Earlier in the week I had a phone call from Paddy saying that he had arranged a drink after work on Thursday as a welcoming back event in my honour. What he had failed to mention was that rather than staying in town he had decided it would be great fun to head up the Tyne Valley to the Boat House in Wylam. This made logistics a bit interesting and I decided that I would limit myself to a couple of drinks with everyone in town before they head off on the train. I didn’t think I would make it into work on the Friday if the night went on too long, which wouldn’t have been an auspicious start to my return to work.
I made my excuses at the rehab session and left before the relaxation talk that was planned and raced home to drop off my sweat drenched kit (you really wanted to know that didn’t you?) before making my way up to the Bodega. The selection of beers during the summer months in most pubs tends to veer towards a light, hopy “Golden this” or “Summer that” with no dark ales to be seen. So, rather than take a chance on something unknown and potentially hop laden, I fell back on the old, safe standby of Mordues “Workie Ticket”. Next stop, for no reason that I could think of other than ‘It’s next to the railway station’, was the Centurion bar who have never, it seems, heared of cask beer so I switched to JD and coke.
Now at this point I had planned to say my goodbyes to everyone as they headed off on the train but persuation, or the alcohol, got the better of me and before I knew it I was on the phone to Gill wondering if she fancied driving up to the Boat House for a half before driving the pair of us back home? Luckily she was in a good mood and encouraged by the good weather agreed to my proposal. Gill and I had only been to the Boat House once together as far as I was aware but it was a regular haunt of mine during my student days. Only 15 mins away on the train it was a great place to escape to and I spent many an evening there with Steve Whatshisname debating the finer points of any crap that came to mind.
Now obviously Steve’s surname was not Whatshisname but I’m damned if I can recall it just now. I can picture him as clearly as I can remember he still has one of my Hawkwind LP’s. Ho-hum, I’m sure his name will come to me at three in the morning sometime within the next week. I remember one particularly drunken evening celebrating the release of Nelson Mandela over several pints of dark, unctuous loveliness. Anyway...
To be honest the place doesn’t appear to have changed that much. It still looks rather ragged around the edges and the locals still drink more than can be good for them but the beer is of such good quality I can understand why. They also, to their credit, had a lovely dark beer from the Hawkshead Brewery whose name unfortunately escapes me for the moment. I’m making a habit of this today aren’t I? Gill duly arrived and after an hour or so of amiable chit chat we headed back home with the stated intention of returning before the summer is out.
I made my excuses at the rehab session and left before the relaxation talk that was planned and raced home to drop off my sweat drenched kit (you really wanted to know that didn’t you?) before making my way up to the Bodega. The selection of beers during the summer months in most pubs tends to veer towards a light, hopy “Golden this” or “Summer that” with no dark ales to be seen. So, rather than take a chance on something unknown and potentially hop laden, I fell back on the old, safe standby of Mordues “Workie Ticket”. Next stop, for no reason that I could think of other than ‘It’s next to the railway station’, was the Centurion bar who have never, it seems, heared of cask beer so I switched to JD and coke.
Now at this point I had planned to say my goodbyes to everyone as they headed off on the train but persuation, or the alcohol, got the better of me and before I knew it I was on the phone to Gill wondering if she fancied driving up to the Boat House for a half before driving the pair of us back home? Luckily she was in a good mood and encouraged by the good weather agreed to my proposal. Gill and I had only been to the Boat House once together as far as I was aware but it was a regular haunt of mine during my student days. Only 15 mins away on the train it was a great place to escape to and I spent many an evening there with Steve Whatshisname debating the finer points of any crap that came to mind.
Now obviously Steve’s surname was not Whatshisname but I’m damned if I can recall it just now. I can picture him as clearly as I can remember he still has one of my Hawkwind LP’s. Ho-hum, I’m sure his name will come to me at three in the morning sometime within the next week. I remember one particularly drunken evening celebrating the release of Nelson Mandela over several pints of dark, unctuous loveliness. Anyway...
To be honest the place doesn’t appear to have changed that much. It still looks rather ragged around the edges and the locals still drink more than can be good for them but the beer is of such good quality I can understand why. They also, to their credit, had a lovely dark beer from the Hawkshead Brewery whose name unfortunately escapes me for the moment. I’m making a habit of this today aren’t I? Gill duly arrived and after an hour or so of amiable chit chat we headed back home with the stated intention of returning before the summer is out.
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