Preston Pubs

Preston?! What the fuck am I doing going to PRESTON?! Well, if I’m honest, I’ve wanted to go for a while. I’d been hearing good things about the pubs…but I’d been anxious about visiting. It is, after all, Preston. Football law insists that I hate Preston. However I realised this week that I hate Nottingham Fucking Forest (twats) more than I hate Preston. I was also keen to meet my fanzine counterpart Chris, editor of The Nose Bag. We’ve become Twitter friends and I do like to meet Twitter friends in real life. It would also be useful to have a local protector in case I was recognised and targeted behind enemy lines.

(Blackpool) Eastbound

I was wound up on boarding the train. Not at the thought of going to Preston. I had been strangely looking forward to that. But I’d had a hectic morning.

I’ve been getting up early to go to the gym and was exhausted the previous night. Thus I didn’t set an alarm so my body could get all the sleep it wanted. I was still hopeful of waking in time to go to the gym or at least for a decent walk. But my body had other ideas. I slept for ten hours and Friday morning proved a bit of a rush.

First of all – before I’d even boiled the kettle – Lee railroaded me into helping with his tax return. It was too early to put up any strong objections so I decided to get it out of the way. Once that was done, it was time to run my errands. I began gathering my belongings – and wrapping up. Hmm should I wear my Blackpool FC body warmer? Probably not a great idea in Preston but fuck it, it’s going to be cold and I need to keep warm. And, besides, it won’t be visible under my coat…shit…where’s my coat? I realised with horror that it was at the haberdashery for zip surgery. Shit shit shit!

Cue mad dash to the haberdashery (phew it was ready!), back home for my phone charger and to ditch the fanzines because there was no longer time to go to the post office, hesitating over my sunglasses – it was sunny out but it’s always grey in Preston so realistically I wouldn’t be needing them, would I? – on to the library to return three books and pick up four I’d reserved (hurry up, woman, I’m in a rush here!), then to Blackpool North station where oh fuck it the nearest set of doors were out of order and there was a new man I didn’t recognise on the ticket barriers and he wanted a proper look at my ticket on my phone and I really want another brew because I’ve only had one and that wasn’t enough but fucking hell there’s a queue at the refreshment kiosk and my train leaves in five minutes but I really do want that brew so I’m going for it anyway oh for fucks sake man get off your phone she wants you to ask you about your order and oh god I thought they were together and now she’s ordering fucking hell have I got time for this or should I just go for the train no fuck it I’m waiting – Earl Grey, bag removed, please – ooh that smells different, yes it’s more floral, I can’t have regular tea black, I need honey in it, anyway have a good day bye.

And relax! But no, this was only a short journey today and I had shit to do on the train. I hastily caught up with correspondence, completed my daily Couch to 5k Words writing exercise (to get me back into writing/editing my book), tweeted and drank my brew. And I was in Preston already. And already shattered (and hangry, with my low blood pressure). That’ll teach me not to set an alarm. My days are much more relaxed with an 0600 alarm.

I disembarked and headed out of the station. Was that BLUE SKY visible behind the clouds? Surely that wasn’t a thing in Preston? If I didn’t wear contact lenses and eye make up, I’d have rubbed my eyes in disbelief.

I’d arrived a little early, so ambled slowly in the direction of the pub where I’d arranged a noon rendezvous with Chris. Google Maps had assured me it was a straightforward walk but…well you know how well me and Google Maps are getting on at the moment (see Liverpool)…

I decided to look for street signs to help me know when to turn but since when are they not a thing any more? Is this cost cutting by councils? Or theft? Just bloody paint the street names on the walls if you have to. I would like to become less reliant on Google Maps if at all possible.

On my short walk I enjoyed two positive encounters. After giving a pound to a homeless man, he said ‘have a lovely day’. And a hawker stopped me in my tracks saying ‘you look very pretty’. My nerves began to dissipate. The natives seemed friendly.

As I turned into Winckley Street (not labelled, had to reluctantly check Google Maps), I tapped my opening thoughts into the Notes app on my phone so I could replay them here for you, dear reader. Finally looking up from my phone, I observed a man waving at me from across the road. That’ll be Chris, then. I returned the wave and tried to avoid being flattened by a truck as I crossed the road.

After initial greetings, we hastily arranged a Plan B. I’m all for waiting outside a pub for it to open but 20 minutes seemed excessive, so I asked Chris if there was another pub nearby we could pop into in the meantime. Happily, there was…

Urban Life

This was a debut visit to this new pub for both of us. I tried the door and it was locked. Well this was confusing. A man appeared inside the door, announced he’d locked himself in and scurried off to find his keys. He soon returned and in we trotted.

Not a good idea to start on a 6% stout. You’ll see why as this blog progresses…

I loved the clarity of this beer board. These days so many are so busy with small writing and I do struggle with them. But this one was epic.

Also loved this old telly on the bar. Our host said he had it in his loft. I marvelled at the engineering of these old tellys. I had a huge Bush telly from the 70s up until around 2010 and I only replaced it because there was no way to connect it to my Sky/Virgin/whatevs box. These modern efforts are so fragile but with the old ones you just hit them if they went on the blink and that ALWAYS fixed it.

On the subject of great engineering, I relayed to Chris a fun fact I’d learned about Blackpool Tower this week. Did you know it is so well engineered that it could stand on one leg?

I loved this pub and the man who ran it. It was a good size (micro) and prime for chatting with other drinkers (had there been any). Only high tables and stools, though, which I’m not a fan of. I like my feet to touch the floor. I always feel I might fall off a high seat.

Right, now on to the pub I’d earmarked for lunch…

Winckley Street Ale House

Now I’m back on SlimmingWorld, I study pub menus in advance to make sure there’s something reasonably low syn that I can eat. I couldn’t see a menu at this place so I messaged them to ask.

So imagine my dismay on seeing this sign on arrival.

I groaned audibly and our host immediately rushed to replace the sign. The kitchen was, in fact, open. Huzzah!

I was immediately distracted and entranced by ALL THIS BEER!

I was hypnotised by the fridge but of course it was WAY too early for that sort of nonsense so I turned instead to the cask offerings. Of course I can never resist the word PORTER but my multifocal contact lenses were struggling to read the ABV. Not that I planned on paying any attention to it because it had to be a safer option than anything in the fridge, right? Our host saw my struggle and confirmed the ABV and I ordered a half and Chris had the same. I went to pay with a note and was asked if I had 10p? I rummaged in my pocket and pulled out my coinage and said he’d have to look because I couldn’t make out what the coins were but it transpired there were only pounds and a 50p. A man next to me at the bar piped up ‘I’ve got 10p!’ and promptly handed it over in part payment of my beer. Well, really, these people were VERY friendly, weren’t they?

As I took a seat (low and comfy) and surveyed my surroundings, I remembered I was supposed to be eating here.

Chris returned to the bar to enquire after butter pies. This was a local delicacy that I couldn’t NOT try as part of my Preston cultural experience today. I wanted mine with salad (to make it as SlimmingWorld friendly as possible).

‘Ooh I’ll just check with chef if we can do that.’

‘There is a salad on the menu.’

‘Yes but we’re in the process of changing the menu. We’re getting rid of the salad because it hasn’t been shifting.’

Shortly thereafter, our host emerged from the kitchen with good news.

‘Should be all right. He’ll nip to Sainsbury’s and get a cucumber.’

Aw bless chef going out of his was for me. Careful, Preston – I’ll be falling in love with you at this rate.

I couldn’t quite figure out the herb in the pie but Chris guessed thyme and this was quickly confirmed by our host (via the chef).

I’ll confess I just ate the filling and the salad and, again, as you’ll read later, this proved to be a mistake as stomach lining is all important on a pub crawl.

Chris explained the origins of the butter pie. Apparently Preston’s name derives from Priest Town and the butter pie was for devout Catholics to eat on a Friday when they don’t eat meat.

Chris began telling me about the local Priest Town Brewery but a local interrupted the conversation and was chatting to him for ages about said brewery, clearly his specialist subject. I should have been paying attention really so I could relay the story here but I can’t be switched on all the time so was probably messing about on my phone at this point.

Next it was time to head off down through Avenham Park to the next pub. I’d been to Avenham Park to a rock festival back in 1995 when I’d seen The Verve. It was looking beautiful today in what was unusual weather for Preston.

Indeed I was so struck by the view I was definitely on the verge of falling in love with Preston…and right at that moment a rat came scurrying across my path to bring me back down to earth and remind me where I was. I almost wet myself, I laughed that hard.

This sign moves around Preston, popping up in different locations. Chris told me it has attracted controversy because its design is based on the cotton industry which has links to slavery.

The Continental

Obvs went for the Northern Monkey here.

But look at all these options.

This was a foody pub but weirdly there were no food menus on the table. I have, however, found a menu online and it looks lovely. This is what I would have had.

We headed back up through the park into town.

NIKO

Now this was a place I’d wanted to visit for YEARS. Let me show you why.

Obvs I’m having this:

And fucking amazing it was, too. Chris had suggested a can share but I wasn’t for sharing this with anyone: I wanted it all to myself. And this was despite him having Fierce.

I knew I was in trouble, entering the fridge so early on in proceedings, but what can you do? Ultimately, I’d not had a big enough lunch and thus was not making good decisions.

Obvs I needed to get out of here before I got into trouble, so we supped up and trotted off.

Hopwoods Tap House

This was apparently the big sister of Urban Life, our first stop of the day.

Despite the beer range being boring, the toilets made the visit worthwhile.

On our walk to the next pub, Chris showed me the famous Preston Bus Station. It was, he said, the biggest bus station in Europe. And, I’m not going to lie, it was fucking impressive.

Chris did, however, point out that the back was currently closed, so he wasn’t sure if it still counted as the largest in Europe.

This is Preston’s newest tourist attraction. Nick Park, the creator of Wallace & Gromit, is from Preston. So the M55 isn’t the only good thing to come out of Preston, after all…

The Orchard

This was a fab little pub, where I gave in and agreed to a can share with Chris (someone with whom I’m never, ever drinking again, btw, because I’m very soon almost dead).

I enquired about this:

and apparently it’s PNE schizz. Can you spot Deepdale Duck?

Here I got chatting to a man who was born in a naval hospital in Gosport, which you may recall I fell in love with recently thanks to an excellent micropub.

Next it was on to a pub that fellow pub blogger Martin insisted I mustn’t miss today.

Black Horse

Loving the tasting notes on these pumps – not that I’d have stood any chance of reading them even if I had noticed them at the time.

Have you noticed I’m drinking high ABV beers all day today? Hmm. Why didn’t you stop me earlier, dear reader?

Shahzaad Tandoori Restaurant

We were here tonight because there’s a particular delicacy that I wasn’t sure existed outside of Walsall – but we’d managed to hunt it down in Preston. It was, dear reader, a nargis kebab.

I was SO leathered by the time we sat down at the dinner table that it took me a short while to form the word I needed to describe to Chris exactly what was missing from this dish. The word I was searching for was ‘omelette’, which is what I expect to find nestled on top of what is essentially an Indian Scotch egg.

This is what I had for my main:

Fuck knows what it is is but, looking at the menu, I probably would have gone for the Jalfrezi Chicken Tikka. However, sober me considering the menu would have gone for this:

Anyway I’m sure it was all very nice, although I’m conscious I was a complete mess by this point.

I do tend to learn from drinking disasters, hence you’ll never see me drinking wine (which I drink at the same rate as beer) or spirits (memories of my head in a train toilet ALL the way home from Manchester one night). I do know that I can’t drink strong ABV beers OR hit the fridges early on in a crawl. I also know that walking between pubs is an important break from drinking (so spread them out). And it is important to line my stomach properly and heartily before a sesh. Many mistakes were made today and I must and will learn from this disaster. The beers were fucking good, though…

Somehow I managed to get my train and bus home, remove my contact lenses and make up, pass out in bed…and get up still pissed bright and breezy for the match the following morning…where I resolved to make better life decisions.

Ultimately I’d had a fab day out in Preston – cheers Chris for properly introducing me to its culture. It’s funny and ultimately wrong how football biases turn us against perfectly friendly local towns (city yeah whatevs as if). It’s almost as if the powers that be want to divide and conquer the working classes and turn us against each other through football so we don’t come together and rise up against all the shit that’s happening but as if I’m going to get cynical and political in a stupid blog…

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Next up: Chasetown v Trafford FC.