sticks in a vase – why ?) and I bet the place does good business with the “travelling out to a little country pub” crowd. One pair of drinkers could be overhead commiserating with each other on the problems of owning a little place in another country. It seems that the Bergerac region isn't that easy to get to regularly and friends and family don't seem to want to use it as often as they expected so it's over three grand a year just for a couple of weeks. And you can't sell them either, not with the market in the state its in now...

Pub 4: The Two Boats
I like a canal side pub and had spotted this one as we came in on the bus. Now it might be the effect of the beer but the stroll out to it didn't seem as long as expected, little more than five minutes from the centre. We arrived to the sound of a live band, who promptly announced a break in the set. No matter, there were more crowds to struggle through and this is a tiny pub. Two rooms, each with a bar, a few tables and lots of people. Waiting time was around 15 minutes, despite the best efforts of the staff who were hurling beer across the counter as quickly as the pumps could pour it. When we were served the barmaid said this had been the second day of this and, “we've two more to go.”. It's obvious this sort of festival works so you have to wonder why more villages aren't trying it.

Beer in hand it was out to the garden, or towpath as it is more accuratly described. All the tables were full outside, often with people we'd seen in the other pubs. The entire crowd from the Harvester seemed to have made it there, or at least the memorable ones anyway.
For the first time in the evening, the beer wasn't to my taste. It's my own fault, above the bar had been a label saying that it had a licorice taste and like every right minded individual I can't stand the stuff so I ought to have known better. Mind you it still took half a pint to decide this, possible due to the pain killing effects of the previous three !

On the other side of the canal and up a slight hill there was another pub. That was where the band were. A Beatles tribute group, they were set up on some terracing so both groups of drinkers could benefit from the performance – and an excellent one it was too. From the short distance you'd have been forgiven, if you were a bit stupid and knew no pop music history, that you were seeing the real thing. Of course that might have been the beer again.

Chatting in the bar, people said that the other pub was even fuller. Quite where all these people had come from was a mystery as the last bus back home wasn't exactly heaving. Harbury certainly generates more green transport users for its festival. Where ever the source though, there were a lot of people having a good time. The pubs did excellent business so everyone wins.

Next year – I think a visit earlier in the day. Lunchtime perhaps, although it might need several lunchtimes to sample everything on offer. There is also a mystery sixth pub to find as well so it's worth the trip.

*Note for American readers. In Britain, proper beer, often known as bitter, mild or stout, is served luke warm. The only reason beer is served cold is to hide the taste. Our beer tastes nice so we don't need the refrigeration.

Birmingham Beer Festival

On the wall at Harbury there was a poster for the Birmingham Beer Festival. At the time it seemed like a good idea but then it was late in the evening. Strangely, it still seemed like a good idea when the effects had worn off so last Friday off we went.

The festival is held in the student union bar at Aston University. I've never been a student so was unsure what the dress code was. I mean, when I was the right age (but too thick) to go to university, students wore ex-army grey coats and dungarees. Then they shouted at you in the street in lieu of a sales technique for Socialist Worker. Now I think they wear box-fresh trainers and don't even pretend they will all vote for anyone other than a Tory. In the end I hoped that a beer festival would be mostly populated by those from the IT and Engineering sections so dressing up probably wasn't required.

The student union is in the middle of Aston Uni and was handily signposted once you got there with arrows on lampposts. It's beside a pleasant village green type space which even has a normal pub beside it. How that works I'm not sure. Perhaps the students go to the union and the lecturers go to the pub ? Or won't the pupils at the business school be seen in the scruffy surroundings of a subsidised (and therefore little more than communist) drinking establishment ?

Inside cash was exchanged for a glossy programme plus half pint glass and we headed for the wall of barrels. Each was adorned with the name of the brew and interconnected with a plastic pipe. I'm assuming that this pressurised the vessel and didn't just blow beer from one to the other. Cash was taken on the bars with most beers coming in at £1.20-30 per half.

If you now expect a beer review then tough, I can't remember all the names and certainly can't recall the individual tastes. 'cos we had to go to Brum the timings had to fit in with the trains so an early (10.30) finish meant there was no option but to start drinking at teatime.

Fortunately there were a couple of stand out brews:
Mango - Is a yellowy/orange colour and does taste like there are mango's involved in the production. Very pleasant and light, just the thing for a summer like we haven't just had.
Pooh Beer - Dark brown and if I'm honest, not very nice. Only the dampening effect of previous drinks and the fact I needed to use the glass again kept me going on this one.

Alcohol strength fans will be disappointed that as neither of these appear in the guide I can't add this vital information either. Actually, the guide while glossy and full of reading matter is a bit useless on the details of the beers. The list is missing at least 3 of the ones I tasted. Still, you can read a diatribe about possible banning of smoking outside in Birmingham by an ex-smoker who still has the odd cigar (so not an ex- then) or a new landlady in one of the homes of proper beer in the city. Nobody read any of this at the festival as far as I could see but it's worth a look afterwards if only to wonder why Tiger bitter, which is IMHO little more than the contents of the drains in the gents toilets of a tapas bar, has found a home in a temple to the brewers art.

The people weren't your typical fare either. I spotted at least 4 laptops being carried around. Several escapees from the adjacent business school wore suits that were a little too sharp for the surroundings contrasting well with the weathered beer festival t-shirts holding many a gut down. Mind you, if they were looking to work in banking at the end of term a drink or six was probably called for ! The average age was younger than Harbury but not by much. Modern students prefer quantity over quality so would have headed for the nearest Wetherspoons rather than mess around with proper beer.

Entertainment was initially provided by a 6 piece brass ensemble followed after a 2 hour break by the Ann Duggan band. Ann Duggan is at least ten years too old for her outfit and twenty years to old to flirt with the lead guitarist, young enough to be her son, the way she does. Sadly the sound mix wasn't good enough to do justice to her vocals which was a shame as I think we missed out on an act a cut above your average pub covers band. Said guitarist was excellent even though he was plainly up past a decent bedtime for one so young. And of course no-one can clap when they have a beer glass in their hand so the audience response was more muted than it would have been otherwise.

Food was poncy (Jonathan Crisp) but delicious crisps and German sausages in buns. These smelt good and tasted better. Crepes were on offer from the same stall but how you were supposed to eat them I'm not sure as leaning space was at a premium. In the corner of the union was a Subway concession (closed for the evening) - is this part of the creeping commercialisation of the education system ? What the hell do the Socialist Worker sellers think of that ? Indeed, are there any ? The stand seems remarkably "unadorned" in what should be a hotbed for Marxists.

Anyway, a good night out. Not lefty magazine sellers (shame), some good beer and food along with reasonable entertainment. The glass survived the trip back on the train to join my collection.

More pointless pictures of beer on Flickr

CAMRA Birmingham

Harbury Beer Festival

Celebrate the beer ! All Hail to the ale ! (insert other stolen catch phrases as required)

What could be more English than enjoying a warm beer on a summers evening in a rural village ? Apart, obviously, from getting staggeringly drunk, running around a town centre looking for a fight and ending the evening in a pool of vomit anyway. None of that in Harbury though, this is proper grown up appreciation of traditional brews.

The event takes place in Harbury Village hall. Despite having no less than 5 pubs, more drinking space is required when you have 60 different beers to chose from. With a bus stop outside you don't get a much more convenient location and for a change, public transport is well patronised in the sticks. As the weather was unseasonably (in the new world order where summer is like winter but with slightly higher temperatures) warm and dry everyone spilled out onto the grass outside.

For the uninitiated, a beer festival works like this:
When you go in you pay an entry fee. For that you get in (obviously, unless you are under 18 in which case you go back out again), a beer glass (which you can hand back for the return of a deposit at the end of the evening if you don't want a souvenir), a guide to the beer available and a card with a grid of 10 & 5 pence's.
You could wander round savouring the ambiance but most people head for one of the bars. There, the cognoscenti will examine the guide and pick accordingly. The rest of us just choose a name we fancy.
You order your drink, deciding between 1/3, 1/2 and a full pint and hand over your card as payment.
The barman fills the glass as required and crosses off some of the payment.
You drink the beer and repeat the above as long as you can either stand/run out of money(more cards can be bought)/the beer supply lasts/the event closes.

One couple, Mr & Mrs Tom Dunne, had in a stroke of genius, decided to hold their wedding reception at the festival. I can't think of a better way to do this - there are handy bars for the guests, you can give them all a beer voucher sheet and when they run out they are on their own, you have space for a band and everyone will remember the "do". They paid for the band, saving the organisers the cost too which was generous.

Anyway, what I should present is a detailed description of every beer drunk conjuring up the taste for you with my eloquent words. But I can't, partly because I'm not that good at writing and partly because I was drinking beer at the time and can't entirely remember each one in detail.

Here's some highlights though:
Strawberry Blonde - The guide says: 4.4%. Leadmill, Denby. A golden coloured beer with a bubbly white lead. This hoppy, slightly fruity beer has a dry malty finish. Some sweeter honey notes are apparent. - I say, it was a nice.
Pink Elephant - The guide says: 5.4%. Hampshire. Distinctively different; with pale malt and red wine grapes, which give a surreal flavour. Don't drink to excess, or you will see Pink Elephants - I say, it tasted like a mix of beer and wine and was very nice. Slightly pink too.
Old Field Perry - The guide says: 7.5%. Dry , yet still quite fruity. - I say it smelt like vinegar and tasted a bit like a liquidised barbecue but was very nice. Quite a sharp shock after the beer but very nice.
Black & Tan - The guide says: 4.3%. Houston, Renfrewshire (no not America, it's beer after all). A traditional mix of stout & pale ale - I say it's what was left at 10pm as the beer ran out. Quite nice though.
Navey Blue - The guide says: 4.5%. Church End, Warwickshire. A dry hopped golden beer soaked with fresh blueberries. It is hopped with Styrian Goldings and First Gold Hops - I say, it's blue beer. That is Beer that is Blue. Yes BLUE.

Obviously there were other beers and ciders and perry's (no lager obviously) but those are the ones I remember. The Scouts did some excellent food including hot dogs containing beef, horse radish and, wait for it, Beer.

The evening sort of drifted to a close as the larger than expected crowds finished off all the beer a bit earlier than might be expected but I don't think anyone really minded. For those that had been there all day, arriving at lunchtime and staying until the break at 4pm then heading off around the local pubs is apparently popular with some with rather stronger constitutions than mine, I doubt that they noticed anyway.

One thing that strikes you though is that no one was actually drunk. Mellow, relaxed or tire perhaps but not proper British town centre drunk. Even the bus home was quiet. We can drink like the French, we just need to right stuff that's all.

Photos on Flickr
Warwickshire CAMRA website