Ship Inn, Fylde Road, Preston

When I talk to friends who studied at UCLan over the past decade many of them reminisce about great times aboard the Ship; the most recognisable pub in Preston on account it was painted orange.

For one or two of them to have eulogised about it, I could have put down to rose-tinted memories of happy times at university.
Lets face it you can have a good time pretty much anywhere you go during those student years.
Yet proclamations of ‘great’, ‘brilliant’ or ‘good laugh’ came far too frequently for me to dismiss their claims.
But when I arrived in Preston in 2007, all I found was an odd looking spray tanned building packed with big kids’ entertainment like punch bags and games consoles.
It was certainly crammed from wall-to-wall with every diversion imaginable to draw the students in.
But, it always seemed to be a bit of an uphill battle to keep them there and the pub seemed to be fast running out of space for gimmicks and attractions.
So, I was really pleased when a year or so ago they shut the pub and gave it a complete overhaul.
Gone was the David Dickinson tint along with all of the ‘attractions’ inside.
Instead they replaced pretty much every fixture and fitting, to create a clean, tidy and tasteful pub which would be as acceptable to your gran as it would an 18-year-old fresher.
They even installed three real ale pumps and improved the rear outside area with nice new seating and heaters.
But for some reason which I cannot quite fathom, it does not seem to have quite worked.
When Miss Chardonnay Sidekick and I visited on Wednesday there was no real ale available, though Miss Chardonnay said her wine was nice.
Neither were there any customers, save for one or two scattered around, though I think at least a couple of them were employed to operate the redundant karaoke machine.
I was also a little concerned to see the sort of tat returning which had been wisely swept away in the pub’s revamp.
Items such as lilos stuck above the bar and models of little ghoul skulls randomly dotted around the place did not bode well.
There is a board outside the pub advertising the tenancy and it seems to me almost everything is in place for it to be the student venue of choice once more.
Lilos aside it looks smart, has plenty of seating, a small stage for bands and an outdoor area.
All it needs is a bit of imagination to drag the students back and a little consistency to keep them there.

Market Tavern, Market Street, Preston

Elevated above the rest of us on a perfectly groomed whinnying high horse, the self-satisfied among our number may peer down their nose from time-to-time, to offer a little of the wisdom which has kept them galloping on such a formidable stallion.
‘Ahh but you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover’ they say, closing one eye ever so slightly to emphasise the gravity in their words.
Nonsense.
Imagine for a moment if we didn’t judge a book by its cover and instead took everything we saw at face value.
I would be bulk buying cans of a leading brand deodorant with the expectation a couple of sprays would bring hundreds of girls flocking to my door.
The £20,000 administration fee I handed over to a nice chap on the phone who promised to deal with my Nigerian lottery win would seem very reasonable considering I was set for a £15bn windfall.
And every time spam email dropped into my junk mail box promising various mental and physical improvements, would be moments for rejoicing.
So, whenever I have walked past the Market Tavern and saw groups of homeless people doing nothing worse than using nearby alleys to get out of the rain, or the Squires nightclub crowd congregating at the front, I have immediately been put off and gone elsewhere.
But on Friday night after a meal out with Miss Chardonnay Sidekick we decided it was a night for trying places which are not on our usual drag.
Inside we found the pub clean, cosy and welcoming, as far a cry from my snapshot judgement as it could possibly be.
There are comfortable chairs on a raised seating area, as well as several booths and nooks tucked away in corners of the pub.
In the ‘Olde Worlde Preston History Championships’ The Market Tavern has put up a strong showing with old pictures and histories of individual buildings and significant historic figures.
I got a pint of Double Amber which had found its way down from the Caledonian Brewery in Edinburgh and settled down for a relaxing pint in a pub which was busy but far from overrun.
Supping down my pint while sitting comfortably in my high backed chair, it was all going very nicely until that perfectly pruned high horse cantered into mind.
‘I told you so’, high horse rider proclaimed with a wink.
‘Damn it you’re right’ I growled.
‘What’s that?’ Miss Chardonnay Sidekick asked, a little confused.
‘Oh nothing’, I replied. ‘But while I think about it, that chap never called me back today about my lottery win’.

The Old Vic, Fishergate, Preston

Some years ago, when I first started at the Evening Post, I was sent into town on a Saturday afternoon to get a poll of people’s opinions on a subject, known as a vox pop.
I can’t remember what the subject was, but I do very vividly remember it raining, being freezing cold and windy, which meant people were not in the mood for talking to the likes of me.
Try as I might to sound enthusiastic and engaging as the wind battered my face and chilled my soul, I could barely squeeze an opinion out of anybody.
Suddenly without me knowing, another part of my brain kicked in and took over proceedings.
Moments later people were spewing out opinions like they were going out of fashion – ‘And another thing…’
Within minutes I was approaching the required number of views when a stern voice cut me off mid-patter.
‘What do you think you are doing?’, the barman asked as I interrogated one of his customers.
‘I’m from the Evening Post I’m just having a chat with people to get a few views for Monday’s paper’.
He stood staring at me arms folded, clearly unimpressed.
‘Why do you mind?’ I asked.
‘Bit late now if I do ain’t it pal’ he barked back.
‘Fair enough well I’m done now anyway, see you later’ I replied, before skipping out of the The Old Vic, with a pledge to myself, I would not return.
People say I am a stubborn chap but I can categorically state this is absolutely not true.
But return I did not, for quite some years until when I was walking past one day I realised the barman had been well within his rights to be miffed and was simply doing his job properly by challenging odd folk like me stalking about the place.
So, after snacking on a big slice of humble pie and custard, I went back to see what I had been missing.
I immediately regretted having given the place a wide birth for so long.
Inside, the pub is adorned with wooden beams and features, which under many coats of paint, look authentic and unaltered.
It is much bigger inside than its frontage suggests but, with separate seating areas around the central bar, it feels nicely cosy.
There are also plenty of television screens dotted around the pub which show live sport including 3D football, the merits of which I am yet to be convinced.
Having already achieved most of my limited criteria, I was also pleased there was a good selection of real ales and I sat down with a pint from the Three B’s Brewery in Blackburn, delighted at having found a bit of a gem on my doorstep.
I just wish I’d swallowed my pride earlier.
Is that stubborn?   

The Saddle Inn, Sidgreaves Lane, Lea, Preston

Two years ago The Saddle Inn  was closed down, overgrown and looked every bit to have served its last pint like so many other rural pubs. Now it has been officially named the Best Family Pub in Britain, in the Great British Pub Awards.  A bigger turnaround you could not possibly hope to see.       Since reopening Graham and Angela Rowson have been steadily rebuilding their customer base, while renovating its extensive interior and grounds. Now, the inside looks tidy and understated with a dining area and separate pool table section, with flat-screen televisions dotted around the pub. Outside, the huge garden and lawn has been completely transformed, with a wide range of children’s activities and facilities. During countless afternoons spent in pub beer gardens as a child, while my parents snook a cheeky pint or two, the best I could have hoped for was a rusty climbing frame or swing. But at The Saddle they have decked out the large lawn out with a range of play equipment, mini football pitches and a mini golf green. He also has pens for various cuddly-looking creatures and a beginners petanque/bowling green.       It is the first pub I have seen with a separate building providing baby changing facilities as well as quirky ‘parking spaces’ for horses. There is an extensive car park at the front of the pub which enables Graham to host a range of events such as car club meets. When I stopped in, a motorhome was parked and hooked up to the pub’s electricity supply, while the campers enjoyed a few pints of real ale and some dinner inside. At that moment I stopped in my tracks and finally understood the lure of the campervan. If I go away on holiday, it is invariably under the cover of canvas, and I have found myself quietly sneering at the mobile retirement homes. But, with plenty of real ale, a night in the pub and a bed right outside the front door, it all began to make sense. A nice pint of guest ale has to be raised to Graham and Angela for saving a pub from becoming a soleless housing estate, and turning it into a national champion.

Fox and Grapes, Fox Street, Preston

If you have never stopped into the Fox and Grapes, my advice is to go along on Tuesday December 6. The good old cliché goes, first impressions last and if ever there is a night for good impressions, it is then.
Why a blustery cold Tuesday in November?
Well because on the first Tuesday of every month the pub holds its cult ‘For Fox Sake’ comedy night.
The free night, which is hosted by long-time compere Alan Donegan, manages to attract high profile comedians more used to performing on big stages, television and radio, rather than in the corner of a small pub.
But come these wits do in their droves, to try out their new material before performing on much larger stages around the North West.
A compere who knows many of the regulars and doles out merciless one-liners to them in between performances from some really sharp comedians, makes for a great atmosphere and a brilliant night.
And best of all its free. Well the comedy is, you still have to pay for the drinks but on that front there are always a good couple of real ales to choose from.
Inside every inch of wall space is covered with a clutter of beer mats, flags, pictures, foreign banks notes and countless other random items.
The first time I went into the pub I thought ‘That’s a bit much’.
Then when I got home with an aching jaw from laughing so much, I looked at the wardrobe and realised I was in the process of building myself a similar assorted collection.  
The pub also has a juke box, table football and television at the back but retains a strong feeling of tradition.
Having eulogised so long about the monthly comedy night, you could be forgiven for thinking it is the only night it is worth your while visiting the place.
This is not the case but if ever there was chance to give a lasting first impression, it is the first Tuesday of the month.

Kuckoo, Fox Street, Preston

Anybody who follows my weekly ramblings will have guessed I am a man of simple pleasures.
Real ale, traditional pubs and a bit of atmosphere and/or big screen football just about covers my spectrum of taste.
Fortunately across Preston and Lancashire I have discovered many opportunities to indulge this passion.
“Old before your time” some say of me, while others chime in with unfounded accusations of a “belligerent refusal to try anything new”.
But on a Friday evenings, as I nestle down in a corner close to an open fire with a nice pint of real ale, I can’t help smiling at the naivety of these delusional fools.
But, of late, these moments of epiphany have been followed by an irritating nagging sensation, of there being something I should have done.
Something you have happily ignored but remains, loitering at the back of your mind, like an overdue visit to a distant relation you don’t really like.
So, with a heavy heart I abandoned hopes of real ale and tap rooms, and headed into Preston; destination somewhere ‘different’.
I headed along Church Street and quickly turned back, cursing myself for such folly.
I was ready to give it all up and head home, content at least that I had tried, when I remembered Kuckoo, on Fox Street.
I knew it was new, trendy and had no real ale. It sounded perfect so I gave it a go.
Inside, a virtue has been made of darkness or at least a premium put on lighting with sweeps of red seating, to create some sort of gothic boudoir fusion.
The bar predominantly serves cocktails and, looking at the menu, I tried not to work out how many pints I could have had in the Blue Bell (four) for the price of one cocktail.
But, watching the barman perform a ritual of twisting, turning, throwing and shaking as he prepared my drink, it was clear cocktails are serious business here.
I intended to stay for one drink before retreating back to one of my safety zones but I kept on hitting a stumbling block; the music.
Throughout the evening the bar consistently played great indie and rock tunes which cannot help but brighten up an evening.
Before I knew it, several more perfectly prepared cocktails had slipped down and the most of the evening had gone.
At its height the bar was packed solid, but unlike some places in the city centre, the atmosphere always remained relaxed and friendly.
I left after midnight happy at having enjoyed a really good night out but simultaneously grumpy as those chiming voices came flooding into my head.
“Told you so”,  they said.

The Mad Ferret, Fylde Road, Preston

I have never been interested in these Warcraft type games where people spend hours painting little funny shaped figures with mystical powers, in preparation for imaginary wars. I just didn’t get it.
But on the other hand, if they were to swap fat goblins for pubs, then I would be right on it.
Each city or town entering ‘Pub Craft’ would put forward four or five venues with particular strengths, assets or features, to do battle with the best offerings from other areas.
The winner would, of course, rule the world and all the beer in it.
Now, you may well scoff at the idea, ‘It’s ridiculous’ I hear you say, ‘We’ve not got the numbers to rival our more illustrious North West neighbours, let alone the world.
‘But wait a minute’, I reply, ‘Pub Craft is not about sheer volume of run-of-the-mill boozers, it is a battle of the very finest pubs with specific specialist powers.
And I think Preston would boast Pub Craft elite fighting force to rival any.
For sport and real ale you have the Old Black Bull on Friargate.
The Black Horse, also on Friargate, would give most pubs a run for tradition and atmosphere.
The Continental, on South Meadow Lane, has got the culture category wrapped up  and The Saddle Inn, in Lea, has more outdoor attractions than a theme park.
But, in the all important live music category, The Mad Ferret, on Fylde Road could face any similar venue without shame or fear.
Many places will stick on a live band to bash out a few covers on a Friday night to sell a few more pints, but here is a pub whose owner clearly has a real passion for live music.
Throughout the week, every week, music fans pack the pub to hear live bands playing original material.
From rookie musicians having their first taste of live performance at the open mic night, to popular signed acts or more obscure experimental music, it is all covered in a week’s line-up.
One of things which has surprised me since I have been going is how much of it is free.
There have been numerous occasions I have walked home after seeing three really good acts thinking I would have been happy to pay to go in.
Then again, I think I probably just had a couple of extra pints to compensate.
Set across from the students’ union The Mad Ferret is inevitably a big draw for many students but it should not put off music fans of any age.
Preston’s nightlife may fall short in volume and variety but with our elite battalion of Pub Craft World Champions marauding ever onwards, we can take comfort in the knowledge that quality is better than quantity.