Up the junction (box)

I first started noticing them in Leeds a few weeks ago. Then last week I saw a handful in Belfast and Dublin. But so far in Nottingham I've only spotted the one. Maybe you've seen some on your manor? If so, then please get in touch. I don't think it's got the makings of a Photo Challenge. At least not yet...

Leeds - June 2026.

Belfast - June 2026

Dublin - July 2026

Nottingham - July 2026

Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition

The Spaniard, Belfast - ''A rocking little rum bar in the Cathedral Quarter.'' So says the blurb. It goes on to say - ''Attracting a collaboration of interesting folk, do not be surprised if you end up meeting a cousin/friend/relative twice removed, or even chatting to a stranger who becomes a new friend for life.'' Uncanny. I think we got the hat trick.Olé!

John, James, Raymond - well on their way to being twice removed

(Too many beers were consumed and too many stories exchanged to even begin writing up what happened a couple of weekends ago. However, it was both fast and furious - and very funny. Anyway, what happens in Belfast stays in Belfast.)

I think I needed it just a little bit more than you

I mentioned the gig at the Bodega a couple of weeks back with Ryan McMullan. As good as he was, and he was, I think the young lad supporting him matched him punch for punch. Ryan probably shaved it on points; but he didn't have a song in his set half as good as this.

Travis sang 'Needed It' a cappella that night from the front of the stage, totally unplugged. And such was the respect shown to all the musicians on the bill that night, you could have heard the proverbial pin drop when he played this.

Travis is a Tourist: Needed It

Behind (10) Bars

English pubs may well be closing at a rate of 20+ a week but, in all fairness, a lot of those falling by the wayside had probably outstayed their welcome anyway. That's not to say that a few babies haven't been thrown away with the beer slops, but, if you don't use them, you'll lose them. Nothing's so sure.

Here are ten that I've used on numerous occasions over the last few years (with a couple of exceptions) and each and every one has a certain quality that makes a return trip a necessity, not an option. That they all sell sensational beers is a given. No, what makes these establishments the real deal often won't get mentioned in beer guides and bucket lists of hipster bars you must visit before you die.

Without further ado then, here are, in no particular order, my ten favourite pubs/bars in the UK (well, nine, actually - the tenth being an honorary English pub which sneaks under the wire, in what I will have to refer to as the Overseas Section).

And, so that you know, this is not a forum for gushing five hundred word critiques. I will endeavour to sum up each hostelry in no more than a couple of sentences.

* Knott Bar, Manchester

The Number One Son lives in Manchester and, for me, going in this cracking little boozer on Deansgate is synonymous with seeing James. Added to which they've got a splendid Ramones tour flyer on the wall, and their fish finger sandwiches are to die for.

* The Harrison, London WC1

It's no secret that my former business partner and I named our company after George Harrison. So it was hardly a coincidence that when we were working (or playing) in London we sought out this hidden little gem tucked away behind the Grays Inn Road. And we still go back to this day.

* The Lamb and Flag, Worcester

This is now the only pub on the British mainland where I'll drink Guinness. The snug at the back is like stepping back in time, and, I'm told, Robert Plant has been known to slide in for a dust cutter.

* The Baltic Fleet, Liverpool

There are two pubs on this list that I've only been to the once and this is the first one. This beautiful little drinking establishment is home to the Wapping Brewey. And they hold an annual sea shanty festival - but don't let that put you off! We're trying to schedule a return visit later in the year.

* The Black Horse, Whitby

If you're a shrinking violet or you're seeking anonymity in a backstreet boozer, this little drinking den in the old own probably isn't for you. You sit cheek by jowl with fellow patrons so getting embroiled in a lively discussion is as natural as walking up to the bar to get the next round.

* Reid's Bar, Lurgan

In my humble opinion this diamond in the rough - Lurgan is not a pretty town - would not be everyone's cup of Nambarrie.  But, if you can, prise yourself away from Belfast, take the (not so fast) train twenty miles into Co. Armagh, disgorge at Lurgan, make your way to Reids and get Raymond Murray to stand you a pint of Smithwicks. Tell him I sent you.

* The Crown, Belfast

Or to give it its full moniker - The Crown Liquor Saloon. When the IRA were blowing up the Europa Hotel for fun back in the seventies, The Crown, which stands directly opposite, never had so much as a cracked window pane. And what (stained) window panes they are. It's owned by the National Trust these days a so that makes it a real treasure, indeed. You'll find me in the third booth from the front door.

* Room With a Brew, Nottingham

Nottingham's newest addition to the micro pub scene and one that we only discovered for the first time a couple of weeks ago. The beers, from Scribbler's Brewery, are all literary themed and the walls are adorned with images of Penguin paperbacks. We went in for one and came out four hours later - says it all really.

* The Adelphi, Leeds

Leeds may or may not want to be part of the Northern Powerhouse. What it really wants is more pubs like the Adelphi. Again, when James was billeted in Leeds for eighteen months I would often meet him in him here for a couple after work; so a sentimental choice maybe, but you'll struggle to find a better pint of Leeds Pale in the city.

* The White Horse Tavern, Greenwich Village

A pretentious choice, I grant you, but if I lived in Manhattan I'd probably make it my local. Dylan Thomas used to hold court in there. Bob Dylan freewheeled in there many a time. Next time you're in New York City be sure you give it a coat of looking at.

They call them The Belfast Boys

'Two of Us'

Ray and Jack went to see a production of Let it Be at the Grand Opera House this week. Holding a Doctorate in The Fab Four (Mark Lewisohn has my cousin's number on speed dial), Ray would have been making copious notes throughout the evening: was Macca holding his thumbs aloft at the right angle? Was George doing that little shimmy he used to do just before he played a solo? That sort of thing.

Jack on the other hand would have been considering the pros and cons of crowd surfing. And whether or not they were selling tubs in the foyer at half time.

Dropping Bombshells in Belfast

The new resident pianist in The Europa Hotel (pictured moments before the blast)

As I alluded to a couple of weeks ago my cousin Raymond and I have been planning an elaborate family reunion in Northern Ireland where nobody, not even me, knew the full ensemble; you see Ray had invited a 'mystery guest'. Ray doesn't do smug, but this came close. More on that later.

I love reunions, especially when there isn't a wooden box in the corner of the room. I won't bore you with details of people you don't know or talk you through every permutation of photograph that was taken (aunties, uncles, cousins, nieces, nephews, first cousins three times removed), suffice it to say that Friday night was perfect. Before proceedings got under way proper I met my cousin Adrianne who I'd not clapped eyes on since the scorching summer of 1976. She hadn't changed a bit. I, on the other hand, looked old enough to be her father - and I'm a year younger.

Adrianne and I lay in wait in an adjoining room with the party now getting into full swing. I put a phone call in to Ray's father, my Uncle Aidan, from, he thought, across the Irish Sea: struggling to make himself heard above the hubbub I calmly walked into the party, still talking to him on the phone and straight into his line of vision: Bombshell # 1. After we restarted his heart I casually asked how Adrianne was these days. Her cue to walk through the door: Bombshell # 2. Whilst the Paramedics were working flat out reviving everyone the door bell rang. Auntie Stella. The 'mystery guest': Bombshell # 3. Carnage.

Saturday morning started as every Saturday should with enough bacon and sausages to feed an army washed down by gallons of tea. Ray was holding court in the kitchen basking in the success of the night before knowing that 2013's Party Planner of the Year award would be coming his way.

We left the oldies back at base, many still strapped to ECG machines, whilst us young 'uns ventured forth into Belfast for a few pints of Guinness in The Crown Liquor Saloon. On the train I told Ray I needed to drop into the Europa Hotel. I said I was writing a piece about Europe's most bombed hotel and that the manager had got some old photographs for me to use. He bought it.

Unknown to him, and the rest of them, I'd arranged for the Number One Son and his fair maiden to come over from Manchester and join us on the Saturday. And, after a quick call to the Europa, what better way to 'introduce' him, he being a musician, than for him to swap places with the resident pianist in the Piano Lounge and be playing when we all walked in; it went like clockwork. Ray was in bits: Bombshell # 4. Wipe out.

Thinking of organising a party? My rates are very reasonable.

Wall of Glam

 Alvin Stardust. Big in Rochdale apparently

I've just finished listening to a fascinating little documentary on Radio 4 about Rochdale street artist Walter Kershaw. In the 1970s, armed with his paint brushes, he'd set his scaffold up against a gable end and create giant murals; it made me wonder how the troubles might have played out if Kershaw had relocated his business across the Irish Sea.