Before the main event comes a bit of Ettingshall Park espionage, eliciting photographs of Holy Trinity Church and the Three Crowns pub. Moving by stealth into Hurst Hill, I note the sad closure of the Gate Hangs Well on Hurst Road, then it is time to team up with Nickolenko as he exits his usual hideout in Woodcross. NW’s cover is almost blown by a friendly driver on the 229 bus, but we make it to Coseley without further alarm so as to safely catch our train into Birmingham.
The conscientious agent should always try and avoid detection so we embark on a round of Cross City line hopscotch in order to throw any would-be villains off our trail. Brief encounters could be had with Bournville and Northfield, the latter apparently being the first time NW had ever set foot on that particular station – he wouldn’t have to wait too long for his second bite at it either! The pit stops give us chance to work on our code for the evening with Agent NW keen to include crumpet, strumpet and trumpet amongst our vocabulary.
The decoys appear to have worked and we reach Redditch with our target, the Rocklands Social Club, firmly in our sights. Last year we had a slight misadventure trying to locate the venue so we have taken extra precautions to ensure we go in the right direction this time around. The plan works to perfection, and access is gained to the 7th Redditch Winter Ales Festival. With a nudge and a wink (and £10 admission) we obtain the all important glasses and tokens then stake out the room to assess which beers require closer investigation.
- Eyes Peeled for Suspicious Behaviour -
The stillages await and the temptation to move over to the dark side was just too strong – opening thirds of Titanic Cappuccino Stout and Wentworth Oyster Stout proving too much to resist. A seat on the stage is procured from where we have a view of the whole room as it fills up with jolly revellers, a very convivial atmosphere indeed. Power supplies recharged by pie and chips, we avail ourselves of further darkness whereby Morton’s Irish George and Slightly Foxed’s Urban Fox porter both feature. Agent NW did attempt to balance the blackness by availing himself of some Pushpanjali, a fragrant offering from the Rock & Roll Brewery that was flavoured with Indian spices.
Secret agents are often drawn towards danger, and with this being a winter ales event there were plenty of potent brews that demanded our attention. One beer promising peril was Bob 62, a heady bruiser of a stout that had NW’s eyeballs out on stalks such was its power. The daredevil streak in me then reared its head in the form of Kinver’s Boing, a 7% golden ale brewed especially for the festival – it certainly had me bouncing back to the railway station with glee.
With reconnaissance duties complete, we deemed the festival to have been a roaring success with a range of beer styles and strengths to suit all tastes. An agent’s work is never done though, and we were tempted by the prospect of an Alvechurch assignment on the way home. Unfortunately a mishap on the train put paid to such plans when we waited by the wrong door when trying to alight – an elementary error that I must take full responsibility for, so I think I need to go back to spy school for more training!
Ever resourceful, there is always a contingency when things don’t quite work out and so came about our swift second sampling of Northfield Station. Agent NW felt slightly dubious about the merits of the locality but perked up a little at the sight of the Great Stone – sadly he will have to wait a while longer to frequent that particular establishment. As tempting as it was to lock him in the village pound, we proceeded instead to the Black Horse, a mock Tudor landmark on the Bristol Road that is under the stewardship of J D Wetherspoon. Get past the entourage of bouncers and there is a heritage interior to admire, complete with impressive carved beams that we can inspect over our final pint. With that we signed off from another mission, and there was no sign of either of us self-destructing on the way home!
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