The Prince of Wales, my geographical local, had always been a perfectly functional Marston’s boozer until a few years back when it was bought by the XT/Animal brewery – brilliant, Hinckley’s first truly independent pub. The new boss was a great guy but a lousy landlord and was soon replaced by a boss who was neither a great guy, nor a great landlord. For the past year I, along with most other wouldbe locals, have been avoiding both him and The Prince. So I was delighted to see that the pub had been sold to a small local independent company (Brood) and was to be refurbed and reopened as Brood at The Prince of Wales, specialising in hard to find beers from around the country. It opened last Wednesday and first impressions are promising: friendly staff and tasty beer at an excellent price – all I ever ask. Soon it will start doing grub and this weekend it’s holding its first beer festival – over twenty ales. With the three other independent pubs that have opened in the past twelve months, this town is really coming up in the beer world and Michael is being happily spoilt.
For a variety of reasons, we seem to have missed many of the local summer events, so it was good to get to two of the final ones of the year. Last Saturday we went down to Hinckley rugby club for its annual sausage & cider festival. Whilst I do neither sausages nor cider, it’s usually a fun and friendly occasion and only £5 entry; I was looking forward to a couple of lively games, a few bands and a few beers. Unfortunately, after an hour of dark clouds pendulous, the sky went out and a mega storm hit – thunder and lightning so awful that the ref was forced to abandon the games and I was forced under the bar marquee. An hour later it was still monsooning torrentially, so we decided to call it a day and call a taxi to take us up to The Prince. Hey ho, shame for the organisers though – a real washout. The following day the weather improved and we strolled up to Stoke Golding[1] for their annual Stokefest – a free, family-friendly, festival featuring a large beer (Church End ales) tent and bands all day, with all monies raised going to local charities[2]. We sat on the grass in the sun and enjoyed Elvis; Blondie; a female-fronted heavy metal covers band; a dodgy heavy metal band from Wolverhampton and, as twilight fell, made our way home across the fields to the sound of Meatloaf – a good day.
And the building work seven weeks in? We’re still living in the she-shed but there’s a roof on the house now and it’s secure with doors and windows. The plasterers are in as I write and an end was in sight; then somebody decided that she needed a new kitchen – more time, more mess and another £12k onto an ever-rising bill; I also have to say goodbye to my, all form/no function, Smeg fridge freezer. It really would have been easier and cheaper to move, but I’m told that it will all be worth it in the end. Meanwhile, weekdays are spent avoiding the mess and hassle by taking long walks and bike rides (good job the weather is often being kind) – calories burned such can then be exchanged for the extra calories in the meals out that I’m forced to take and the additional beer necessary to accompany them. In the evenings, whilst not out, it’s often catch-up TV on an 8″buffering tablet screen with a Bluetooth speaker. I’ve been enjoying Fleabag – an adult, sugar free, version of Miranda? I now know all about the mass production of baked beans (5 million cans a day), crisps (5 million packs a day), crap sweets (100 million a day) and the more sedate manufacture of Brompton bikes (200 a day) – fascinating facts from Greg Wallace[3]that will come in handy in any pub quiz. And I’ve been reliving the eighties with Dominic Sandbrook, I remember them as being more about dressing up, going clubbing and and having fun than politics – fuck Thatcher, let’s dance.
Bookwise? It’s been a bit too busy/noisy for much reading – hard to concentrate, but I’ve managed to get through the first two volumes of John Updike’s Rabbit series which tells of the life of an Everyman living in small town middle America, from his leaving college in the fifties to (I assume) his death in the eighties. It’s well written and interesting, for I’m learning about the social, political and sexual changes in the US throughout the decades, but it’s hard going amidst the noise and constant interruptions. The gasman digging up the entire lane at the same time hasn’t helped either.
And the Mighty Mose? More torrential rains and hurricanes welcomed us back to our first game of the season at blustery Billesley two weeks ago. Fielding a side of mostly new players, we made a promising start scoring four tries (31-14) against Neath; last week we won at Carmarthen and tomorrow it’s our first game proper up at Fylde – an event that I was looking forward to, unfortunately circumstances dictate otherwise and I’ll have to wait till next season for my fun weekend in Blackpool – unless we get immediate promotion that is.
Finally, I notice that, in an attempt to keep farmers happy, the government are intent on killing even more badgers; so far every badger killed has cost you and I some £7½ grand – I’m sure such money could be spent in a far more productive manner. Anyway, gotta’ go – off for a Warwickshire stroll (If I pick up a couple of road-kill badgers en route do you think that I can hand them in and claim £15k and pay for the new kitchen?) and tonight it’s the Harbury beer festival. And then there’s the weekend beer festival at The Prince – spoilt Michael indeed. Oh, good luck to Helen Titchener whose trial begins next week – I do hope that Rob is revealed for the bastard that he is.
[1] Birthplace of the Tudor Dynasty, remember?
[2] Apparently they raised over £10k.
[3] Inside The Factory, BBC 2.