Great North Pub

So, we were watching a bit of the Great North Run coverage today.

At one point, S says "Ah...just up from where she's running at the moment is where we crossed that dual-carriageway to walk up to the pub in Felling..."

Then I remembered, possibly the weirdest, most fabulous pub we went to during our stay in Newcastle (and Gateshead, she added carefully) a couple of years back.

Newcastle is awash with good pubs in the town centre but out in the 'burbs it gets a little bit harder to find really good beer.  We'd spent the day in the city ambling around and taking in the sights (and beers) but I don't really remember much of the detail about that day until the time we decided to strike out and try find this outlying area of town called Felling, as it promised two pubs in the Guide.  The first bit of the walk was pleasant enough, on the banks of the river and whilst not particularly picturesque per se, it was nice to have a bit of greenery around.  But the more we walked the less the surroundings made us want to stroll.  At one point we passed a trading estate where two ponies had been corralled by the authorities and were waiting for their owners to be found.

Eventually we found ourselves on the main road (the one the GNR competitors were running along) and we crossed and ascended into Felling.  We passed a couple more scruffy-looking ponies tethered on a green (what is it with ponies in the area...we saw loads of 'em) and a handful of slightly run-down houses.  Then we saw the Wheatsheaf.

It wouldn't be fair to say our hearts sank, but let's just remark that we didn't anticipate feeling particularly welcomed there.  Nevertheless, having walked a couple of miles and this being the only Big Lamp brewery pub we would see, we took a deep breath and entered the pub.

It was the very definition of a "locals' pub" - we all know what that term means and it's never really meant as a compliment.  We ordered a couple of pints, and the Landlord was friendly enough.  It was the day of Margaret Thatcher's funeral, and let's just say that the pub was giving her their own special kind of send off.  The CD player was playing a special compilation including "Tramp the Dirt Down" by Elvis Costello and "Shipbuilding" by Robert Wyatt...I think you get the idea.
Then we realised that almost all the beer had been renamed with their standard beer clip showing a picture of the late Baroness, with a single word underneath - "Bitter".
To be honest, we found all this pretty amusing.
At one point, a chap standing at the bar let out a brief torrent of Anglo-Saxon, then saw me (I think I might have been the only woman in the main bar at the time) and apologized.  I smiled, indicated that his apology was unnecessary and he carried on.

After our first pint, it was my turn to buy so I asked S what he wanted.  He scanned the pumps (three of them, I think) and said..."that one...Black something...".  The landlord appeared and I said "a pint of Blackout, please"  and the landlord raised an eyebrow, and sucked in air a little (like a builder who's just spotted a bit of dry rot in your joists).  Then silence fell in the bar and everyone looked at me...
...I read the pump clip "ABV 11%", let out a "oh bloody hell..." and turned around to S and said "are you sure you want a pint?".
He gasped, and suggested a half might be enough...and there was a collective disappointed giggle from the other punters who tried to egg him on.
It seems to have been some sort of initiation, because we were definitely part of the "gang" after that.

The pub up the road was also in the guide and, as at home as we felt in the Wheatsheaf, we thought it was daft not to at least try the place, since we'd come so far.  So, we said our goodbyes and headed out into the rainy night...we walked into The Fox, saw that it was empty and they only had one beer on and decided not to stay.  So we had a choice - go and catch a Metro train back to our house or go back into the Wheatsheaf.  We knew they'd laugh at us but what the hell.  We walked back into the bar to a roar of approval, and stayed for a couple more pints in the warm fug of damp friendliness.

My recommendation is to try pubs like this.  You won't always like them, and you won't always be made to feel welcome in locals' pubs but every now and again, you'll get an absolute corker of a place.  My second recommendation for this particular pub is get the bloody train out there, rather than walking.