Chronicles of the Berkshire Pig: January 2016

~~Litherland REMYCA v Barnton~~

~~Cleator Moor Celtic v Horden Colliery Welfare~~

Wath Brow Hornets v Royal Air Force

Liverpool U21s v Reading U21s

Start of the proper rugby season with the Challenge Cup first round, so off to the north west for a a game and also some football.

Was meant to be just mad Dai and myself but at Swindon station I bumped into sometimes match going companion Mike. He was on his way back home to Bristol but had just come out of a meeting which saw him leave the company, but as he was keen to tell me all the detail of this, and had been given a ticket to get home which was any route, he joined me on the train to Cheltenham. Two changes, and four bottles later, Mike was most of the way through telling me what had happened, but by now we were rolling into Wigan.

From here it was over to Wigan's second station (akin to being the least talented of the Snodin brothers). Wallgate is where 1980s DMUs take people in shellsuits with crack habits into Manchester, and people with fake tans and ugg boots to destinations to Southport.

My destination, with Mike still in tow, was Parbold.

Reason for this was firstly the Wayfarers.....

....brewpub for Naughty Child, who's beer was a vast improvement on their naming.

Next was the Windmill for a Southport - Golden Sands.....

.....with the remains of its namesake.

Back to the station and the trains were in a mess. The intended destination was Burscough, for a change for Ormskirk and a bus to Litherland for footballs most inpenetrateable acronym, REMYCAs game against Barnton in the North West Counties 1. However, at the station, the previous train was 45 minutes late, and stopped at Hoscar, which from memory, had an adjacent Guide pub so we hopped off there.

Checking the timetable on arrival, we had got off one of only a couple of trains a day that stop there, and the pub was in fact a yomp across farmland. As it was only three minutes from Parbold by train, the sensible option would have been to order a taxi to take us somewhere where it didn't feel like we were about to be sacrificed by blokes in dungarees.

Instead we chose a grass verge hike to the pub.

The Ring O'Bells has recently been re-opened and has been done up, but was deserted.

It was ticked with a Munro - Dunsco and then it was time for what was described in the guide as a 'pleasant 20 minute towpath stroll' into Burscough. I'm not sure what I was expecting at eight o'clock at night in record breaking wet January, but it certainly wasn't that descriptor, as we trudged through the mud in the pitch black.

Halfway to Burscough we came abruptly stumbled across three white vans in a field. Boxes were being unloaded from one van to the other two. Activity stopped on our arrival, we all wished each other a good evening, and went our separate ways.

We were fully expecting to be shot at some point, which the still present Mike seemed to think was a fair alternative of a Friday night navigating a secluded towpath in brogues and a business suit. Eventually we arrived into Burscough.....

.....and deciding we probably wouldn't make it to Litherland, headed for the Hop Vine for a Burscough – Flat Rib.

Back at the station we had the option of Southport, or back to Wigan for an earlier than expected meet with Mad Dai. As the former is only known for sectarian marching and people who like to correct minor details, we chose the latter. By now Mike had decided he wouldn't make it to Bristol tonight. The train journey was most notable for a youth trying to set fire to his own seat.

Meeting point with Dai is the recent guide edition of Wigan Central, which is located under the station. Dai, resplendent in an Ireland Rugby League fleece which was showing considerable evidence of the 12 Strongbows he had on the train up from Cardiff, was keen to tell us how 2015 was a sectioning free year for him, which he put down to concentrating on watching rugby.

Apart from this new find, and the ever popular but not required Anvil, Wigan's guide pubs are barn like places that in the evening become night clubs, so are best avoided. So After a Lymestone - Foundation Stone in Central, flagging the Berkeley and John Bull Chop House, it was on to the new Doc's Symposium on the outskirts of town.

Dai was proud to show off his niche new t-shirt in the home of Northern Soul. A Hophurst - Flaxen was had, accompanied by a £1.25 cheese selection which is a welcome addition to the pub scene. Except I was in the bogs when it arrived and by the time I got back, Mike and Dai had demolished so much of it that it wasn't worth the publicity photo of the four remaining grapes.

After that it was back to the hotel, whose key feature was a lift with an ash tray.

Next morning it was the greatest meal of them all, a hotel buffet breakfast. This allows the three course option of cereal, full English and then continental, with cheese for deserts. This still seemed to be healthier than the straight-from-viz option at the high street bakers. Notice the small print.

Train was the 0812 Transpennine service northbound. Normally this is an Edinburgh service but a bridge has been washed away near Beatock, so was only due to run as far as Lochibie. Grounds from trains - Lancaster's Giant Axe.

Our destination was Penrith as I fancied a scenic bus across the Lake District. This proved to be incredible foresight as at Oxenholme it was announced that a combination of the signalling being fucked at Carlisle and a land slip, meant the train was terminating at Penrith. Mike had decided that if he was going to get bollocked for staying out last night, he might as well get full value for it so was also joining us today.

A few hundred people decamped to the station forecourt to await the arrival of the promised road transport on to Carlisle. We had an hour for our bus so headed into town.

Except we didn't.

If anyone here has any influence over Penrith Town council, firstly, poke them in the eye with something sharp, then get them to sort out their fucking maps.

Now I can just about accept a map that doesn't point North.......

......but what I can't fucking accept.....

.....is every fucking map....

....having a different fucking orientation.

The random orientation issues were compounded by me knowing how to get from the football ground to the bus station, but forgetting the football ground had moved so was attempting a massive hike out of town to the new ground, rather than the town centre Sainsburys the old ground has become. Eventually we got to the bus station.

The eagle eyed amongst you may have noticed our bus was being guarded by a local dressed as a sheriff but with a walking frame instead of a horse.

Having decided that Penrith is massively fucked up, we departed on the bus, passing the station with the same people still waiting for their coaches, only to immediate stop at a petrol station with a turfed roof. Really, is this what prolonged exposure to Jennings and chilblains does to people?

The bus ride is one of the most scenic in Britain, and none more so than today where the front seat and clear skies gave incredible views across the fells.

First major stop on the route is Keswick, home of the UK pencil museum and more outdoor clothing shops than the rest of Britain combined.

Heading on, the flooding was still evident as firstly Bassenthwaite, the only actual lake in the Lake District (don't ask me how that works) seemed to be twice its normal size....

....and there were also a lot of damaged bridges.

Our destination was Cockermouth.

The town is famous for causing much amusement to school children with atlases. See also Penistone, Scunthorpe and Pissflappery.

Town is famous for drinking as local laws meant the pubs could open all day on market days so was a popular destination for 17th century CAMRA. It now has two GBG ticks, firstly the Castle Bar for a Bowness - Swan Blonde.

Then up the hill to the Swan Inn for a Fyne Ales - Jarl.

Finding not much else to do in the town, we headed off to Whitehaven on an unliveried Stagecoach Alexander Dennis 10.7m Enviro 200, next to an equally monotone statue of the towns first MP, who was assassinated in India.

A seven minute connection in Whitehaven saw a man of steel move to the Vagabond for a Tiny Rebel - Cwtch, and half of Mike's Jarl which he couldn't down in time.

Next move was another Stagecoach service, taking full advantage of our North West day ranger. This was the 31 up to Cleator Moor.

Once again we were able to overpower the mums with toddlers to procure the front seats and the stunning views over the fells continued, with a bit of sun now poking out.

Mike had been moaning about the cold so in Cockermouth, visited a charity shop and purchased a flat cap. Combined with his work Mac, it meant we were now accompanied by Albert Tatlock.

Cleator Moor was everything you might consider a remote mining village with no mines for the last twenty years to be like.

First stop was Cleator Moor Celtic for their game with Horden Colliery Welfare in the Wearside league.

However, on arrival at the ground ten minutes before kick off, we were greeted with the unpromising site of cars being driven away, down one of the least salubrious approaches to a ground I can think of.

Turns out, that despite both teams, and the Linos all being ready, the ref had complained about how the condition of the touch line, and therefore the game was off, which didn't delight Horden after their 125 mile journey from near Hartlepool.

This meant we didn’t have the opportunity to use the recently rebuilt, and fairly substantial clubhouse

For us, the postponement didn’t matter so much as our main game was a five minute walk down the main road to the end of the village, where Wath Brow Hornets rugby league play.

The move to Super League has had a strange effect on the Cumbrian sides. The original proposal was that there was to be single Cumbria team, but whoever decided this had obviously never looked at a map or transport links as it is a huge effort to get between Workington, Whitehaven and Barrow. These teams have therefore lurched between various crisis in the championship and championship 1. However, in the amateur game, the Cumbrian sides have become much stronger with Wath Brow, Egremont, and Kells all being in the ARLA top division.

Wath Brow Hornets 26 v Royal Air Force 4, Ladbrokes Challenge Cup, Round 1

Wath Brow have been round for a hundred years or so, but have become a force in the last thirty. They have beaten four professional teams in the challenge cup. The club mascot is a steroid crazed hornet fist pumping to a good power ballad.

Rugby League in the armed forces is a recent thing. Until union became professional, the old boys network in the senior positions, prevented the army, navy or Air Force having league teams.

The ground was in an exceptionally picturesque location, looking out over the fells.

On the other side there was a substantial clubhouse set up and a fair sized crowd.

Being so exposed, an absolute gale was blowing. Tatlock surveys the game as the wind turbine is in danger of taking off with half the village attached.

At some point, the pitch has been levelled. This gives some of the most precarious standing imaginable as the path is on a 20ft press apiece. This doesn't seem to bother Dai.

Behind the goal some new housing has been built, rather ambitiously, with both a conservatory and a sun deck.

For the second game in succession, the car park has been host to a mobile butchers, is this the new pétanque?

This is the Cumbria CAMRA clubhouse of the year, but they only had Thwaites – Wainwright on. Though three pints and three pies for £9.80 softened the blow.

Definitely coming back on the 18th September.

The Air Force have always been the weakest of the three, but surprisingly took the lead with a break away try. However, Wath Brow soon got back into it, scoring the next four try's before half time. The gale force winds made kicking impossible (that would be 90% of unions game plan gone), at one end kicks at goal weren't even making the 20 metre line, at the other, mountain rescue teams were being sent to find the balls as they were being carried halfway to Maryport.

With the game ending 26-4 we hopped on the bus back into town. The shenanigans at Carlisle meant our train was 40 minutes late so instead of the planned stop off at Ravenglas, we instead headed for the Whitehaven Rum Museum......

.....which was shut, and looked to only contain a few barrels. Still, one for the next visit.

After a revisit to the Vagabond for a Yates - XB, it was a walk to the harbour passed the worlds coldest looking marina. Seriously, why spend 200k on a yatch and keep it somewhere that every trip out is like the Terra Nova expedition.

Finally, our train arrived.

Supplies were obtained for the train for an impromptu Ale and Cheese party.

A woefull cheese selection meant the highlight was a blind tasting competition of the new flavoured laughing cow cheese spreads. The hardest part was getting through to Dai that 'Laughing Cow' isn't actually a flavour.

Arrival into Preston and it was a mop up of a few guide pubs. Firstly the Black Bull where a gap toothed local complemented Mike on his ‘style’. The phrase ‘Tatlock sheikh’ was coined, remember where you heard it first. Dai got chatting to the bloke and bought him a drink, which turned out to be a double brandy, which was strange as he was on halves of John Smiths. I had the local Hart – Pale.

We somehow gave this great looking place a miss.

Our destination was the Ale Emporium, which is weirdly part of the students union but was full of pensioners. Bowland –Gold.

Next was moving out of town to the packed Wheatsheaf for an Elland – Rudimentary, and then on to the equally uninspiring Wellington for a Bradfield – Farmers Blonde. It was then a traipse through the hale back to the station for the short hop back to Wigan.

SUNDAY

It’s fair to say that the view from Wigan Mercure isn’t the greatest in the chain’s armoury.

Added to that is a bizarre room numbering system which meant everyone goes to the wrong floor.

Grounds that can be seen from the railway except on misty, freezing cold mornings – DW Stadium.

Our destination was Chester for drinks and under 21s football. It is fair to say the journey wasn’t as scenic as yesterdays. Here is a delightful composition of Runcorn chemical works across the M56, viewed down the Manchester Ship Canal.

So, into Chester. By now Mike had finally gone home, so it was just Dai and myself.

There was limited choice due to most of the guide pubs not opening until 12, so first stop was the Mill Hotel, which unusually for a GBG, was an actual modern hotel. Here, accompanied by a Phoenix – Hopsack, we got to watch continuous loops of Frank Bruno tweets about Terry Wogan.

A quick run out on the miniature railway. Haulage was a RES liveried class 47 with minions as drivers, I bet they’re not even ASLEF, annoying scab bastards.

Then a walk down the river with this homage to England’s Rose.

A wander around the city walls. Note how the multi-storey car park has been so compassionately blended in on the right.

Next was The Brewery Tap for a house Spitting Feathers – Thirst Quencher. Dai has just applied for internet dating and ask me to read through his profile. My critique was that stating he is looking for a (female) real ale drinking rugby league supporter in Cardiff was limiting his audience. Dai took that to mean he should actually be looking for girls in Leeds that are after a long distance relationship. This may take some time.

Next was the Cross Keys, which is the Joule’s tap, and their blonde was had.

It was time to head out of town for the football. I’d been to the Deva stadium once in 1994 when Reading won the league. It is a lot closer to the old ground than I remember, and also a lot more rural than I remember, the entrance being marked by fly tipping.

Chester has jumped onto the fibreglass animal trail bandwagon, choosing rhinos for some reason. The club have one in the kit and with a fringeline that indicates it cuts its own hair.

And so into the stadium, on the left was a slightly obscure tribute to the Paris attacks. Not sure what the Chester connection is?

Liverpool U21s 2 v Reading U21s 0, Barclays Under 21s Premier League

And so to the game. Not sure how the Under 21 Premier League works, and how Reading are in it. Liverpool are second from bottom, Reading were 5th. Liverpool had some of their players called up to the first team squad for Saturday’s game so apparently were not at full strength. If any of their players make more than a handful of first team appearences, I would be shocked.

Reading had Aaron Kuhl who has made 6 first team apperances. He is the son of Martin, not sure what he does these days. Number 10 Liam Kelly was the other decent looking player. He was the one who scored for the Republic of Ireland U21s from the half way line against Sweden.

Deva stadium hasn’t changed much in 18 years, though I think both end terraces were standing? One thing that had changed was that it absolutely stank of horse shit. Eye stingingly bad.

Game was fairly even, but Reading insisted on playing 300 passes around the defence before launching an attack, so kept getting caught. This led to a Liverpool counter attack and cross from which they scored.

In the second half, more dithering in the defence lead to another break from which a desperate fouled gave away a penalty, which was duly scored, and that was how the game ended. Crowd was a paltry 118, who will no doubt all be scrubbing the smell of shit out of their clothes tonight.