Where’s Wally got off to a flying start last week & this Monday nearly matched it with the prize being claimed after only 3 photos, amazing work again by the victor.
Here’s the pics –
So before I’d even finished my Millstone Tiger Rut the game was up but I had a cunning plan, I’d nip somewhere else for a quick bonus Wally then stroll back to the Buffet Bar for a final drink.
This is where it went wrong, I’d heard on the beervine that a pub up the road had hosted an Ocktoberfest event over the weekend, so I thought I’d see what was on offer. I was very pleased to find a healthy looking line up of handpumps including two from local crew TicketyBrew, Coffee Anise Porter & one of my favourites – Münchner.
Pint of Münchner it was then, but when I ordered it the barmaid didn’t pull it from the badged pump in front of me, she came out from behind the bar to pull it from an unmarked pump on a (I presume) temporary bar in the corner of the boozer. The pumps here weren’t connected to casks in the cellar, but to casks in jackets stillaged behind it. Let’s give it a chance I thought, so I found a comfy spot while the slightly murky brown liquid settled.
I took a couple of sips – flat, warm, vinegar. I took it back to the bar & politely explained the problem but the barmaid didn’t seem to know what to say. I asked her if she’d like to taste it but she replied that she didn’t drink ale…
Fair enough but surely the sensible response in this situation is to just change the pint with minimum fuss? Not the policy here it seems, she called over another customer that she knew by name & asked HIM to taste it. What the what? Who’s he the local ale inspector? If he says it’s OK am I supposed to shut up, sit down & drink it? You don’t need me to tell you that this ain’t right, I paid for the pint & I’m saying it’s off, I wasn’t being a dick about it, it happens, we don’t need an independent adjudicator called in, it’s not the Guinness book of records. Why would I go through the hassle of changing it if it was OK?
Anyway, he trots up to the bar & eyes it wisely, taking a sip with thoughtful look on his face. Well, he says, I wouldn’t drink it but I don’t know if it’s right or not because I wouldn’t drink it anyway. Jesus wept.
Finally she offers to change it for something else, which I sit & drink as quickly as possible in the now quite frosty atmosphere. I put my empty glass & crumpled snack packet on the bar & say cheers & goodbye, receiving not a word back from either barmaid or ale inspector.
It all turned out OK though, by the time I was back in the Buffet Bar I’d had a message from Doggy Chops himself, he was on the Huddersfield-Ashton train & in a mood to join me to celebrate his success. Raise a toast to the fella –