The festive season is all about traditions - Christmas trees, crackers, roast turkey, sprouts - and one of my personal favourite customs is the annual presentation of Chip Foundation calendars at the Great Western, my way of saying thank you to Stephen and Nick for putting up with my photo requests over the preceding twelve months. As has been the case in the last few years, we make a little trip out of the occasion so here's a quick summary of what we got up to...
Mr B and I meet at midday for the number 1 bus across to Sedgley where Nick is already warmly ensconced within the bosom of the Beacon Hotel having maintained his preferred trick of being there bang on opening time. A couple of things have changed since we last came in April, namely that the conservatory has been refitted into more of a drinking zone, and a small room off the main corridor has likewise been brought into public use having previously always been a staff quarters - I guess the pub has become so popular now they need all the space they can muster. The famed Dark Ruby Mild is as good as ever, washed down with an essential and highly drinkable 8% Sarah Hughes half of Snowflake which definitely warms the back of one’s throat! His Majesty meanwhile gallantly does battle with a huge cheese and onion cob so big it takes him ages to eat until it succumbs to inevitable consumption eventually. Stephen is still traumatised by the latest Ashes and Wolves defeats so we avoid sporting topics in favour of more cheerful discussions about political ineptitude and the prospects of war.
Onwards and we’ve business in mind in Upper Gornal where a new micropub (the Stripey Oss) has recently opened on Kent Street precinct, just across the road from the Spills Meadow. A willing 1 gets us there easily enough and we locate the arcade unit which used to be a painting and decorating supplies store. The name alone is a novelty - referencing the Black Country dialect's description for a zebra - so some of the incumbent artwork references said animal, as do posters seeking to set up darts and poker teams. They’ve not been going all that long (I think it first launched in mid-October) so there’s a whiff of fresh paint and DIY to contend with. Cask ales mainly get delivered in readiness for the weekend so although they have an Ickle Brewery clip on show we have to make do with the craft keg stuff this time around, Salt’s Alpacalypse being an amusing take on a sessionable pale ale.
A few doors up the road is our old friend the Britannia, purveyor of Bathams beers which means Nick and I might get chance to sample the special XXX beer that eluded us at the Lamp Tavern recently. The longed-for dark bull pumpclip is indeed on display so we linger for a relaxed half, recalling fond memories of our first joint Christmas trip back in 2010 when we took up station in the Games Room. Fifteen whole years on, we’re back once more only this time around we prefer to sit in Sally’s Parlour, a classic unspoiled realm of mottled green leather, framed family portraits and antique cash registers. A sprinkling of festive decorations - an elf on a shelf, a toy workshop, tinsel around the carriage clock - gives a yuletide flavour to make the setting seem even more special.
Catching the bus back to Wolverhampton, I’m keen to pay an inaugural visit to PACK on Queen Square but it isn't open (their trading hours will apparently settle down once more staff are recruited). The Lych Gate Tavern thus gets summoned from the substitutes bench to fill the void. It’s never a hardship coming here regardless, Nick being eager to give it a whirl especially when we realise the dark ales have Saltaire’s Montezuma Triple Choc Stout among their number. A downstairs seat among the tartan upholstery over on the left works well, it not being overly busy although there are a few folks about. Mr Beardsmore leads us on a Review of the Year, reflecting back on notable events and happenings, including his season-long commitment to watching Warwickshire here there and everywhere.
And finally to the Great Western main event, once I’ve snuck into work to retrieve the all-important calendars from my locker. Ken has been in touch and is joining us after playing whist in Harborne - he certainly gets around does our Mr May - so we find him at the kitchen hatch table just inside the conservatory extension. Following on from Snowflake and the Bathams XXX, I complete the Holy Trinity of local heavy hitters by procuring a pint of treacly deep Holden’s Old Ale (£4.95 a pint and worth every penny) - we’re so lucky to have such notable yuletide brews produced on our doorstep. Various Christmas cards are exchanged and now comes the big moment itself. Stephen first had one of my calendars in 2010 with Nick getting one the year after, so the handover has been a seminal gathering for well over a decade. The 2026 editions feature Mr B flanked by Hove deckchairs, red-nosed Rudolphs and recreating his Friar Tuck role at White Ladies Priory whereas His Highness has Jane frickles, Kenilworth sword poses and bits of bellringing to adorn his wall next year. Cheers!
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