I was perhaps born slightly too late, but
until I made the trip to watch Burnley’s historic defeat to an Isle of Man XI in the
summer of 2000, I had never been to the island. There was a time when this was the
destination of choice for Northerners who’d outgrown Blackpool and were looking for
something a touch more exotic. Before the days of cheap package deals to hot and sunny
places, people from our neck of the woods would make the crossing from Heysham or
Liverpool in search of fun, booze and a bit of casual how’s your father. Not so now.
Most people I know haven’t been to the Isle of Man. When I made my booking that
summer, even the man on the other end of the phone sounded pleasantly surprised to be
taking a credit card number without a moment’s hesitation – and he worked for an
Isle of Man holiday company. There’s no getting away from the fact that this remains
a deeply unfashionable destination. Hence they rely on special events to drag the punters
in, predominantly the famously fatal TT races, but also the reason for our fleeting
interest: the Isle of Man Steam Packet International Football Festival. A grandiose name
for a competition in which we tend to be the highest ranking side, and which encompasses
such legends as (hostage to fortune approaching) Darlington and Wrexham. Still, count yourself
lucky. If you arrive early, there’s a danger you’ll catch the World Tin Bath
Championships.
It has to be said that, having spent a couple of days there, I can see why
the Isle of Man is doomed to remain a downmarket destination: basically, it’s crap.
Specifically, Douglas, where you will arrive, where you will spend most of your time,
where you’re likely to watch Burnley, where you’ll do most of your drinking, is
straightforward grim. Awful place. Drab, grey, visually unappealing, with little to do to pass
the time other than drinking sufficiently to blot out the surroundings. In fairness, once
out of Douglas, the island improves. On our visit the other summer we got up to Laxey and across to Peel,
both of which were pleasant, even mildly diverting, although I’m not sure how much of
their appeal was down to the fact that they simply weren’t Douglas. Even then, it was
hard to escape a sense that the whole place is still stuck in the 1950s. Do they still
have rationing, I wonder? They’ve probably never even seen a banana. I went across in
search of a jolly jaunt and ended up having a not very fun time. This is, after all, the
place that someone as spectacularly dull as Nigel Mansell chose to make home. I
consequently vowed not to return until they hit the sixties.
That said, you’ve reading this, so presumably you’re going, and
it wouldn’t do to be entirely negative. The good news is that Manx residents have a
reputation for liking a drink (as the eccentrically named ‘Drenk Site’, of which
more later, puts it, "70,000 alcoholics clinging to a rock"). Further, you will
get some decent beer. This pseudo small nation has a creditable three indigenous
breweries, the products of which any self-respecting drinker will naturally be aiming to
sample, in preference to mainland brews. Beers are produced according to the stipulations
of the Manx Brewers' Act of 1874, which states that only water, malt, sugar, hops and
yeast may be used, rather like the famed Bavarian purity law (Rheinheitsgebot).
By far the biggest brewery is Okells, and they’re based in Douglas,
so you’re going to drink their stuff at some, probably most, points. They brew a
basic, old fashioned range of a bitter and a dark mild. They’re both okay. I suspect
neither of them are anyone’s favourite beer, but they’re drinkable. Bushy’s
is a smaller, newer brewer, and as such a more likely source of one off, novelty beer,
along with a mild and bitter too. However, we need to note here that Bushy’s is run
by a supporter of our bitter rivals, so you may find their pints turn to ashes in your
mouth. You might, as a matter of high principle, decide not to give them your money. Up to
you. The third and smallest brewery is a brew pub in Laxey producing Bosun bitter, which
we’ll come back to.
The other plus point is the licensing laws. As far as I could ascertain,
all the pubs stay open all day, which doesn't always go without saying in a backwater, and
better still, opening hours are extended until midnight on Friday and Saturday. Some pubs
don’t open until twelve, but then, some others open at ten! Wander around –
it’s a small area – and take your chances. Sadly, Sunday opening hours are a
little less civilised, with pubs closing between three and seven, presumably to force even
the most uninterested visitor to do a minimum four hours’ sightseeing.
We’ll speak mainly of Douglas, as that is where Burnley usually play their
games, and is where I stayed when I visited in 2000. And, while emphasising the
half full glass, another good piece of news is that most of the pubs I went to last time
are concentrated in an astonishingly small space of town. In the town centre, it’s
almost the case that if you chuck a brick – not that we’d recommend such a
course of action, as we’re not entirely sure whether they’ve abolished flogging
here yet – you’ll hit a pub. Even the most laid back of pub crawlers could get
to most of these. We did all but one of them in a single day.
Right by the bus station, and so very handy for the harbour you've just
arrived at, is the Albert Hotel, Chapel Row, selling Okells. This looks unpromising
from the outside, and the inside lives up to that. Decent beer, but this was the sort of
place frequented by old blokes keeping away from their wives while ogling the topless
calendar. On the plus side, no one had messed about with the interior for a very long
time. We thought this was a real local’s place, until we got to the Old Market Inn,
next door. Here, watching old episodes of Bergerac counted as top entertainment. Serving
us seemed a real nuisance. I recall a small bit at the front and a larger room at the
back, where we had a decent enough pint of Bushy’s. Yes, Bushy’s. Want to make
something of it? It’s what they sell. Both these pubs are apparently not too keen on
groups, which isn’t surprising.
I preferred the Saddle Inn on Queen Street, just off the harbour on
North Quay. Sure it’s a more modern, refurbished kind of place, veering towards a
naff fisherman theme, but it's cosy, at least the welcome was friendly, and you
didn’t feel like you were intruding. Admittedly our three were the only people in
there, but it was four o’clock in the afternoon. I couldn’t tell you what the
adjacent Rover’s Return, across Lord Street on Church Street, was like,
however, because I didn’t even try to get in. Yes, here’s a tale. As if that
name doesn’t tell you something, this is indeed a Bushy’s pub, and yes it is
named after that team, and inside it is reputed to contain a ‘shrine’ to the
sick-making side in blue and white. Somehow, Burnley supporters got wind of this prior to
our 2000 visit, and word filtered back to the island. Before you knew it, the 'shrine' had
apparently been removed, the public were informed that no one in football colours would
get in, bouncers were stationed on the door and, bizarrely, on the outside the name of the
pub itself was concealed behind black bin liners. I decided it wasn’t worth the
hassle, and walked on by. From a distance it all sounds like an overreaction, and it may
well have been, but if they feared our lot might not behave themselves, could you say,
hand on heart, that they’d definitely be wrong?
A pub I wouldn’t have minded not getting in was the Railway Hotel,
along and up North Quay at Banks Circus. On the face of it, this was an attractive, woody
pub of the 'faded glory' variety, but the bar staff were rubbish, the tables were sticky,
and the beer was sour. If you're a locals’ pub run by an old bloke in his eighties
you can get away with sticky tables. If you're a big place with uniformed staff, there's
no bloody excuse. The vinegar, sorry, beer, was Okells. This pub, incidentally, is hard by
the Isle of Man Steam Railway station, from where a line runs to Port Erin at the southern
tip of the island.
Two pubs - we did make good use of our time - I preferred, heading just
north of this stretch, were the Foresters Arms, on St Georges Street, off Athol
Street and the Prospect Hotel, on Prospect Hill, which you'll reach if you continue
along Athol Street. Actually, opinion was divided on the Foresters: I liked it; the others
hated it. A real, straightforward, heads down local drinkers place, this. The Prospect is
more upmarket, or tries to be. This is a big long pub which is apparently run by a former
Page Three girl, and strives for that touch of glamour. It was definitely the busiest
place we went, the haunt of young couples. I think they may have had a man on the door in
the evening, but then again, they let us in. Beer in both, again, was from Okells.
If you’re out of your mind you'll continue up Prospect Hill until it
becomes Woodbourne Road, then turn into Alexander Drive, where you'll find undoubtedly the
worst pub on the island. The Woodbourne Hotel is a miserable, unwelcoming place -
particularly if you're a woman. Despite the fact that the last time I checked it was the 21st Century, one bar of this tall and foreboding building is restricted to men only. It will not
serve women. If women go in, they will be asked to leave. Which is what happened. Women
were advised to drink in the corridor. Pathetic. Of course, the people who serve the sad
blokes who hide here are – guess what – women. Isn't this sort of thing illegal
on the mainland? And remind me again why they're called public houses, will you? We
briefly attempted to engage the weirdo men skulking in their den in rational conversation,
but they were so dim witted they could barely speak. A disgraceful pub.
Anyway, there are enough pubs in this part of town without you having to
go there. You're not that far from the grounds either, although if it's a hot day, as it
was when we went, it will feel a bit of a hike. There are two grounds which have been put
to use in this competition, although to make it easy, they're next to each other. The Bowl
and the National Sports Centre are both off Peel Road, a main road running out of the
centre off Lord Street or Circular Road. Of the pubs mentioned above, the Foresters is
probably a decent starting point. You can, if I recall rightly, walk at least part of the
way alongside a river. It's a pleasant setting. I've seen us play at the Bowl, and the
name is a giveaway - it's a large, shallow, oval with a pavilion, some small terraces and
plenty of trees. It’s the sort of the place where you can wander around, experiment
with different places to watch from, and not take the game terribly seriously, which is
just as well, because I find that within five minutes of going to any pre-season friendly
I remember why it is that I don’t go to pre-season friendlies.
If you can get drink at the ground I didn't find it, but the food van sold
an excellent, proper style double cheeseburger. Make sure you get there before half time,
when the queue was large, and make sure you’re not a vegetarian, in which case, this
not being the sort of place where vegetarians exist, it’s a packet of crisps.
The nearest pub to the ground itself, and one which was thronged with
Clarets on our visit, is the Quarterbridge, on the roundabout past the ground.
Nothing wrong with this big, rambling pub, which sells, you've guessed, Okells, except
that it took ages to get served and the barman was the least competent in the world, with
a sub goldfish memory span. ("Err, so that was a half of cider?" "I said a
pint of Okells.") This is on a bend of the TT course - the road is marked like a
racetrack - and is apparently a favoured place to watch crashes. It’s the natural
place for an immediate pre or post match pint. If you travel a couple of miles further out
along the TT circuit, you come to another decent pub, the Railway Inn at Union
Mills, which sold Bushy's on our visit. By then, however, you'd be nowhere near the town
in which you're presumably staying.
There's more of the town than the drinking quarter outlined above, but it
all gets a bit seasidey further on, and as we know, this spells bad news for beer. The
Central Promenade runs along the sweep of the bay, which looks more interesting on paper
than in reality, and there are some grim looking haunts along here. It's no Blackpool -
it's more genteel than that, and the trams are horse drawn rather than electric powered -
but you just do not find decent pubs on a promenade. At least the Quids Inn - a pub
that charges a Pound to get in but where all drinks cost a Pound - has a certain novelty
appeal, but no, I wasn't sufficiently tempted. Most of the places where you might get a
bed are around the promenade, by the way. Just inland is a pedestrianised main shopping
street - insofar as they have one - which boasts one or two lamentably fake Irish pubs.
These seemed to be doing a depressingly brisk football trade on my visit.
Rather isolated at the other end of the bay, perhaps a bit more than a
mile's walk or a short horse tram ride from the above pubs is the Terminus Tavern,
on Strathallen Crescent. This was perhaps my favourite Douglas pub, a pleasant place with
outdoor seating - one of the few places around where you can enjoy an al fresco inevitable
Okells. This is a serious walk from the ground, but it is right next to the other island
railway, the Manx Electric Railway. Trains - although it's not strictly a train, more a
wooden box on wheels - go from here up to Ramsey. This might be worth knowing about, as games are played in Ramsey
sometimes. The train cum tram
hugs the coastline as it trundles northwards, and it's a nice ride of an evening.
As discussed above, the received wisdom that Douglas is drab but the rest
of the island better contains more than a grain of truth. There's certainly some good
scenery once you get out of Douglas, so try to at least once. We got to Laxey on the
electric trundler, and passed a pleasant evening there drinking. The Shore Hotel,
home of the aforementioned Old Laxey Brewery, was a favourite of mine, if rather out of
the way: middle of nowhere, close to the sea, and a decent pint too. It was a hike through
greenery up to Laxey proper. We passed the time looking for Manx cats, which turned out to
be something of a con: half the cats we saw had tails. The Mines Tavern, close to
Laxey station on Captains Hill, was a decent boozer full of collections of stuff, and
selling Bushy's, if a bit too inclined to rip off gullible people like us by charging
extortionate prices for food. They also have a very nice beer garden. There were a few
other pubs we went in along New Road – the Bridge Inn, New Inn and Queen’s
Hotel. They were all local’s pubs, all sold beer, and one was dedicated to
motorbiking - had to happen sometime - but by this point, all details are lost in a blur.
Laxey is, incidentally, also the home of that big famous waterwheel, which we forgot to go
to. From here you can, if you wish, take the Snaefell Mountain Railway up to the top of
the island's highest peak.
We also got out to Peel, reached by bus from Douglas, across on the far
side of the island. There are no games played here, but our spies reported that Burnley's
rather casual training camp was based on the outskirts. It also has a very nice castle. We
went to three decent, different pubs here. The Creek on East Quay sells, of course,
Okells, is food-oriented and you can sit outside right by the water. Sounds good, although
I was the victim of an unfortunate accident here. While sitting in peace, a sudden gust of
wind picked up a full pint and dashed it against my trousers. Across the bus station, and
handy while you're waiting to return to Douglas, is the Royal Hotel. Royal it
isn't, as this Okells pub is ultra basic. But it was friendly enough. Two men were having
a drunken conversation about Joey Dunlop when I called in. Around the corner on Tynwald
Road you'll find the White House, something of a pleasant country pub, where you
should get a pint of Bushy's.
As for the practicalities of getting there, the Isle of Man is of course
also a centre for financial services, offshore banking and any number of dubious monetary
services. This means that flights to the island are prohibitively expensive, being
targeted firmly at fatcat fliers. Mere plebs like us are going to be stuck on the ferry.
Boats go to Douglas from Heysham and Liverpool, with the crossing taking 2½ or 4 hours
from Liverpool and either 2 or 3½ from Heysham, depending on what kind of boat you get. I
seem to recall the boats back from Douglas to Liverpool go at a ludicrously early hour.
Timetables are available on the Isle of Man Steam Packet Company website (www.steam-packet.com). Yes, it is a splendid name.
They are the sponsors of the competition, and their Magic Holidays subsidiary (www.magic-holidays.com) can fix you up somewhere
to stay. There is lots of dirt cheap b+b accommodation in Douglas, if you’re not
particularly fussy. For a differently biased perspective than mine, and more information
on what to do when Burnley aren’t playing, go to the Isle of Man tourism website (www.gov.im/tourism).
Speaking of websites, there is much more about drinking on the island on
the rather fantastic 'Drenk Site' (www.drenk.org.uk).
Choose 'Island' from the menu to be given plenty on the art of getting seriously hammered
on the Isle of Man. Brief descriptions – including toilet reviews – and poor
quality photographs of many of the pubs are provided, including the author's local, the Cul
de Sac, Market Hill, where you can apparently get toffee vodka and that famous
harbinger of insanity, absinthe. They also, usefully, give you an idea of which pubs to
avoid. As well, this will be a good site for places to drink in Ramsey. All in all, a
rather entertaining site, and well worth a visit. Which is, sadly, more than I can say of
the island, and particularly Douglas, itself.
My advice if you're going is to visit as many of the above and drink as
much in them as possible. It is only a friendly, after all.
