Water Water Everywhere - Too Expensive To Drink

Do you ever wonder "Have I got too much money?" Well, now here's a definitive check.

If you find yourself breaking out your credit card to buy Voss Artesian bottled water at £25 for 12, consider yourself institutionalised by capitalism. It does come in a natty glass bottle. But it's still just water, even if it's sourced from under a million-year old glacier in deepest Norway, filtered through virgin's hair (and bottled in a factory on an industrial estate).

To break the cycle of wasting your money on this old rope I recommend giving away all your earthly possessions. Perhaps to some starving journalists. They can be found hanging around Manchetser's pubs and park benches trying not to look like alcoholics.

Voss water can be purchased from Smithfield Wine, previous winners of Salford's Chapel Street Business Group Business of the Month. They also do a very interesting-looking bottle of Lanchester mead for 7 quid. Incidentally, if you've never tried mead, it's honeyed liquer, I promise you'll never go back to wine again.

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The Quiz Ninjas of Nazareth

Juliet:
"What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet."

Romeo and Juliet (II, ii, 1-2)

As a matter of course, I regularly participate in pub quizzes. What other institution rewards the obscure, anorak-y knowledge of celebrities, flags, TV shows and military history? Our local (and a fine beast she is) is The Railway, a proper down-at-heel, kind-at-heart boozer in West Didsbury. It's hemmed in on one side by the Lounge - £6 cocktails containing "muddled" fruit - and on the other by The Metropolitan. I could go on for an age about "The Met" it's the most expensive, unwelcoming, pretentious tossfest of a pub this side of Soho. Ok, so the food's all right. And there's often a beautiful Audi R8 parked outside. But the pub itself is soulless, and soul-drainingly popular.

Anyway, I digress....Deciding on a name for your assembled crack team of pub quiz experts is very much like choosing a band name: it can change from week to week and, by nature, has to define the entire ethos of your group. Names should be either:

a) topical,
b) witty,
c) rude,
d) punning,
e) surreal,
f) referencing TV, film or music, or
g) all of the above.

Also like band names, the name is at least as important as what you produce. Who wants to pick up the mantle of Kings of the Quiz under a shit moniker like "Kev n his mates" or "Shandy Bob"?

This week, we were called "Sonic Death Monkey", after Jack Black's band in High Fidelity. Of course, next week, we shall quiz our brains out under the moniker "Barry Jive and the Uptown Five".

Previous pub quiz team names include:

Mr Cuddles' Alibi (after the soft toy was found in the boot of the McCann's Megane)
The Disco Biscuits
My Achilles Brain

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Woodstock: Given the Didsbury Treatment

Usually, the refurbishment of your local pub is a traumatic time for any self-respecting regular.

They change the comically peeling wallpaper, get rid of the shove-ha'penny board and replace it with a student-friendly quiz machine, and bin that pre-PC female contraceptive machine from the loos.

The Woodstock on Barlow Moor road was already a "done-up" pub, having had a refurb back in 2003. It had already received the clean wooden floors and random assortment of high-backed chairs treatment.

The big beer garden with smoking area was also a big pre-fit up bonus. They served the cultured but wallet-destroying Belgian 8.5%er, Duvel. But it had no centre, no character. Being so big, and going for the warm and cosy feel, it felt like a hotel. You could also grow a sizeable beard in the time the food took to get from kitchen to table, even if you were the only customer.

But in come the decorators again. And they're a bit trendy. Gone is the large outdoor signage. Out goes the strangely curved wall which sliced the main room in half, in come chandeliers,
expensive mismatched chairs, gold ceilings and dressed down bar staff.

It sounds weird. But - without showing that I watch a lot of home decorating shows - the lighting from chandeliers on the dark walls is warming without being overwhelming.

Now it's more sympathetic, there are more nooks and crannies to squirrel yourself away in. And the bar staff are friendly and chatty. Although it's disconcerting being served by a guy who looks like Kevin Smith's shorter, northern brother (with ponytail! and shorts!).

The only problem decor-wise comes where the kitsch-y feel leans over into trash. The extreme clash between gothic rails and random pink furniture. The leopardskin lampshade. Descending the stairs to the loos is an interesting experience, as you're accompanied by bold rose wallpaper and red LEDs. It feels a bit naughty, like you're descending the stairs into an Amsterdam "private shop".

It's a matter of taste. And unless you take yourself a bit too seriously, you probably won't find it offensive.


The food's gone a bit more adventurous, with Galric and Lentil burgers, a chorizo, olives & cheese combo with peppers and sundried tomatoes, which was lush (although it was served with that favourite of tautologies "rustic bread".)

It wasn't overpriced, we had one and it didn't last long.


Taking care of their darker-lunged patrons, there's a well-constructed heating "shelter" for the smokers, more mismatched chairs and a bit o' nice planting outside.

The pub's set in a very pretty plot of proper grass anyway, the garden's great - in fact it's only decent one between here and town; there's The Didsbury, but there, you're basically sitting right on Wilmslow Road.

The Woodstock ticks all the right boxes for a local pub. Good beer. Nice Food. Good people. Sense of humour. But it'll retain a lot more charm if you're on a quiet afternoon in the garden, rather than wedged underneath a leopardskin furnishing on a rammed Saturday night.

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