Stalybridge Celtic v Chasetown

Saturday matchday! I still get that buzz on a Saturday morning when I’m off to watch Chase – something I don’t get with Blackpool any more. Why is this? I think it’s because I’m replicating a time when I DID enjoy going to watch Blackpool, heading off to catch the train to undiscovered territory, new grounds, new towns, a tenner in, travelling alone, not knowing what adventures awaited, who I’d meet, what would happen.

Southbound

Today’s train journey took me towards Manchester, changing at Salford Crescent for Stalybridge. I forced myself to spend the journey writing by not bringing a book (since joining the library last year, I now read physical books, as opposed to electronic versions on my Kindle/phone).

As the train passed through Ashton Under Lyne I thought of my first Blackpool idol, Alan Wright, who was born there. I’d heard it was good for pubs in Ashton. Why hadn’t I been? I made a note to add it to my Midweek Manchester Mission list.

I skipped off the train at Stalybridge, excited to discover new territory.

Ooh yummy! I’d be all over these when I came back later.

As I strolled into the depths of sleepy Stalybridge (there was barely another soul about) I admired my surroundings.

This shop was open and tempting but I was hungry so marched on towards breakfast at a place I was rather excited about…

SK15 Bar & Bistro

I’d found this place online whilst searching for the best breakfast in Stalybridge. Apparently people queue out the door to eat here, which I knew to be a good sign, having done this at Nibble in Hull and Cafe 33 in Norwich.

There wasn’t a queue out the door today (as evidenced by the photo above) but that might have been because it was raining. On arrival I was advised there’d be a 15 minute wait for a table and I said that was fine. Is that what the 15 means in SK15? I was given a menu to ponder but I already knew what I was eating as I study menus online before visiting eateries to help me make good choices. I loitered just inside the doorway for a bit before spotting a little waiting area with seats so I relocated over there.

From my new vantage point, I spied something VERY exciting.

I’d seen one of these on my travels recently but it had been out of service so I didn’t get chance to see it in action but REALLY wanted to. It’s a machine that facilitates the ‘perfect pour’ of a Guinness from a can. I HAD to see this in action, which of course meant I had to have a pint of Guinness with my breakfast. The things I do for you, dear reader…

Within 15 minutes I was seated at a bench in the window and gave my order for steak and eggs and Guinness (breakfast of champions, right?).

‘How would you like your steak?’

‘As well done as possible, please.’

From my high chair (with a little rail to rest my feet on, next to plug sockets where I could charge my phone), I had a perfect view of the bar, so I spun round to watch the Guinness machine in action.

Dear reader, it was a right kerfuffle. There was much button pressing and head scratching with little progress and I began to wonder how many bar staff it would take to change this lightbulb. This new fangled tech is all very well and good but wasn’t life much simpler when you could fix your telly by giving it a hard whack?

I was about to give up hope and settle for a brew (the more sensible option) but at last the machine came alive, removed the top of the can, poured, auto tilted and paused to let the Guinness settle. It seemed to require manual intervention for the final pour but look at this for a fine pint of Guinness.

I played ‘Split the G’ but failed miserably and the game is not so much fun on your own as when you’re being egged on by drunken Irishmen (a new pastime in The Corner Flag).

Meanwhile a man at a nearby table was freestyling from the menu, despite the menu clearly specifying NOT to request changes. This was accepted without question from the friendly waitress. He was only requesting items to be withheld from dishes, though, so perhaps that doesn’t count.

My breakfast soon arrived and boy was it worth the wait.

There is a TON of steak strips under those eggs. Every single component of this meal was SENSATIONAL. I wore my reading glasses to eat it because I needed to eat it with my eyes too for the full experience. I wouldn’t ordinarily be able to consume this much food but I made sure to polish off the lot because it was a taste sensation. This was The Count of Monte Cristo of breakfasts: so much to consume but I never wanted it to end. I had planned not to touch the chimichurri sauce (on Paddington’s advice) because of the oil but felt I had to try it because it had to be good – and boy was it delicious. I found myself nodding as I was eating, which is a surefire sign that my tastebuds vigorously approved.

As I sat back and finished my Guinness, I gazed out of the window and observed that Stalybridge had come alive with the rain that was now pouring outside. There had been no-one about when I’d arrived, now the town was bustling. Perhaps the locals like being out in the rain like I do.

I settled my bill and headed out towards my first pub of the day (all – arguably – micropubs on the itinerary today).

I passed a shop with a sign in the window proclaiming BLACK PEAS AVAILABLE HERE. This must be a local delicacy as per grey paes (sic) in the Black Country and I resolved to definitely try some at the buffet bar post match.

I realised I was smiling, like I do when I arrive in Wigan. I was happy here, doing what I do on a Saturday afternoon in a Northern town. I’d never (properly) been here before but I instantly felt at home, like I belonged here. Hello Stalybridge.

Bridge Beers

I LOVED this place the moment I stepped in the door and a little bell over the door rang like I was in Arkwright’s. This is a PROPER micropub in that it still has that traditional shop feel. It was FABULOUS.

‘Ooh it smells nice in here.’

‘Thank you very much.’

And look – they brew all their own beers. As I marvelled at the beer board(s), I must have spoken aloud my indecision at all that choice.

‘You can only have one at a time.’

Was that a rule? I occasionally have two halves when I can’t decide what to have. I decided not to challenge it and settle on one.

I opted for the Dark Matter (served straight from the barrel behind the bar) and it was excellent in both condition and flavour. And only £2 for a half. What not to love about this place?

I took a seat at the above table and breathed in the pub around me. I did feel a bit like a stranger. Was it slightly cliquey or would I have been welcomed into the conversation at the bar if I’d chosen to engage?

I earwigged on the chat in the bar because I was in full on observation mode for you, dear reader. There was a woman called Gemma who was a local journalist for the Tameside Correspondent. She’d recently written a popular piece on a local mild trail. I ought to have gone over for a chat really but I was in solo mode, having been on my own all day, and I can find it hard to snap out of that and get back into sociable mode (see my Social Battery from Clitheroe).

I was joined at my table by a couple of Stalybridge Celtic fans. They told me a story about when Dominic Calvert-Lewin was on loan there. He was down ‘injured’ and he was yelled at to ‘get up – it’s an important derby!’

I was also informed that this ground boasted the ‘second best view in the league’ (the best is apparently Mossley). I’d be the judge of that later.

On my way here I’d passed another micropub just a few doors down. I didn’t go there first because it didn’t open til 1.

I waited patiently (for me) until five past but the pub was still closed. I grumbled about this on my return to the Bridge for another half of the same, as the dark mild had now gone ‘you snooze, you lose’. At twenty past, a local advised me that the Crafty Pint man had now arrived to open up. I supped up and headed back. It was indeed now open but the beers were uninspiring (two pales and a bitter) and I wasn’t wasting my beer allowance on beer I didn’t want. Instead, I decided to make my way to the ground and have a beer there instead.

Stalybridge Celtic v Chasetown

I had been warned that the walk here was uphill so I was prepared for that. I did take a wrong turning and missed the park with the animal art trail but I didn’t really have time to enjoy that anyway.

The above photo could have done with a coin for scale really but basically these chocolate bars were TINY. I guess Paddington might have approved as, the smaller they are, the less damage they would do to my weight loss. I resisted anyway.

The bar took some finding but was actually quite well signposted when I got there.

‘Ooh what’s that smell?’

The bartender pointed to the pie counter.

Of course I was still full after my belting breakfast so I didn’t partake.

I took a seat with Paul and my pint of Doom Bar and chilled out while I took in my surroundings and caught up on all things Chase.

As kick off approached and the bar began to thin, I felt under pressure to finish my pint, before realising I didn’t have to – I could take it out with me and finish it off whilst watching the first half. Non league football is so civilised. I do much prefer it.

I conducted my customary circuit of the ground. I spied a man sitting in the main stand with a dog on his lap and smiled instinctively at this little non league joy. He smiled back because smiles are contagious.

I was not happy with the font of the numbers on the back of the Celtic shirts.

I was advised that FC United of Manchester played their home games here and at Bury once upon a time.

For my second half beverage, I headed to the bier keller behind the goal in search of something that wasn’t Doom Bar (which I don’t mind, to be fair). I was served by a girl in a crop top and I didn’t think it was warm enough for that but each to their own.

I tootled over to have a nose at the food kiosk to see if there was anything I could eat as I was beginning to think about tea, for which I had no firm plans (beyond those black peas at the buffet bar).

I explained my predicament to Martin, outlining how I eat healthily nigh on all the time so I can drink twice a week and not put on weight.

‘Have you tried drinking every day and just eating twice a week?’

I must confess I hadn’t thought of that but I think I’ll stick with my way nonetheless.

Chase won the match 1-0 with a goal from Langy.

Paul kindly offered me a lift back to the station, which I accepted. For it was on the station where my last pub of the day was conveniently situated.

Stalybridge Buffet Bar & Beerhouse

I was first made aware of this place a number of years ago when at Huddersfield Town watching Blackpool. It’s on the train line between Huddersfield and Manchester and I had to pass through on my way back to Walsall, as did my pals on their way back to Blackpool. It soon became a regular and favourite pit stop on our way home from Huddersfield. I remember, on my first visit, being thrilled by its warmth and cherry beer. It was such a surprise having a haven like this in disguise on a station platform. Of course there are many more of these now (although unfortunately not at Preston, where I spend most of my waiting time).

I went for a half of each of the Millstone Stout and the Rhubarb & Custard. Obvs.

I made enquiries about the black peas and was advised that they weren’t on tonight. I held back the tears and focussed instead on Plan B. Actually, this was now Plan C, as Plan A had been to return to SK15 for tea but, given that I hadn’t walked back, it was no longer convenient. My options here were limited and not healthy but they were exciting.

I don’t normally like pork pies but I was ravenous and this was delicious. However it wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy my appetite. I returned to the bar.

‘Have you got any exciting crisps?’

From my seat opposite the bar, I thought I recognised someone standing at the bar. Was that fellow beer/pub blogger Mark Johnson? I was sure enough to approach him to enquire.

‘Is it Mark?’

‘No. Not today.’

I was taken aback. I was pretty sure it WAS Mark. But clearly he wasn’t in the mood to talk. It soon became apparent that he was livid about the football (he’s a Huddersfield Town fan and Something Bad had happened). As I retreated to my seat rejected, I reasoned that I’d been there myself many times over the years, furious about whatever Blackpool had put me through. So I got it. It was still raw. I’d been there. This is another reason why I go and watch Chase now, because it doesn’t hurt so much.

It wasn’t long before Mark had calmed down sufficiently, realised who I was (we’d been meaning to meet up for beers for ages) and came over to explain and apologise and chat and offer to buy me a beer. We spoke briefly about god knows what because I’d been drinking nonstop since 1130 and it was now seven hours later and I had a train to catch but it was lovely to meet you at last we must do this again properly some time bye.

Northbound

My train home had me changing at Manchester Piccadilly, where I was STILL hungry so I bought and wolfed down a sandwich that might have been chicken salad or might have been prawn mayo, I really can’t remember, but it did the job.

Note to self: Plan food properly for next Chase match and try not to drink during the match. Just because you CAN doesn’t mean it’s compulsory…

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Next Up: Oldham Pubs.