Wait until next year

August 26, 2026

Pub Thoughts #16 (The Non-Review)

A pint of beer on a wooden table in a pub

I visited a pub recently that, before I went in, I really wanted to review. I drank there, periodically at least, years ago. It had closed during Covid and my assumption was that it would never come back. And yet, here it was, recently re-opened. A pub back from the dead is a miracle in this day and age. And I wanted to support the pub, both through buying and pint and through sharing the good news to my tens of readers.

And yet. My excitement soon dissipated. The interior had been gutted. Sure, it had been a little old-fashioned rather than “traditional”. It probably needed a bit of a refresh. Maybe there had been a load of damage from it sitting empty for years. But it was still a shame to see the place stripped back to brickwork, the bar re-situated to lurk near the back rather than welcome near the front, the nooks and crannies that gave the place character gone from all the knocking-through that had gone on.

But I didn’t want to judge things on appearances alone. So I went to the bar and the welcome was…fine? An apparent regular and his dog on a retractable lead were managing between them to fence off the entire bar. And the regular was pretty insistent on maintaining his conversation with the barman rather than letting anyone else get near the bar. When I finally managed to get served it was all a bit tepid. No real hello, all a bit gruff.

I asked about the menu as I fancied a bite to eat. The menu was limited, which sometimes can be a good thing! But it was all a bit unfocused – one obvious lunch item, one clear dinner item, a salad, a ploughman’s. It just didn’t really work.

Then the beer. I went for the local cask. Now, I know in this ridiculous summer it isn’t easy to keep anything cool, but the pint was warm, chewy, a bit tired. It felt like there wasn’t necessarily anyone with good cellarship involved.

I could hear the regular and the barman now having a chat at one of the tables. The barman couldn’t understand why they weren’t getting more business. The regular had a number of loud and impractical ideas, as regulars often do.

It all felt a great shame. I could list all manner of things that might help – try welcoming new faces properly, look after your beer, think through your menu a bit more, try to make the place feel lived in rather than a building site – but stating all that seems a bit…mean? And really, what do I know anyway.

A pub that’s just opened will make mistakes. There might be really good reasons for the problems I encountered. Hatchet jobs won’t help new pubs survive. But also writing glowing reviews of underwhelming places won’t help either. So, I decided to keep the whole review anonymous, a non-review.

And maybe that is pointless. But it does make me think about how beer writing can sometimes feel like little more than a form of industry cheerleading. And that some of the best and most bracing writing is from writers willing to be critical. But I do think there is something about picking your battles. A big pubco or a genuinely horrible boozer both probably deserve to be called out. A little pub giving it a go in a relentlessly difficult market probably doesn’t. Punching up and punching down and all that.

I will give this place another go, see if they are ironing out the issues, and find out if it is becoming more of a real place, creating its own identity. There is definitely potential, it could have a certain charm, it could work. It is early days.

It is easier said than done, but maybe the best pub reviews require multiple visits. You learn about a place over time, pubs can be wildly inconsistent depending on the time of day, who is working there, who is drinking there. No bad thing sometimes. I like knowing some pubs work better on certain days. But it means I shouldn’t jump to any conclusions. Next time I visit a pub I should consider if I just caught somewhere on a good day. Or a bad one.

July 29, 2026

Joshua Ray Walker at The Lower Third, London

A blurry photo from the back of a gig, there are lots of people in front of the stage, a figure on the stage appears to glow white

Ever since I first heard him I knew that Joshua Ray Walker was one of the best singers and songwriters in the world right now. After seeing him live I am more and more convinced he is right up there with the very best active today.

Walker is a Texan country singer who has been performing for over 20 years and releasing incredible records for nearly a decade. This is country music in the more classic sense rather than the plastic sense – storytelling, heartache, humour and humanity. His records show country can still be as meaningful, immediate and vital as it has ever been, that it doesn’t need to be drenched in irony or faux-retro stylings or slick production.

More recently, Walker has faced a cancer diagnosis and treatment, that then progressed to a diagnosis of terminal cancer, followed by the miracle of that diagnosis being misplaced and him coming out the other side cancer-free. My family has had a similar story to tell in recent years so I feel a particular affinity for his work, especially what was produced around and after that terrible time. Surviving isn’t easy, being a survivor isn’t either, but as Walker’s latest album states, he “Ain’t Dead Yet”.

But before I get to his performance, a note for his support act – Malin Pettersen. She was the perfect opener, absolutely setting the scene and creating the right atmosphere for a very special evening. Her songs were a form of otherworldly americana, imitate yet powerful, and balancing both intensely personal moments and much bigger themes and ideas.

Pettersen has a rare voice, one that is technically flawless yet sounds totally effortless, switching from a tender, quiet head voice that transfixed the audience to the kind of looping jet-propelled melodies that filled the room. A really extraordinary artist, and an inspiring one too, someone not afraid to talk about the value of art and creativity in a harsh and unforgiving world.

She is back in London this October and I would very much recommend you getting tickets if you can.

And so to Joshua Ray Walker. Well. This was a real all-timer gig. One I will always remember. Just one man with a guitar commanding a room in the most human and wonderful way possible. I think “authenticity” gets used too much these days, either as some kind of short-hand for hoary old revivalism or as a simulacrum of real that is actually anything but. Yet, Walker is truly, properly authentic – this was a night of true soul, of someone reaching out and making a genuine connection with a room full of strangers.

We got the mind-blowing guitar playing and rattling rhythms of Bronco Billy, the sweetness of Dumpster Diving, the evocative storytelling of Boat Show Girl and Lot Lizard. There was the the tender ache of True Love and the playful arm around the shoulder of Texas Sober. Ain’t Dead Yet became an anthem, everyone encouraged to sing along. Capital Letters was a highlight, one of his greatest songs, one of a growing list of proper, honest-to-goodness country music standards that Walker is writing, the kind of song that gives you the best kind of shivers. Voices might have the been the standout performance, Walker’s voice and delivery literally stunning the audience into hushed awe. An intense, transcendent moment.

Walker is not just a great singer and songwriter but an amazing performer and engaging raconteur too – really funny, relatable, open, silly, heartfelt. With each introduction he brought us closer to the songs, giving them more context, more meaning – from explaining his medical history before Ain’t Dead Yet to the relationship with his grandfather that inspired Capital Letters. We heard how he has been inspired by truck stops and boat shows and rummaging around dumpsters, how he has been able to mine the specific (an overheard conversation, a difficult post-gig exchange, his grandfather’s handwriting in his toolshed) and create something truly universal. This is the alchemy of a truly special songwriter, to move beyond platitudes, to root songs in the real, but find something we can all relate to, whoever we are and wherever we are.

Steve Earle famously said “Townes Van Zandt’s the best songwriter in the world, and I’ll stand on Bob Dylan’s coffee table in my cowboy boots and say that.” Well, if I had a pair of cowboy boots I would do the same on behalf of Joshua Ray Walker. He just might be the best singer and performer out there too.

It is nights like this that remind me how important art can, and should, be. How important live music is, and especially live music that is accessible and intimate and isn’t just a once-a-year treat at some stadium where you realise you’re mainly watching a screen rather than the stage. We live in truly difficult times, politically and often personally, and great art helps you to realise that you are not alone, that there is something common in the human experience, there is something worth treasuring, something worth fighting for. Both Pettersen and Walker reminded me of all that, gave me a little comfort, a little hope, a little glimpse of how life is and how it could be. I was fortunate to be there. We are fortunate to have artists like this. We ain’t dead yet.

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July 10, 2026

Beer Thoughts #15 (Replies)

A glazed mirror above a bar with the words REAL ALE emblazoned on it in ornate writing

This week Boak and Bailey have been posting briefer, daily posts, like how most of Beer Blogging (including their site!) mainly functioned a decade ago. It is has been a lot of fun to have something to read every day, for there to be different kinds of things looked at from different angles, and to see something more provisional – to be reminded that blogging works really well as a means of thinking aloud rather than coming to conclusions.

The latter point is why blogging in the past was so conversational and alive at times – if thoughts weren’t finished they encouraged comments, blog posts as replies, follow-up posts. There is something kind of special around seeing ideas form in real-time, of seeing orthodoxies challenged, new theories emerge.

As much as I enjoy a good bit of social media, I do think it’s growth killed off a lot of this kind of thing in the blogging world. Why throw up a quick post when you can just immediately fire off a sentence or two and get a much bigger response? So, I really appreciate Boak and Bailey trying to reclaim some of that – there is definitely a middle space to be explored between the immediacy of social media and the more considered longform writing in blogging, or wherever else.

So, in the spirit of it all, I thought I would attempt some brief responses to each of their posts this week. If I enjoy the conversation I should probably contribute to it!

Lost & Grounded’s not-a-rebrand – “the designs themselves are much simpler and bolder, with one strong rainbow shade per can in most cases. This makes sense when you think about the need to compete on supermarket shelves, and to be more instantly recognisable.”

I’ve noticed a fair few rebrands lately. I definitely think there is something in there about making sure your brand sticks out, whether that’s on a pump clip, keg badge or supermarket shelf. And then, making sure each of your different offerings stand out within that. I think it is a really encouraging sign that breweries are taking branding more seriously.

If you want repeat business you need to be instantly recognisable. It is also a big leap from multiple companies borrowing the look of other breweries – there were definitely far too many Beavertown rip-offs for a while.

As much as notions of brand can feel like nebulous, corporate bullshit when brand is considered properly it is the most immediate way a company can articulate its identity. And the strength of independent beer, to a great extent, comes in communicating that identity, both in look and taste.

The Sceptre Tavern hermit crabbing in the shell of BrewDog Bristol – “it feels weirdly like being back in 2008, and we rather enjoyed ordering Paulaner wheat beer and Sierra Nevada Pale Ale as if we were in our twenties again”

All those empty Brewdog bars definitely feel more like an opportunity than a tragedy – a blank canvas for someone to do something interesting.

I have a real nostalgia for those early craft beer days and how much of it was about going to pubs where you could drink beer from around the world. The localness of modern beer is great too, but it feels like a very different thing. I think there’s room for a return to the internationalism of the past – to both revisit the source material that influenced the beer we drink today and to get a feel for where it might go next. Pubs and brewing could be less parochial, I think.

The high cost of having fun and the lack of fun places – “A surcharge to sit in the snug?”

I might just copy by reply I posted beneath this post:

Didn’t there used to be different pricing for saloon and public bars? I could absolutely see something like that returning, where you pay a premium for sitting in a nicer place, or getting table service. I’ve seen Spoons sometimes have offers that are only available at the bar not the app (and maybe vice versa), so I think there is already some nudging activity going on here and there. I guess happy hours are the same kind of thing, just in reverse?

And in addition:

I’m not sure this is a good thing. It might already happen between pubs (we all know a pub that’s expensive but we go there because it is nice and a pub that’s rough but cheap) but having it within a pub doesn’t necessarily feel right, feels like a swindle, a grift, unless labelled and managed really clearly. Pubs thrive on equity, not on division.

What does Helles taste like? – “Helles is about drinkability. It’s soft but not mushy. And it’s built around malt, which can be harder to grasp than hops.”

I might just say “How the Helle would I know?” and get my coat.

Why don’t people feel like mugs drinking ‘French’ beer from Northampton? – “The thing that baffles us – we’re feeling freshly baffled by it this morning – is that so few people, even when they do know, seem to care.”

Just as much as breweries have identities, so do drinkers.

Real ale drinkers often identify themselves in opposition to Big Corporate Beer, and align themselves with locality, small c-craft and tradition.

Craft beer drinkers often identify themselves as being open to new things, to going beyond the norm, to enjoying something that a little cult, a little unknown.

And I think your “normal” drinker identifies themselves as someone who likes a pint, knows what pint they like, but aren’t going to worry about all the other stuff that surrounds it. It doesn’t mean they don’t care – I’ve seen Carling or Madri drinkers show far more passion about their choice of drink than any real ale aficionado or craft beer geek, especially when it isn’t available.

Yet their choice isn’t a moral, political, philosophical or social one. They choose their beer because of how it tastes, how strong (or weak) it is, and maybe out of habit. It is a very different mindset. Not a bad one necessarily, just different.

Maybe more honest, even? A “normal” lager drinker is far less willing to chew their way through something they don’t enjoy than a real ale or craft beer drinker.

June 26, 2026

Pub Thoughts #14 (Sport at the Spoons)

A corner of a Wetherspoons pub. A TV showing football is mounted high up on the wall. There is bright white light fitting hanging from the ceiling. Pump clips are on the wall.

Several years ago I came to the realisation that I really don’t enjoy watching football in pubs. There might be a good atmosphere, but there is every chance there won’t be…especially if the game isn’t going the right way. I’m not a huge fan of football commentary but I would still prefer to hear the analysis of professionals rather the addled and misinformed musings of a pub bore behind me. I’d prefer not to crane my neck trying not to miss a key moment. I’d rather not miss swathes of the game entirely because I’m at the bar or trying to get in the loos. I’m just not sure that watching sport in a pub, as popular as it is, actually works.

And yet…the other day I found myself needing to get myself some tea, I fancied a drink after a day in a warm office followed by a hotter commute, and realised there was a World Cup game on I would quite like to watch. So, I headed to the local Spoons as it ticked all the relevant boxes.

I remember a time when Wetherspoons didn’t have TVs, prided themselves on not having them. But they are here now. This particular Spoons usually has CBeebies playing in the more family-oriented end – a really smart call, in my book. And across the rest of the pub usually has BBC News on, just to add a little more depression and desperation to your Wetherspoons Experience. But when there is a major sporting event on terrestrial television, like the World Cup, they stick it on.

And it worked! There is table service through the app so you don’t have to worry about a scrum at the bar – as much as there are mixed views about table service in pubs, it works brilliantly when the football is on. Much better having a few staff move about than the whole pub, and getting everyone on a table so they have somewhere to be served. No more tactical dives for a pint during a break in play or rushing to the bar at half-time.

The TV was silenced so it didn’t dominate. Pub bores (if there were any) didn’t need to shout over the telly, so we were spared hearing their insights. You could watch it if you wanted, but ignore it if you didn’t.

I think the inherent facelessness and impersonal nature of Wetherspoons is sometimes its downfall, but in situations like this is its greatest strength. A place where you can do what you want, not be disturbed and have food and drink brought to your table promptly and professionally. A place to watch football, a place to completely ignore it.

It wasn’t your usual football crowd either, and all the better for it. Couples having an early dinner. Families sat surrounded by shopping bags, resting their legs after a bit of a spree. Teens gathered furtively in a booth. Young lads in Adidas and gold chains sipping their Stella, politely. An old woman sat on her own without food and drink watching videos on her phone. I wish she had headphones, though.

Of course it helped that it wasn’t an England game, I think that might be a step too far, but it was a nice surprise to find the whole experience to be far better than I expected. I wasn’t just not overly annoyed or frustrated by it all but actually really enjoyed it.

2 Comments

June 5, 2026

Pub Thoughts #13 (Tamworth Tap)

Interior of the Tamworth Tap, there are hops and fairy lights hanging from the ceiling, lots of old Belgian beer ads on the walls and wooden pews as seating

The Tamworth Tap is a three-time CAMRA National Pub of the Year. I felt a degree of trepidation before entering. There’s always a worry with anything so acclaimed that it might not live up to its billing, might be a disappointment, might be something I just don’t get.

I get this feeling with books, films, TV, as well as pubs. I don’t think it is quite inverted snobbery, a sense that if something is popular it can’t be good. More, I think it is a feeling that perhaps my tastes might not be calibrated with those who have brought forth the praise. And this is even more keenly felt with anything CAMRA. It is a good organisation, doing good things, but sometimes the pubs its members value can be…odd choices. Other times they get it spot-on, but there is no guarantee. I have spent a few afternoons collared by a CAMRA Man telling me their pub philosophy and their views have rarely matched mine.

So, trepidation, hesitation, doubt.

The backbar of the Tamworth Tap. There are a wide variety of spirits on the shelves and retro illuminated sign saying "Off Licence - WINES & SPIRITS"

I need not have worried. The Tamworth Tap is wonderful, majestic even. It is a validation of whatever process CAMRA undertake when choosing their pub of the year. It’s as good as a pub could be. It’s one of those places where you just keep ticking off your list of what would be in your dream pub.

There are lots of nooks to tuck yourself into. Little booths created out of old pews. A bar as a beacon in the middle, with an old illuminated off licence sign guiding you to a thoughtful selection of cask, keg and spirits – a mix of modern, unusual and old classics. Old Belgian beer ads adorn a wall. Pub memorabilia is dotted about to pique your interest or trigger your nostalgia. Hops and fairy lights hang off the ceiling to soften the corners. Even the music is perfect, a great selection at a volume that’s the ultimate sweet spot – where it masks the chat of others but isn’t so loud that you can’t be heard yourself. Everything adds to a feeling of welcome, cosiness, a home from home.

Frickles (fried pickles) and a pint of beer on a wooden pub table

And then the food! Not just a textbook selection of weird and wonderful crisps (Grouse and Whinberry, anyone?), but also rolls at the bar and freshly cooked snacks from the kitchen out back, essentially pub tapas without any of the pretension that phrase might suggest, something to keep you going but nothing to fill you up, including “frickles” – fried pickles that might just be the perfect accompaniment to a pint.

And then there’s the people. The staff are friendly, helpful, well-informed but not overbearing. The patrons are mixed – not always a given in a place like this. Old boys, solo drinkers, families, a good balance of male and female It is not overrun by Beer Tourists (apart from, of course, myself) and all the better for it. This is somewhere that is lived in, frequented, nurtured, supported, a real living pub rather than an exhibit of pub-ness.

There’s even a display above the door showing the next train times from Tamworth, for if you decide that perhaps its a little too hasty to start a new life here and that you better get home at some point.

One of the greats.

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