The day started badly. I woke up with the mother of all hangovers. I had to be at the pub by 10:00am. Not good. After managing to get in and out of the shower I made it on time. Only NRH and Nick had managed to do the same.
The first item on the agenda was a full English breakfast. I wasn't sure I was up to it but it seemed to do the trick. However, I was not up to the first pint of the day. All the lads ordered pints of the local bitter. I steadfastly stuck to my orange juice. No beer before 12:00pm and I planned on sticking to it. Andy was first to pour scorn on the idea pointing out that the entire bus load were already on the first pint. I was sticking to my guns.
A couple of orange juices later and the shout that the bus was leaving in 5 minutes came. Salvation! I had managed to stay alcohol free until 11:30 despite the constant barrage of abuse. Surely the first pub stop would be after the 12pm rule. Nick soon put paid to those ideas "You have not seen how much booze they have loaded on the bus have you!".
Tour guide announces itinerary
With the bus hurtling along Mossley road, Charles the landlord and organiser of the trip was on the microphone outlining the plans of the day. He soon followed with the first of many beer runs down the coach. So, at 11:40am I was defeated. A bottle of Peroni in hand. Well, it was 12:40pm in Spain.
The first stop was going to be the "Sweatingham Arms". Didn't sound too inviting. The fact that it was from "The Good Beer Guide" didn't enhance its appeal. Thoughts of beer-bellied blokes with beards enthusing over the latest pint of some obscurely named ale came to mind. The pub was somewhere near Jodrell Bank, down a small winding country lane. It was a beautiful, picturesque country pub with a large beer garden. What did the locals make of a football coach turning up and us lot piling out! Not in Cheshire.
The Sweatingham Arms.
It was a pleasant enough day with the Sun threatening to poke through the clouds. We sat out in the garden with our first pints, enjoying the day. So much so, after 3 more we completely forgot about the football. We were all for staying there instead until the final call for the bus was given a 2pm. 10 minutes later and we were off.
It was going to be a tight call whether we made it on time. A quick stop to hide the booze in the boot before we hit Crewe (its illegal apparently) and we arrived. 5 Minutes to kick off. The least said about the game the better. Latics were awful. No fight, no passion and no idea. Crewe were there for the taking, nothing to play for. It could have been 3-0 at half time. Instead it was just the 1. Comical defending mix up between keeper & Greegan. It never got any better and we were 2-0 down before Latics tried to play. A late consolation goal from Wellens (a screamer from 20 yards) was all to cheer us up. Even the 6 minutes of injury time just seemed to delay the inevitable. Lost 2-1, but results going our way meant we were still in the play off positions. A stay of execution for another week.
View from Gresty Road.
The mood on the coach was subdued until the celebratory pink champagne was opened. Well, it was chilled and we were still in the play-offs. The mood must have affected the driver and navigator as we couldn't find the first pub. 30 Minutes later and we drive past the ground again. Salt in the wounds. Still, we managed to down a few more Peroni's before arriving at the next pub stop.
This was the type of pub that I was expecting from the real ale brigade. However, the beer had won awards and the lads managed to convert me from Lager to Bitter (for one night only). Not bad but I was already half gone by this time.
First "Real" pint.
The last stop of the tour was another "middle of nowhere" place in the hills. It was a must visit as the landlord and stated that they were holding a beer festival. The pub, The Hanging Gate was in a stunning location. The views were spectacular. The real ale brigade were a little disappointed in the marque promised with the beer festival. It was more of a tent. However, everyone was happy in the surroundings. Except the bus driver. He wanted to leave by 7pm. We all boarded around 8 ish.
NRH gets the beer's in.
To trip home was bizarre to say the least. Somehow, from Stockport we ended up driving through Buxton. Anyway, we got back to the White Hart by 9:30pm. A few more pints and even after the defeat, a good night was had by all.
Lovely view from Hanging Gate.
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