Someone once told me that dentistry is the perfect job for a woman: they get to inflict pain on men and get paid for it. I hasten to add that my own dentist is, of course, a fragrant vision of total professionalism. Anyway, having survived my ordeal in the dreaded chair, there was still plenty of the day to kill. Unfortunately the inclement weather precluded anything too overtly summerly. A little too early to hit the Margaritas, so I had to find something less useful to do. Luckily, despite the decline in marriages, divorce is still popular.
However, man cannot live by work alone. And as Oscar Wilde said, I can resist everything except temptation. So eventually I found myself enjoying a cheeky one in the Sundial. The next logical stop was the Towler, and who am I to argue with logic? Nice to see it busy and, more importantly, serving some excellent Golden Pippin. However, man cannot live by Golden Pippin alone-well he could try-so a bus ride into town seemed in order.
Once safely cocooned in the Trackside, I fell into discussion with Streaker Stan who was looking resplendent in his liveried shirt. Beer wise I sampled Hartleys Cumbria Way which tasted just like Robinsons should. More interesting was Wylam Gold Tankard (4%) which had a pleasing mix of oats and Willamette hops. This is the first Wylam beer that I’ve really liked. Generally they don’t seem to produce beers with any hops in the North East, seemingly content with mundane brown beers. Hence my initial wariness. Some very nice hinnys up there, mind. Anyhow, that did just fine for me until closing time. Apparently some people want to go home at 0100. What is the world coming to, I ask you?