Birmingham Pubs

It’s been four years since I left Birmingham and a few friendships haven’t survived the move – which I’m fine with, as I’m always picking up new friends on my travels (as you’ll notice from reading my blogs). However, three friendships in particular have endured – and these special people were the reason for my return visit to Birmingham today. As you might expect, beer is the glue that bonds us together, so obvs pubs were involved…

Southbound

I’d accidentally booked an outbound train from Blackpool Pleasure Beach. I wasn’t having any of that. That is a single line in and out and, if that train was cancelled or delayed, I was fucked. I headed to Blackpool North anyway, assuming that would be fine, and so it proved to be. I jumped on an earlier train so I could more comfortably make my connection at Blackpool East (Preston, to the uninitiated – don’t ask, I was bored during lockdown and made up a whole new station, which you can read about here if you like).

Dear reader, I needn’t have bothered. My connecting train was an hour and a half late departing Edinburgh (or wherever it started from) – and I had an hour to wait in the greyest, grimmest, most miserable fucking station on earth.

I’d bought a brew at North station, which I had saved for my connection, to make it less intolerable. I carried it through to the waiting room, where I drank it and munched a couple of Alpen Light bars. I’m back on SlimmingWorld now. I had successfully avoided the scales for five months and had been enjoying ALL the food again – feeling good about life, if not quite so good about my expanding waistline. And then I found myself accidentally facing the scales at the doctors when I went to see her about my low blood pressure / blacking out on the train. And basically I’d put ALL my weight back on again.

Anyway, the waiting room in Hell is at least more comfortable than Platform 1, which is horrible at the best of times. At least here I had a seat and a brew and was sheltered from the weather (actually mild for the time of year). I decided to use the time to catch up on my blogging. I still had the final part of my Portsmouth series to write – and I managed to rattle off the whole thing whilst waiting for my train. I’d edit in the links and photos back home as usual, but at least the words were now on the page. So engrossed was I in my writing that I ended up having to run for my train – which I had failed to notice had been replatformed whilst I was in Portsmouth.

As I darted across to Platform 6, I heard some football fans chanting from the other side of the station. Were they Blackpool fans on their way to Cambridge? I wasn’t going there because I wanted to have a good day today and that was guaranteed in Birmingham.

Phew! My train wasn’t quite in yet. I caught my breath and tried to calculate where I needed to be on the platform to board my assigned carriage. I got it almost spot on and was waiting by the train doors when they opened and a group of lads started to disembark.

‘Can you give me a hand down, love?’

I offered my hand as requested – and the perfectly healthy young man took hold and smiled at me as he stepped down with an ‘ooh cheers, love.’ Dear reader, this is a fine example of the warmth from strangers that was missing on my recent visit to Portsmouth (home of the blank stare).

The train was busy and, having already been inconvenienced with an hour’s delay in the greyest town in Lancashire, I wasted no time in hoofing out the occupant of my reserved seat. I like to relax on trains and I can’t do that when I’m (a) standing up or (b) half-expecting to be hoofed out of someone else’s reserved seat. So out she went and down I sat with my book for company for the next hour.

I had been due to meet Wendy and Karina at 1115 so I kept them posted on my delay and made a mental note to remember to claim for said delay. I don’t usually mind delays so much but this one was eating into my drinking time. The train I had booked home tonight had already been cancelled yesterday so my day was now curtailed at both ends grr. Still, six hours should be plenty.

Ozzy the bull at Grand Central was an impressive sight on my arrival in Birmingham. He is a legacy from the Commonwealth Games in the city last year. I hadn’t seen him before and I LOVED him. Look at the tinsel nose ring!

I’m ashamed to say my muscle memory failed to kick in and I’d forgotten exactly which road to take up to the rendezvous pub of choice. I always did get Temple Street and Bennetts Hill confused. I cursed myself as I consulted Google Maps.

The Wellington

Karina and Wendy were already here when I arrived (45 minutes later than advertised). I found them at a table to the right of the door, removed my coat, ditched my rucksack and headed to the bar.

I’d already studied the beer board online and realised I wanted three of the beers listed. I eventually settled on these two.

Birmingham seemed less busy than I’d expected (certainly much quieter than my visit this time last year). But we were soon alerted to the arrival of some loud Christmas drinkers, who entered the room with some fanfare. I had my back to the room but turned around to look – and this is what I saw.

The girls and I exchanged Christmas presents and had some SlimmingWorld / exercise chat as we quaffed our dark beers. My main exercise of late has been walking between pubs and I need to prioritise exercise as we head into 2024. I know I can crack the diet bit, as I’ve successfully lost this weight before. But how to get back into the exercise habit? Back to the gym? Working out at home? More walking? I’ll figure it out.

Anyway, my plans for today’s ‘walking between pubs’ exercise regime did not go entirely to plan. But sometimes an unplanned day can work out even better than a meticulously planned one (see Luton as a great example of this). And today, dear reader, was one of those days.

My original plan at this point was to head to The Bull – now a staple of my Birmingham trips, as they have my favourite mild (Church End Gravediggers) on a permanent handpull. They also have SlimmingWorld friendly food, so my plan had been for us to eat there. This particular plan was hijacked from afar.

Bundobust

Bundo was ALWAYS going to form part of the plan today – but was brought forward as our lunch venue thanks to Marcus from Portsmouth. He’d won a £50 Bundo voucher in a raffle but, given that he lives 161 miles away from his nearest Bundo (this one), he sent it to me so I could make use of it. What a legend. More of this sort of thing.

It was lunchtime when we arrived and it was pretty empty, which surprised me. I liked it, as it allowed me to take photos and get served quickly. But did Birmingham not KNOW how great Bundo was? Happily, they did, and it soon filled up.

Right, let’s take a look at the beers, shall we?

They do third flights here, so I went for the Bundobust Manak and Chaitro and the Wiper & True Gingerbread Stout.

Foodwise, I couldn’t resist the festive menu items, opting for the Sprout Bhaji Butty and Biryani Balls. I also tucked into Karina’s Okra Fries because who doesn’t love Okra Fries, right? I’d already enjoyed the Festive Dhal & Rice and Sour Cherry Kheer at Bundobust Brewery in Manchester ahead of the Lancashire Hotpots Big Bash last weekend.

I headed downstairs to check out the facilities.

What a great addition to Birmingham’s beer (and food) scene this place is. The beer choice alone is fantastic but how many places have great food on top of that? Tis rare indeed.

The Colmore

I hadn’t been convinced at the suggestion of this place as our next port of call. We do always go here but it’s usually dead busy and I struggle to hear conversation because of the acoustics. However, it didn’t take a huge amount of arm twisting for me to comply and follow the girls down Colmore Row. It is, after all, a Thornbridge pub.

Immediately I was glad I came. Another delightful taste of Manchester in Birmingham!

Now I’d seen that Yule on Twitter recently.

THIS IS NOT A DRILL, REPEAT NOT A DRILL! With have the only keg left anywhere of this unbelievable @thornbridge beer "Yule" is pouring for the very last time EVER! This really isn't to be missed, ya know what ya gotta do #craftbeer #Birmingham #Xmas2023 #santagotthis pic.twitter.com/MX9qL3xTXh

— The Colmore (@thecolmoretap) December 15, 2023

Karina bought a half of this for us to share (I think! I was drinking it anyway…). And oh my WORD it was fucking LUSH. It tasted like whisky.

This had been a Good Choice. Far be it from me to go against a local guide wanting to take me round when, let’s face it, Karina knows better than me which are the best pubs in Birmingham these days. So, when she suggested a controversial choice that wouldn’t have been on my radar at all, I rolled with it…

The Wolf

Now I had been here before but I’d never earmarked it as a Must Visit – I think because of the lack of cask, which is my favoured dispense method. Today I realised what a mistake that had been. Just fucking LOOK at this beer board.

It proved VERY hard to pick just three, but I settled on the Fairytale of Brew York (because Martin had raved about it) and the two Yonder ones at the bottom of the board. And oh they were all SO FUCKING GOOD! The FLAVOURS!!!

The Fairytale of Brew York was such a fabulous complex series of flavours that I can only describe as meaty. I’m sure that’s not the proper beer tasting term but it works for me. The other two were just joyful and everything they promised to be and more.

Obvs we weren’t leaving. I mean, can you see what I see in this fridge…?

I decided I’d better check my trains to make sure it was safe for me to stay. Happily, the train I’d been hoping to catch (the 1807) since my original train (the 1907) had been cancelled was now also cancelled. This allowed me the freedom to select a non-Avanti train in the interests of actually getting home at all, opening up the 1830, giving me an extra 23 minutes in the pub. Huzzah!

Anyway obvs we headed into the fridges next and opted for three cans to share between us. Here is what we went for.

I actually have no idea why we moved on from this place and its magnificent range of beers. Perhaps because the alternative was to get in a right fucking mess. Anyway, move on we did, to meet up with Evo back in the centre.

Post Office Vaults

We somehow managed to find somewhere to sit in this small but busy pub. It was nothing to do with me, as I’d scampered off for a wee as soon as we arrived. This had been a mistake, as the toilets here involve a quest and a pin code. But needs must. I got back to a half of this.

Evo soon joined us and we had a catch up. Not going to lie, I don’t remember much about this. But I’ve recently read a book by the fabulous English linguist David Crystal, entitled Let’s Talk: How English Conversation Works. In this book, he says that, if you can’t remember what was talked about, but you came away with a general good feeling, then it was a good conversation; it means you didn’t discuss anything contentious or get into an argument. This makes me feel much better about many forgotten conversations over a beer or several over the years. I do tend to feel good after a sesh in the pub, during which I probably only talk general nonsense anyway, which means a good time was had. I’ll drink to that!

Northbound

It was a good job I’d had such a great day with my friends because the journey home was fucking horrific. After a quick diversion into Tesco for a ham and mustard sandwich and a bag of Haribo (oops) and a bottle of water, I boarded the train to Manchester. Where I was stuck for an hour. Grr. I finished reading my book despite this being a bad idea because I barely remember what I’ve read after I’ve had more than one pint. But I needed something to do.

It was recommended that passengers for Blackpool (that’ll be me, then) boarded the train that was going directly to Preston and changing there, as we’d get there quicker. Yes, but that involved alighting at fucking PRESTON again and I’d already seen quite enough of that for one day, thank you very much. Grr. But I suppose if it would get me home quicker… I boarded it reluctantly and managed to get a seat (phew!).

The Preston train was full of pissed up people (shush). The train manager announced that he had no sympathy for the overcrowding of the train because ‘you will go to the Christmas market. I don’t see the appeal myself.’

As we approached Preston, he continued:

‘Take care when leaving the train. I know you’ve been enjoying the mulled wine.’

He continued, announcing the various connections we could take from Preston.

‘Platform 1 for the train to Blackpool North. Although why anyone would want to go there, I don’t know. Platform 4 for the train to Ormskirk. I’m hoping to get that one.’

Disembarking, I hared across to Platform 1 but the train wasn’t in yet. The platform filled with pissed up revellers and once-a-year-drinkers swaying so much that I worried they’d fall onto the tracks and I just wanted to be home. The train approached and I again managed to get a seat. Just get me home, please!

Back at Blackpool North – four and a half hours after leaving Birmingham – I jumped straight in a taxi because I wasn’t sure the buses even ran this late (it was around 11pm by now) and, even if they did, fuck more waiting around for public transport. Take me home!

And that, dear reader, was my day out in Birmingham. Remind me to go in November next year, won’t you…?

If you’d like to join me on more pub crawls, you’ll find the complete collection here:

Pubs & Pub Culture