Don't Fear The Reaper

Why are councils so determined to demonstrate their lack of knowledge and grasp of reality? In a worrying move, Bury Council have backed proposals to amend the Licensing Act 2003. At the moment, health issues are not part of the four objectives of the Act. However, there are plans afoot to change that.

The Sustainable Communities Act (SCA), a rather good piece of legislation, allows local authorities to propose amendments etc after community consultation. A good idea in theory. But here, we have a classic case of backdoor lawmaking, or doing the dirty as I like to call it. The idea is to add “protecting and improving public health” to the four existing objectives.

Now firstly, there’s the question of whether, if it really is that important, why wasn’t it included in the original legislation. Secondly, is the issue of consultation. Or rather lack of it. Who exactly have they consulted? Not me, obviously. If they had, I would have told them, in the immortal words of Edmund Trebus, to stick it up their chuffer.

But perhaps I’m being too hard on our local political representatives. Obviously they must have good reasons for supporting such a draconian measure. Only it seems not. They seem to have fallen for the propaganda continually spewed out by the anti-alcohol brigade. Apparently 25% of UK adults drink above the low risk level and locally some 20% are “hazardous drinkers.” Yes, they’re even using the meaningless jargon of the anti-booze Nazis.

Deputy council leader and fun-police spokesperson Yvonne Creswell actually had the nerve to say: "It has been proved that cheap alcohol has a key role in excessive drinking and damage to health and, at this time, local authorities have no legal power to consider the protection of improvement of public health.” Of course not, luv. That’s because it’s not your job. Your job is to ensure my bins get emptied. Repeat after me, bins, not booze.

Of course this is the same council who have used alcohol licensing as an excuse to print money. If they were really interested in public health, they’d take more of an interest in the type and number of licensed premises. There’s been quite a lot of local publicity about a glassing in the town centre that could leave the victim blind in one eye. He was glassed in Coolers, a filthy dive on Silver Street and atypical of the late night rat-holes that have been granted licenses in recent years. Evert time there’s a serious disturbance, it’s in one of these places and yet we have councillors waxing lyrical about alcohol and health. Physician, heal thyself.

Cider At The Continental

The Continental on South Meadow Lane, Preston is a surprising place. Tucked away by the River Ribble, seemingly without any chance of passing trade, you’d think it would struggle. And apparently it did. That was before it was given an enthusiastic and very successful makeover. Out went the image of an end of pier Stella drinking den and in came a contemporary, comfortable pub selling both good food and beer. And cider.

Yes, the excuse to pay a visit was cider. Specifically, their first international cider festival. This was obviously doing well as, despite arriving early on Saturday, we found a lot had been drunk on Friday night. Nine out of eleven perries had been drunk but there was still plenty to go at. We grabbed a seat in the large beer garden-despite (naturally) the BBC predicting rain; we had good weather all day.

Kicking off with the rather bland Thatcher’s Heritage-well it is only 4.9%, we counted them in and we counted them out in the toilets later. Gwynt Y Ddraig (try saying that after an afternoon on cider) Orchard Gold was of similar strength but was a medium cider with a definite touch of oak in the flavour. As did Hecks Kingston Black.

Of course we also sampled some old friends-Cheddar Valley and Morris Minor Mike’s favourite, Black Rat. Special mention has to go to Ross on Wye’s Dry Farmhouse. This started off as if it were going to remove the enamel from your teeth, but as Archimedes commented, “You actually get to like it after a bit”. However, man does not live by cider alone, so we felt compelled to try some beer before we left, including the excellent Phoenix Midsummer Madness

We called in at the GBG Black Horse on the way back to the station but this proved disappointing-as I think it was on my last visit. This seems to be one of those pubs that some elements of Camra tend to favour-slightly down at heel and with more emphasis on number of pumps, rather than quality. Leaving our pints of butterscotch, we headed across the street to Wetherspoons. The Titanic Iceberg here not only was much cheaper but in much better nick. A good last call before our trek back to the station.

Hello Children Everywhere

Fake charity and alcohol Nazis, Alcohol Concern are at it again. Their latest suggestion at ruining Britain’s drinking culture is to stop alcohol adverts being shown on TV before 9pm. The reason? Children are being exposed to horrendous images of booze during programmes such as X-Factor. And shockingly, a supermarket was found to be advertising WINE during Coronation Street. Saints preserve us.

The first thing that head honcho Don Shenker seems to have overlooked is that these programmes are aimed ostensibly at adults. Yes, adults and anyway it could be argued that responsibility for children during these programmes rests with their parents. If they were advertising during Bob the Builder, then he might have a point.

Another point he misses is rather obvious. Kids aren’t supposed to be able to buy the stuff. If a ten year old gets the urge for a bottle of Chablis after watching Corrie, then I expect measures to be in place to ensure the law is being enforced. After all, Chablis is wasted on the under 12s.

Of course what we really need is more alcohol advertising to try and halt the worrying decline in on sales. Let’s see adverts with kiddies in the pub enjoying foaming pints of Bitter or musing over the delights of Duvel. You know it makes sense.

Our Friends Electric

There’s been a lot of chatter recently about Sam Smiths and some rose tinted views on their prices and their seemingly axiomatic love for all things quality. It has to be said, though, that they are a funny beast and like any/all pub groups, get it wrong sometimes.

For example, they seem to have a dichotomic approach to real ale. Producing only one, you’d think it would be in their own best interest to support it wholeheartedly. However, swathes of their pubs don’t sell it and whist they lavish money and time on some of their estate, some of it is in need of TLC. And the imposition of a dumbed down menu on their managed houses didn’t go down well with publicans or customers.

Having said all that, I was surprised to see the recent change at Sinclairs in Manchester-surely one of their flagship boozers? They’ve gone all retro and ripped the handpumps out, replacing them with box fonts. Somewhat bizarre in a pub they are always trying to sell as “traditional”. Apparently the change has seen a drop in sales, as presumably people are creatures of habit and are ignorant of electric dispense-which I presume they now are. Whether this is just a temporary blip, time will only tell. And they really should stop insisting on plastic glasses inside.

Any Old Iron

I just knew it was going to be one of those days. Initially it did look promising-go and review a nice tearoom-Cafe Tor-in Helmshore. However, I was soon discombobulated. I was actually going past that and heading out to Holden Wood Antiques in Haslingden. They have a tearoom attached to the antiques centre.

The antiques (and tearoom) are interestingly housed in a listed former church. Turns out the antiques are a mix of the genuine-a very early Victorian rosewood wardrobe, for example and some cheap repro tat, presumably for the tourists who use the area as a base for exploring the North West.

The tearoom was clean and airy and service was good. I was less pleased with the actual food. Although the usual staples were on offer, I noted that, like several cafes nowadays, they were offering that pub great-the Ploughman’s. Curiosity got the better of me, even though I know that these places seldom get it right. And so it proved here. They’d prettified it. The plate was awash with salad accompanied by baby tomatoes, sliced cucumber and a diced apple. There were three slabs of cheese but only one small bread bun which promptly fell to pieces when I attempted to spread the frozen butter. And the cappuccino was the smallest I’ve seen. Eddie does assure me that the breakfasts are very good, however.

Somewhere Over The Rainbow

Talking of the eager legal one, it was at his suggestion that we enjoyed a post work shandy. Seems he has secured the entire front row for the forthcoming Nolans comeback tour and was keen to celebrate. He fancied exploring central Bury as it (can be) the place to be. I was a little wary after being stung the night before when the WHB and I ended up on a session of Welsh whisky in the local Spoons. However, fortune favours the brave. Or so they say.

Our first stop-the Trackside-immediately threw up a problem. The board didn’t look particularly appealing and the first (and last) drink in a session is crucial. Among the offerings were a dark Bowland, a honey beer and two undrinkable efforts by Bazens. We settled for Marstons Ashes Ale which tasted like, er, Marstons. The biggest problem was the temperature-they don’t have a conventional cellar and lacking cooling facilities, the beer tends to be on the warm side. Even more so during the summer.

A wander over to the Robert Peel enabled Eddie to slice off some of his Spoons tokens, the only problem being choice. Or rather lack of it. Naturally yesterday’s excellent George Wright Pure Blonde had gone. There was a rather less than seasonal treacle stout or Allgates Hair of the Dog. This turned out to be dark with some liquorice fruit and a slightly bitter finish.

The new kid on the block-Malt-is still finding its feet and has stopped opening Mon-Tues and has rationalised its beer range. However, it was still disappointing to find it only had Landlord on. An expedition into Manchester seemed the solution to our woes.

First stop was the Waterhouse and those vouchers again. Here we came across our old friend Storr which was in good condition. The Athenaeum did have three on, although a rather less than exciting range of John Smiths, Bombardier and Deuchars. The Paramount failed to tickle our taste buds, so we marched on to the Pevril for some guaranteed quality Copper Dragon.

Heading back, we called at the Bank. Constantly overlooked by Camra in favour of more traditional venues, it has built up a solid reputation for the quality of its food and drink. And service. As evidenced by barmaid par excellence, Kelly, who despite (or because of?) not being a drinker herself, insisted we sample several drinks, including the ciders.

We eventually settled for the St Austell IPA which packs a lot of flavour into its 3.4% body. An initial spicy fruit flavour gives way to a pleasingly dry finish, which I suspect is down to their use of Willamette hops. Before leaving we decided to try our old friend Hawkshead Gold. This was getting slightly past its best but the staff were happy to give a refund as time precluded another here.

Time for a last drink somewhere. With no beer on at Odd, we found ourselves at the Smithfield. This is much feted by the local Camra lot, who seem oblivious to its faults. It didn’t look too promising but it did have Mallinsons Heatwave on the bar, so we couldn’t go wrong, could we? Unfortunately this turned out to be the first Mallinsons to disappoint. Orange peel seemed to be mixed in with burnt malt. It wasn’t helped by the ridiculously high serving temperature, not welcome at any time but bizarre at post 11pm. Dejectedly we left it on the table and headed for Hunters where Eddie could satisfy his curry lust.

Aint No Cure For The Summertime Blues

The latest round of alcohol bullshit scaremongering has been launched by the Drinkaware “charity”. Well, they’re not what I’d call a real charity, as you won’t see collectors waving a tin in your face in the local shopping mall. Although I’d love to see them try it. No, their income comes from industry sources. Bizarrely some comes from brewers and even pubcos. The vast majority though-over £2 million-comes from alcohol killjoys The Portman Group. And yet Drinkaware claims “for the facts” as a motto. Yeah, right.

So what has Drinkaware got to teach us? It seems that they surveyed 2000 drinkers and discovered some amazing facts. Firstly, that people drink more when it’s warmer. Yes, 24% admitted to drinking more in the summer, compared to only 11% who drink more in the winter. Well knock me down with a feather and call me Daisy. Apparently it’s all down to wanting to sit outside in the sun and the fact that there are more social and sporting events in the summer. You live and learn, eh?

Shockingly 62% did not know that alcohol is a diuretic and even more shamefully, 18% of people do not keep track of their booze intake. What’s wrong with these people? Haven’t they heard of blogging? They save the best for last, though. Some 49% of people claim to have missed a key moment of their life because they were on (do they mean in?) the toilet at the time. And it’s alcohol’s fault. What puzzles me is how long these people were in (on) the toilet for? And what key moments did they miss? Was it their wedding, the birth of their firstborn or simply the milkman calling round?

And what do they conclude from all this? It’s obvious-that we should drink less and miss less. Hence the name of their new campaign. In response, I’m launching the Drink More, Don’t Be A Bore action plan. Coming to a billboard near you, shortly.