Manchester sure does have a lot to answer for. It’s grim Lancastrian streets have provided us with Simply Red, political massacres and one of Britain’s best loved soap operas.

Despite these things, Manchester is a fine city. Red brick turrets and soot covered chimneys etch the skyline, broken up by the knife edge Hilton and the famous Granada television lettering. The streets are more city-like than Leeds – wide life-threatening avenues dotted with trams and other forms of exotic transport. It seems busier too, there are more buses, more taxis, more Greggs.

Casks at the Marble Brewery in deepest darkest Manchester

Outside the city centre Manchester sprawls in all directions. Without the naturally imposed boundaries of the cities of West Yorkshire, or the nearby Pennine towns that look down on the city from Saddleworth, Manchester was stretched like a rolling pin, much like Birmingham. Vast inner city estates and buildings housing myriad industries in ever varying buildings extend as far as the eye can see.

Wandering from Picadilly station the restaurants and pasty shops of the CBD soon turn into taxi offices and warehouses. And more pasty shops. Walking northwards through this area a Loiner might assume it to be the Holbeck of Manchester – once full of industry that fuelled the city’s progress, but now old railway lines and pot holed side roads in need of repair.

Deep inside the vaulted ceiling of one of the railway arches a quiet revolution has been taking place. Marble Brewery occupies a sloping archway, stainless steel vats tucked neatly under the curves of the painted brickwork, just a stone’s throw from their spiritual home, The Marble Arch pub.

And on a grey but dry Saturday in October, a menagerie of beer lovers gather in this magnificent watering hole. Tiled retrospectively to recreate a bygone age, it’s a marvel compared to your average Wetherspoon’s decor.

Twissup starts and familiar friends mingle with new and unfamiliar faces all in search of a perfect pint, whatever your preferred taste or dispense mode. Manchester might have even more to answer for by the end of the night…

Marble Arch, Manchester

Wils Swan was £1.49 a pint whilst the footy was on - and I had one for each Leeds goal (plus our penalty save!)

There are arguably too many moments I cringe at to call myself a responsible drinker with any real level of conviction. The ones that came in the gap year before I university are mostly classified under the ‘regrets’ section of my brain. As year one of university unfolded the balance of ‘I never want to remember doing that’ versus ‘I’m pretty pleased with myself’ was evenly weighted and shifted towards to positive end of the spectrum as I matured, with a few ‘we’ll laugh at that in a few weeks’ moments thrown in for good measure.

But at 26 I thought I’d stopped doing things like singing Leeds songs in rowdy northern cities not called Leeds and waking people up in the middle of the night.

Unfortunately Saturday’s combination of Jermaine Beckford’s 95th and a half minute equaliser and Stone Ruination IPA being on draught (or draft should I say) at the last pub of our #twissup crawl, ensured the night was one that would bring back some of those youthful moments of folly.

Returning to the Hillsborough Hotel after a skinful of cask conditioned Wild Swan and a liquid supper of fancy beers from the newly opened Sheffield Tap, a bunch of bedraggled beer bloggers struggled to open the blue painted door at the front of the pub. Having no qualifications in door opening and a more general problem with late night coordination turned out not to be a career changing combination as the shiny Yale key duly snapped in the lock leaving the burning eyes of my beer chums planted firmly on my back. Read the rest of this entry »