Number Seventy News

By bus to Crambeck and then the usual walk through Cstle Howard woods to see the bluebells.  But also water avens, wild cherry, cuckoo flower, speedwell, primroses, violets, dead nettle, red campion, stitchwort greater and lesser, celandine etc etc.  Spring at its finest – and splashes of sunshine.  Bluebells not yet reached their peak – but ready to carpet the woodland. Views across the fields to Welburn – blue, green, the yellow of oilseed rape, the tile red of the village roofs.

A well-kept half of Old Speckled Hen and an excellent beef and horseradish sandwich at the pub (must remember to take my walking boots off before I’m told to next time).

Ages since I’ve had a good bike ride – so off on the train to Seamer, heading back to Malton, taking the benefit of a light NE breeze, Started off quite cloudy and cool near the coast – to CAyton village then across Folkton Carr – flat,drained land to the pretty little village of Folkton on the rising land at the foot of the scarp. Up onto the scarp at Flixton – very steep, had to get off and push as I had the Brompton which doesn’t have a low enough gear for such feats.  But soon the wide open skies and the chalk-studded fields of the high Wolds.  A hare loped across a field (another was, alas, roadkill a few miles further on).  Views down into dry valleys winding away from near their head.  Loads of white blackthorn blossom studding the hedgerows. Peewits, seagulls.  A tiny church at Fordon – a cross roads deep in the junction of dry valleys. The church dated from the 1100s- services once a month. A noisy rookery adjacent.

Rather a dull, wide valley then, going east-west, but the cloud started to break up and after crossing the busy B1249 the lane I was on got windier and more interesting.  Particularly interesting was “The Star” at Weaverthorpe where a pint of Theakeston’s best bitter went very nicely with an excellent plate of belly pork on lentils with apple and chorizo, plus mashed potatoes, creamed leeks, carrots and cabbage.

From West Lutton a long gentle climb to the top of the ridge where the tree belt to the south of the road conceals an ancient defensive earthwork, and the hedge to the north fails to conceal a very extensive piggery.  Beyond the pigs, though, the lower end of Ryedale laid out, and the Moors in the distance.  Past Settrington Beacon with its near 360 degree visibility and then the spectacular descent to Settrington – amazing to think that I survived coming up that way the last time I was in this area (May 2006).

And so to Malton and the train.  I was much refreshed, not only by the Theakstons but by the delightful cool yet sunny weather, the exercise, and the wonderful feeling of Spring – buds, leaves, birds, lambs, primroses.

First ride of the season – due to call first at The Ebor in Bishopthorpe. I cycled out there early in order to eat, our kitchen undergoing renovation, and enjoyed an excellent poached haddock in cream sauce with prawns. The chips were good – veg a little disappointing – overcooked in the English manner. The SAm Smiths bitter was well kept and cheap.  

Over the course of an hour or so I was joined by two pedallers, one of whom had come on the bus and the other by car.  Although the Ship at Acaster Malbis was on the itinerary, we agreed that a retreat to the Wellie was much the best plan. And at £1.35 a pint, who can beat it ?  Cosy as ever.

This time, by bus, with the Portland Street Pedestrians, on the closing tour of the winter season.  First pub was the Black Bull, crowded but only John Smiths cask and a mediocre Bass in the drinkable category. Digitised Juke Box had a vast selection but only gave part of the title and the singer’s name, which led to some oddities.  Better entertainment would have been had at the Arts Centre nearby, where Martin Simpson was appearing.

The Feathers Hotel was much more like it – a wide selection of beers, Caledonian Over the Bar was excellent.  At the next, almost deserted pub, just round the corner, they had Copper Dragon, from Skipton, and then at the last, which seemed a bit like someone’s rather untidy house, some Courage Directors went down very well.

We had our bus back to York to ourselves – it runs to bring revellers back to Pock after a night out, rather than the reverse, but it gave us time to contemplate the summer season of pedal-powered excursions – of which more, no doubt, anon.

A meander round the inner suburb, starting for me at the Bay Horse on Blossom Street. Always a very local pub, except on race days, and quite cosy. The Deuchars was off but the Black Sheep was superbly kept, one of the best pints of Sheep I’ve had in a long while. Nearly opposite, the Mount was closed and advertising for a new manager, but nobody felt deprived as it was never a favourite. The Crystal Palace has a rather bright lounge bar, a bit like a 1950s living room with 150w bulbs, and full of well-dressed old people of both sexes chatting quietly. Our group was perhaps an atypical intrusion. But as it’s a Sam Smiths pub, the beer was extremely cheap. Finally, to the Fox, which has had its ups and downs but retains the two nice back snugs. Not quite as comfy a feel as it used to be, but OK.

…for the Exhibition, on Bootham, York. Very cosy feel, usually 3 or 4 real ales on tap, friendly staff, excellent pub food. Last night’s Guzzler from York Brewery was as excellent a pint as I’ve had anywhere.

In all the Portland Street Pedestrians merry wanderings, I doubt there is one which has ever covered so little ground as this – all within the military HQ of the Roman Army of the North – about as far as the average legionary had to walk from his barracks to the latrines.

Starting at the would-be-ancient but actually rather new Lamb and the Lion, in the shadow of Bootham Bar. One of those hard wood pubs, and kept rather dim, but with several separate rooms, some quite snug. On a few modest yards, to the Hole in the Wall, where there was a nice pint of Jennings. The food menu looked good too but there’s something unhomely about it. We escaped before the quiz and headed for the Guy Fawkes, omitting the Three Legged Mare and the York Arms on the way – nothing wrong with them except being well-known already. The Guy Fawkes, long established as Young’s Hotel, had found a new popularity, aided no doubt by late-night Christmas shopping, so we headed past the Minster and the upside down column from the old HQ to the Cross Keys.

There’s a school of public house management that believes that the brightest possible lighting is an encouragement to discerning topers. This school also finds the hand-pump a bit of an intrusion, preferring shiny pipework and illuminated lettering rearing up over the bar. At the Cross Keys both these misconceptions were in evidence, though the one draught beer on offer, Santa’s Tipple, was acceptable enough, with just a hint of what may have been reindeer droppings.

We were on safer ground at the Golden Slipper, which was keeping its Deuchars bitter exceptionally well. We might well have settled down for another were it not for the juke box, which had some regrettably loud offerings, so, having sent a scout ahead to see what room there was at the Royal Oak, we ended up in the back bar by the fire, very cosy and with the lighting level just right for the first time all evening. A nice glass of Jennings Cumberland Ale finished off the evening most acceptably.

One important discovery of the evening was that the originator of the ponzi fraud was our very own George Hudson, the Railway King, back in the 19th century. So Mr Madoff has York to thank for his (until recent) success !

…Fibbers is a crap venue. However, it hosted the sublime Martin Simpson and we even managed to get a seated view of the stage. Simpson is just brilliant – he plays the guitar in so many different styles, he does songs in so many different styles too. I hadn’t realised before that he’d lived in New Orleans for several years – accounts for the number of blues numbers he does. He started the set with Chris Wood’s “Come down Jehovah” – made up in a few minutes for the wrong time on the tickets (half an hour before even the doors opened) and the lacklustre support act.

Had a nice pint of York Brewery’s “Guzzler” in the Last Drop while we waited for Fibber’s doors to open.

A quintet of eating and drinking houses.  The Lamb and Lion at Bootham Bar strikes me as gloomy, more bare wood than I ideally like, and an unimaginative lunchtime menu. c.f. The Guy Fawkes, reviewed a few weeks ago, which is much nicer.

Lo Spuntino on Blossom Street – cheap and cheerful Italian. Good variety.

Meltons Too. A favourite, well revamped. Good locally sourced food nicely presented. One waiter didn’t know how to pour wheat beer.

The Brigantes, Micklegate.  Wonderful range of beers, and they do know how to pour a wheat beer.  Good pub food. Particularly excellent chips. Their fish is good too.

York Spice.  The best Indian restaurant I’ve ever been in. The food does all taste different.  I love the Macher Jhool – fish curry, and the pasanda is good too.  Maybe I prefer Kingfisher to Cobra, but they have the latter on draught.

Have I ever mentioned the Exhibition on Bootham.  It’s on the pseudo-Victorian plush end of decor but always has at least one real ale, usually two, and does exceptionally good, if conventional, pub food.

So, actually, it’s six.

Before I forget, I should say that the Black Swan has Skipton Brewery’s Copper Dragon on tap – delicious golden stuff.

Tom McConville is an Iriish Geordie, which takes the more extreme edges off both caricatures and ends up with a really warm humorous presentation.  He plays a wonderful lively fiddle and sings some great songs – a wonderful version of “Beeswing” sticks in the aural memory particularly.  A pity the room wasn’t as packed as it was for Chris Wood last week; to my mind Tom is just as good.  David Newey must be 40 years younger than Tom.  He plays a very unassuming guitar, respectful of what Tom’s up to, and with some accomplished solos.