A Tale of Danger,A Lust for Blood, & an Unlikely Channel Swim by Man in a Hat.

Sorry I’m Late

It’s time I reported back on my extended trip following County away at Dover and then Bromley. My excuse for being so late? Blame the Old Tom. This is a bad time of year for me.

The whole trip was booked pre-season, as soon as it became clear that the only sensible way to do Dover and Bromley was to do the two games in one round trip.

We also realised that Dover had little to offer, not to mention it was Brexit weekend, so presumably they would be throwing up the barricades and all that, so we’d decided to base ourselves in Canterbury, which was sort of handy for both Dover and Bromley, and looked excellent for real ale, on paper at least.

So we set off on a six day journey following County playing back-to-back away games, both south of the Smoke.

The plan was simple enough, four nights in Canterbury then one in Bromley on the way home. Once again, it’s Stafford, #39 and Man-in-a-Hat making the trip.

The trip down to Canterbury was remarkably uneventful, certainly when compared with the eleventh-hour trip to York when the train we were booked on was cancelled, but somehow, we ended up getting to York half an hour earlier than we would have done. More of York later.

A word about the travel assistance we booked at Euston Station to help us navigate the Tube. Very good indeed. Before we knew it, we were sat in a taxi on the way to the Premier Inn we would call home for the next four nights.

#39 didn’t come out to play Friday afternoon / evening, but Stafford and I managed to explore the Foundry, Thomas Becket, Seven Stars, Bell & Crown, Dolphin, Parrot and the Thomas Tallis Alehouse before last orders were called.

A jolly good effort, picking off 3 of the 6 pubs listed in the Good Beer Guide in the process. Well, better save some for Sunday.

The highlight was probably the Thomas Tallis Alehouse. Very quirky and the best ale of the night, the Cast Iron Stout from Iron Pier.

York Trip

I’d better bring you up to date regarding York.

We stayed over for two nights at a Sam Smith’s pub called the Sea Horse Hotel situated just outside the city walls. There was no television (even in the rooms), no mobile devices allowed inside, the bar was cash only, and of course, no swearing. Lovely.

Both of our rooms were huge, sleeping for 4, well worth bearing in mind should County end up going back to York in the Trophy.

I was in room 101, but as you can see, it bore little resemblance to the torture chamber in the basement of the Ministry of Love (1984). 

In the Sea Horse, it cost £3.34 for a pint of light mild and a pint of bitter. Compare that with the £7.45 we had to pay in the Dolphin at Canterbury for a pint and a half of Timothy Taylor’s Landlord!

My youngest nephew had just started at York University, so we decided to do full hospitality for the game, meaning that we got to meet Sean Newton afterwards, who had deservedly been awarded Man-of-the-Match.  

I regret to advise that we failed to get around all of the fourteen York pubs featured in the Good Beer Guide, but of those we did manage, the stand out ones were the Blue Bell (a real trip back in time) for the Ruby Mild from Rudgate, and surprisingly, the Gillygate for the excellent Barnsley Bitter from Acorn. Pivni was also outstanding of course.

As we were spending some time mixing with students, we ended up in some less decent boozers, including the Keystone and Lowther, at which the beer offering was so woeful I ended up having an Irish Coffee (well, it was before midday I suppose).

I must also mention the Burtonstow Working Mens Club, where we were taken after the game by a friendly local. My first ever pint of A Knights Ale from Isaac Poad. It was all a bit Peter Kay, but very enjoyable none-the-less.

Dangerous Business Following County!

Anyway, we’re now on our way to Dover.

I’m wearing Bert’s Bowler to Dover and to Bromley, which guarantees County at least two draws. You may recall that this particular hat was sacked off towards the back end of last season when it became apparent that draws weren’t much use (ok, I should have worn it at Chorley!). You can spot Bert’s Bowler being modelled by various in most of the pictures below.

We start off in Lanes where I try Lemon Scream from Kent brewing - yikes! Some of the Blue Army we encounter claim they are en route to Bromley via Belgium. 

We learn of a short-cut to the ground from the Brewery we plan to visit, before a mandatory hug off the Landlady upon leaving (must have been glad to see us go?).

Inevitably, we encounter plenty more County supporters at the Eight Bells (Wetherspoons). 

Then we move on to the White Horse, where we decide that the Breakwater Brewery Tap will have to wait until after the game in order to do it justice.

If you swim the Channel, you’re allowed to graffiti your name on the walls inside the White Horse. I told them I was planning to, but no dice, I am denied the pen. 

We share a taxi to the ground with Malcolm and Dan and also take the opportunity to book a taxi to the Breakwater Brewery Taproom after the game on the way. A cunning plan if ever there was one. I’m feeling very pleased with myself.

There is only one way into the ground as an away fan, up a steep windy path through the woods. What a climb! We only just make kick-off despite arriving at the ground shortly after 2.30pm. In fact, #39 had to stop for a breather, but we leave him. He knows where to find us.

It's raining by the time we take our seats, and we’ve missed the first five minutes due to the need, in the absence of any pies, to procure a Crabble Burger. My remembrance scarf is now christened with mustard run

Fifteen minutes in and still no sign of #39, so I decide to check with a steward. Apparently, they had to send a buggy to get him, but he’s ok. What a lightweight!

Then, after a further fifteen minutes, the Chief Steward wants a word with me, during which I miss Frank’s goal (a worldie apparently), as he’s stood directly in front of me.

Turns out that #39 is not ok, and is being shipped off to hospital in an ambulance. I’ve heard the old football taunting song from the 70s about going home in an ambulance, but this is ridiculous.

Someone needs to go with him. That someone is me. We arrange for Stafford to be dropped back in Canterbury by Marcus (fellow historian) after the game.

So there I am, in the back of an ambulance with an unconscious #39 laid out on a trolley, hooked up to a drip and on oxygen (not me, #39 I mean).

We are duly delivered to Accident & Emergency at the William Harvey Hospital in Ashford.

Within thirty minutes, #39 is back in the world of the living and wants away as soon as possible! However, there are tests aplenty to go through first.

By 7pm he’s hankering for a KFC, so I know he’s fine, but the Doctors won’t have it. I get a text confirming that Stafford is safely ensconced back in the hotel in Canterbury.

As you would expect, there is plenty of entertainment on offer at an A&E Department on a Saturday night. The highlights include trying to get a blood sample out of Norman, who is certainly in his eighties, and has already managed to land one on one of the nurses.

Another Lady in her eighties is constantly going on about food, which isn’t helping #39, who is by now starving, as am I.

Norman’s resistance is eventually worn down, and a nurse called Juliet holds the long sought after blood sample aloft in triumph.

By this time, #39 is hooked up to a bag of fluids and more tests are being discussed. The same tests over again to be precise.

On the dot of 10pm, #39 disconnects himself from his drip and decides he is leaving, which he does without a word to anyone, including me.

Shortly, his head pops around the corner and he asks me if I’m coming. I decide that my priority is #39, so I join in with the escape.

We order a taxi back to Canterbury, acquire food and water from Tesco Express for #39, and that is that.

I’m back in my hotel room, stone cold sober, having missed a famous County away win, with nothing but the football results and updated league to comfort me.

That Rings a Bell

We plan to finish off Canterbury today, leaving tomorrow free for a day-trip to Whitstable.

Fittingly, we start off in the Phoenix, and #39 has certainly risen phoenix-like from the ashes of Ashford A&E. He seems on good form, so the trip can proceed as planned, i.e. we can carry on to Bromley rather than go back to Stockport.

I find myself musing about how cool it would be to keel over whilst following County away. Instant kudos. Immediate promotion to legendary status. Might even become a quiz question in years to come? Not to mention the inconvenience caused to all and sundry.

I decide not to share my thoughts with #39, just in case it gives him ideas. After all, we still have Bromley to come.

We’re in the right part of the world for green-hopped beers, so I’m eager to try the Good as Goldings ale from Whitstable Brewing. Very nice too.

We get chatting to a bloke stood at the bar who claims that his boss is a County fan called Andy.

The next pub we call at is the Eight Bells, which is in the Good Beer Guide, as is the Eight Bells in Dover, which as you’ll recall is the Wetherspoons there.

There are nineteen pubs in the UK called the Eight Bells, eighteen of which serve real ale. The name Eight Bells relates to the timing of ships’ watches in the age of sail.

Watches were four hours long and timed using a 30 minute hourglass, with bells being struck every time the glass was turned. So, to cut a long story short, eight bells signified the end of a watch, which presumably meant that you could tuck into your rum rations.

The Unicorn, the Old Butter Market, the City Arms and the New Inn. Canterbury is done!

All very good today, with only the Unicorn scoring under 3 (out of 5) for beer, apart from the Black Griffin which had no ale at all.

Hammer Time

A perusal of the football results over the weekend reveals that the Man-in-a-Hat bet came in, i.e. City, Liverpool, Celtic and Ranger all won, so I hope you were all on it.

Since I recommended the bet, it has only failed once, i.e. provided no return, so you should all be well up by now. Don’t forget, any winnings have to be spent following County, preferably away.

Our planned day trip to Whitstable to see if we can spot Peter Cushing buying vegetables on his bicycle goes ahead. Four pubs in the Good Beer Guide to find, one of which doesn’t open until 6pm on Mondays, so that may have to be sacrificed. Should be a nice steady day.

We, i.e. I, decide to take the coastal route into town after we get off the train. This turns out to be far from picturesque and a lot further than we thought.

What was I thinking? I’ve already managed to hospitalise #39 once, and now I’m at it again!

Shortly before noon, we are safely resting up in the Quayside, where we get a nice window seat. No sign of Peter Cushing yet.

After checking out the Pearson’s Arms (not in the Guide) and enjoying some Hophead from Dark Star whilst grabbing something to eat, it’s off to our first GBG pub, the Black Dog.

Very good in here, and we end up lingering as a result. The Session Pale from Kent Brewing is excellent (served by gravity). Plenty of conversation with the locals, including how often Peter Cushing is seen around. Does he come out on Mondays?

We pass the Twelve Taps as it is closed Mondays. Good job as well. Although this place is listed in the Good Beer Guide there isn’t a single hand-pull in sight. Eleven taps, all keg! What’s that all about? There is only so much provocation I can handle.

Next up, the Ship Centurion, another pub featured in the Good Beer Guide, where I enjoy the New Zealand Pale from Canterbury Ales, hand-pulled of course.

If we’re going to find Peter Cushing, we’re going to have to go to the local Wetherspoons which is named after him.

The Blue Top from the Old Dairy Brewery isn’t very good, but we at last get to the bottom of why we haven’t seen Peter Cushing buying vegetables. He died in 1994! We’re a mere 25 years late.

Anyway, if you want to hear the Jellybottys song about Peter Cushing buying vegetables on his bicycle in Whitstable, try this link:- http://jellybottys.com/peter-cushing-lives-in-whitstable-song-video-downloads/

But how come I saw him recently in the Star Wars film Rogue One? CGI! What the hell is that? Grand Moff Tarkin was played by Guy Henry and they then projected a CG image of Cushing’s face on top. What an age to be alive!  

As Grand Moff Tarkin is dead (again), why can’t Whitstable Council get hold of the CGI version and put it to work buying vegetables in Whitstable? Surely CGIs can ride bikes?

To cut a long story short, all this dilly-dallying means that the final Good Beer Guide pub is now open, the Handsome Sam, where we also get stuck (another great pub), and end up getting a taxi back to Canterbury. We’re just so decadent!

The pub is named after a cat that died back in 2014. Is anyone alive in Whitstable that should be? They also serve mead here, which is a weakness of mine, hence the taxi I suspect. 

Briefly in Bromley

As I sit on the train to Bromley, I realise that this trip is starting to take its toll. Why did I have to have mead last night?

Soon we’re arriving at South Bromley Station, and after a quick tour of the local area, we eventually find the entrance to the hotel we’re staying at. Premier Inn again.

For some reason, #39 needs rest, so Stafford and I set off to make the most of our one night in Bromley.

The first pub we try is the Partridge, where we encounter Fletch and Tony.

The Greyhound (Wetherspoons) provides the excellent Red McGregor before we move onto the Star & Garter, where we not only find the astounding Broken Dream Breakfast Stout from Siren, but also Adrian & Steve who have made it back from Belgium despite Brexit.

The final stop before heading off to the game is the Lock & Barrel where we encounter a Charlton fan eager to discuss the late 90s. He fondly recalls a trip to Edgeley Park, when he was sat in a nearby pub and someone who looked like Harry Seacombe went around handing out song sheets ahead of a resounding sing-song. I can think of a number of County Supporters that might have fitted that description.

Fletch orders a taxi, and invites Stafford and myself to join him, leaving his other two mates behind. We get dropped in the car park at the ground which is pitch dark and ridden with potholes. Stafford’s stick skills are tested to the maximum.

At the pie shop inside the ground, there is a poster “Thank you fans of Stockport County for making the 476 mile round trip to join us tonight”. There are no pies yet, but there will be.

That poster gets me thinking that doing Dover and Bromley in one trip makes me a bit of a lightweight. What about those who went home in-between? They will have done 586 miles getting to and from Dover as well, giving a grand total of 1,062 miles following County in just four days!

Whilst I’m acquiring a pie, County take the lead, but before that I witness eight County reprobates being escorted out of the home end when County equalised (you know who you are). The official away attendance was 197, so I guess this means there were actually 205?

Thanks to an exceptionally helpful steward after the game (in fact all credit to the stewards who were good all night), we manage to arrange a taxi back to the Wetherspoons adjacent to our hotel, the Richmal Crompton, where I spend some time chewing on a pint of Scrumdown from Sambrook.

Let all ye who doubted the power of Bert’s Bowler kiss the hat.

There are plenty of the Blue Army around for the debrief, many of whom I now gather have undertaken international trips, some via Belgium, some via France, some via Amsterdam! 

Safe & Sound Back in Stockport

Breakfast is much better here than in Canterbury. There is black pudding, bubble & squeak, the bacon isn’t raw and everything is hot.

The trip back to Stockport starts off well and yet again the assistance on the trains is very good, although there was no record of us having booked anything.

What I have learnt this trip, is that booking travel assistance on-line is a total waste of time. Doing it over the phone is the way to go. Just in case you ever need it, here is the link to all of the relevant telephone numbers:- https://www.nationalrail.co.uk/stations_destinations/44971.aspx

We reach Euston in plenty of time for a swift half in the Signal Box.

However, we learn that the train we are booked on has been delayed. This is when travel assistance comes into its own. The staff at the Travel Assistance Office really have their finger on the pulse and you get advance notice of which platform to head for etc.

There is only room for one on the buggy, so #39 and I head off to Platform 1 on foot, well ahead of the huddled masses.

We reach Platform 1 and get on the train, only to find that it’s going to Liverpool!

We’re told that the train we need is on Platform 12 and only just get there in time, resulting in the third near-death experience for #39 this trip! In fact, we have to get on a First Class carriage and walk through half a dozen more to find Stafford who is already nicely settled in.

A very quiet trip back. Nothing left to say really. We’re late arriving back in Stockport, so I’ve missed my bus and end up in the Wellington before eventually heading off home.

Next up for me staying over following County is Woking, which is looking like a solo trip at the moment (perhaps my usual companions don’t want to risk it?), unless you fancy joining me of course. For the record, I’ll be basing myself in Basingstoke as a day in Woking should be more than enough.

Man in a Hat.