The second weekend in February saw the Dover Beer festival, so Mr T traipsed down to the wilderness that is Kent on Friday. The aim - a quiet 6-pub crawl on Friday evening to get a flavour of some of the wares that Canterbury has to offer, and fest all day Saturday.

We failed on both accounts. For a start, there is no such thing as a "quiet" crawl, as by 10pm, there wasn't a shadow of a doubt that we were going to go keep going after closing time.. and as for the fest the next day.....more on that to come.....

So, Friday 3pm, and Mr T arrives to the delights of Canterbury East, rapidly spends 20 minutes getting lost, and ends up on the doorstep of the 3 Tuns (or the White Hart...who knows..?) waiting for me to make my excuses to get out of work. An hour later and I eventually get through the Canterbury school-run ring-road traffic and into the Old Buttermarket, with it's fine views of the Cathedral...if only it wasn't obscured by all the anorak-wearing daysack-carrying tourists. A lack of ale and inability to raise a mortgage for the Hoegaarden results in a couple of lagers in the first joint pub of day - Dan sticking to the wifebeater, myself to the weak-as-yer-like Carling. Despite the cute students on the other table, we rapidly made our excuses to go and find a slightly more appealing pub.

And so it was onto the Unicorn. A pair of Deuchars IPA, and a short discussion with the bearded local sitting at the bar as to whether it's "Dockers". "Dewchers" or "Dukers" (to which we all disagreed), we set about playing Bar Billiards. Any game that costs a quid and gives over 10mins of engagement wins my vote - although an abysmal highscore of 200 in the first game (damn black skittle) and Dan fluking the final game-end double on his second ever go at the game meant we didn't play a third...

Heading past the temptation of the Bishop's, the next stop was the as-yet untried Hobgoblin. Looks very impressive form the outside, with the real ale pub touches such as beer board, hanging baskets and mottled windows, the inside was a bit of a suprise. None of that snug business - it was stone floors, wobbly wooden tables and a couple of pumps. Which, to be honest is no bad thing. Especially as it apparently gets really busy in the evenings, so needs the floorspace. A couple of ales (I forget which), then onto...

... the Cricketers. Another one for false appearances - a glance at the outside make you think crappy-local, but inside it's really quite nice. Stools and high tables abound, with fancy Euro lagers on tap and a range of strong Euro bottled beers. Clearly caters for the better off locals and the students with either rich daddies or who want to appear classy to their new girlfriends - we headed to the bar in our jeans and trainers and asked for two pints of stout. Feeling we should at least give an air of wealth, we rapidly pumped the fruit machine with cash which the next person to play would then be able to use to buy half a orangeeboon, or whatever it is the dutch drink. Deciding now would be a good time to catch up for Dan's extra pub, I went for a bottled Duvel, and barely got £1.50 change from a fiver. As such, the 330ml of 8.5% was initially treasured, and then downed once the taste kicked in.

Walking up the high street, the hunger struck. MacDonalds's finally came into view (well, periodically, behind the swarm of baseball-capped 13-year olds boys on BMXs smoking Lamberts and trying to impress their respective white-tracksuit-wearing greasy-haired lady counterparts). Not wanting to disturb the mating ritual, and fancying something more substantial than a McInsufficient, we continued up to the hallowed ground of Burger King. A Bacon Double Cheeseburger meal with a side portion of Chicken pieces followed by a dessert of a second Bacon Double Cheeseburger and I was sorted.

To try a new pub, we waddled round the corner to the Thomas Ingoldsby - the Weatherspoon on the east side of town. Fighting our way to the bar, 2 pints of Ironside were ordered - purely because it was £1.05/pint. We soon realised why. One mouthful and 20 seconds later, and we were gone. Very rarely do I leave a pint - let alone both of us - but that stuff was terrible.

Wandering the back way home in search of a sixth and final pub, we stumbled across the Seven Stars. A lively-looking place with a clientelle of mainly middle aged women and 30-something men, it wasn't until we left and walked past the theatre that it because obvious why. A pint of Guiness was almost immediately deemed to be a bad choice, as the 300 calories of stout joined the 1500 already placed in there by Mr King. Struggling to even get to our feet to go, a choice had to be made. Call it a night, watch some Al Murray and get an early one in preparation for the fest on Saturday; or the often-resorted-to through ill-decision of Plan B?

And so it was that we ended up in the Westgate Inn with a large vodka red bull each, safe in the knowledge that there were a few more pubs to go. Unfortunatley all the talent had already left for Chicagos so there was little point in staying in our second Weatherspoons of the night - onto then....

...Simple Simons. Figuring a couple of ales were probably in order, some Exhibition was ordered from the harassed looking barmaid (who, despite it always being heaving in there, always seems to cope remarkably well). Battling through the throngs of foreign students, we made it to the expansive garden and chilled for 20mins, supping the pints before the top could freeze over. All the beer was gradually kicking in with the fresh air, so we stumbled a couple of doors down, into...

...the Millers Arms. Volume was now becoming an issue, so short mixers of G&T and rum and coke were chosen. With an eye on the clock, the decision was made at 20 seconds to eleven to repeat the order, shortly after which the barmaid gave us an impressive glare, which may or may not have been the cause of Mr T mishandling his R+C, sending it crashing to the floor in a spectacular fashion. Not one to be deterred, a third was sombrely requested of the barman, who amazingly obliged. Feeling it was probably best to make a move anyway, they were rapidly polished off and we exited homewards.

Which was when the housemate texted with the message that he was in Alberrys. Well, it would have been rude not to go. Cue a 10 minute hike across town in sub zero temperatures followed by 40mins of standing in a queue of 10 people. During which time I managed to get into an arguement with the feminist in front as to why I wasn't allowed to comment on the fine derriere of another girl, which ultimately resulted in me telling her that her's was almost as good, which she then seemed to take even more offense at. Sometimes logic just can't win. After much waiting and much protestation by Dan that it had better be worth the wait, we paid our £4s and got in. The choice of drink was rapidly narrowed down to bottles, as there were no beer taps - and good old Corona saved the night. Having not been to Alberrys before, I was rather expecting it to be a club - not a tiny dancefloor in a small cellar - but it was OK. Met the housemate, drank some beers, made an exit.

With 10 pubs under the belt, the night was declared over - with the exception of quick trip into Subway, where much unpersuasive bargaining was made to try to get the price of a baguette below a fiver.