Bury is baking. On this Wednesday morning in late July, the sun has nudged aside the ever-present threat of showers and is doing its best to bring the red roses into bloom and give the town’s famous black pudding an even deeper...
Read MoreI’m sitting at a long wooden table nursing a half pint of something pungent. There are belly laughs, there’s banter, there are black pudding scotch eggs – all the essential beer accompanying paraphernalia is intact. In fact it...
Read MoreGod knows how much time has passed since I last saw a gooseberry. It seems to me that nations have risen, civilisations have collapsed and entire continents have drifted apart since I last set eyes on any of those translucent...
Read MoreI’ve been meaning to do this for a while now. Drink a beer and write about it I mean. But time and again, as sip followed sip, I found that the bottle was sunk well before I was ever able to reach for my pen. Now though, I am...
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