Brewtown Yorkshire

The Port­land Street Ped­es­tri­ans like to end the winter sea­son, before they meta­morph­ose into the PS Ped­al­lers, with an out­ing bey­ond York and its vast range of cosy hostel­ries. In the past we have vis­ited Malton, and the Sta­lybridge, Hud­der­sfield, Dews­bury rail trail; last Thursday it was Tad­caster, home of the Smiths (Sam and John) and the less sung Bass brew­ery round the back. York­shire Coast­liner delivered us there and we were soon roast­ing in the snug of the Angel and White Horse, where a real coal fire was imit­at­ing Hades. So, on to The Fal­con, where the loc­als cluster round the door to inspect you thor­oughly as you come and go and the con­tra­cept­ive machine in the gents includes Nur­o­fen amongst its pre­vent­at­ive meas­ures. Finally, the low chocolate-ceilinged Howden Arms, where the fire had just been put out by an over-enthusiastic applic­a­tion of rub­bish but the smoke detect­ors weren’t being fooled as we swam in through the murk and refused to sound the alarm. As the tem­per­at­ure dropped we sol­diered on to 11.20, leav­ing by the back door in time to get the 11.32 bus back to York. We did observe that most pubs in Tad didn’t seem very busy and, apart from the massed ranks of the PSP, were being kept going by the same half-dozen loc­als dili­gently cir­cu­lat­ing. I’d go back to the Angel and the Howden — not sure I’d bother with the Fal­con. After all, there are sev­eral oth­ers we should try next time.