Day train to Sydney

Our train is at 8:30, so we need to be up early. Andrew has set an alarm for 7. But I get up at 6:45.

"Are you going down for breakfast, Andrew?"

"No."

That’s clear enough.

I'm not going to miss out. It's pretty quiet in the breakfast room. As it’s fucking early. I get my usual scrambled egg and bacon. And eat it quite quickly. Then wolf down some fruit. For health’s sake.

Andrew is still in bed when I return to the room. Though he does soon get up. He doesn't look very lively. He never does before noon.

“I’m not a morning person.” He always says. He’s not much of an early afternoon person, either.

We get to the station at 8:10. 20 minutes before the train is due to depart. There are quite a lot of people hanging around. Which I suppose is to be expected. There are only two trains to Sydney each day. One overnight and one during the day.

We leave 10 minutes late. Our carriage is almost full. And we're in first class. It's sunny as we leave Melbourne. Behind us, a group of Lions fans chat with a local about rugby.

We're pretty much surrounded by Lions fans. Many middle-aged or pensioners. But some younger ones, too.

"Look, Andrew, there's one of those bouncy things."

“Talk properly, Dad.”

“Well, I’m not sure exactly what it is. Kangaroo, wallaby or something else.”

“Just say kangaroo.”

“Even when that might not be accurate/”

“Yes. Just don’t piss around.”

“You’re usually such a pedant.”

“Fuck off, Dad.”

It’s a surprise to see whatever it is. As we're not that far outside Melbourne and it's still quite built up. Don't think it was a kangaroo. Not big enough. More likely a wallaby.

As we approach New South Wales, it gets rather foggy. And the fields are all rather soggy. It looks rather like England or Holland. Except with more exotic wildlife.

"Do you want anything from the bar, Dad?" 

"Get me a couple of miniatures. If they don't have that, get me a cup of tea."

Andrew returns with a can of Great Northern mid-strength and a tea.

"There's nothing stronger than 3.5% ABV. Other than wine. Should I get you a wine next time?"

"Yes, please."

“The highest alcohol drink they have?”

“Coincidentally. I just really feel like a red wine.”

“You’re fooling no-one, Dad.”

“Other than myself.”

“That’s not a victory.”

“It is to me.”

Extracting the tea bag is fun. The train is rattling around quite a bit. I was intending to wait until the next stop. That's taking a while, so I risk it when the train is going a bit slower. And manage not to scald myself.

Staff come around taking hot lunch orders. There are 5 options most $13.50. Which sounds very reasonable. Spaghetti Bolognese is only $9.95. I don't need one, as we brought sandwiches. And beer, but we're not allowed to drink that. As an announcement made very clear:

"If you're caught drinking your own alcohol, you'll be fined and removed from the train."

No pissing around, then.

Andrew comes back with a couple of cans and a red wine. Wine in a Glass, it's called.

"It's a bit like one-cup sake, Andrew."

“Except you can reseal this.”

“True. But why bother? It’s only two mouthfuls.”

“For you. You pisshead.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t get me started.”

In New South Wales, it becomes much hillier. And less inhabited. Except for sheep and cattle, which dot the hills. Along with the occasional bunch of kangaroos, which stand and look balefully at the train. Or bounce slowly away. Skinny streams cut viciously and deeply into the swathe. Patches of pale rock erupt.

Mobile reception is very patchy. Well, crap, really. It’s only really present in the stations. Virtually as soon as the train pulls away from the platform, it disappears.

Andrew brings a steady stream of red wine and beer. Which keeps us hydrated and entertained.

I spend some time trying to snap a bouncy thing. But I'm always too slow and the train too fast. When I’m finally quick enough, all I get is a grey smudge.

They announce that the train is running 20 minutes late, but they'll try to make it up. I'm not holding my breath.

The sky turns an angry grey. Then it starts pissing it down. I'm glad we're inside in the dry.

"The smoke alarm has gone off in the toilet in carriage G. Someone was smoking in there, which is illegal and dangerous. Anyone caught smoking will be removed from the train by police. If you know who was smoking, please inform a member of staff."

They really don't piss around.

Andrew returns from the buffet with a white wine and a pre-mix cocktail. 

“They've run out of beer and red wine, Dad.”

“Damn. I suppose white wine will have to do.”

“The pre-mix cocktail is only 3.5% ABV, too”.

"Mid-strength is Australian for piss-weak." I quip.

“You’re so witty, Dad.” Andrew doesn’t say. But I can see he’s thinking it. He’s definitely thinking something.

“I blame those Lions fans. Pisshead pensioners.”

“Like you? Or are you just an enthusiastic mature drinker?”

“Fuck off.”

After it gets dark outside, I start to doze. As it becomes more populated, we whizz through brightly-lit stations. Until we hit the lights of the first Sydney suburbs.

When we pull into Sydney Central, we're 45 minutes late. So much for making up time.

After a short taxi ride, we pull up at our hotel. Checked in, we pop over to the Woollies opposite for some more food and drink. Then to the bottle shop next door for beer for Andrew.

After more than 12 hours on the train, I'm feeling knacked. We watch some YouTube, then I turn in. Andrew stays up later. As he always does.
 

Let's Brew Wednesday - 1901 Truman (Burton) P2 R

We’re now at Truman’s middle-strength Pale Ale. With a gravity just shy of 1060º. Though note that this is also a Runner.

Interestingly, unlike LP3 R, this isn’t all malt. Including a small quantity of sugar. Why is that? I could say that it’s to keep the colour and body light. Which was the usual reason for sugar in posh Pale Ales. Except, there’s too little sugar for it to have much impact in that respect. And there are other brews of P2 R without sugar.

The hops are the same as in the weaker Pale Ale: three types of English hops and one of Pacifics. All were from the 1899 season.

No ageing for this, of course. Just a couple of weeks of conditioning before serving. 

1901 Truman (Burton) P2 R
pale malt	13.00 lb	97.52%
No. 1 sugar	0.33 lb	2.48%
Fuggles 150 mins	2.00 oz
Cluster 150 mins	0.50 oz
Fuggles 60 mins	2.50 oz
Goldings 30 mins	2.50 oz
Goldings dry hops	0.75 oz
OG	1059
FG	1015
ABV	5.82
Apparent attenuation	74.58%
IBU	93
SRM	5
Mash at	154º F
Sparge at	170º F
Boil time	150 minutes
pitching temp	58.5º F
Yeast	WLP013 London Ale (Worthington White Shield)

 

 

Problems at Allsopp

When Allsopp was converted into a public company im the late 19th century, the shares were eagerly snapped up by investors. Anticipating regular dividends and a steady increase in the value of the shares. This was based on the success of other brewery flotations, such as Guinness, Bass and William McEwan.

But just a few years later, the brewery issued more shares to raise more capital. This should have raised red flags. Why did they need fresh capital?

Messrs. Samuel Allsopp and Sons, Limited, have issued £550,000 4 per cent, mortgage debenture stock, being part of £1,100,000, at the price of £95 per £100 stock, the trustees being Sir Nevill Lubbock, K.C.M.G., and Mr. H. Hankey Dobree. This issue was decided upon in consequence of the rapid development of the business and the extra capital required. The money will be used to pay off certain temporary loans, chiefly in connection with the purchase of properties, making advances, acquiring plant for the lager beer brewery, etc. The stock is redeemable at the option of the company after 1906 on three months’ notice at the price of £110, and is subject to the existing. £1,100,000 4.5 per cent, and £1,100,000 3.5 per cent, debentore stocks, and in the event of voluntary liquidation is repayable at £110. A trust deed specifically secures by mortgage tho breweries and freehold, leasehold, and copyhold properties, and all other assets by a Boating charge. The issue forms part of £1,100,000, which may be increased to the extent of any diminution in the two prior debenture stocks, and of any increase in the capital subscribed and paid up. The assets on the 30th June last were £6,547,000 and on the 31st December had increased to seven millions, and the profits for 1898-9 had increased from £180,000 in 1893-4 to £305,894. The two debenture stocks absorb £88,000, and the present £1,100,000, when issued, £44,000, or together £132,000.
The Brewers' Journal vol. 36 1900, April 15th 1900, page 227.

The "purchase of properties" means buying tied houses. Allsopp were slow in joining the rush to buy pubs and ended up paying over the odds. Which is why they needed more capital. They also had that fancy Lager plant to pay for.

Another article from the same date presents a slightly more realistic appraisal of the company's prospects.

The Allsopp Position.
A circular was issued to the shareholders of Messrs. Samuel Allsopp and Sons, Limited, last month, stating that the directors deemed it desirable to make the following statement:—

With regard to the general trade of the company the directors see no. cause for dissatisfaction, as the sales for the six months ending December 31st, 1899, exceeded those of any corresponding period since the formation of the company. Since January 1st there has been a slight diminution in the sales, possibly attributable to the large number of men absent from the country, and to the cold and unfavourable spring.

The lager beer plant has proved a complete success, and the installation is being increased in order to meet the growing demand.

The recent debenture issue was entirely successful, the amount being over-applied for by the public.

The policy inaugurated some years since of acquiring licensed properties for the purpose of extending the business has not in the main proved unsatisfactory. The directors, however, regret to state that some recent purchases and investments have not proved as satisfactory as was anticipated. These purchases and their development necessarily entail a present burden upon the financial resources of the company, and it will require patience and careful handling before the expected benefits can be realised.

This matter is having the serious attention of the board.

In consequence of the resignation of the late chairman, the Hon. George Allsopp, M.P., has for the present kindly consented to undertake the duties of chairman.

Mr. W. T. Western, of Messrs. Woodhead and Co., Navy agents, has recently joined the board.
The Brewers' Journal vol. 36 1900, April 15th 1900, page 272. 

Sales were down, the blame being put on poor weather and the large number of young men absent in South Africa for the Boer War.

Not so sure about the unequivocal success of the Lager brewery. As just a few years later iy would be sitting unused in Burton. And was eventually moved to the Archibald Arrol brewery in Alloa.

The company admits that some of investments hadn't paid off. I assume this is principally overpriced and underperforming tied houses.

This was just the beginnings of the fall of Allsopp. Within in a decade they'd go bust and had to be rescued through a purchase by Ind Coope.

Melbourne pub crawl

Not too early a start today. James is picking us up at 11 AM. I rise at 9:30 AM, Andrew a little later.

We hit the breakfast room around 10 AM. I go for my usual bacon and scrambled egg combo. Andrew has nothing, not even a coffee or juice.

James suggests that we drop off our clothes to be washed and then wait in the Mitre. Which is sort of the oldest pub in Melbourne. Sort of, in that it's the oldest building in the city, but hasn't always been a pub.

The washing doesn't quite work out as planned. They want $225 to clean 15 shirts.

"You may as well buy new clothes at that price." James says.

We tip by the Mitre, anyway. It's quite incongruous. A two-storey building, with a sharply pitched roof, surrounded by tall office blocks. Inside, it's reassuringly English-looking, with a couple of different rooms.

We all get Stone & Wood Steinbier. Which is almost pitch black. A decent enough beer. Not sure what it gets from the Steinbier technique.

Despite not being noon, the pub soon starts filling up. There's baseball – from San Francisco - on the TV. It can’t possibly be live. Why the hell are they showing it? I suppose it makes a change from Aussie Rules games.

They’re playing some great tunes: Paul Revere and the Raiders, The Flamin’ Groovies, early Kinks. Exactly my sort of music.

I hear the staff say that they've got through 27 kegs of Guinness this week. That's the Lions fans for you.

After another beer, James suggests we drop by the Charles Dickens. To get there we have to pass through a rather grand Victorian shopping arcade. Which reminds me a lot of the arcades in Leeds. The pub is in the basement. Not the easiest of places to stumble across by accident.

Which is why it’s a shock that it’s so full. Mostly with diners. It's also surprisingly large. Lots of Lions fans, again. who have been a great boost to the local economy, spending 90 million dollars. According to James.

There are four hand pumps, including one for Tetley Bitter. But I know it isn't real cask. So, I get a Coopers Pale Ale instead. Andrew is on Lager. As he mostly is. They're showing highlights of Lions games on the TV.

Andrew polishes his pint off in a couple of minutes and goes to the bar for a refill.

“Getting the goggles on, Andrew?”

“What?”

“Getting in a flyer.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Getting in a bonus pint between rounds.”

“It’s only because you drink so slowly.”

“And not that you drink like a dehydrated horse?”

“Shut up, Dad.”

After a couple of pints, we jump on a tram. Jumping off again at the Exhibition building to have a quick look. Before hopping over the road to the Catfish. A pub that looks like it was formerly a shop. It's quite dark inside. But they do have a catfish in a tank.

I get Tropical Dust, Andrew a cider. Oddly, they do Philly cheese steak. Me and Andrew get one each. They're pretty good, and fill a hole. Andrew swaps to Lager. And gets in another flyer. As he is wont to do.

“Have a leaky glass again?”

“Just having a young man’s thirst. You probably can’t remember that far back.”

“Thanks.”

“What did I tell you about saying that?”

“Do it as often as possible?”

“Stop talking shit, Dad.”

When we’re done, we walk further into Fitzroy. To the rather lovely Lord Napier. On the way, I spot a laundromat. Soon, our shirts are washing away.

The Lord Napier has a small public bar containing the bar counter. With further rooms served through a hatch. In one of these rooms an open fire roasts. There are lovely old leaded glass windows. It reminds me of a classic Yorkshire pub.

"This was the Fitzroy supporters' pub. A now defunct VFL team." James tells us.

The walls are adorned with Fitzroy memorabilia. It’s rather sad.

James and I have an Oyster Stout. Which is rather nice. It contains real oysters. Andrew has a cider.

Opposite the pub is the very grand Fitzroy town hall. Totally over the top for a suburb. But rather lovely.

We go back to the laundrette and our washing is done. We load it into a dryer.

James suggests the Labor in Vain next. Which is close by. But closed. So we walk a little further to the Rooks Return. Another shop pub. With a tiny bar counter. Another cider for Andrew. An IPA for me and James.

After 6 minutes, Andrew goes back to the laundrette to check how our washing is drying. This repeats several times until it's dry. Well, dry enough for him. It’s not what I would call bone dry.

After a couple of pints - more for Andrew - James suggests we go to the brewery where he works. He orders an Uber.

We get out before the brewery to look at the tower from the Yorkshire brewery, which is now flats. It's pretty massive.

"It must have been a decent-sized brewery." I observe.

We slip in through the staff entrance to Stomping Ground. I'm surprised at the scale. Both of the brewery and tap room. We sit at one end of the bar.

Here the hand pulls are dispensing true cask. IPA and Manchester Bitter. Andrew has the former, I the latter. It's very pale and rather good.

"Is it based on Boddington Bitter?" I ask.

"No, Marble."

It's creamy and fruity, with a good hop balance.

James brings us a spirit. They had a surplus of Pale ale during Covid so got some distilled. At 70% it's pretty hot. And strangely fruity from the hop oils.

"We don't know what to do with it."

"You should sell it." It is quite good, after all. Or give it to me.  I’d be happy to give a home to a couple of bottles.

Feeling a bit hungry, I share a rump steak with Andrew. And drink a Porter. Which is also top class.

It's 9:30 PM and about time to leave. 

“Are you ready to go, Andrew.”

“I wouldn’t mind another pint.”

“You always want another pint. Let’s get off.”

I normally propose leaving a pint or two before I really want to go. Knowing that Andrew will always want more pints.’

“What about a bourbon?” Andrew suggests.

“OK. One bourbon and then we leave.”

After saying our goodbyes to James, we Uber back to our hotel. Andrew goes out to pick up supplies for tomorrow’s train journey. Sandwiches, crisps, bourbon, beer.

I go to bed a little later than I'd hoped, at midnight. Andrew is still up.



The Mitre Tavern
5 Bank Pl, 
Melbourne VIC 3000.
http://www.mitretavern.com.au/


The Charles Dickens Tavern
290 Collins St, 
Melbourne VIC 3000.
http://thecharlesdickenstavern.com.au/


The Catfish
30 Gertrude St, 
Fitzroy VIC 3065,
http://www.thecatfish.com.au/


Napier Hotel
210 Napier St, 
Fitzroy VIC 3065.


The Rooks Return
201 Brunswick St, 
Fitzroy VIC 3065.
http://therooksreturn.com.au/


Stomping Ground Brewery & Beer Hall
100 Gipps St, 
Collingwood VIC 3066.
http://www.stompingground.beer/

I talk

I rise at 8:20. Busy day today.

After brushing my teeth, I get on with writing up yesterday. Andrew gets up a bit after 9 AM and we troll downstairs for brekkie.

It's not a bad spread: bacon, scrambled egg, sausage. I have bacon and scrambled egg, Andrew bacon and baked beams. With a pudding of fruit for me. Being the healthy one.

“Now there’s a first.”

“What, Dad?”

“You eating breakfast.”

“Not funny and not true. I ate breakfast when we were in London last year.”

“That was well over a year ago.”

“You didn’t put a time limit on it.”

“OK, there’s a rarity. You eating breakfast.”

“That’s better.”

“Fucking pedant.”

There are quite a lot of Lions fans. Mostly in their 50s and 60s. Some with their wives. But also some younger chaps. From all over the UK and Ireland. At least, that’s what I’m getting from the accents.

Turns out the TV needed its power socket switching on. A kind lady from reception worked that out for us. I feel rather stupid. But that’s outweighed by my joy that the TV is working.

James Smith picks us up at 10 AM. And we head off to get the number 16 tram. Pausing only to pick up Myki cards. We get the 16 towards St. Kilda. Jumping off just before the Esplanade Hotel and try to get into the Fifth Province. But it isn't open yet. 

Instead, we go over the road to the Prince of Wales. A 1930s pub with a bright, modern interior, dominated by a long island bar counter that disappears into the far distance.

After a couple of beers, we jump back on the tram to go to The Local Taphouse, the venue of my talk. The tram stops right outside. Great for an oldie person like me.

We go upstairs and I have a glass of 1885 William Yunger XXX. Which is very nice. And one of the beers brewed for my talk about Mild. It’s always a thrill trying a Younger’s beer. I’ve spent so much time staring at their brewing records.

The full set is:

1914 Cairnes Mild Ale
1885 William Younger XXX Mild Ale
1899 Harvey's XXX Mild Ale
1870 Porter

They were all brewed by James at Stomping Ground. And all are in cask form. Dead impressive.

We tip downstairs at about 12:40 PM. Just before the doors open. I get a Cairnes Mild, which comes from a cask on the bar. And is rather pleasant. Pale and quite malty.

There’s not a bad turnout: about 35 punters. James joins me on stage and does some of the talking. Leaving me time to do some of the drinking. I can’t remember getting through as many of the beers accompanying a talk before.

The pace is leisurely. So much so, that we stop halfway for a Sunday roast. Which is definitely a first for me. I just have a Yorkshire pudding with gravy. It’s not that long since I had a fairly large breakfast. The Yorkshire pudding is dead good.

“Dad is very fussy about his Yorkshire puddings. He makes really good ones.” Andrew is very kind. Sometimes.

Andrew isn’t hungry and doesn’t eat anything. Now there’s a shock. He spends the interval chatting with a couple in the audience.

The talk goes very well. I get plenty of laughs. I usually gauge success by the number of laughs. And there are lots of questions. Which is another good sign.

I sell every book I have. Which is brilliant. I could have sold several more. Damn. I never bring the right number of books. Always either too few or too many.

James guides us to a nearby station to get the train to Marvel Stadium for St. Kilda vs Melbourne. We've missed the first half. Which is a shame. But rather half a game than none at all. We settle into our seats behind the one goal.

Luckily the roof is closed. As, you guessed it, the rain is pounding down again.

You can drink a pint at your seat. Only problem is: it’s Carlton Draught.

“Andrew, do you want to finish my beer?”

“You hate it that much?”

“More than that. It’s undrinkable muck.”

“It’s not that bad. Better than Bavaria Pils.”

“Using that as a yardstick, every beer is OK.”

“I suppose so.”

“I don’t care as long as you drink it.”

“No problem, there.”

“I hate wasting beer. And I wouldn’t want to have to drink it myself.”

“I noticed.”

St. Kilda are miles behind and look certain to lose. Then, in the fourth quarter suddenly start scoring. Melbourne barely score a point. With a couple of minutes to go, St. Kilda tie the scores at 90. Before restarting, there's some sort of offence and St. Kilda gets a free kick. A mark is taken and the hooter goes. From the mark, a goal is scored and St. Kilda win 96 to 90. Dead exciting at the end.

46 points down at three-quarter time. Biggest comeback in history of the VFL and AFL, apparently.

I go to the bogs on the way out. My god. They’re the nicest I’ve ever seen in a stadium. Like in a posh hotel. Top stadium, this. 

We walk to the tram through rainy Melbourne. And after we get off the tram, do some walking. Through the rain. Again. The rain has barely stopped since we arrived in Australia.

We’re headed for the Captain Melville. An old, bluestone coaching inn. I recognise it. Being just around the corner from the Ansett office where I worked. I drank there a couple of times.

It’s quite modern inside. With quite a lot of TVs showing rugby league. James and I have a Hawkers Hazy Pale. Andrew a Hawkers Lager. He does love his Lager. We have a couple of beers before moving on. 

We walk. Through the rain, to Whisky and Alement, a malt whisky bar. Past the old swimming baths. 

"I used to play squash in there with your Mum." 

“Back in the before time?”

“Yes, long before you were born.”

It’s rather small and intimate inside. I have an 8-year-old Lagavullin. It's lovely. I savour it, only taking tiny sips. I’m not a philistine.

“I love Lagavullin, but it’s got too expensive.” I say.

“You’re such a cheapskate, Dad.”

“Financially responsible is how I’d describe it.”

“Until it comes to buying books.”

“I told you not to mention that. Especially if your Mum’s around.”

We only stay for the one. As I’m getting hungry. What do I fancy? Something Asian. James suggests Shujinko, a nearby Japanese restaurant. That will do a treat. Japanese tapas. Exactly what I feel like eating.

Andrew takes control, ordering gyozas, fried chicken and shrimp tempura. And warm sake. At least for me and James. Andrew is sticking to beer. As he mostly does. Unless there’s soju to steal from me.

After eating, we call it a night. Though we do drop by the late-night offie in the Exford Hotel for beer and bourbon.



The Prince of Wales Hotel
2 Acland St, 
St Kilda VIC 3182.
http://theprince.com.au/


The Local Taphouse
184 Carlisle St, 
St Kilda East VIC 3183.
http://www.thelocal.com.au/


Captain Melville
34 Franklin St, 
Melbourne VIC 3000.
https://www.captainmelville.com.au/


Whisky and Alement
270 Russell St, 
Melbourne VIC 3000'
http://www.whiskyandale.com.au/


Shujinko Russell
225 Russell St, 
Melbourne VIC 3000.
http://shujinko.com.au/ 

Let's Brew - 1901 Truman (Burton) LP3 R

With the Burton Ales out of the way, we can move onto the Burton Pale Ales. With P3 being the weakest of the bunch. Weaker than most of Truman’s Mild Ales.

In terms of strength, it falls between a Light Bitter, like AK, and a full-strength Pale Ale. You could call it a sort of Victorian Ordinary Bitter.

The recipe is even simpler than for the Mild Ales. Just pale malt. Though there are the four different types of it you find in all their beers. You know the deal: two from English barley, two from Californian.

At around 13.5 lbs per quarter (336 lbs) of malt, the hopping rate is pretty high. Though lower than that of Truman’s stronger Pale Ales. It still results in a very high degree of bitterness, which comes out to (calculated) 77.5 IBU. Even today, that would count as pretty bitter.

Three types of English hops, as well as a small quantity described as “Pacifics” were employed in the copper. All were from the 1899 harvest.

The “R” suffix tells us that this was a beer sold young. To be consumed no more than a couple of weeks after racking. 

1901 Truman (Burton) LP3 R
pale malt	12.25 lb	100.00%
Fuggles 150 mins	1.50 oz
Cluster 150 mins	0.50 oz
Fuggles 60 mins	2.00 oz
Goldings 30 mins	2.00 oz
Goldings dry hops	0.50 oz
OG	1053
FG	1015
ABV	5.03
Apparent attenuation	71.70%
IBU	77.5
SRM	5
Mash at	153º F
Sparge at	170º F
Boil time	150 minutes
pitching temp	58.5º F
Yeast	WLP013 London Ale (Worthington White Shield)

 

 

Railway museum

We need to be up relatively early today. Or at least Andrew does. As we need to check out at 11. I rise just after 9. Andrew gets up somewhat later. In his usual zombified state.

We check out at 11 on the dot. And dump our bags. Then jump in an Uber and head for Port Adelaide. And the National Railway Museum.

The man selling tickets very nicely gives me the pensioner discount. Another victory for us oldies.

The museum is spread over a couple of sheds and full, as you would expect, of old rolling stock. Big, muscular steam engines and elegant dining cars and sleepers. Though some of the beds are tiny.

"You'd need to fold double to fit into that, Andrew."

“Triple almost.” 

There are exhibitions of every aspect of the railways. And pretty well done. We spend the best part of two hours there.

On the way in, I spotted somewhere called the Railway Hotel at the end of the street.

"That seems the logical place to go now, Andrew."

“Except it it’s not a pub anymore.”

“Aah. I didn’t notice that.”

“Like lots of things.”

“What about that other old hotel over there?”

“That’s a wool shop now.”

“Oh. How annoying.”

“Maybe we should just go to Pirate Life?”

“OK.”

“Like I suggested in the first place?”

“Yes, as you suggested earlier.”

“Thank you.”

“Isn’t it me who says that?”

“Usually. Always at the wrong time. And don’t you dare say it now.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good.”

Pirate Life is right next to the station. Handy for day-trippers, that. And for us.

The weather is turning filthy as we walk there. Yet there are still a few brave souls in the beer garden. Smokers. The hardiest tribe of all. Prepared to suffer the most extreme hardships to feed their addiction. You have to admire the commitment.

Inside, it’s huge. Truly industrial. With a brewing kit that's outsized, even for a place this big. It makes the Pirate Life in Perth look like a tiny Amsterdam brown café.

It's a Lager for Andrew and an XPA for me. I do love me an XPA. Whatever it is. But let’s not worry about little details like that. The Pirate Life version is what I would describe as a light drinking beer. A sort of AK for the modern age.

We have trouble finding seats that aren't either occupied or reserved. It's full of families. We soon realise why: kids eat for free on Saturday. Unfortunately, my kid is far too old to count as a kid anymore.

“Do you want some food, Andrew?”

“I don’t think we’ll have time for food.”

“Really?”

“Yes, there’s just time for a couple of pints.”

“Always time for beer, eh?”

“Yes.”

“They aren’t really pints, though.”

“Now who’s being a pedant, Dad?”

“Me.”

“That wasn’t a question requiring an answer.”

“I know.”

He’s probably right, though. As we need to get back to the hotel, then get to the airport, we don't have long. Just time for Andrew to have three "pints" and me two.

Nosing around, I see that there's a second brewhouse. One that's about the right size for the brewpub. Curious.

The weather has turned really nasty when we leave. Blowing a gale and pissing it down. Not that we care, safely ensconced in our Uber.

Only pausing to pick up our bags and have a piss, soon we're in another Uber for the fairly short ride to the airport.

When we're checking in, the lady says:

"The lounge is opposite gate 21."

"I can use the lounge?"

"Yes, both of you, with your gold status."

“I wish I'd known that in Perth, Andrew.”

“Me, too.”.

Obviously, we tip down the lounge. Which is massive and almost deserted. I get a whisky and Andrew a beer. Plus, I get some food: tuna salad and beetroot sandwich. Which I assemble myself.

“Are you going to get any food, Andrew?”

“Maybe later.”

“I doubt we’ll get a meal on the plane.”

“I said: maybe later.”

Alright, little Mr. Sensitive. I don’t say that out loud. I wouldn’t want to make him angry.

We have a few rounds before it's time to board. Obviously, Andrew hasn’t eaten anything. Our gate is nearby, which is cool.

It's not a long flight. But we get a drink and a snack. And free wifi. Which I use to check on the cricket.

Our taxi takes forever to get downtown. Has he gone the right way? It takes the best part of an hour.  Pretty sure Brunswick isn’t on the direct route from the airport to the CBD. It's getting on for 10 when we hit our hotel. And immediately go out for supplies.

The Total Liquor is just closing when we get there. But, on the way in, I noticed that the Exford Hotel bottle shop had a sign stating that it was open until 4 AM every day. So, there we go. Andrew has to show ID to get in.

I get a bottle of Jim Beam. Andrew gets some cider and industrial Australian beer. Over the road in the 7 Eleven, I get a roast beef sandwich and Andrew a sausage roll. We’re truly living the high life.

“It’s much livelier here, Dad.”

“Maybe a bit too lively”

A shouty-outy crazy person is just ahead of us. Belting out an incoherent torrent of words. And banging his hand things.

“I see what you mean.”

The street is dead busy, Full of young people having a night out. It’s quite a contrast with Perth and Adelaide. Total night and day.

“Much more fun than the last two towns, though, Dad.”

“I won’t argue you with you there.”

“That makes a change.”

Back in our room, we can’t get the TV to switch on. Oh, well. There’s always my laptop.

We watch YouTube for a while. Then slip off into slumber.




Pirate Life Brewing
18 Baker St, 
Port Adelaide SA 5015.
https://piratelife.com.au/
 

Adelaide brewery crawl

 I rise a little before 10. And feel much better after a nice cup of tea. Always the best way to start the day, a nice cup of tea.

Wow. Andrew gets up at 11:20! Oh, it's just to plug his phone in to charge. He's now gone back to bed. It's more like one when he actually gets up.

I make myself a cup of tea and do some writing. Ummm. That's the way to start the day: with a nice cup of tea.

Today's plan is simple. Go on a brewery crawl. There are three fairly close to each other within walking distance. According to Andrew.

"It's not as far as yesterday, Dad"

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes. It’s much closer.”

“Let’s walk, then.”

Not totally sure I believe Andrew.

As we set off for the first brewery, Crafty Robot, it's raining. Not too heavily, thankfully. And it really isn’t that far. He wasn’t lying. This time.

The brewery is an area that's mostly light industrial. And is itself a light industrial shed. With the stripped-down look so common in these places. It looks pretty new, too.

There are ten beers on tap. 

“What do I want?”

“I don’t know, Dad.”

“Did I say that out loud?”

“Yes, Mr. Alzheimer.”

“Very funny. I think I'll plump for the hazy IPA.”

"Going for the strongest beer again, eh, Dad."

"I just happen to fancy an IPA. And, anyway, the Stout is a bit stronger."

"But that's on nitro. I know you don't like that."

“Work of the devil. As I’ve often told you.”

“Making the IPA the strongest beer you’d drink.”

“Well done Mr. Logic.” That leaves him speechless. It’s a gift, I know. Or he might just not be very chatty today.  Like most other days, come to think of it.

Andrew gets an amber Czech Lager. That’s his sort of thing.

It's not very full. Only about half a dozen people. And four of those are staff.

My beer isn't too bad. Not too sludgy and with some nice hop character. Andrew seems happy with his, too. Though, at the speed he’s knocking it back, he may not be getting all the nuances of its flavour. 

The rain is getting heavier. The beer garden is totally waterlogged.

"I'm surprised there's no-one in the beer garden."

"Very funny, Dad."

“It’s a gift, I know.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“I’m perfectly well aware of that.”

It's 3 PM and I realise that I haven't eaten anything. We order some cheesy fingers to share. Which fills a bit of a hole. Amazingly, Andrew eats half of the fingers.

I quite like this place and its stripped-down style. Bright and inviting.

Andrew has a Pale Lager, before switching to Witbier. While I stick to the sludge. The other two customers leave. 

"Is it always this quiet?" I ask one of the staff.

"No. It's because of the weather."

That sounds believable. It's now pissing it down. Just as well it's not far to the next brewery, Silver Brewing.

As we approach, Andrew says: "I think it's that building with the smoke coming out of it."

And, indeed, it is. They’re barbecuing meat.

It's laid out slightly oddly, with booths running down one wall. And one table almost in the brewery area. While there’s a more restauranty bit next to the kitchen.

"Stocks are quite low and we've only two beers on tap." The barman says. A bit strange for a brewpub to run out of its own beers. Though it seems to be concentrating on being a restaurant more than a brewery.

We both get Pacific Ales. Not that I drink much of mine, as I suddenly feel exhausted.

"Why don't you get a cola, Dad? That will perk you up."

“Good suggestion. “

And after a while I do, indeed, feel a bit better.

The place seems to be Serbian owned. At least, that's what all the food is and I hear the old lady who's cooking speaking a Slavonic language. A group of middle-aged men orders a round of raki shots.

“Maybe a raki would liven me up?”

“Right, Dad. Feeling better?”

“Probably after a raki. Or two.”

“Just a coincidence that you need something highly alcoholic.”

“Yes. It’s just a weird intuition of mine. That raki will help.”

“You’re like a medieval peasant.”

“Thank you.”

“That wasn’t meant as a compliment.”

“Not taken as one, either.”

After a couple of apple rakis, I am, indeed, feeling much better. 

“I’m feeling much better now.”

“More pissed, you mean.”

“’Cheered up’, is how I’d describe my state.”

“There’s a new euphemism for ‘pissed’.”

As it's already after 6 PM, we decide to skip Mismatch, the last of the three breweries.

The place is starting to fill up with diners. Who order big platters of meat. Which looks nice, but would be enough for a whole sumo wrestling school. Way too much for me and Andrew.

“Fancy meat, Andrew?”

“No.”

“Me neither.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“Just being polite.”

“There’s a first.”

“Fuck off. I’m Mr. Polite, me. You cunt.”

“Point proved.”

“Fuck off.”

“Running out of swear words, Dad?”

“Piss off.”

When we climb into an Uber to head back to our hotel, it's pissing it down. Andrew bravely heads to Woollies for some food while I go to our room.

We end the day watching TV and sipping whiskey. Before turning in pretty early. Have to be up to check out at 11.



Crafty Robot Brewing
180/188 Grote St, 
Adelaide SA 5000.
https://craftyrobot.beer/


Silver Brewing Co
200-206 Gouger St, 
Adelaide SA 5000'
https://www.silverbrewingco.com.au/

Let's Brew Wednesday - 1901 Truman (Burton) No. L5 R

Now we start getting into confusing territory. As No. 5 has both Runner and Stock versions. Which means that it’s possible that the two were blended at some point. But it’s also possible that the Runner was sold straight in its mild form.

Any guesses what the recipe is? Yes, it’s a mix of four pale malts and an unknown type of sugar. Exactly the same as all the Mild Ales. With the one difference that the proportion of sugar is slightly higher.

Slightly different hops this time. Three English types all from the 1899 season. Along with a tiny amount of Hallertau from 1900.

No ageing for this beer. Though it may well have been blended with an aged beer. 

1901 Truman (Burton) No. L5 R
pale malt	15.75 lb	95.45%
No. 2 sugar	0.75 lb	4.55%
Fuggles 150 mins	2.00 oz
Fuggles 60 mins	2.00 oz
Fuggles 30 mins	1.875 oz
Hallertau 30 mins	0.125 oz
OG	1074
FG	1020.5
ABV	7.08
Apparent attenuation	72.30%
IBU	63
SRM	7
Mash at	151º F
Sparge at	170º F
Boil time	150 minutes
pitching temp	56º F
Yeast	WLP013 London Ale (Worthington White Shield)

 

 

Great News!

While Dolores was tidying up today, she found a box of books. Thirty copes of "The Home Brewer's Guide to Vintage Beer" that I'd forgotten I had.

Dead useful, as I was about to order more copies. Thinking I was down to just two.

Meaning I've got plenty of copies to sell. For the moment. Why not get a copy now? Who knows how much longer you'll be able to get a copy autographed. I won't be around forever.

 

Buy a signed paperback edition of the Homebrewer's Guide to Vintage Beer. For locations inside Europe.

 

Buy a signed paperback edition of the Homebrewer's Guide to Vintage Beer. For the USA, Canada, Australia and other locations outside Europe.

 

 

Rainy Adelaide

I rise around 10:30. Feeling much better than yesterday. And even better after a shower and an English breakfast tea.

Getting Andrew up is a bit of a struggle. I woke at 3 AM and he wasn't asleep. I do some pottering around for a couple of hours. While he snores on. He finally surfaces around 12:30. Looking dazed and confused. As always.

We rock down to Woollies once Andrew is looking human. I get some more fruit salad. And some English cheddar. And a small quiche lorraine. That should keep me going. Oh, and a litre of milk. 

“Don’t you want to get any food, Andrew?”

“Not really.”

“You mean ‘Let’s just go to the BWS.’.”

“I suppose we could go there.”

“That’s a ‘yes’, then.”

In the BWS he gets six packs of Asahi and some Japanese alcopop. I get a litre of the cheapest bourbon. I don't want to hang around. My stomach is feeling a bit weird. I don't want to shit myself.

Back in our room, I give the toilet a visit. And the shit flows like piss. Now that could have been embarrassing. At least I had the foresight to bring a change of kecks, should the worst happen.

Our room was tidied while we were out. Leaving me fully supplied with English breakfast tea. I celebrate by having another cup. A nice cup of tea really does work wonders. Just like Double Diamond.

Around 4 PM we head out for today's destination: Cooper's Original Ale House. I wasn't going to come to Adelaide and not drop by. Andrew persuades me to walk there.

"It's only about a mile."

"OK, then."

“That was easy.”

“You sound disappointed.”

It gives us a chance to see a bit more of the city. Some of which has quite a North American feel with 8- and 10-storey buildings. Mostly insurance company offices. At least, originally. And some classical stone buildings. All very handsome, with quite the big city feel. Much more so than Perth. Which, ironically, is a good bit larger.

As we get closer to our destination, the scale drops to just two storeys. And there are some classic balconied Australian houses. The cast-iron structures shielding the interior from harsh direct sunlight.

The Alehouse is quite empty when we arrive. And it's happy hour. Thatchers cider for Andrew. Cooper's Pacific Pale Ale for me. It's not bad. Is that tropical tang from US hops? Or are they more local?

Quite a few breweries have beers called Pacific Ale or XPA. No idea what exactly those names mean. Other than Pale Ales of some sort. Among the vast range of Cooper’s beers on draught here, there’s also an XPA. 

I order a second Pacific Pale Ale before the end of happy hour. Well before I've finished my first. And find myself doing what I did when I lived in Australia. Being a drink ahead so that, while I'm drinking one, I've got another warming up. In a vain attempt to combat the freezing serving temperature.

It's an impressive choice of beers on tap. Around a dozen of their own. Including Mild Ale at 3.5% ABV and aged versions of both Sparkling Ale and Best Extra Stout. Just a shame that they don't have a couple on cask. 

I go for Mild Ale next. Which, surprisingly, is rather pale and thin. And a bit underwhelming,

"This must be the most southerly-brewed Mild in the world, Andrew."

"Well, you can't get much further south than this. At least, and be on land. Other than Tasmania or Patagonia.”

“Finally taking an interest in Mild Ale-brewing?”

“No, just being geographically accurate.”

“That’s close enough.”

“You’re pathetic, Dad.”

“Thank you.”

“What did I tell you about saying that inappropriately?”

“That you find it endearing?”

“Shut up, Dad.”

The Dark Ale that I have next is more like my idea of a Mild. Dark and malty. We're ordering what they call "pints", but are maybe two-thirds of a pint.  They don’t seem to do Imperial pints here in South Australia.

The pub is really filing up. Though most punters are eating and leaving after their food and one beer. In most cases a schnitzel. As it’s schnitzel night.

My back is absolutely killing me. I blame the backless high stool. 

“Have you noticed that there’s no comfortable seating in here, Andrew?”

“You mean seats for oldies like you.”

“Sensible people who don’t want to fuck their spines.”

“Oldies like you.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what I heard.”

There's footie on the telly. Richmond against Carlton at the MCG. I'm supporting Carlton, obviously. As I used to live there. They concede a few early goals and trail by 30 points most of the game.

When I go to the bogs, I notice that there's a massive restaurant section at the rear. With a large pizza oven. I’d show you a picture, but I don’t take my phone to the bog with me. I’m not a fucking animal.

I finish with the Best Extra Stout. Which is excellent, as always. 

“This was my favourite beer, when I lived in Melbourne. All those years ago.”

“1950s was it, Dad?”

“Very amusing. Early 1990s. It’s still a cracking beer.”

“You won’t be letting me ‘finish’ that one, will you?”

“No fucking way.”

We leave just before half time.

"We're taking an Uber back." I say, putting my foot down.

“OK, dad.”

“I was expecting an argument.”

“You’ll be disappointed, then.”

“What’s your game.”

“Nothing. I don’t fancy walking in the rain.”

The devious bastard.

I found the walk down really tiring. I'm still not fully recovered from the pneumonia I caught in Argentina. Though I can now breathe fairly normally.

Back in the hotel, I nibble on my food and sip on my whiskey while watching the rest of the game. Carlton loses. Never in it, really.

When I turn in just after midnight, Andrew has already dozed off. Maybe he'll manage to get up before noon tomorrow. Maybe.



Cooper's Original Ale House
316 Pulteney St, 
Adelaide SA 5000.
https://coopersalehouse.pub/