Back to Singapore

I get up at 6:45 AM. And discover that out flight has been delayed by 40 minutes. I could have had another hour in bed.

Andrew rises about an hour after me. I'm not feeling great. One too many of the Imperial Stouts last night. But I look positively chipper compared to Andrew. He's not a great morning person at the best of times. He looks like death warmed up today.

“Feeling fresh and raring to go?”

“Fuck off, Dad.”

“Charming.”

“Just shut up, Dad.”

We leave at 8:30 AM and soon are rumbling our way down the motorway in an Uber.

Dropping off our bags is a bit of a fuss as the machine doesn't want to accept them for some reason. We get a member of staff to help. He has the same problem, but can get into an override screen and our bags shoot off.

There's quite a queue at security. But it moves pretty quickly and it doesn’t take long to get through. While immigration is a doddle with its electronic gates.

Just two things to do now. Get some duty free and get to the lounge. Cheap whisky for me, Appleton Estate for Andrew. 

“We wouldn’t want to pay Singapore prices for booze, Andrew.”

“No.”

“My bank account still hasn’t recovered from the days in Singapore on our way in.”

“Always about money, eh?”

“My money, not yours. Remember that.” 

Being a health-conscious sort of chap, I get some fruit. While Andrew notices that our flight has been delayed another 45 minutes. 

“More time in the lounge, then, Andrew.”

“That’s a positive way of looking at it.”

“You know me, Mr. Positive.”

“Right. Mr. Negative, more like. You’re always moaning.”

“Constructively critical, I’d call it.” 

“As constructive as a neutron bomb.”

“Bugger off.”

In Sydney, the bar in the lounge didn't open until 12. So, I'm a bit surprised when I see some people getting sparkling wine. It's only 9:30.

"Is the bar open?" I ask the young lady.

"Yes."

"I'll have a whisky then. One cube of ice. And a cafe latte."

The coffee is very good. And the whisky perks me up.

Andrew gets himself a Light Beer. Which is a surprise. It's only 2.2% ABV.

"Is that all they have?"

"No."

“Feeling rough? I’ve never seen you voluntarily drink a Light Beer before.”

“Shut up, Dad.”

“Ooh, touchy.”

“Fuck off.”

After a while, this bit of the lounge closes and we're asked to move upstairs. Where they have a range of draught beers, including Coopers Original Pale Ale. I get Andrew one of those. And a whisky for myself. Along with some scrambled egg.

We can see our gate from where we're sitting. Which is handy. 

When Andrew comes back from the bogs, I tell him:

"I just saw the crew getting on the plane. We must be going to board soon."

Still time for a couple more whiskies. And ice cubes.

When we see the flight starting to board, we head on down.

The on-board entertainment is done rather differently. Rather than embedded in the seat in front, they have a tablet that you plug in. It does have the downside of not being usable before or during take-off. I take advantage of the free wifi with my phone instead.

The lunch we're served isn't bad. Braised beef and mash. Followed by a timtam.

After the meal, the lights are turned down. I suppose they want people to sleep. But it's early afternoon. No sleeping for me. Instead, I watch a few films. Blockers, Spit, Another Small Favor. Spit is fairly decent. The other two pass the time. 

An hour or so before landing, we're served pork and kimchi dumplings. Which are really good. And quite spicy. Some of the best food I’ve ever had on a plane. Including in business class.

When I have to stow away the tablet for landing, I check on the test match on my phone. England need 35 to win. But keep losing wickets. When we land, it's down to 20 runs. But only 2 wickets left. One of which is one-armed Woakes.

Despite it being quite a way from our gate to immigration, it doesn't take too long as they have moving walkways. Unlike in fucking Rio airport.

A taxi transports us to our hotel in Chinatown. Once checked in, I ask Andrew:

“What’s the plan now?”

“Well, there’s a 7 Eleven just over the road.”

“Sounds like a good idea. Do you think you can make it that far in the heat?”

“Very amusing.”

“So, can you make it?”

“Yes I fucking can. I’m not that bad.”

“Just making sure.”

“Fuck off, Dad.”

Ay the 7 Eleven we stock up with essentials. Mixers for our duty free, sandwiches, crisps, beer and Strong Zero. The last one for Andrew, obviously.

Feeling quite knacked, we just laze around in our room watching YouTube.
 

The lift

I rise at 10:40. After a good long sleep.

Looking at my Whatsapp, I'm amazed to see a string of messages from the hotel. That's how they contacted me. Not via email, as stated in the confirmation email. Fuck. I really cocked that up.

I make myself a nice pot of English breakfast tea. You can’t go wrong with a nice cup of tea. Several nice cups are even better.

Andrew surfaces after midday. It's OK, we're in no rush. 

“Drinking tea again, Dad?”

“It helps wash the whiskey down.”

“Never too early for whiskey, is it?”

“Not when you’re on holiday.”

“And every day is a holiday now you’re retired.”

“Exactly.”

What's the plan for today? The Empire hotel for a cheap lunch. We head there about 13:30.

I've finally twigged that the Empire is linked to Valley Hops, the brewery next door. Which would explain why they supply most of the draught beers. At very reasonable prices, too. Some of the beers are only $10 for a pint. And the most expensive one, the Hazy IPA I'm drinking, is $15. Andrew, thankfully, is on the $10 Original Lager.

Between noon and 3 PM, the Empire has cheap meals. $18 for either a rump steak or a chicken parmo. Andrew has the latter while I go for the former. It's an absolute steal. Eating a chicken parmo was one of Andrew’s main objectives for the trip.

It's a funny old spot, the Empire. Doesn't exactly have a craft beer bar vibe. Lots of vertical drinking space, a few pool tables and a giant Fireball advertising statue.

“I'm starting to take quite a liking to this place, Andrew.”

“Me, too.”

 “The staff are friendly and the prices very reasonable.”

“Good for a cheapskate like you.”

“Thank you.”

“There’s a first.”

“What?”

“You said thank you at an appropriate time.”

“Damn.”

After we've eaten, a few more punters show up. Some wearing yellow and black scarves so I'm guessing that they're going to some sort of sporting event. My money would be on rugby league, which is big in these parts.

I Whatsapp Mikey with a photo of the $10 pints pumps.

“Oh my Buddha. That’s fucking cheap!” He replies.

Always good to make Mikey jealous.

After a few pints, we stroll back to our hotel. Flat, really. And chill for a bit. I know what we're doing this evening. Taking the lift.

When we checked into our emergency hotel, the nice man mentioned that nearby there's a lift which takes you down to the riverside. Where there's a brewery, amongst other things.

It's just around dusk when we head there. Providing us with a great view of the Story bridge and the downtown skyscrapers. Felons Brewing is massive. With a big frontage along the river. It's rather lovely. We sit outside and get some beers. A 10.5% ABV Imperial Stout for me, something Lagery for Andrew.

It's our last evening in Australia. Andrew seems to have enjoyed himself here. As have I.

“Would you like to come back to Australia?”

“Of course, Dad.”

“But in the summer, when it’s nice and hot?”

“Haha. You know I can’t take the heat.”

“What about living here?”

“Maybe Tasmania.”

We have a few beers. Well, I do. Andrew swaps onto cider, as he's apt to do. We don't stay too late, having an early start tomorrow. Our flight to Singapore is at 11 AM. Meaning we'll need to be up at around 7 AM.

"Have you noticed something, Andrew?"

"What?"

"It hasn't rained today. Like it has every other day we've been in Australia."



Empire Hotel
339 Brunswick St, 
Fortitude Valley QLD 4006.
https://www.empirehotel.com.au/


Felons Brewing
5 Boundary St, 
Brisbane City QLD 4000.
http://felonsbrewingco.com.au/ 

Breakfast Creek

I rise at 10. Andrew a little later. We check out and then trail down to our other place.

It’s very spacious, with two bedrooms and two bathrooms. We chill out for a while, before getting an Uber to the Breakfast Creek hotel. A pub dating from the 1880s, with one particular claim to fame.

The place is mobbed.

"Do we need to wait to be seated?" I ask.

"Yes. Unless you want to just sit at the bar."

That's exactly what we were planning. We weave our way through the seating to the private bar in the original part of the building. It's rather lovely. With a marble-topped bar and leaded glass windows. And a cask perched on the bar.

Because this is the one place where XXXX Bitter is served by gravity from a wooden cask. We get ourselves schooners. It's quite pleasant. Smooth.

There's women's rugby league on the TV. It's pretty brutal.

After a couple of schooners, I order some prawns. Giant ones. They're rather nice.

I take a look at the public bar over the corridor. It's a real, old-fashioned Aussie public bar. Fully tiled, island bar counter in the centre, horse racing on the TV. It's quite raucous. In contrast to the more sedate private bar.

“You should have a look in the public bar, Andrew.”

“Is that where all the noise is coming from?”

“Yes. They’re watching horse racing.”

“Hence the shouting.”

“Yes. Take a look. It’ll give you an idea of the six o’clock swill days.”

Andrew is feeling a bit hungry and orders some chips. In the meantime, he has a pint of Hahn Superdry.

I have a couple of Bundaberg rums to accompany my schooners. This is all rather nice.

They’re getting through the casks pretty quickly.  Each one only lasts 30 or 40 minutes. It looks like a firkin in size. Meaning a cask contains about 100 schooners. So, they’re serving them at a decent pace.

After several happy hours, we get an Uber back to our hotel.

I fancy some Asian food. There seem to be loads of places down the road. So that's where we head. We, somewhat randomly, choose the Fat Dumpling. As it's pretty early, we can get a walk in.

We order spring rolls and three types of dumplings. Pretty much exactly what we want in terms of variety and quantity. I feel quite stuffed at the end. Even Andrew eats a fair bit.

“Feeling hungry for once?”

“Fuck off, Dad.”

“Charming. I’m only concerned about your welfare.”

“Really? Not just trying to wind me up?”

“Would I do that?”

“Yes. You’re always saying shit just to annoy me.”

“Bantz, Andrew. Just bantz.”

“That’s what all abusers say.”

Now it's time to find somewhere to watch the Lions game. We first check out the Empire. But that doesn't seem to have any large screens. We pop over the road to the Royal George. It's really buzzing outside, but pretty empty inside. With lots of rugby league games on. I have an IPA-type thing, Andrew a cider.

“Not sure this is the best place to watch the game, Andrew. It’s a bit dead.”

“Like you?”

“Very funny. I’m still alive.”

“Just about.”

“And it’s very rugby league in here. Not sure they’ll show a union game.”

Heavily carpeted and with a bland, modern look, it reminds me of a Watney’s tied house circa 1974. Not exactly homely.

We find a much better candidate back up on Brunswick Street, the Ginger Lion. They have two big screens. One is showing an Aussie rules game featuring Brisbane (who are also called the Lions). The other, the rugby union Lions game. We get beers and are lucky enough to find seats next to an older chav with an impressive beard.

It's absolutely pissing it down when the game starts. And it doesn't go well for the Lions. It's a bit disconcerting as half the punters are cheering for the rules game.

We get chatting to the bearded gentleman, whose name is Stuart. He spent a couple of decades in the Australian army. He seems a nice chap.

Unlike the pissed-up arsehole who screams in the face of a mild-mannered Irishman when the Lions lose. What a total and utter cunt.

We leave soon after the end of the game. For drinks and YouTube in our hotel.



Breakfast Creek Hotel
2 Kingsford Smith Dr, 
Albion QLD 4010.
https://www.breakfastcreekhotel.com/


Fat Dumpling
370 Brunswick St, 
Fortitude Valley QLD 4006.


Royal George Hotel
327 Brunswick St, 
Fortitude Valley QLD 4006.
http://royalgeorgehotel.com.au/


Ginger Lion
446 Brunswick St.,
Fortitude Valley QLD 4006. 

Hotel confusion

I rise at 6:30 AM. Which is loads of fun. It takes a while longer for Andrew to rouse himself.

We're outside a little before 8 and order an Uber. Which is where the fun starts. Andrew moves the pickup point a little, which makes the pickup point look like it's on Druid Street. Where they can't stop. We see one Uber just sail past and cancel.

Moving the point further up York Street doesn't help. And the Uber seems to stop somewhere else entirely.

We move to another, quieter street, cancel the first car and order a new one. It's getting on for 8:30 AM when we finally get aboard.

Checking in isn't much of a problem. Nor is security. There are signs saying liquids are allowed on domestic flights.

“They must have the new X-ray machines here, Andrew.”

“And not have the stupid EU rules.”

“Exactly.”

“Why the fuck did the EU forbid liquids in hand baggage?”

“No fucking idea.”

We head to the massive lounge. No booze available until noon, sadly. I content myself with some breakfast. Starting with fruit. Followed up with an eggy thing, cheese and tomato. Coffee and orange juice, too.

We time getting to the gate perfectly. Our group is boarding and we walk right onto the plane.

It's a very full flight. Totally full, I think. But it isn't a very long flight. Not much over an hour.

Andrew's bag pops out pretty quickly but mine takes a while. We go for the Uber option. A couple seemingly cancel. Maybe we aren't going far enough for them.

When we arrive at our accommodation, we realise that it isn't a normal hotel. There's no reception. I look through my emails for the confirmation. And, sure enough, there are some special instructions. I should have received an email 48 hours before arrival. With a link to a website to perform a virtual check in.

Fuck.

Andrew finds the company's website which has a phone number and an email address. I email them and wait. And wait.

With time ticking by, I wonder if I'm going to get a response. I start looking for nearby hotels.

"Do you want to wait here longer or should we just get a hotel now?"

"Let's get a hotel now, Dad."

There's one a couple of hundred metres away. We walk there.

"Do you have any availability for today?"

"Yes."

That's a relief. I was a bit worried there for a minute. It’s quite a way to any other hotels. Not walking distance. 

Up in our room, I see that there is a reply to my email. Though they haven't sent a link to the check in portal. I ask them to send me it. While we're waiting, we go to the BWS for supplies of booze.

There's a sign on the door saying "Back in 10 minutes."

"Let's have a drink over the road while we wait." Andrew suggests.

"OK."

The Empire is a typical, if rather large, balconied corner hotel. Valley Hops Hazy IPA for me, Pilsner for Andrew.

About as soon as we sit down, we notice that the BWS is open. We'll just be having the one, then.

Bourbon and beer bought in the BWS. We go back to the hotel. And find that I have an email with the necessary link. The online check in process goes fairly smoothly. Luckily. I have a photo of my passport and of myself saved on my laptop.

Armed with the passcode, we head to our accommodation. And can get in! Hurray! We return to the Empire to celebrate. Where it's happy hour. I get a Valley Hops Hazy IPA again. Andrew is still on Lager.

"Do you fancy a curry?"

"I'm not really hungry, but you can have one."

What a shocker: Andrew isn’t hungry. Again.

Curry it is, then. For me. Watching me eat a curry for Andrew. We walk up the road to Bangalore Days. I order a goat curry with parathas. And a whisky. Andrew gets . . . a beer.  There’s a shocker.

The curry is good, but very heavy on the ground coriander. Could have been a bit spicier, too.

On the way back to our hotel, we drop by Bonnie Doone, a craft beer bar. Where I have some hazy thing. Again. Don’t blame me. That’s often the only type of IPA available.

We only have a couple, then head back to our hotel. Where it's sandwiches, bourbon and YouTube.




Empire Hotel
339 Brunswick St, 
Fortitude Valley QLD 4006.
https://www.empirehotel.com.au/


Bangalore Days
421 Brunswick St, 
Fortitude Valley QLD 4006.


Bonnie Doon Public House
454 Brunswick St, 
Fortitude Valley QLD 4006.
https://www.bonniedoonpublichouse.com.au/ 

Sydney brewery crawl

I rise at 11:15 AM. Feeling a bit groggy. I'm feeling the effect of that Murphy's XXX.

I make myself a nice cup of English breakfast tea. I’ve made sure to look inside every kettle before filling. Some weirdos shit in hotel kettles. I kid you not. I’ve seen it on the internet.

Andrew surfaces at around 2 PM. Just about in time for us to head over to meet Peter at Chuck & Son. Good news is that public transport is free today. Something to do with some strikes.

We get the train at Town Hall and ride a few stops to Sydenham. From which it's a bit of a walk. Some of it uphill, which I love. And it's raining. Even better.

We roll up at 3:15 PM and Peter is waiting for us. IPA for me, Pilsner for Andrew. Only schooner size, mind.

The Murphy’s XXX got to Peter, too.

"I'm really feeling my age." He says.

“Me, too.” Oh, to be eighteen again. Or 28. To be honest, I’d be happy enough with 58. 

“It was that last pint. It’s always the last pint that gets you.”

“Very true.”

It’s pretty typical brewery taproom. Large, spartan with an industrial edge. With plenty of open floorspace. Presumably for vertical drinking. Which is pretty typical of Aussie boozers.

The brewery is the latest project of Chuck Hahn, legendary Australian brewer. In collaboration with his son, obviously.

Peter recommends the Superdelic Stout. Which is, indeed, quite nice. Though maybe not quite superdelic. Rather disappointingly, it’s just named after a new variety of New Zealand hops.

We chat about brewing records. Fascinating stuff, I know. Peter is one of the few people in the world I can have these discussions with. I'm not going to miss the opportunity. For once, I’m not going to bore you with the details.

After a couple of beers, we get ourselves burgers. Which are pretty good, if a bit leaky.

Then it's time to move on. To Village. We catch an Uber. Bumping into Matthew just before it comes. It's just getting dark when we arrive at the brewery

Village houses the Wildflower brewery, but the taproom is run in conjunction with another brewer, Mountain Culture. Who are based in Katoomba in the Blue Mountains.

It's a bit gloomy inside. And chilly. A wood stove attempts forlornly to provide some heat. A fire that would struggle to warm up a caravan, let alone this barn of a space.

Me and Peter order a hand-pumped Dark Mild. Andrew a Czech Pale Lager. It takes ages to pull the Mild. And all a waste of time, as it's undrinkable. We get a Czech Dark Lager instead. Which is pretty good.

Barrels line the walls. But it's rather wet inside. Andrew points to a hole in the roof.

“I don’t think the water is from cleaning the floor. It’s raining in.”

“Lovely.”

I’m not impressed.

“There’s an air of couldn’t give a shit about here, Andrew.”

“It is all a bit shit.” 

“I can’t imagine this is the best environment for barrel-ageing.” I say. “Cold in the winter, boiling hot in the summer.”

“At least they sell pints.”

“Er, half litres.”

“Close enough, Dad. You fucking pedant.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t get started with that again.”

After a while Aziz Tan and Karl Riseborough, the owner of Flat Rock, who's English, arrive. More beers are drunk and I flog a couple of books.

Time to move onto the final brewery in the crawl, Batch. Which has a bright taproom at the front, with all the shiny brewing things further to the rear. Which indicate a decent-sized brewery. 

Next door there’s a strip club. 

“That could come in handy later, Andrew.”

“Piss off, Dad.”

Peter and I get Elsie, a Milk Stout. Which is pretty nice. Not too sweet. And the nitro isn’t too offensive. I hope Andrew doesn’t notice after what I’ve told him about miytp being the devil’s work.

We order food from the Portuguese truck outside. A bifana for me. Without mustard. Very tasty. And just $15. Andrew isn’t hungry. Though he does have a few of the communal chips.

Noticing an Imperial version of the Milk Stout, Elsie’s Other Udder. I go for one of those. It’s a refreshing 8.5% ABV.

At 8:30 PM, the barmaid calls last orders. What is it with places closing so early? 9 PM is fucking ridiculous. Andrew gets himself a last beer. As always.

We get the Metro back into town. It's very flash. And rather like the Elizabeth Line in London.

I get to bed pretty early. Have to get up for a 10:35 flight. God knows how long Andrew stays up.



Chuck and Son's Brewing Co.
Unit 3E-3F/1-7 Unwins Bridge Rd, 
St Peters NSW 2044.
https://chuckandsonsbrewing.com.au/


Village
11-13 Brompton St, 
Marrickville NSW 2204.
https://wildflowerbeer.com/pages/village


Batch Brewing Company
44 Sydenham Rd, 
Marrickville NSW 2204.
http://www.batchbrewingco.com.au/
 

Speaking again

I rise at about 11. Andrew is still away with the fairies. Quelle surprise. He was still up at 4:30.

First thing I do, after brushing my teeth, is to make a nice cup of tea. You can't go wrong with tea. The best way to start any day.

I plan a trip to the Lord Nelson today. And when Andrew is finally looking human, that's where we head. It's not that far and quite a simple walk. Except that it's fucking raining again. Though it's not that heavy. Hydrating rather than soaking.

The walk gives Andrew a chance to see at least a little of the city. And a couple of very different parts of the centre. First, the towering blocks of the CBD. Second, the quaint old terraced houses of the Rocks.

It's just after 2 PM when we hit the Lord Nelson. A sturdy stone boozer on the corner of a hill. It’s fairly busy, but we manage to find a table OK.

Old Admiral for me, Victory Bitter for Andrew. Mine is a bit like Old Puke. Not bad at all. Brewed here on site.

Most of the other customers seem to be Lions fans. There's a surprise.

Feeling hungry, I order a pork pie. With a side of mushy peas. The pie is excellent, the peas rather a disappointment, being just mashed up garden peas.

Andrew swaps to cider. He does like his cider. He's racing ahead of me in pints again.

“No need to drink so fast.”

“Why not, Dad?”

“There’s no afternoon closing.”

“Very amusing.”

Outside, the rain is getting heavier. And the arriving Lions fans soggier. Now it's getting pretty full.

For my second pint, I have a Nelson's Blood. which is a Porter. It's perfectly fine. Andrew is still on the cider.

A Lions fan comes up and says:

"You were sitting close to me on the train yesterday. I saw your son keep coming back with provisions from the buffet."

By “provisions” he means drinks. Andrew didn't fetch any food.

There's a terrible draft every time the door opens.

“I need something to warm me up.”

“Like a cup of tea?”

“No. Something more concentrated.”

“I can see where this is going.”

 “Something like bourbon. Maybe a double.”

“Sure you don’t want a quadruple?”

“That would be a bit much.”

“It’s what you pour yourself at home.”

“Don’t exaggerate.”

“Exaggerate? Your usual measure is more like a sextuple.”

I plump for a double bourbon. That should do the trick. Andrew is still on cider.

Andrew actually seems to be hungry. At least, he's looking with interest at the food menu.

"Want to share a steak?" I ask.

"I was thinking of ordering a burger."

That’s a shock. Andrew eating a whole meal by himself.

“Are you feeling OK, Andrew?”

“Very funny, Dad.”

"OK, you have a burger, I'll have a steak."

Which is what we do. They're both pretty good. And not too stupidly expensive. Andrew even eats most of his chips.

I'm giving a talk tonight at the Social Brewers. Which is miles away. At least 40 minutes by Uber. Given the weather, and the fact that we'll be traveling in rush hour, we allow for longer than that. Just as well, as it takes a good 45 minutes. Much of which is in a tunnel.

Social Brewers is in a light industrial unit. And is very, er, industrial. We're the first to arrive. But soon Peter Symons appears. And gives me copies of his four books.* Along with a special edition bottle of Glenfiddich. Which is nice of him.

We get a Czech Dark Lager, which was brewed by Barry, another member of Peter's homebrew club.

About 25 tickets have been sold. But not everyone has turned up. Presumably because of the foul weather. There’s maybe half that number. Which is disappointing. But as long as I have an audience of almost two, I’m happy to do my thing.

"Do you want a microphone?"

“Yes.”

I wouldn't usually need one for such a small venue. But I'm having to compete with the rain on the corrugated iron roof.

As I talk about the history of Stout, beers are served. Four historical Stouts. Two home-brewed, 2 made by Social Brewers:

1879 BP Brown Stout, 1890 Adnams Stout, 1900 Cairnes Stout, 1913 Murphy's XXX.

The talk goes pretty well. Other than me having to pause a couple of times when the rain gets too noisy. Gives me a chance to drink some of the lovely recreations, though. The Murphy's XXX is particularly nice. And over 9% ABV. Just my kind of beer. So much so that I have a couple of half litres.

After I'm done, I chat a little with the audience. And sell a couple of books. Not enough, though. I still have seven left. How the fuck am I going to get them back to Amsterdam?

It's still raining as we take the long ride back into town. Where Andrew goes to the Woollies and I take the books up to our room.

Where I sip some of the rather nice Glenfiddich that Peter gave me.



The Lord Nelson Brewery Hotel
19 Kent St, 
The Rocks NSW 2000.
http://www.lordnelsonbrewery.com/


The Social Brewers & Gungah Bay Distilling
10, Unit 11/12 Hearne St, 
Mortdale NSW 2223.
http://thesocialbrewers.com.au/ 

 

* Peter's books are also published via Lulu. Also much like my books, they combine brewing history with historic recipes. The emphasis is on Australia, but there are lots of UK beers for comparison purposes.

You can but his books via these links: 

https://www.lulu.com/shop/peter-symons-and-ronald-pattinson/bronzed-brews/paperback/product-vq2e2j.html
https://www.lulu.com/shop/peter-symons/guile-brews/paperback/product-1kk978rm.html
https://www.lulu.com/shop/peter-symons/6-oclock-brews/paperback/product-q6ng4z2.html
https://www.lulu.com/shop/peter-symons/true-blue-brews/paperback/product-5799nqn.html 

 

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.
 

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/