A tale of two cities drinking. Or rather a town and a city. After the formalities, it was time to down a few pints of Holts. This led to a quick session on shorts, and then a little trip into Manchester. And who should be lurking round in the backstreets and alleys, but the WHB. We rendezvoused in the English Lounge for convenience. I’ve never spent any time in it during the day, my visits being nocturnal and it was interesting to see who frequents it during daylight. For a city centre venue it didn’t seem very busy, although it was past lunchtime, when presumably they do a fair trade. I always thought that this place doesn’t attract the clientele it was designed to. And looking round at the guys in vests and shorts, complete with bubblegum blondes, I was convinced I was right.
However, it’s all about the beer. And it seems that this is one of those venues that are better in the day. A good range was on, with a couple of Copper Dragon beers amongst them. I settled on Golden Pippin-very predictable, yes, but in very condition I must say. The Whitefield Holts Bandit lived up to his name by balking at the £5.50 a round price, but hey, we’re not in Kansas anymore. Or even Whitefield. All good things must come to an end, however, and so I found myself back in Bury. Not ready to call it a day yet, I headed for the Dogs and some half decent Roosters. Getting ready to wind down, I called in at the Towler for yet more Golden Pippin. No, I never tire of it, in case you wondered.
But my plans for a nightcap as the sun sets were rudely interrupted. Eddie, the eager, legal beagle was passing through and could I join him for a highball or two? Quickly stopping at home en route for a clothes change, I met up with him at the Peel. A burger and a pint of Wickwar was the order of the day before moving onto the TS. We settled on Wadworth Horizon, an easy drinking 4% golden beer. A couple of pints and soon last orders were ringing round the room. Horizon had proved too popular and had gone, so we girded our loins and sank some Marble Ginger. After all the Copper Dragon I’d had, it actually didn’t have its usual bite.
It was at this rather late stage of proceedings that things began to unravel somewhat. Mother’s best, never-to-be-lost brolly had gone MIA. And it was raining. Eddie made a dash for the last tram only to find he was about 20 minutes too late. He had no choice but to start the long, wet, walk back to Eddie senior’s ranch. I don’t think the Manx Minx was best pleased. Me? I somehow managed to lose my taxi fare and also ended up trudging home in the unforgiving rain. Que sera, sera as the Greeks use to say.