Whitbread Trophy Bitter: Recreating My 1980s Pint

Whitbread Trophy Bitter is a beer I remember from when I first started drinking in the 1980s. Like a lot of beers from that period, my memory of it isn't made up of detailed tasting notes; I just remember it as a proper pint of bitter, fairly light in strength, mildly sweet, but with a decent bitterness to it.

I originally found a historical Whitbread Trophy recipe from 1965 and thought that would be an interesting beer to recreate. The problem was that Trophy wasn't really one single beer. Whitbread used the Trophy name across different breweries and regions, often adapting existing local bitters, so the Trophy being poured in Yorkshire during the 1980s could be quite different from a London-brewed version being poured in another pub to some kid "darn sarf".

That sent me looking for the Trophy I might actually have been drinking.

Whitbread Trophy, Sheffield

I always believed that the pint I enjoyed was likely brewed in Sheffield, and I've found some information in Les Howarth's The Home Brewer's Recipe Database, which lists a separate Whitbread Sheffield version of Trophy. 

The source material behind that entry includes Roger Protz's Real Ale Drinker's Almanac from around the end of the 1980s and beginning of the 1990s, which puts it very close to the period I'm trying to recreate.

The Sheffield entry gives the beer as:

• Original Gravity: 1.036
• Bitterness: 24 IBU
• 70% pale malt
• 5% crystal malt
• 10% torrified wheat
• 15% sugar
• Bittering: 80% hop extract, 20% Target
• Dry hop: Goldings

That immediately looks like a very different beer from the older Trophy recipe I was looking at. There's less reliance on malt for the body, a substantial amount of sugar to help keep it dry and drinkable, torrified wheat for head retention, and a hopping schedule that looks wonderfully commercial and very much of its time.

Most of the bitterness came from hop extract, with Target providing the remaining contribution. Target was still a relatively modern British hop during the 1980s and its firm, assertive bitterness fits rather nicely with my memory of Trophy being a noticeably bitter pint.

The Goldings dry hop is also important. Although most of the bitterness came from extract, the finished beer wasn't necessarily devoid of traditional English hop character; the Goldings should give it a restrained floral and earthy aroma without turning it into anything resembling a modern dry-hopped beer.

My 23 Litre Recipe

This is my homebrew reconstruction based on the historical Sheffield information rather than a claim that I've somehow uncovered Whitbread's exact brewhouse sheet. Where the original information doesn't provide a figure, I've kept things simple and tried to make choices that fit the beer and the period.

Ingredient	Amount
British pale malt	2.4 kg
Medium crystal malt	170 g
Torrified wheat	345 g
White brewing sugar	520 g

Those quantities preserve the original 70/5/10/15 proportions and should put a typical homebrew system somewhere around the required gravity. 

Hops

• Target: enough to provide approximately 5 IBU, probably around 4-5 g depending on the alpha acid shown on the packet
• Isomerised hop extract: approximately 2 ml, or enough to provide around 19 IBU according to the manufacturer's dosage
• Goldings: 10-15 g dry hop
• Total bitterness: approximately 24 IBU

The 19 IBU from extract and 5 IBU from Target keeps the original 80/20 bittering split almost exactly, without making the brewday unnecessarily complicated.

Process

• Batch size: 23 litres
• Target OG: 1.036
• Mash: 66°C for 60 minutes
• Boil: 60 minutes
• Target bitterness: 24 IBU
• Expected FG: around 1.008, depending on yeast and fermentation
• Expected ABV: around 3.7%
• Yeast: SafAle S-04 or another suitable Whitbread-style English ale yeast

The 66°C mash temperature is my choice rather than something specified in the historical entry. It seems a sensible middle ground for such a low-gravity beer, particularly with 15% of the fermentables coming from sugar. I want it dry and drinkable, but not watery.

Likewise, the original source simply says that Goldings were used for dry hopping, without giving an amount. Somewhere between 10 g and 15 g in 23 litres feels restrained enough to fit the beer I'm trying to recreate.

The Pint That Thinks It's A Quart!

One of the old Trophy advertising lines described it as having "the body that satisfies", alongside the rather more memorable claim that it was "the pint that thinks it's a quart".

That becomes quite interesting when you look at the recipe. At just 1.036 original gravity this was never a strong beer, but 10% torrified wheat should help with body and head retention while the crystal malt adds a little sweetness and malt character. At the same time, the 15% sugar should keep the finish fairly lean, leaving the 24 IBUs of bitterness plenty of room to show themselves.

It sounds, on paper at least, exactly like the sort of beer I remember from my locals in the 1980s: modest strength, easy to drink, properly bitter, with enough malt and hop character to stop it disappearing into the background.

And that really is the point of this recipe. I'm not trying to create a modern interpretation of Trophy or make it somehow better by replacing the hop extract with fashionable whole hops. If hop extract, Target and a small Goldings dry hop were part of the Sheffield beer, that's what I want to brew.

I haven't actually brewed this version yet, so I can't sit here and claim that one sip transported me straight back to a Yorkshire pub in the 1980s. I simply haven't had time to get it into the fermenter yet.

But I will. Very soon.

And when I do, I'll come back and update this post with the brewday, fermentation figures and, most importantly, whether it tastes anything like the Whitbread Trophy I remember.

Sources and further reading

The recipe has been pieced together from several sources rather than copied from a single modern clone recipe. The most important is Les Howarth's The Home Brewer's Recipe Database, particularly the separate Whitbread Sheffield Trophy entry and Howarth's explanation that percentages for multiple bittering hops are best interpreted by their contribution to total IBUs.

I've also used Ron Pattinson's research into historic Whitbread beers and brewing practices, along with discussions and reconstructions from other British homebrewers, to give the recipe some context. I'll add links to the relevant original material here as I tidy up my notes.

Are We Getting An Electric Car?

So, my wife has started to become interested in electric vehicles and, to be honest, I might be too.

We have a Ford Kuga, and we still have a car loan that runs until next year (£284 a month). I also spend approximately £280–£300 a month on petrol, so the car effectively costs me around £590 a month. Potentially, I could pay less than that for an EV instead; no more buying expensive petrol, much less maintenance, slightly higher insurance perhaps, but lower car tax.

I drive almost 60 miles a day commuting currently, and our longest regular journey is probably a round trip of around 200 miles to see our grandson, which is very doable in a modern electric car. So yeah, let’s look at it and see where it takes us.

After looking at salary sacrifice, we started leaning towards a personal lease instead. Octopus seem to have some good deals on EVs, and my wife particularly liked the Omoda E5 Noble. My only concern was the headroom, as I'm 6'2" and need the clearance!

Anyway, after a week of research, I had a ranked list of potential cars based on the specs.

Rank	Vehicle	Rating
1st	CUPRA Born V1 58 kWh + heat pump	9.2 / 10
2nd	Leapmotor B05 67.1 kWh	8.8 / 10
3rd	Renault Megane E-Tech EV60	8.6 / 10
4th	Leapmotor B10 67.1 kWh	8.3 / 10
5th	Omoda E5 Noble MY25/26	7.8 / 10
6th	Kia EV4 Air Standard Range	7.4 / 10
7th	BYD Dolphin Comfort / Design	7.3 / 10
8th	Hyundai Kona Electric 65 kWh Advance	6.9 / 10
9th	JAECOO E5 Luxury	6.4 / 10
10th	MG S5 EV Long Range	5.9 / 10

OK, so not everything this weekend went quite as expected. We went to the dealership mainly to see whether I could actually fit comfortably in an Omoda E5 Noble at 6'2" (I could, by the way). As it happens, though, my wife decided she didn't like the front grille. While we were there, the salesman mentioned plug-in hybrids.

On the same site was a Chery dealership, so we had a look there too. We didn't really like the look of the cars, so I asked ChatGPT whether a plug-in hybrid might actually suit the way we use a car. With a roughly 60-mile round-trip commute each day, the MG HS PHEV Trophy came up as a particularly interesting option.

Luckily, we were parked right next to an MG dealership.

Long story short, that morning we'd been absolutely certain we wanted an EV. A few hours later, we walked out of the dealership having bought an MG HS PHEV Trophy.

Since then I've looked at my route to work, the 60-mile round trip is based on a motorway route from Knottingley to Doncaster, using mainly A roads, there is a 38-mile a day route, I sense a little competitive driving against the MG HS PHEV 75-mile WLTP, lets see how I do.

Wildfires

The scenes coming out of France and Spain over the past few weeks have been absolutely horrendous. Huge areas of land have been destroyed, homes and communities have been threatened, people have lost their lives and more than 300,000 residents and holidaymakers have been evacuated.

France is experiencing its worst wildfire season on record, while Spain has suffered some of the largest fires in its recent history. These are no longer isolated fires that can simply be contained by a few local fire crews. They are vast, fast-moving emergencies that can overwhelm entire regions and require help from firefighters, aircraft and military personnel from across Europe; and don't think this is just mainland Europe, we get them in the UK too, and they will get worse.

We cannot get away from the role that global warming is playing in all of this. Climate change does not necessarily start a fire, but prolonged heatwaves, drought and extremely dry vegetation create the perfect conditions for one to spread. Western Europe recorded its hottest June on record this year, with widespread dry conditions contributing to increased wildfire activity across Spain and southern France.

In other words, climate change loads the gun, but in most cases it is still human activity that pulls the trigger.

Around 96% of wildfires in the European Union are caused by human actions. Some are started deliberately, but many begin through carelessness or accident: disposable barbecues placed on dry ground, cigarettes thrown into grass (often tossed from vehicles), unattended fires, or sparks and hot material from vehicles and agricultural machinery. During very hot and dry conditions, it only takes one small spark to ignite grass or vegetation that is ready to burn.

Regardless of exactly how each fire started, Europe, including the UK, needs to begin adapting to the conditions we are now facing. Reducing carbon emissions remains essential, but even if the world made dramatic progress tomorrow, hotter and drier summers are already becoming part of our climate. We need to prepare for them.

That will mean more firefighters trained specifically to deal with wildfires and rural incidents, better equipment, improved early-warning systems and proper evacuation plans for communities in vulnerable areas. Fire services designed mainly to deal with house, vehicle and industrial fires may increasingly find themselves facing incidents that behave very differently and cover enormous areas.

Farming and countryside management will also be important. Agricultural machinery needs to be properly maintained and regularly cleared of dust, oil and dry crop material. During periods of extreme risk, farmers may need additional guidance about when machinery can be operated safely and what firefighting equipment should be carried.

Interestingly, farm vehicles, such as tractors and combine harvesters, do not need an MOT.  While they are exempt from standard MOT testing, they are still subject to strict legal requirements regarding roadworthiness, but what about maintenance and standards for working in fields without overheating or causing sparks or heat! Perhaps this is something we need to look into too!

We will also need to think more carefully about how land itself is managed. Firebreaks, ploughed strips, managed grazing, shorter grass, carefully controlled burning and areas of greener, less flammable vegetation can all help reduce the amount of fuel available to a fire. A varied landscape of fields, woodland and managed open ground can sometimes slow a fire in a way that one continuous area of dry grass, scrub or forest cannot.

Interestingly, I was thinking about writing this while driving down the M18 towards Doncaster this morning. There were plenty of fields filled with dry grass and crops, but every so often there would be a freshly ploughed field with little or nothing available to burn. There were also fields containing greener crops, along with boundaries of trees and bushes breaking up the landscape.

Not every hedge or wooded boundary will stop a wildfire, of course. Unmanaged vegetation can sometimes help carry one. However, it did make me wonder whether the patchwork of farmland we already have could become part of our defence, particularly if future agricultural and environmental policies begin to consider wildfire prevention more deliberately.

There will also have to be a change in public behaviour. Disposable barbecues, campfires and cigarettes that may once have seemed relatively harmless can become incredibly dangerous during a heatwave. We already issue warnings about flooding, ice and storms; perhaps clearly communicated wildfire-risk warnings will need to become just as familiar during the summer months.

Wildfires have traditionally felt like something that happens in Australia, California or the hottest parts of southern Europe. That is changing. The UK has already experienced serious grass, moorland and woodland fires, and the conditions that make them possible are becoming more common.

We may not be able to prevent every spark, but we can reduce the chances of one being created, manage the land so that fires have less fuel and make sure our emergency services are properly equipped when one does take hold.

The fires in France and Spain should not be viewed simply as another terrible European disaster. They should be seen as a warning of the conditions we may all increasingly have to live with.

From Over 18 Stone to Here

I’ve been away from my weight-loss journey for a while, but when I recently looked back at the numbers, I realised I’d been overlooking something rather important. Although I haven’t continued losing weight, I haven’t gone all the way back to where I started either. Far from it.

This whole journey for me really began after a New Year trip to London at the end of 2023. On New Year’s Day 2024, I decided I needed to start building some healthier eating habits.

While we were away, I found myself needing an extender for the button on my jeans. Around the same time, I’d also seen a photograph of myself taken at my niece’s wedding, and it showed my weight gain far more clearly than the mirror ever seemed to.

When I got home from London, I stepped onto the scales. I was proper shocked, and honestly quite horrified, to see that I weighed 18st 9.8lb (261.8 lbs or 118.75kg), (I had signed up with a weight loss app while in London on New Years Day and guessed that I weighted about 17st!).  I’m 6ft 2in, so I can carry a fair amount of weight without always realising quite how much is there, but that was far more than I’d expected. I knew I needed to do something about it.

Since then, my weight has gone down, gone back up a little, levelled out and generally wobbled around, as weight tends to do. I can sometimes become a little complacent and stop worrying about it for months at a time, although I actually think taking an occasional break from thinking about weight can be a sensible thing for my mental health.

At my lowest on this journey, I reached just over 15st 4lb (214lb or 97kg) on 22nd Nov 2024. 

As of Friday 28th September 2026, I'm 15st 9.8lb (219.8lbs or 99.7kg) ... yeah I'm heading down to a better weight and a better and healthier me. I've vowed never to see anything like 16st again.

That still means I’m roughly three stone lighter (39.2lbs or 17.8kg) than I was when I came home from London in 2024. I need to remember that, that’s a huge win, because it’s very easy to look at the weight I still want to lose and get disheartened; I shouldn't overlook the weight I’ve already lost.

Right now, I actually feel pretty good about my weight. I need smaller waist sizes than I used to, and some of my clothes are now visibly too big for me. Those are real, noticeable signs of progress that matter far more than the occasional wobble on the scales.

The line on the chart isn’t perfectly straight (and you can see my complacent periods clearly), but the direction from where I started is pretty obvious.

Our cruise leaves on 1st November, and that has given me a very clear next target. I’m determined to get myself much closer to 14st 7lb before we sail. I’m not promising that I’ll definitely hit it, but I do love a BHAG!

I know what works for me. Tracking calories makes me more aware of what I’m eating without pretending that certain foods, or drinks, are forbidden. I read and understand the nutritional labels on food, and I think that’s an important part of this journey for me. It helps me understand how much of something I can eat while still maintaining the calorie deficit I need to lose weight.

Exercise is a trickier one. I have knee pain, so hard aerobic exercise isn’t really an option for me. I’ll need to find movement that works with my knees rather than against them, while accepting that most of my progress will come from what I eat and drink.

That’s the approach for the next few months: calorie tracking (aiming for less that 1,770 a day), better choices, plenty of protein (aiming for at least 100g a day) and daily accountability. Nothing ridiculous, just more consistency and fewer moments when I pretend the calories somehow don’t count.

This note is now out here in the wild too. It might not be read by many people, but I know it exists, and that gives me another little push to follow through.

I started at over 18 and a half stone. I’ve already come a long way, and now I’m ready for the next part.

Nowt To Do With Me, Springs and Hinges

I said something to a work colleague today that took me straight back more than thirty years, and I thought I’d better get the story down before it disappears forever.

I started working for BT, or British Telecom, or British Telecommunications plc depending on how you remember it, back in the days before everything had been smoothed out by the internet. I was there until 1997, when I moved to GPT, (GEC Plessey Telecommunications). That’s a whole other story.

Back in the 80s and 90s, BT still had those old red telephone boxes dotted all over the place. They’re remembered now as lovely bits of British street furniture, very iconic back in the day, but anyone who actually used them will remember a slightly different reality.

They usually smelt of wee. You also felt like you might catch something just by standing in one for too long. And, if you did manage to survive the smell, you then had to battle your way back out through a door held shut by springs so strong you practically needed to be Geoff Capes to open it (anyone under 50 may need to look him up). It was just as difficult sometimes to open these things, and the silly little handles didn't really give you any purchase!

Every so often, our BT office in Leeds would get calls from customers complaining that people were struggling to open the phone box doors, and they wanted someone to do something about it.

One of the departments we had back then was Directories. They managed Directory Enquiries, where operators gave out telephone numbers, and Directory Production, which involved producing those enormous paper phone books that used to land on everyone’s doorstep. Pre-internet life must look almost prehistoric now.

Anyway, the chap who headed up the Directories team in Leeds used to get loads of these “phone box door” calls transferred through to him from the switchboard. I’ve no idea why, other than every phone box had a paper directory in it, so someone must have decided it was vaguely connected.

It wasn’t.

Every now and again, you’d hear him answer one of these calls with something along the lines of:

“Nowt to do with me. Springs and hinges.”

I may have paraphrased that slightly, but that was the gist of it.

The funny thing is, we actually had an engineering team that looked after the springs and hinges in phone boxes. That was a real thing. Somewhere inside BT, there were people whose job included making sure the doors on red telephone boxes opened and closed properly.

So now, every so often, when someone asks me something that has absolutely nothing to do with me, I still find myself saying, “Nowt to do with me. Springs and hinges.”, which I did this morning, and remembering this story brought a smile to my face.

No big reason for this story, really. But that’s what a digital garden is for, isn’t it? A little bit of history, a little bit of nonsense, and something small that made me chuckle today.

The Day I Built a Bomb

When I was about seven or eight years old, back in the mid-70s, kids had a lot more freedom than they do now. Most weekends involved disappearing for hours with your mates, getting filthy, climbing things you shouldn’t climb, and generally causing low-level chaos without adults knowing where you were.

I did once set light to somebody’s garden! But they had cut down their long grass and left it to dry out in Summer. What were they thinking! Looking back, it’s amazing any of us survived childhood intact. BTW, if you lived at 17 Crewe Avenue (Ferrybridge), in the 1970's, I apologise for my behaviour!

At the bottom of our road there was a row of old wooden garages, there are houses there now, but it was about here, it was tucked between our school and the cemetery, with a field for horses on one side. One day we discovered that if you shifted some loose boarding around the back of one of them, you could squeeze inside. 

The garage looked abandoned to us ... honestly. There were car parts everywhere, old paint tins, bits of copper pipe, electrical cable, tools, and a couple of empty gas canisters. To a group of young lads, it looked like buried treasure.

So naturally, we decided to build a “bomb”.

Not a real one obviously. More the sort of ridiculous Heath Robinson contraption only children could invent. We threaded cables through car radiators, stuck pipes into paint tins, connected random bits of metal together, and made the whole thing look as dramatic as possible. 

We thought it was hilarious. None of us had the slightest idea how serious it might appear to somebody else, especially during a time when news about bombs and the troubles in Northern Ireland filled the television almost daily.

The next day, bomb disposal turned up.

I still remember the sinking feeling in my stomach when I saw them there. Even as a kid, I suddenly realised this wasn’t funny any more. We’d actually convinced grown adults that something dangerous had been hidden in that garage. 

Thankfully, after a few tense hours, they packed up and left without blowing anything sky high. Our masterpiece of wires, pipes, and scrap metal had been exactly what it really was ... a pile of junk arranged by bored children with too much imagination.

It still makes me laugh now, but there’s also a strange little lesson buried in it somewhere. Kids often don’t understand the world they’re growing up inside. We were pretending to build something from an adventure film, while the adults around us were seeing something entirely different.

Healthy Dog Treats

We got fed up with only really having unhealthy treats in supermarkets to give Hela, our German Shepherd, so I went hunting for a healthy dog treat recipe that she’d actually enjoy.

And I think I found it.

These are really simple sweet potato dog biscuit recipe. They’re basically just two ingredients, with one optional extra if your pampered pooch fancies a bit more flavour (Hela did).

You’ll need:

• 240g wholemeal flour
• 225g sweet potato, cooked and pureed
• Optional extra: crispy bacon, blended into a powder

I cook the bacon until it’s nice and crispy, then blend it down into a powder before adding it to the mix. You don’t need loads, just enough to give the biscuits that little bacon smell dogs seem to detect from three rooms away. I suppose you could substitute for chicken, or perhaps even cheese or a little peanut butter (although you might have to add a little more flour).

Mix everything together. It’s easier while the sweet potato is still warm, as it helps bring the dough together, don't be afraid to get in with your hands to mix it.

Once mixed, let the dough rest for around 20 to 30 minutes. I’m not entirely sure what the resting actually does, but the biscuits do seem to come out better when the dough has had a bit of time to relax. Maybe biscuits need a breather too.

I then roll them into half golf ball size and squash down a little.

Preheat the oven to 180°C (Gas Mark 4), then bake the biscuits for 20 to 25 minutes (fan oven).

Once they’re done, switch the oven off and leave the biscuits inside until they’ve cooled completely. You’re basically drying them out, which helps them store better and stops them going mouldy.

And that’s it. Simple, cheap, homemade dog treats that Hela absolutely adores, hope your pooch does too.

As with any homemade dog treat, feed in moderation and avoid adding salt, seasoning, onion, garlic, or anything else unsuitable for dogs.

The Father Figure I Didn't Realise I Had

My grandad was Norman Griffiths.

I can't tell you how much I loved my maternal grandad. Even in my early twenties, I used to say that I couldn't wait to become a grandad myself one day.

I lost Grandad in 1994 when I was 27. He was only 72.

Thankfully, one of my daughters gave me my first grandchild, Freddie, in 2025, so I finally got my chance.

The reason I'm writing this is because I've just had a bit of a realisation.

My dad left when I was 11. Looking back, I think Grandad quietly became my father figure after that. I don't think I'd ever consciously thought about it before, but it explains a lot about why I adored him so much.

When I was growing up, he could be a pain and brilliant in equal measure.

There were the ruddy chin pinches and the times he'd trap me between his legs so I couldn't escape. As a child, that was endlessly annoying. Looking back now, I'd probably give anything to experience it one more time.

We weren't a wealthy family, but my grandparents always seemed to find a way. They bought some of our best Christmas presents, and I'm fairly sure they helped pay for our annual holidays to Great Yarmouth.

More importantly, Grandad taught me things that had nothing to do with money. He helped shape the person I became. The older I get, the more I realise how much of my outlook, values, and approach to life came from him.

It's funny how some things take decades to understand.

I always knew I loved my grandad.

What I've only just realised is that, after my dad left, he became the man I looked up to most.

Love you, Grandad.

England’s Best World Cup XI (2026)

Every tournament, England fans end up having the same argument.

Who exactly is our best team, our best 11 for the 2026 FIFA World Cup.

So as I smashed my Fastasy Premier League mini leagues again this season, I started thinking about how you’d actually build an England side if you stripped away reputation, nostalgia, social media hype, and all the endless “he’s world class” noise that follows certain players around (you know who you are).

Instead, I kept it simple.

Goals matter. Assists matter. Clean sheets matter too. Simple isn’t it for the best team.

For this little experiment, goals are worth 5 points, assists are worth 2, clean sheets are worth 5, and defenders or goalkeepers playing in teams that concede one goal or fewer per game get another 2 points.

Straight away, something interesting happens.

The side starts picking itself.

Not the most exciting England team. Not the most fashionable one either. But probably the one best built to survive international tournament football, which is often slow, tense, tactical, and decided by moments rather than domination.

The Formation

I’ve gone with a 4-3-3.

Not because it seems to be a trendy formation right now, but because it still gives the best balance between defensive shape and attacking threat. 

Also, the England squad don’t spend enough time together to play complicated systems properly, so you need a structure players either play in today or can understand very quickly.

Also a good 4-3-3 played well naturally shifts shape during matches as you gain possession then defend.

Without the ball it should become compact and difficult to break down, plenty of pressing. With the ball, we need our forwards out wide to stretch the pitch while the midfielders push up and support the attack in a coordinated layer rather than chaos.

Most importantly, it stops England trying to squeeze four number tens into the same side and hoping for magic. Like we have done before.

My Initial Team

GK: Jordan Pickford

People still seem strangely reluctant to give Pickford proper credit, but England’s defensive record with him is excellent.

I think he actually suits tournament football. He’s vocal, aggressive, quick off his line, and usually reliable when the pressure rises. He also has that slightly unhinged goalkeeper energy that great international keepers seem to possess.

You don’t always need the world’s best goalkeeper. Sometimes you just need one who consistently turns into a nightmare to beat in tournament football.

RB: Kyle Walker

I don't like the guy, and there are technically better right-backs available.

But Walker still gets in because recovery pace saves goals.

International football becomes dangerous when games stretch late on. One loose pass, one tired midfielder, one counter attack, and suddenly a centre-back is isolated. Walker cleans up situations most defenders simply cannot recover from.

His experience matters too. England sides in the past have sometimes looked mentally fragile in big moments. Walker rarely does, and he has that "hoof it out" mentality that I love on the back line.

CB: John Stones

I hate to admit it because I hate his style of play, but England still look calmer when Stones plays.

He carries the ball well, often reads danger early, and can (on good days) give the whole side composure. International football is full of nervous clearances and rushed decisions. Stones slows games down when England need control. For me though he still loves to play the with the ball at his feet too much.

He also suits a back four far more naturally than some of England’s other centre-back options.

CB: Marc Guéhi

Not flashy. Not constantly discussed. Just dependable.

Guéhi feels like one of those players managers quietly trust because he does the boring bits properly. His positioning is good, he stays calm under pressure, and he rarely turns matches into unnecessary drama.

That matters more in tournaments than people admit.

LB: Lewis Hall

This is probably my boldest selection, but I've already spoken to a few lads at work today and he'd be in their teams too.

Hall gives England something they often lack from deeper areas: genuine energy and width without becoming reckless. Modern full-backs have to contribute going forward now (like old fashioned wing-backs). Sitting deep for 90 minutes just invites pressure.

Hall also looks very comfortable receiving the ball in tight areas, which England badly need against compact sides that like to push.

DM: Declan Rice

Automatic selection here, I'm not a fan of Arsenal, but they are a solid unit.

Rice does the ugly work that allows other players to shine. He covers space quickly, protects the defence, wins second balls, and stops transitions before they become dangerous; he also likes to sometimes play an attacking role when his teams are in control, he's never reckless about it.

And while I hate agreeing with a friend of mine, you're right Owen, you notice players like Rice most when they’re missing.

CM: Jude Bellingham

Bellingham is the complete modern tournament midfielder.

He scores goals, creates chances, carries the ball through pressure, and seems completely unfazed by big occasions. There’s also a physical edge to him that England sides have sometimes lacked in midfield.

He already plays like somebody who believes he belongs at the highest level. That confidence spreads through teams.

CM: Cole Palmer

This was the hardest call, he's not had the best domestic season, but he's a player that likes to be noticed, so he's on the ball a lot, and hes got a decent distribution.

Palmer is there for goals, assists, and the big moments.

Palmer also has something slightly unusual for a young player. Nothing about him seems rushed. He plays at his own pace, even when matches become frantic around him.

That calmness feels very useful in knockout football.

RW: Bukayo Saka

Saka is probably England’s most complete attacking player right now.

He's a very reliable player. He has some intelligent movement with and without the ball. He's solid defensively when needed, and just consistent.

He rarely disappears from matches completely, which is surprisingly rare for attacking players, especially at international level.

I suppose in one word, he's trustworthy.

ST: Harry Kane

I really wish he wasn't, but I think he's still England’s best striker my a mile.

He gets himself into excellent positions and the goals keep coming, he has a excellent passing range which causes problems for defenders dropping too deep.

There are quicker forwards available. But better finishers? Strikers that are pretty decent at set-pieces and hardly misses penalties ... probably not.

LW: Anthony Gordon

International football desperately needs runners, and boy can this lad run.

Too many technically gifted teams become slow because everyone wants the ball into feet (yes Liverpool and Spurs, I'm looking at you).  Gordon stretches defences constantly, he runs beyond defenders, attacks space aggressively, and forces teams backwards.

All this creates room for Kane, Bellingham, and Palmer to operate centrally.

You can see it in defenders, there's something slightly irritating about playing against him.

So that's it

The interesting thing about building a side by simply scoring players is how quickly the balance started to show.

The best international football rarely goes to the prettiest side, it normally goes to the team that stays organised, survives difficult moments, and has enough quality to punish mistakes when they come along.

This England side feels closer to that than some of the wildly attacking versions people keep trying to build on paper every summer.

Update: Tuchel’s Starting XI

The wait is over, as I write this we are 60 minutes from kick-off against Croatia, and things have now got interesting.

Thomas Tuchel’s starting England XI is now out for the Croatia game, and it’s closer to my thinking than I actually expected.

England are set up in a 4-2-3-1:

Pickford; James, Stones, Konsa, O’Reilly; Anderson, Rice; Madueke, Bellingham, Gordon; Kane.

That isn’t exactly my 4-3-3, but it’s not a million miles away either.

The main difference is the midfield. I had Rice holding with Bellingham and Palmer either side. Tuchel has gone safer, using Rice and Anderson as a double pivot, then pushing Bellingham into the number 10 role behind Kane which is a good move and one I bet Bellingham will relish.

Croatia are still the sort of side that can punish loose midfield spacing. They’ve got experience, rhythm, and they like to hold up play and pass with uber deliberacy (is that a word?) that makes games feel slower than they really are. So Tuchel has clearly prioritised control before chaos (the right move).

The Saka situation also explains Madueke on the right. If Saka is being managed because of the Achilles problem, Madueke gives England direct running without asking Saka to push through a game he might not be fully ready for.

Gordon starting on the left is pleasing from the point of view of my original selection. I wanted that runner in the front three. England need someone who stretches the pitch and gives Kane, Bellingham and Rice more room to play, Gordon will do that. Plus Gordon can play in the middle too.

Konsa coming in also fits my defensive reliability idea, he's not who I would have picked, but I guess he’s a quick defender who just plays sensible football and doesn't shout 'look at me' (yes I'm looking at you Stones).

So, while I’d still have picked Palmer in my own version, Tuchel’s team does follow the same broad idea:

Keep the structure strong. Protect the middle. Use direct wide players. Let Bellingham play close to Kane.

It’s not the most romantic England XI, but World Cups are rarely won by romance.

They’re usually won by teams that stay compact, make fewer mistakes, and have enough quality in the final third to punish the one or two openings that actually arrive.

I heard an interview with Kane a couple of days ago where he said that the fans like to see England play attractive football, I don’t give a shit Harry, I want a team that will win, not one that will put on a theatre performance. Nothing wrong with winning ugly.

Prediction Corner

Just for fun, I’m going to keep track of some world cup predictions during the tournament.

Knock out is the score after AET.

My wife wanted to be part of this too, so here are our game predications with the actual results. No pressure, obviously. Apart from the entire internet being able to check later. Oh yeah, and I let ChatGPT predict the results too.

Match	Mine	Wife	ChatGPT	Actual Result
England v Croatia	2-1 England	2-0 England	2-1 England	4-2 England
England v Ghana	3-1 England	3-1 England	3-1 England	0-0
Panama v England	3-1 England	4-0 England	2-0 England	2-0 England
England v DR Congo	3-1 England	2-0 England	2-0 England	2-1 England
Mexico v England	3-1 England	1-0 England	2-1 England	3-2 England
England v Norway	2-1 England	1-0 England	2-1 England	2-1 England
England v Argentina	2-1 England	2-0 England	2-1 England	2-1 Argentina

So its not coming home! I asked ChatGPT whether it wanted to make a final comment on the prediction game and it did want to say that it wins bragging rights and awarded itself a gold medal, which I guess is fair I suppose.

Of the four players who scored for England during the tournament (Kane, Bellingham, Gordon and Rashford), it was only Rashford that I didn't pick for my squad, so I'm happy with that (although who knows what might have happened if he picked Palmer!).

Rather than who won or didn't win the predictions and me judging who our best 11 are, actually the nicest takeaway from the whole thing was that it became part of following England through the tournament, with all the optimism, disappointment and second-guessing that comes with it. See you all in four years time.

Letting Them In (Mild Horror)

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I thought I was just tired.

That was the strange thing about it. I didn’t feel dangerously exhausted. I wasn’t falling asleep at my desk or drifting off in meetings. I just felt slightly out of step with myself, like my brain was lagging behind everything else by a fraction of a second.

We’d just come back from holiday and the shift back into normal life had completely wrecked my sleep pattern. One week I was wandering around Spain in the sunshine with no alarms and nowhere urgent to be, then suddenly it was back to work, deadlines, emails, and lying awake at three in the morning staring at the ceiling for no obvious reason.

The night before had felt fairly normal. Not great sleep, but enough to get through the next day. At least that’s what I thought until I checked my sleep app the following morning.

SLEEP: 2hrs:11mins

Deep: 33%

Light: 24%

REM: 8%

Awake: 35%

I remember staring at the screen for a while because the numbers didn’t even seem possible. I’d spent longer than that lying in bed. Somehow my brain had barely switched off at all, although I thought I was asleep. Initially confused, I then blamed my sleep app for just being wrong, but ... I was very tired.

The effects of my tiredness started showing almost immediately at work. Nothing dramatic, just little mistakes that kept irritating me because they weren’t the sort of mistakes I usually make. Typos in emails. Wrong filenames. At one point I wrote down a project delivery date that had already passed. Tiny things, but enough to notice. Enough that I started feeling uneasy about how disconnected my thoughts felt.

Physically, I felt OK, but couldn’t stop the urge to yawn all the time and my eyes were feeling gritty in that way they do late at night.

Around eleven that morning I went and got a couple of minutes of fresh air, then to the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea.

Our large workplace kitchen sits off a long corridor to the office, and the lights outside are motion activated. They always take a second or two too long to register you and burst into life, so when you open the kitchen door the corridor sits in this awkward half-darkness for a moment.

I pushed the door open and something black and low to the ground moved quickly past my feet.

This wasn't a case that I thought I saw something, I mean I physically reacted to it. I bent my legs instinctively to avoid it bumping into me. The reaction was immediate, completely automatic, like somebody avoiding a dog running across their path.

Then the corridor lights flicked on, I looked around, but nothing was there.

No shadow disappearing around the corner. No bag on the floor. No movement at all. Just an empty corridor and the gentle hum of fluorescent lighting.

I stood there for a few seconds, the door had shut behind me and the tea was still sloshing around in my mug, trying to process what had just happened. The unsettling part wasn’t what I’d seen. It was how convincingly real it had felt. My body had reacted before my brain had time to question it.

I shook it off as a trick of the light, got back to my desk and carried on with my day, although I kept replaying the moment in my head. Every now and then I’d catch myself glancing down corridors slightly too quickly, or looking twice into empty rooms without really meaning to, but probably subconsciously looking for something.

That evening as my wife and I settled in to watch some TV, I picked up my phone and started reading about sleep deprivation.

That was probably a mistake.

Once you start reading deeply enough into severe sleep loss, you realise how fragile the brain actually is. People who miss enough REM sleep begin experiencing something called REM intrusion, where fragments of dreaming begin bleeding into waking consciousness. Hallucinations, movement in peripheral vision, shadow figures, distorted faces. The brain, desperate to complete the dreaming cycle it’s been denied, starts forcing parts of it into reality.

At least that’s the official explanation.

The thing that bothered me was how similar all the accounts sounded.

People described the same shapes. The same movement. The same feeling that whatever they’d seen wasn’t random. Some of them even described the exact same instinctive reaction I’d had, where their body responded before their conscious mind did. I found a couple of online forums, and Reddit provided some fascinating discussions around sleep, hallucinations, and narcolepsy.

Much of my research made me a little uneasy, not fearful, mainly because what I felt seemed strangely familiar.

That night I barely slept at all. Partly because my sleep pattern was already ruined, but mostly because every time I started drifting off I kept thinking about that thing in the corridor. My rational brain knew there had been nothing there, but another part of me seemed less convinced.

At around half past two in the morning I got up to get a glass of water. As I walked back upstairs I glanced absent-mindedly into the spare bedroom and saw someone standing beside the window.

I stopped instantly. There were only two of us in the house, and that wasn't my wife standing there.

The figure didn’t move. It was tall, unnaturally still, one arm hanging slightly lower than the other. For a moment I genuinely believed somebody had broken into the house.

Then I switched the landing light on and the room was empty. I went around the house and checked all the doors and windows, but I didn’t sleep properly after that.

The next few days became increasingly difficult to explain away. I started noticing movement where there shouldn’t be movement. A dark figure at the far end of a supermarket aisle that disappeared when I reached it. Someone sitting motionless in a parked car outside work who vanished the second time I looked. Once, while driving home late in the evening, I became convinced somebody was sitting silently in the back seat behind me.

That one frightened me enough that I had to pull over, get out of the car, and check the back seat and boot.

The strange thing is that these 'visions' never move once you properly focus on them. You only ever catch the movement beforehand, that brief glimpse of approach at the edge of your vision. Once you actually look at them directly, they’re completely still.

Watching. Waiting.

By then I was sleeping with the television on because silence had started making me uncomfortable. Every creak of the house sounded deliberate. Every dark reflection in the windows made me pause slightly longer than it should have.

Everywhere else I was becoming more wary of opening doors and walking into rooms, mildly worried about what I might see.

The exhaustion was building. The less sleep I got, the more often I saw them. Then seeing them made sleeping even harder. It became a loop that fed itself night after night.

I tried all the sensible explanations first.

Stress. Fatigue. Anxiety. Too much caffeine. Too much alcohol. Eating late at night. Poor sleep hygiene.

I went to the doctor. I cut down caffeine and alcohol completely, and I stopped eating after 8pm. I tried meditation apps, sleeping tablets, breathing exercises, all the normal advice people give you when your brain starts betraying you a little ... but none of it helped.

Three nights ago I woke at around four in the morning and saw one standing beside the bed, not near it, beside it.

Tall. Thin. Completely motionless. Its face looked almost human in the same way mannequins look almost human. Close enough at first glance, but wrong in tiny ways once you looked properly. The eyes were too still. The expression slightly delayed, like it was copying what a human face should look like rather than understanding it naturally.

I couldn’t move at first. Not because I was particularly scared, but because some buried instinct was telling me not to fully acknowledge what I was looking at.

The thing leaned closer until its face was inches from mine, and then it whispered something.

Not words exactly. More like a thought pressed directly into my head.

You’re letting us in. You’re letting us in. You’re letting us in. It kept repeating.

I don’t remember falling asleep afterward, but I woke properly just after sunrise with the bedroom empty and my heart hammering hard enough to hurt.

I called in sick to work that morning. I was too exhausted and my mental state just wasn't in the right place.

I was sat on the sofa all morning, casually aware that life was happening around me, but also deeply aware that something just wasn't right. These events just didn't feel like hallucinations, they felt very real. I continued my research, trying to understand what was happening. My thoughts wouldn’t settle. Even sitting still, I felt wired and exhausted at the same time.

Around lunchtime my wife casually asked why I’d been standing in the garden during the night.

I shot her a puzzled look and told her I hadn’t.

She looked immediately uncomfortable, like she regretted mentioning it at all, then quietly said she’d seen me through the bedroom window sometime around three in the morning.

Apparently I’d been standing completely still at the bottom of the garden facing the house. I was just staring up at the bedroom window.

Last night I finally understood what they are.

People think sleep deprivation causes hallucinations because the brain is failing. I don’t think that’s true anymore.

I think exhaustion weakens something. Some barrier between us and whatever these things are. That’s why they stay hidden in microsleeps and fragments of REM sleep, appearing only in glimpses and peripheral movement at first. They need you exhausted before you can properly perceive them.

And once you do, they start getting closer, much closer.

They don’t kill people. At least not physically. What they want is quieter than that. They replace you slowly, and carefully.

By the time it happens properly, nobody notices at first. You still remember names, routines, conversations. The thing now wearing you uses your memories like instructions from a manual.

Only the people closest to you sense something wrong. A slight delay before you smile. An odd flatness behind your eyes. Moments where you become strangely still and distant without realising it.

Tonight I’m trying not to sleep. But every time I blink I catch movement near the bedroom door. Something standing there patiently in the dark.

Waiting.

And deep down, somewhere beneath the exhaustion, I think I already know the worst part.

I don’t think they’ve been trying to get into the house.

I think they’ve been trying to get into me.

Biscuit Moon (Kids)

Once the rain had stopped, little drops of water still clung to the windows outside Freddie’s bedroom.

“Freddie!” Mum called from downstairs. “Are you ready yet? Nana and Grandy will be here soon!”

“I can’t find it!” Freddie shouted back.

“Can’t find what?” asked his mum, but Freddie didn’t respond. His head was tucked under the bed.

After looking under his bed for the third time, Freddie looked in one of his many toy boxes, then under his chair. But his bright red racing car was nowhere to be seen, and this wasn’t just any car. This was his favourite one.

There was a knock on the door.

"Freddie" his dad called, "Nana and Grandy are here."

Freddie sighed. A moment later he heard Grandy’s cheerful voice.

“Where’s our little man?” he shouted upstairs.

Freddie slowly walked downstairs. “What’s wrong?” Nana asked gently.

“I can’t find my car,” Freddie mumbled. “I wanted to show you it.”

“The bright red one?” said Grandy.

Freddie nodded sadly.

“Well,” Nana smiled, “the rain’s stopped now, and it’s turned into a lovely bright day.”

“And,” she added cheerfully, “I happen to know the park has some excellent puddles today.”

That made Freddie smile a little.

So off they went.

The park smelled fresh after the rain. Tiny puddles glittered along the winding paths, and the wet grass sparkled in the sunshine.

Whilst Nana and Grandy walked side by side, Freddie raced ahead in his little green wellies. He held his hands out like he was holding a steering wheel, and as he raced along, he made a quiet “brum, brum, brum” noise.

SPLASH.

He jumped in a little puddle.

SPLASH.

He jumped in an even bigger one that sent water flying everywhere.

Nana laughed. “I think that puddle nearly got Grandy!”

“Nearly?” said Grandy. “I think it soaked my socks!”

Freddie giggled and ran off again.

They watched ducks swimming across the pond. They counted dogs. They spotted a squirrel playing in some nearby trees.

By the time Freddie finally sat beside Nana and Grandy on a wooden bench, his cheeks were warm and pink from all the running.

As Freddie sat between them, Grandy gave Nana a knowing smile.

“What?” Freddie asked.

Grandy looked down at Freddie as Nana put an arm around her little grandson.

“Shall we tell Freddie about the Biscuit Moon?” he said quietly.

Nana’s eyes widened slightly.

“Oh…” she said quietly. “Yes. I think he’s old enough now.”

Freddie sat up straight and looked at them both.

“The Biscuit Moon?” he asked.

Nana reached into her bag, pulled out a small packet of biscuits, and handed them around. “Oh yes,” she smiled. “The Biscuit Moon.”

“Before you eat one,” Grandy whispered, “you have to snap it in half.”

“All at the same time,” Nana added. “Quite right, Nana,” Grandy replied. “I almost forgot that.”

Freddie held his biscuit carefully in both hands and watched Nana and Grandy raise theirs.

“One, two, three,” Nana said.

On three, they all broke their biscuits into two pieces.

“Good,” Nana smiled as she took a bite from hers.

“But what is the Biscuit Moon?” Freddie asked as he took a bite from one of his halves.

Grandy looked up at the pale daytime moon hanging above the clouds.

“Well,” he said quietly, “most people think the moon only comes out at night to shine.”

“But really,” Nana added, “the Biscuit Moon listens.”

Freddie looked up at the sky. “Listens to what?” he asked.

“Just listens,” Nana replied. “But it always seems to leave a little bit of happiness behind.”

“Nobody really knows how it works,” Grandy smiled. “It just does.”. “Not huge things,” continued Grandy. “Just little bits of happiness.”

“Like what?” Freddie asked.

Nana thought for a moment.

“Feeling better after being poorly,” she said, “or finding an extra sweet in your pocket when you think you’ve finished them.”

“Seeing someone you really hoped to see,” added Grandy.

“Or spotting a rainbow when you least expect it,” continued Nana. “Just something special and magical.”

Freddie looked down at the last half of the biscuit still in his hands.

“The Biscuit Moon seems to like shared biscuits best,” Nana explained softly.

So the three of them sat together on the park bench and finished eating their biscuits while the breeze rustled the trees around them.

And high above them, faint and pale in the bright afternoon sky, the moon quietly listened.

Freddie smiled to himself. It was probably just one of those funny little stories grandparents liked to tell.

Still, as he walked home between Nana and Grandy, holding both their hands, he secretly hoped the Biscuit Moon might really be listening after all.

The next morning, Freddie woke early.

The sunlight shone a beam of light across his room and over his blanket.

He rubbed his eyes, yawned, and was about to drop off to sleep again, when he spotted something, and then suddenly froze.

There, sitting neatly beside his pillow, was his bright red racing car.

Freddie grabbed it quickly. “The car!” he shouted, racing downstairs.

Mum looked up from the kitchen.

“You found it then?” she smiled.

“Did you put it there?” Freddie asked.

Mum shook her head.

“No, Freddie. But I’m pleased you found it again.”

Freddie looked down at his favourite toy.

Then he remembered the park. The biscuits. The story. The pale moon in the daytime sky.

A tiny smile spread across his face.

Very quietly, so only he could hear, Freddie whispered:

“Thank you, Grandy and Nana. And thank you, Biscuit Moon.”

Carters of Knottingley Brewery

There’s something strange about finding history on your own doorstep. I've lived in and around Knottingley for a very long time, I've spent years drinking beer, and more recently started writing about it, yet I had no idea that Knottingley once had its own proper brewery. Not a small operation either, but a serious one with tied houses, its own identity, and a long run in the town.

Once I found it, I couldn’t unsee it. And once I started reading more, the thought crept in… what if it came back? Not as a museum piece or a nostalgia exercise, but as a living Yorkshire beer again. This isn’t a business plan, it’s more of a running note, somewhere to collect the story and see where it leads.

The early days

Carters begins around the turn of the 1800s, built on a partnership that brought together three very different people and strengths.

• Mark Carter came with brewing knowledge from an established family
• Edward Gaggs brought money and local influence through his work in limestone and shipping
• Robert Seaton added financial weight through banking. 

It’s a strong mix when you look back at it now, and it explains how quickly things moved.

At first, brewing took place in older buildings near the town, but that changed within a few years. By 1807, land at Mill Close had been bought, and by 1808 to 1809 a purpose-built brewery stood at Hill Top alongside Lime Grove (opposite where Morrisons is today). That quick and dramatic shift says a lot. This was never a side project; it was set up to be a proper, long-term operation.

Building a proper brewery

Through the early 1800s, the brewery established itself as a known local producer. By 1822 it appears in trade directories as “common brewers” at Mill Close, which gives a sense of its standing at the time. The site itself had real advantages, with deep bore water drawn from limestone, likely early use of steam power, and strong links to local transport and industry. It grew alongside the town rather than sitting outside it.

The Carter family years

The Carter name stayed central as ownership passed through generations. In 1836, Mark Carter stepped back and John Carter took control, and then in 1873 George William Carter succeeded him. By this stage the brewery had moved beyond being just a local concern; it had scale, structure, and a recognisable identity, it wasn't starting to become known as a never capable brewer of decent ales.

One detail from this period stands out more than most. In 1877, the brewery registered a trademark featuring a Talbot dog taken from the Carter coat of arms. It’s a small piece of history on the surface, but it carries real weight. If the name ever returned, that symbol would be the natural bridge between past and present.

Expansion and peak

In 1892, the business became a public company, with Carters’ Knottingley Brewery Company Ltd formed to acquire the brewery, Lime Grove, and 66 tied houses for £170,000 (approx £28m in todays money, that's not much less than the £33m it cost Tilbury Brands to buy BrewDog in March 2026). That figure alone tells you the scale of the operation at the time, and it marks the point where the brewery was fully established as a regional player.

At its peak, Carters was producing somewhere around 6,500 to 7,000 barrels a year (about 2m pints to you and me) and controlling close to 68 licensed houses. That puts it firmly in the category of a serious Yorkshire brewery rather than a small local outfit.

Trouble and takeover

The early 1930s brought problems. Internal struggles, legal disputes, and pressure on the business began to take their toll, and by 1935 the end came quickly. The brewery was taken over by Bentleys, and brewing in Knottingley stopped that same year.

The name didn’t disappear overnight, but the brewing itself did, and that was the turning point. What followed was less about beer and more about ownership on paper.

The slow disappearance

After the takeover, the brewery became part of a much larger chain. It moved through Bentleys, then into Whitbread, then Interbrew, and eventually into AB InBev. That corporate path explains why the local identity faded, as the brand was absorbed into something much bigger.

By 1965, the Hill Top site was sold off, and not long after it was demolished and replaced with housing. At that point, the physical brewery disappeared completely, leaving only records and fragments of the story behind.

Where that leaves it now

So what’s left today is not a building or a working brewery, but something just as interesting. There’s a clear founding story, named people, production figures, tied houses, and even a registered trademark with a strong visual identity. That’s more than most modern breweries ever start with, and it gives the whole idea a different weight.

The idea that won’t go away

This is the part I keep coming back to. There’s a difference between inventing a brand and picking up a dropped one. Carters isn’t made up; it existed, it brewed, and it mattered locally. Bringing it back would not be about pretending nothing changed, but about continuing the story in a way that feels honest.

If it ever did return, it would need to stay grounded. Yorkshire first, a clear link back to Knottingley, a modern take on the Talbot symbol, and no overblown claims about heritage. Just a straight line from then to now, with a long pause in the middle.

Where this goes next

For now, this stays as a working note. A place to collect dates, names, ideas, and the odd bit of inspiration as it comes along. It might grow into something more practical over time, or it might simply remain a record of a brewery that used to exist and still probably should.

Either way, it’s not going anywhere now I’ve found it.

 

 

 

Carling Black Label UK Review

So here I am, currently sat in Spain, in the sun, drinking a proper Spanish lager … and my mind has wandered back to a recent beer review I did in the UK.

I’m not sure you can call the return of Carling Black Label to the UK the most anticipated launch of the year … but it’s definitely stirred things up.

Molson Coors have brought it back alongside their standard Carling, and opinion seems split right down the middle. No middle ground. People either shrug at it… or take a swing.

Let’s be honest. Regular Carling at 4% ABV has never been a world-beater. It’s cheap, consistent, and on the right day, usually stood next to a BBQ, it does a job. Crisp, easy, and gone before you’ve really thought about it.

I’ve never exactly been its biggest fan. I had it down at 4 out of 10 at one point. I even preferred the Aldi version, Carters, which tells its own story.

So when Carling Black Label landed at 4.7% ABV, I was curious more than excited.

And to be fair … it is a step up.

It’s got a bit more about it. Slightly maltier. A touch more hop character. The extra strength gives it a fuller mouthfeel, and it doesn’t disappear quite as quickly as the standard version. It feels like it’s trying to be taken a bit more seriously.

Just to be clear, this isn’t the 5.5% South African version, which has a bit of a following. This UK one sits lower and feels more like a tweaked Carling than a full reinvention.

That probably explains the reaction. If you already don’t like Carling, this won’t win you over. But if you’re happy with a no-nonsense lager and just want a bit more body and flavour, this gets closer.

Here’s my full review if you want to see it properly poured and talked through:

Watch the video review

It’s not going to change the beer world. But it’s better than I expected… and that’s probably enough.

Give it a go. You might be pleasantly surprised.

One last thing. You’ll see people saying this is just Madri in a different coat. I’ve done a side-by-side comparison … and it isn’t.

Private London: A Good Read, I Just Expected More

Private London by James Patterson and Mark Pearson is another entry in the ever-growing Private series, and once again the short, punchy chapters keep the pace moving quickly.

I enjoyed the story overall, but this one felt a little uneven compared to the others I’ve read so far.

It actually started very strongly, then seemed to take a bit of a nosedive before a decent plot twist in the middle pulled me back in again.

By around the two-thirds mark I’d pretty much worked out what had happened, which spoiled some of the tension towards the end.

One thing that also stood out was some of the "high-tech" elements in the story. The book is around 14 years old now, and some of the technology that once felt futuristic now feels a little dated.

That said, it’s still a decent, easy-to-read thriller and another solid holiday read. Just not quite as gripping as the other books in the series that I’ve picked up so far.

Score: 7/10

 

Others in the Private series I have read and reviewed:

#1 Private
#2 Private London
#22 Private Dublin

We’re Claiming Compensation for Sun Loungers Now?

Just read this on the BBC News and honestly… I had to comment.

BBC News - German tourist wins payout after losing sun lounger race

A German tourist has won compensation after repeatedly failing to get a sun lounger during a family holiday.

The man reportedly paid £6,211 for an all-inclusive holiday in Spain, but found that other guests were reserving loungers early in the morning, leaving his family without places together around the pool.

A court awarded compensation of £852.89 after ruling that the hotel failed to provide the expected holiday experience.

I honestly think I’ve heard it all now.

Now before anyone jumps in… I do actually understand the frustration. If I’d paid more than £6,000 for a family holiday, I’d probably expect to be able to sit around the pool together too.

But there are a few things in this story that I’d genuinely like to understand.

First of all, did the guests complain to the hotel or tour operator at the time? Surely you have to give somebody the chance to put things right before taking legal action afterwards.

Secondly… were they also not up early trying to get loungers?

Because let’s be honest, nobody discovers "the great sun lounger race" by accident. If you know towels are going down at 7am, chances are you’ve been down there at 7am yourself at least once.

And another thing… were there actually no loungers available at all, or just none together?

Because those are two very different complaints.

Anyone who has stayed at a busy family hotel abroad knows the drill. You either get down early, accept sitting separately, or spend half your holiday glaring at people who have "reserved" loungers with a paperback and a single flip-flop.

I just wonder where this sort of thing ends.

Can people now claim because the lifts broke and they had to use the stairs? Been there, done that.

Or because it rained for two days during a beach holiday? Been there too.

What about exchange rates moving against you while you’re away, so everything suddenly costs more than expected?

Or because the "sea view" involved leaning over the balcony, squinting between two palm trees, and technically spotting a blue line in the distance?

Or because the hotel buffet chips were somehow both undercooked and cold?

Or because the evening entertainment was a man with a keyboard murdering ABBA songs while dressed like a cruise ship magician?

At some point holidays stop being holidays and start becoming consumer disputes with swimming pools attached.

Don’t get me wrong, hotels should absolutely provide what they advertise, and some hotels genuinely do a terrible job managing lounger shortages. But part of me feels that modern holiday culture has become obsessed with compensation.

Sometimes things just go wrong.

Sometimes the pool is busy.

Sometimes you end up three floors up because the lift is broken.

And sometimes somebody called Klaus has put a towel on six loungers before sunrise and vanished until lunchtime.

That’s not a legal case… that’s just being on holiday.

H10 Salou Princess Review

Stayed: 2–9 May 2026
Room type: Half Board, double room with twin beds
Overall score: 8/10

We stayed at the H10 Salou Princess in Salou (Spain) from 2–9 May 2026, in one of their double rooms with twin beds. There were no double bed rooms available for our stay.

From the moment we stepped into the lobby, the hotel had a more grown-up feel to it, which we liked straight away.

This stay also felt a little different for us, as we are starting to look at areas in Spain for retirement. Salou, or the surrounding area, may well end up on our shortlist.

The room was a typical size for this kind of hotel, with a TV, air conditioning, fridge, safe box at €3 per day, free WiFi, and a balcony. The bathroom had a bath with shower over it.

Our room looked out over the front of the hotel onto a busy main road. The road starts to get busy from around 7:30am, and traffic noise is only  slightly noticeable during the day, but we did not think it was too bad at all.

Accommodation

The room was clean and well appointed. It was a typical size for this type of stay, and nothing felt old or worn out.

Everything worked as it should, and the room felt properly maintained throughout our stay.

It would have been nice to have a couple more power sockets. We had three, which was fine, but there were no USB charging points, so bring plug-in USB chargers or a power supply. First world problems, I know.

Pools and facilities

There is one large main pool with a kids pool next to it, and plenty of loungers around the pool area.

The pool was clean, and the lifeguards were attentive. Towels were available from reception for a small refundable deposit.

They also have four Balinese beds, also known as Bali beds. We used them on three of the days we stayed, at €25 per day.

They added a lovely touch of luxury around the pool, and as it was my wife’s birthday, it felt like a nice treat for her too; plus up by the top beds (#3 and #4), it tended to be very quiet.

Food and drink

The more grown-up feel carried through into the dining area. It was well laid out and served buffet-style food, but the whole experience felt calmer and more relaxed.

Breakfast was a typical mix for this kind of European hotel, with both English and Continental options.

There was fresh fruit, sausage, eggs, bacon, beans, mushrooms, yoghurt, pastries, cereals, cold meats, cheese, and a surprisingly good choice of alternative milks, including plant, oat, and almond milk.

Hot drinks and fruit juices were included at breakfast.

Dinner had the usual mix of soup, pasta, salads, fish and meat dishes, fried food, chips and wedges, plus a show cooking area.

Drinks were not included with dinner. We stuck to the 1 litre bottles of filtered water at €2, which was enough for the two of us.

This is where the different clientele at this hotel showed. Lots of people were drinking water, soft drinks, or wine. It was not families downing pints of cheap Spanish lager.

Sweet treats were always available, including ice cream, small cakes, puddings, and fresh fruit.

As a vegetarian, I did find the choice a bit limited. There was always something to eat, but it was not always especially interesting. Salads and pasta are fine, but over a longer stay it would become repetitive.

Surely it cannot be too difficult to put on a couple of proper vegetarian dishes, such as curry, lasagne (strangely a day after putting this review live, a lovely vegetarian lasagne was available!), or something similar.

My carnivore wife liked the food and the surroundings so much that we ended up going Full Board for the last four days.

BTW, if you want to upgrade from Half Board to Full Board, do it officially at Reception rather than paying for the extra lunches in the restaurant, it was a much cheaper way to do it).

Because the dining experience felt more formal, there were no overloaded plates and very little waste to be seen. Overall, it was a decent dining experience, apart from the lack of vegetarian options.

Busy times for the restaurant:

Breakfast busiest after 9:30
Lunch wasn't particularly busy at all
Dinner busiest after 20:30

Staff and service

As you would expect in a good hotel today, the staff were friendly and helpful throughout our stay.

In the restaurant, the waiting staff were attentive, and we were always seated very quickly. Plates were cleared fast, and the service felt well organised.

Atmosphere

The atmosphere was quiet and chilled.

It seemed to attract a slightly older clientele, which gave the hotel a more relaxed and informal feel. That suited us perfectly.

Other facilities

I think the hotel wristbands are new for 2026. They act as your room key, but you can also add money to them and use them for payment around the hotel.

The hotel seemed to have live entertainment most nights, including local bands and tribute acts.

The Legends Sports Bar reminded me of a mix between an old, dark English pub and an Irish pub. It was cosy, with dark beers and Spanish beers available.

If it is still on, the Bock Damm Negra Munich is a gorgeous beer. Voll-Damm is also a lovely beer.

There was also a small café by the pool for quick bites, opening from 12:30. It served things like chips, hot dogs, pizza, soft drinks, and alcoholic drinks.

There is apparently a sauna and gym in the hotel, but we did not use them.

Top tip: when we were there, the top terrace, past the first two Bali beds and up the steps, was nice and quiet.

The Verdict

H10 Salou Princess is a clean, friendly, and well-located hotel with a slightly older clientele and a relaxed feel.

It felt more grown-up than some of the family-heavy hotels in Salou, and that made a big difference to the stay.

The room was clean, the staff were excellent, the pool area was pleasant, and the food was good overall.

The main downside for me was the limited vegetarian choice. It was not terrible, but it could be much better with just a bit more thought.

Overall, this was a really enjoyable stay, and it is definitely somewhere we would consider returning to.

Scores

Accommodation: 8/10
Location: 9/10
Food and drink: 7/10
Staff: 9/10
Atmosphere: 8/10

Overall score: 8/10

A clean, friendly, well-located hotel with a more grown-up feel. Relaxed, informal, and a very good base for a stay in Salou.

A Move to Spain!

We are actually considering a move to Spain, follow our journey here.

Private: A Fast-Paced Start to the Series

I’ve just finished Private, the first book in the series, while away on another break in Spain. I tend to only read fiction when I’m on holiday, and this time I brought this and Private London with me.

Written by James Patterson and Maxine Paetro, this feels like a strong introduction to the Private series. It’s a fast-paced crime thriller and another real page turner.

Set in Los Angeles, the story feels very cinematic. I’ve never actually been to LA, but it all felt clearly laid out, almost like watching it unfold on screen.

What stood out most was the way multiple storylines move along at a quick pace. The authors trust the reader to keep up, which keeps things engaging without over-explaining.

That said, the plots aren’t especially deep or complex. But I’m on holiday, and this is exactly what I want. An easy, exciting read that keeps the tension moving and tightens nicely towards the end.

Another Patterson book that I couldn’t put down until I’d finished it.

Score: 9/10

Others in the Private series I have read and reviewed:

#1 Private
#2 Private London
#22 Private Dublin

Antisemitism and the Semitic Confusion

This note comes off the back of an online discussion I had with someone who believed antisemitism means racism against any “Semitic” people; I would have thought that a grow man would have understood the difference, but you live and learn I suppose.

I spent time explaining that “Semitic”, originally coined in the late 18th century originally refers to a group of languages, including Hebrew and Arabic. It was (and still is) a linguistic label, not a race or a single group of people.

“Antisemitism” came later, in 19th-century Europe. This term was used specifically to describe hostility towards Jewish people. From the start, it was used in that narrow sense, and that meaning has stuck.

So while the words share a similar root, they don’t line up in meaning.

You can criticise countries, governments, or policies without it being antisemitic. The line is crossed when it targets Jewish people as a whole or leans on old stereotypes.

This is one of those cases where knowing the history of a word clears up a lot of confusion.

Whitbreads Trophy Recipe - circa 1965

Whitbread Trophy Bitter is one of those beers. I remember drinking Trophy back in the 1980s, although the recipe below actually goes back rather further than that, to 1965.

It's taken from Ron Pattinson's excellent Shut Up About Barclay Perkins blog, where he reconstructs old British beers from historic brewing records.

There's an interesting wrinkle with Trophy because it wasn't necessarily one single beer. As Whitbread acquired breweries around the country, it often renamed an existing local ordinary bitter as Trophy. At one point there were apparently more than 20 different beers carrying the Trophy name, so the pint I remember from the 1980s may well have been quite different from this 1965 Whitbread W.

The beer I remember from my early drinking days in Yorkshire is likely to have come from the Whitbread East Pennines Trophy, I'll have to track down that Trophy Bitter Recipe! And I think I have!

Still, this feels like a very good place to start the journey.

The interesting part about this recipe is the use of nearly 12% flaked barley was a calculated commercial move. It allowed Whitbread to brew a highly attenuated, cheap-to-produce session beer (dropping all the way down to a thin 1.007 FG), while using the heavy beta-glucans and proteins in the unmalted flaked barley to artificially restore the mouthfeel and "chewiness." It literally built "the body that satisfies" out of thin air, ensuring the beer didn't taste like watery dishwater despite being highly fermented.

1965 Whitbread Trophy Bitter

The recipe is for approximately 23 litres, or 5 Imperial gallons.

Ingredient	Amount	%
Pale malt	7 lb / 3.18 kg	82.35%
Crystal malt 60L	0.5 lb / 227 g	5.88%
Flaked barley	1 lb / 454 g	11.76%

Hops

Hop	Amount	Addition
Fuggles	0.75 oz / 21 g	75 minutes
Goldings	0.75 oz / 21 g	40 minutes
Goldings	0.75 oz / 21 g	20 minutes
Goldings	0.25 oz / 7 g	Dry hop

Numbers

• OG: 1.0365
• FG: 1.007
• ABV: 3.9%
• IBU: 29
• SRM: 6
• Apparent attenuation: 80.82%

Method

• Mash at 148°F / 64°C
• Sparge at 165°F / 74°C
• Boil for 75 minutes
• Pitch at 64°F / 18°C
• Yeast: Wyeast 1099 Whitbread Ale

What catches my eye is the 11.76% flaked barley. Trophy's advertising made quite a thing of the beer having body, with the old jingle talking about having "the body that satisfies" alongside the much better remembered line, "the pint that thinks it's a quart".

For a beer with an original gravity of only 1.0365 and an ABV of 3.9%, that's quite a claim, but suddenly the amount of flaked barley in the recipe becomes interesting. Nearly 12% of the grist should give the beer some extra body and mouthfeel, as well as helping with head retention, without needing a higher finishing gravity or more alcohol.

The hopping looks spot on for what I'd expect from an old-school British bitter too. Fuggles for the main bitterness, Goldings later in the boil and just 7 g of Goldings as a dry hop. At 29 IBU against such a modest gravity it shouldn't be bland, but neither does it look as though the hops are supposed to dominate.

Whether this tastes anything like the Trophy I remember drinking in the 1980s remains to be seen, but that's part of the fun. It's a genuine historical Trophy recipe, it's only 3.9%, and there's nothing particularly complicated about it. Definitely one for the brew list.

Recipe adapted from Let's Brew - 1965 Whitbread W (Trophy) by Ron Pattinson.