Choice overload is killing the beer market

After the excitement of last Friday's day trip to Manchester, this week ended on a much quieter note. As hinted at, in a couple of previous posts, I've been playing catch up in the garden and am pleased to report that with the planting out of the sweetcorn and the sunflowers, carefully nurtured from seed, my outstanding outdoor tasks are more or less complete. There’s obviously routine maintenance to be carried out, but by and large everything in the garden is under control.

I've been catching up too with a few of the beers I brought back from last month’s visit to Yorkshire. When all lined up, there were eight in total, all of them brewed locally in the county, and some from breweries that many of you will recognise. All of them were purchased Asda, and what's more there are two lots of “four beers for the price of three.” They obviously like their Asda in that part of West Yorkshire, as after visiting the chain’s large store in Shipley, we discovered an even larger superstore in Keighley.

I'd called in at the store to top up the car, with cut price diesel for the journey home, but it seemed rude not to take a look inside the store, and as well as the beers, I managed to pick up couple of summer T-shirts. Again, these were on offer, this time priced at £5 each, or two for £8. That's my summer wardrobe sorted, as these garments will go with the others I've been accumulating, in readiness for this autumn’s Mediterranean cruise.

More about that another time as what I want to do here, is ask if two of Asda's Yorkshire stores can not only offer a good deal on bottled beers, but promote local ones as well, why can't their outlets here in Kent do the same? I say this because on Friday, Eileen and I called in at Asda at King’s Hill, near West Malling ostensibly to stock up on boring stuff such as household cleaners and washing liquid (Mrs PBT's reckons Asda are the cheapest supermarket for these items). Whilst there I took a look at the beers, and guess what, I didn't see any locally brewed beers. The same applies to the company’s Tunbridge Wells outlet.

I'm not sure why this anomaly should come about, although I'm probably not wrong in thinking price plays an important role here. So whether Kent breweries are slower that their Yorkshire counterparts, when it comes to offering discounts, or whether the decision to buy local is left up to individual stores, isn’t clear. All very strange but come to think of it I haven't seen any local beers recently in Waitrose either. At one time their Tonbridge store was a regular stockist of both Westerham and Whitstable beers, but now, in common with most of the other local supermarkets it's national brands or nothing in the PBA (Premium Bottled Ales) sector. There’s also a load of garish looking cans filled with hazy, “citrus bombs” from the likes of Beavertown, Tiny Rebel, Northern Monk, and Brew Dog.

The canned craft sector is another mystery, and thinking back to visit I made earlier in the year, with West Kent CAMRA to the brand spanking new By the Horns brewery, at Salfords near Redhill, I still haven't seen any of that brewery’s cans on sale locally. This is despite the new plant churning out umpteen varieties of different beers, all packed in gaudy-looking can, by the caseload. I said at the time, and I shall say it again, “Where is all this beer going?” More to the point where is it being sold? Export perhaps, because beers from By the Horns have been conspicuous by their absence in local supermarkets and off-licenses.

It’s my opinion that the brewing industry has definitely reached the stage where capacity is way in excess of actual demand, and somewhat ironically, we're back to the situation that existed in the final quarter of the last century. This was when a number of large, red brick, Victorian brew houses, many dominating the towns where they were located, were operating at a level way below their actual capacity, as the demand for traditional top fermented ales, began to plummet. Driving this change was a change in public tastes, as drinkers switched to lager. The latter were often brewed in gleaming, modern looking, energy efficient plants, close to the motorway network, leaving many of these lovely old Victorian breweries as surplus to requirements.

When I think back of some of the breweries I visited, over the past half century, places such as Wethered’s at Marlow, Morland at Abingdon, Fremlin’s at Faversham, Caledonian in Edinburgh, Hall & Woodhouse at Blandford, Dorset, and even Young’s of Wandsworth. All of these breweries were massive undertakings, and I would lay money on them all operating well below their potential capacity. With the explosion in numbers of new small, independent brewers, in the first quarter of the new century, we are seeing the exact same issue of overcapacity, and this has led to a significant squeeze on the remaining family-owned brewers. 

These are the firms that survived the lean years of the “keg revolution” of the 60’s and 70’s, and whilst a resurgent demand for locally brewed cask ale, driven in the main by CAMRA, led to a reversal of their fortunes, at least for a while, some are still feeling the pinch. Furthermore, although the merges and takeovers, that had led to the formation of the Big Six brewers abated, during the early years of CAMRA, they soon started picking up pace again. Along with out and out takeovers, there were several instances of a falling out between family members, with some wanting to cash in their chips, whilst others from the family wanted to keep going. Oxford brewer Morrell’s is one example, where a family feud led to the brewery and its pubs being sold off, and there were several others as well. Ridleys, King & Barnes, Gales, and Young's spring to mind, and Lincolnshire brewer Batemans, nearly suffered the same fate. Fortunately, in that instance, company chairman George Bateman and his family were able to raise sufficient cash to buy out the shares of his remaining siblings and the brewery was saved.

There has obviously been a significant change in people's drinking habits, and the way in which they interact and socialise. Today, far more drinking is done in the home rather than in pubs and bars, and it's difficult to know where it's all going to end. It's one thing to have such a wide choice of different beers, although as the number of choices increases, so does the difficulty of knowing what is best. Many of us are creatures of habit, so does seeing supermarket shelves stacked high with arrays of garishly coloured cans of beer, often from breweries that only the most devoted of beer geeks will have heard of, improve our lives in any way?

Instead of increasing our freedom to have what we want, the paradox of choice suggests that having too many choices actually limits our freedom. Known as choice overload, choice paralysis, or the paradox of choice, people become overwhelmed when presented with too many options to choose from, and end up playing it safe, by sticking with brands they know and feel comfortable with. Attempting to overcome this paradox is one of the major issues facing new entrants to the beer market, and before going any further, let me say there are already far too many brewers trying to compete in a diminishing market.

I’m sure that I will be pilloried in CAMRA circles for saying so, but too much choice really is killing the beer market. Furthermore, when that choice is driven, by poorly formulated, un-balanced cloudy murk, brewed by the proverbial “man in a shed” it really is time to wake up and smell the coffee – or should that be the malt and hops!

 

 

 

Last knockings in a wet and windy Manchester

Moving swiftly on, as there were still a further eight pubs left unticked on my list – the one where Martin was complimentary about my handwriting. We had parted company, as he hurried off to the barbers shop, where his son works, to get a haircut, whilst I still had several more Manchester pubs to visit. The one I was heading for was the Peveril of the Peak, a famous Mancunian institution, and a real classic town boozer.

Surrounded by much taller office and apartment blocks of more recent origin, this small, wedge shaped, Victorian pub is a real survivor, standing shorn of the rest of the original terrace at the apex of a junction between two converging roads. The Peveril’s ornate tiled exterior hides an even more splendid interior, full of polished wood, stained glass, and traditional bench seating along the walls. According to What Pub, this unspoilt gem is still run by the city’s longest serving landlady, although she wasn’t evident when I squeezed inside, taking shelter from the increasingly wet weather that was doing its best to dampen spirits on an already damp, Friday afternoon.

I entered what I assumed was originally the public bar, from a door to the left of the building, and despite finding the place packed full of drinkers, not only managed to get served, but also found a bit of space along the bench seating, to rest my legs. With a final step total for the day of over 26,000, I must have reached at least 20k by that stage, so somewhere to park my behind was much appreciated. There was a good, mixed crowd of drinkers in the Peveril, that afternoon, but the service from the youngsters behind the bar was quick and efficient.

The cask beers were from Millstone (Tiger Rut), Titanic (Plum Porter – of course), and Brightside Brewing (Mancunian Hoppy Blonde). I went for the latter, and it proved a good choice, as according to my entry on Untappd, I rated it as the "best beer of the trip," so far! Despite the excellence of the beer, I’d reached that mid-afternoon lull, where you just want to slow things down, chill out and sit there, taking everything in. I’m reasonably certain I’d been to the Peveril before, but as I said before, one’s memory plays tricks after half a century. One thing I do remember is the pub sold Wilson’s ales back then, and despite the brewery and its brands being owned by Watney’s, Wilson’s Original Bitter was available in cask form, and wasn’t a bad drop.

Time was marching on, so I decided to head back towards Piccadilly. The intensity of the rain had increased by now, so I was glad of the pack-a-mack I’d brought with me. My route took me passed Manchester Central Station, once one of the city’s main railway terminals, but closed to trains in 1969, when it was deemed surplus to requirements. I remember the station from my time in Manchester. It had only been closed for a few years, but it had that uncared for and unkempt look about it, and was used, at the time as a car-park.

The Greater Manchester Council bought the building in 1982, and work began on converting it into an exhibition centre. This opened in 1986 as the Greater Manchester Exhibition and Conference Centre or G-Mex, although it was subsequently renamed Manchester Central, in honour of its railway history. The venue hosts the annual Manchester Beer Festival, held each January by the Manchester branches of CAMRA.

I was using my Smartphone to help me navigate my way back into the city centre, when I received a WhatsApp message from Martin, informing me of the time of his train home, and asking if I was about for a final half? After a further exchange of messages, we settled on the City Arms, close to the Central Library, so I made my way there, and found him waiting for me inside. The pub was packed, and with no chance of a seat we made our way to the bar, where the choice of beer was Odin, from Brightside Brewing, plus three offerings from Neptune. The latter are a micro-brewery from Merseyside.

I opted for Neptune's Wooden Ships, because it reminded me of the classic, laid-back track of the same name, recorded by both Jefferson Airplane and Crosby, Stills & Nash (I like both versions,
btw). This American style, pale ale was, according to my Untappd notes, slightly hazy, but perfectly drinkable. Untappd also records that I ticked this beer at the Vine Inn, which is next door, and the Oakham Citra that I enjoyed later at the Vine, was supped in the City Arms.- talk about the perils of retrospective entries, whilst under the influence of slightly too much beer! Returning briefly to the City Arms, we did manage to find a space to at least stand in peace, even though it was in the corridor, leading back out to the street. Sited behind the serving area, and with its own hatch for those desperate for a drink, it was a little cramped, but it was Friday afternoon in a city that knows how to have a good time.

Martin and I parted company after this. His train departed 45 minutes before mine, which meant I still had time for one last beer and one final pub from my list. As mentioned above, the Vine Inn is next door to the City Arms, and if you want an even longer pub stagger, without the “crawl” then the Waterhouse, which is the other side of the City Arms, is the pub for you. This JDW outlet also extends right through to the street behind, but there wasn’t time for a visit, it wasn't a pub back in 1975 and, more importantly, it wasn’t on the list.

I thanked Martin for his company, and for taking time out from his busy schedule as he set off, through the rain, to catch his train. I stepped straight into the Vine Inn and was surprised to find it a lot quieter than its immediate neighbour. I didn’t take any photos of the interior, but there was a room, at the left which extended to the rear of the pub. The bar counter was on the right, but there was also a separate drinking area, up some steps to the right of this. The lack of photographic evidence means the only beer I can report on is the Oakham Citra, which was in fine form.

It was my turn now to depart, so I took a leisurely stroll back to the station, stopping on the way to pick up a “meal deal” from the Greggs, opposite Piccadilly Gardens. The roast chicken sub-roll, with mayo and watercress, combined with the bag of crisps and bottle of water, formed the perfect “train picnic” – as my Irish work colleague would describe it, especially when combined with a coffee, purchased at the station. Retrospective apologies though, to the girl I sat next to, and the one opposite as well, although I’d like to think I consumed my feast as politely and delicately as possible.  

I only sat there, as I had a reserved seat, but with only a handful of additional passengers boarding at Stockport, I could perhaps have moved to an empty one. That also, might have seemed rude, but as I didn’t nod off, and start snoring, I stayed put. It was my immediate fellow travellers who dozed off, but the magazine I had with me, plus the ever-changing views from the window, as the train sped south, were sufficient to keep me awake. The train was around 20 minutes late into Euston, not that it mattered, as there was plenty of time for my connection back to Tonbridge. It was the Northern Line again, but this time to Charing Cross, which meant slightly less walking, than at London Bridge.

I really enjoyed my long overdue return to Manchester and the only puzzling thing is, why did I leave it so long? The only answer I can put forward is that life got in the way. Working 9-5, raising a family, changing jobs, and having to deal with the everyday stuff that life throws at us. There was also the six-year period when Eileen and I had our off-license, a task where we were virtually tied to the business, with very little free time for holidays or even the odd day out.

Don’t make the same mistake, make time for those trips, go and visit those friends and relatives you’ve been promising to see for ages, book that special holiday you’ve been promising yourself and set out on that long-distance trail you’ve wanted to do, since way back when. I’d like to think that with the new found freedom that comes from being semi-retired that I’ve at least been doing some of these things, but there’s still plenty more to do. The only question now, is what comes next?

 

 

 

Four classic, Mancunian pubs

You left me at the end of the last post, on the platform of Salford Crescent station waiting for a train back to Manchester Victoria. I'd recently received a message from Retired Martin, saying that he was in Sinclair’s Oyster Bar, in the Cathedral Gates area of the city. Awaiting my presence. Unfortunately, I had just missed a train, and the next one was showing as cancelled. It was then that the legendary friendliness of the Mancunian people came into play, something which took me back to my days as a student living in the city.

This was because I got chatting to a chap on the platform, who had missed the same train as me, but had a much longer journey. York was his final destination, And he was trying to work out the easiest and quickest route. He was also the perfect gentleman, helping two elderly ladies, by lifting their cases up onto the luggage rack. He also retrieved them, as the train pulled into Victoria station.

I wished him luck with his journey, and then hot footed it along towards Sinclair’s. The equally legendary Mancunian rain had started, but it was only a short walk and time is of the essence, I didn't stop to retrieve my lightweight, foldable raincoat from my backpack. I'd already passed Sinclair’s, along with the adjoining Old Wellington Inn earlier that morning, on my way down to the station. Fortunately, I'd stopped to take some photos, which is just as well consider the damp conditions that greeted my return.

Sinclair’s and the Old Wellington were two of the top pubs on my list of must visit establishments, not only because of that undoubted age, but more importantly because they were survivors, pubs that somehow managed to avoid the wrecking ball and the all-pervasive mantra of the 60s and 70s, which was to knock it all down and start again. I think it was the writer Richard Boston who famously said that Manchester's city fathers had decreed, no brick or stone should be allowed to lie on top of another for more than 30 years.

I mentioned in the post before last, when I was enthusing about my forthcoming visit, that these two ancient watering holes were under wraps for most of the time I lived in the city. This was when the Arndale shopping centre was being constructed around them. Half a century is a long period of time, and the memory sometimes plays tricks, but I have a feeling I did manage to visit the Old Wellington shortly after it reopened, This would have been shortly before I left Manchester. Twenty years afterwards, following the massive IRA bomb, that devastated a large section of the city centre, the Wellington and Sinclair’s were once again moved to their current, and more appropriate positions, in the vicinity of Manchester Cathedral.

According to Martin’s earlier message, he was upstairs. More importantly he had confirmed that this Samuel Smiths pub was stocking hand-pulled Old Brewery Bitter, and that it was on good form. I saw the pumps for myself as I entered the pub, but thinking, as in Sam’s legendary London watering hole - the Chandos, near Trafalgar Square, that Sinclair’s would have a bar upstairs as well. It did, but it was closed, so after greeting Martin I headed back down the steep wooden staircase and ordered myself a pint of Tadcaster’s finest.  

Rich, creamy and topped with that famous Yorkshire head, the OBB was indeed on top form, and priced at just £3 a pint, it was a real bargain as well. It was also the first pint of the day too and was an excellent beer to begin a day’s drinking. The upstairs rooms at Sinclair’s remind me of those at the Chandos, although the notices reminding customers of Sam Smith’s quiet pub policy with its strict ban on the use of mobile devices, are normally in evidence at the company’s London pubs.

Martin and I cracked the odd joke about it, and it didn't actually stop me from sneaking a couple of photos of a secluded part of the upstairs area, but these were the only ones I was brave enough to take. I told Martin it was good of him to take time out from his busy schedule, and pop across the Pennines from his home in Sheffield, to meet up and act as my semi-official tour guide. I had produced a list of a dozen city centre pubs that I thought worthy of visiting and had posted it earlier on the Beer & Pubs Forum. We were obviously not going to get round all of them, and in the end, I visited six, whilst Martin did four. The reason for the discrepancy was RM had combined his Manchester visit with an obligatory haircut, as his youngest son is a qualified barber, who lives and works in the city.

Martin claimed we were lucky to get a seat at Sinclair’s, because had it been a match day for either of Manchester’s two main football clubs, the place would have been absolutely rammed. As it was, we were able to enjoy an excellent pint of OBB, whilst catching up on the latest pub and beer news. The subject of lunch came up, as did that of “must visit” pubs. One of these was the Marble Arch, in Rochdale Road on the edge of the city’s northern quarter. The award-winning Marble beers were at one time brewed at the pub, but the company now has its own stand-alone brewery, in Salford.

Martin recommended the food offering at the Marble Arch, but on the way suggested we call in at the Hare & Hounds, one of two pubs quite close to one another in Shudehill. The other pub is the Lower Turks Head, and this one looked the most traditional of the pair, certainly on the outside. The Hare & Hounds is on CAMRA’s National Inventory of historic pubs, due to its interior of exceptional national, and historical importance.

The Hare & Hounds it was then, which suited me as I've been ticking pubs listed on this inventory, for many years. Both Robinson’s and Holt's Bitter was available, and to our minds seemed a better alternative to Robinson’s Dizzy Blonde. We watched as our pints were pulled with a nice, thick, creamy head, and as the beer settled in the glass, we made our way to the front room of the pub where there were some spare seats. We continued catching up on events, holiday plans, etc, before heading up hill towards the Rochdale Road, and the Marble Arch pub.

Unfortunately, the rain that had eased off earlier, returned with a vengeance, and we were quite wet by the time we reached the sanctuary of the pub. This was my first visit to the Marble Arch, and I have to say what a smashing unspoilt boozer it was, with a wide range of Marble beers on offer. Beer, food, and conversation appeared to be the order of the day, with no noisy distractions such a jukebox or a TV. There were six cask ales on sale at the bar, plus a number of keg beers, all brewed by Marble. I opted for Manchester Bitter, even though I was tempted to go for the beer called “Pint”, just so I could have the perverse pleasure of requesting “a pint of pint!”

I've had the latter beer several times, but I don't think I've ever tried the Manchester Bitter, and can report that this hoppy, dry tasting, and very bitter beer really did hit the spot. Martin took the opportunity to order himself a burger and chips, so I followed suit. Being conscious of my figure, and also wanting to leave room for some beer, I went for the mini burger option instead. It was very good when it arrived, so much so that I was left thinking I should have gone for the full-size version!

As I said earlier, the Marble Arch was a real drinkers pub and it's probably just as well, we got there when we did, because it was starting to fill up with a good mix of customers. It was the sort of pub I could have spent the rest of the afternoon in. There were other places to visit, and Martin also needed that promised haircut. We headed back into the city down towards the Arndale Centre and then cut through towards the town hall, and the Central Library. Shortly afterwards we parted company for a while, with Martin heading off to the barbers, and me making my way towards another classic pub.

You will need to wait for the next post, to find out what it was, but rest assured, it was another classic and unspoiled Manchester pub, and one worth making a bit of a detour, to find.

Manchester for Salford University

Friday's day trip to Manchester was most enjoyable, and the perfect day out, where everything worked, even though not always quite as intended.  My itinerary had been planned around a 9:20 am arrival in Manchester, which would allow me time to revisit my old alma mater. That isn’t a term I’d normally use, as despite its derivation it’s one used much more by our American friends, than it is over here. My “nurturing mother,” to use the literal translation of this Latin term, is the University of Salford, an institution where I studied at from early October 1973 through to late June 1976.

The 5:00 am start was worth it, and with the sun having only just risen, when I left the house, combined with the almost told absence our vehicles, the only sound was that of birdsong. It was nice to be out and about early for change, although it's not something I want to make a habit of. I walked down to Tonbridge station and jumped on the 5:30 am train to London Bridge. I was actually booked on the 5:40 departure, but I'm a great believer in getting to one’s destination earlier should the opportunity arise.

From London Bridge there are the joys of the Northern Line, and whilst the revamped overground station has been a great success, it's now quite a route march down to the underground, in order to make my cross London connection to Euston. I still arrived in plenty of time, enough to grab some breakfast, as despite setting my alarm clock early, it wasn’t early enough, not even for a quick bowl of cereal, before leaving home.

Unfortunately, my choice of “food to go” wasn't a good one, as the "Ultimate Breakfast Roll" from Upper Crust, failed to deliver, certainly in terms of taste. Grilled bacon, and sliced sausage, topped with a fried egg slapped in a bun and then re- heated in a powerful microwave, seemed like a good enough bet, but whilst the end result was filling, it was totally lacking in taste, and the only saving grace was the cup of flat white coffee.

There is an outdoor space in front of the station, complete with fixed, sturdy, wipe down tables and benches. It is adjacent to where the new HS2 Terminal is supposedly being built. I say supposedly, as a strapped for cash, UK Government, has put the new station building on hold for the next two years, and possibly longer, leaving an unsightly hole in the ground. This abandonment must seem particularly galling to all the businesses whose premises were purchased (and demolished), to make way for the new station, and the uncertainty surrounding yet more dithering by a government that has run out of ideas, continues to affect affecting the lives of local residents and business owners alike.

My train was shown as running on time, and as soon as the departure platform was announced I made my way down slope and boarded the 7:13 am Avanti West Coast service to Manchester Piccadilly. The train was comfortable, clean, and above all fast, the journey taking a mere two hours and 8 minutes, with just three stops on the way (Nuneaton, Stoke on Trent, and Stockport). Avanti have come in for a lot of criticism since taking over the West coast mainline franchise from Virgin Rail, but on this occasion, everything worked like clockwork (the same applied on the return journey as well), and on a dull an overcast morning, plagued by intermittent drizzle, I walked out of Piccadilly station for the first time in nearly 50 years, and headed into the heart of Manchester.

My plan was to catch a train to Salford Crescent station, opposite the university, but my research wasn’t sufficiently thorough, as it was only after buying my ticket at Manchester Victoria, that I discovered I could have travelled there from Piccadilly. It didn't really matter, because the walk through the city’s main shopping areas, allowed me to experience central Manchester up close, for the first time, in nearly half a century. Considerably more of the centre has been pedestrianised than I remember, but the most striking thing was the Arndale Centre, completely rebuilt after the devastating IRA bomb of 1996, that devastated a wide area of central Manchester, including the hideous looking Arndale Centre.

Work on the centre was well underway by the time I arrived in Manchester, and towards the end of my time in the city, the Arndale Centre opened to much fanfare. Like many locals, I was not alone in thinking that the Arndale, with its exterior of hideous yellow tiles, assembled a public toilet! It’s probably too harsh a comment to make, given the people injured by the blast, the businesses destroyed and the huge cost of rebuilding the city centre, but from an aesthetic and practical point of view, the Provisional IRA did Manchester a favour, which wasn’t just confined to the removal of those awful, yellow tiles.

Walking towards Victoria station, the thing that struck me most is the reconstructed centre looks outward, with shops along many of the streets bordered by the centre. In the 1970s original, the majority of retail outlets were inward looking and could only be accessed from inside the Arndale itself. So, despite the destruction, the injuries, and the enormous cost of the rebuild, Manchester at last appears to have a shopping centre it can be proud of.

The University of Salford was also much changed, as I discovered after exiting Salford Crescent station, and walking the short distance to my former seat of learning. Salford Uni was a very young institution back in the 1970s, and whilst plans had been drawn up to expand the university, (including a model of what the place would look like in the future), these had obviously changed during the intervening years. Fortunately, there are still a number of buildings in existence today, that I recognised from my time there.

These included the grand and ornate Peel Building, constructed in 1896, as Salford’s Technology Institute and College, which was the origin of today’s university. Its attractive, red brick and sculpted terracotta façade looks out across a lawn towards another building I recognised, and it was there that I headed to first. Known as the Maxwell Building, this 1960’s construction overlooks the neighbouring Peel Park, as well as the River Irwell. I entered and after telling the lady at reception that I was a former student asked if it was OK for me to have a wander around the site. She told me that would be fine, and although term had finished for the academic year, some of the buildings were still open, and I could take a look inside them, should I wish.

I thanked her and headed off for a nostalgia tour around the site. On the way I stopped for a look inside the red-brick, Salford Museum & Art Gallery, an institution which housed paintings from the city's most famous, and best-known artist, the painter LS Lowry. The art gallery in particular, had provided a welcome refuge from academia, so I was looking forward to seeing some of Lowry’s work. I of course, should have realised that the paintings have now, all been rehoused in the purpose built, Lowry Centre, at Salford Quays.

Fortunately, one memorable painting I remember from my student days was still on display, and it had the same impression on me, as it did nearly 50 years ago. It is by the English painter, John Charles Dollman, and is titled, “Famine." The photo above, probably doesn’t do it justice, but with its vision of a shrouded “death” surrounded by a pack of starving wolves, set against the backdrop of a bleak and frozen landscape, it’s enough send shivers down anyone’s spine!

Time was getting on, so after a quick tour of the rest of the Peel Park Campus, where the only building I recognised was University House – home then, and now of the Students Union. This was a space where both students, staff and academics could relax, enjoy a drink, in one of two bars, or a meal in the ground floor restaurant. With term time over, it wasn’t very busy, so I made my way back to the station, ready to head back into central Manchester. On the way I received a WhatsApp message, from pub-ticker extraordinaire, Retired Martin, saying he would meet me at Sinclair’s Oyster House, close to Manchester Cathedral.

The message wasn’t completely out of the blue, as we had provisionally arranged to meet up, depending on Martin’s other commitments, so it was a nice surprise to hear from him, frustrated only by my having just missed a train and then finding the following one cancelled. I shall continue the narrative in the next post, as it details the four city centre pubs we visited together, as well as the two I called into on my own.