State Management Historical Walk

The idea is simple enough - in one day, and without a break, drink a pint of beer in each of the sixteen pubs on the State Management Trail.

We'd had a 'Wet' run a few months before to see if we were up to it-
read about it here

Did the Chums succeed? You betcha life we did and we have pictures to prove it...

Twas the night before the State Management Trail
By Andy

Twas the night before the State Management Trail,
The Chums were a stirring, thinking of lots of real ale,
It only happens once in a while,
That historical walk, around much of Carlisle.

The Chums were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of beer danced in their heads.
The route was planned, the time was set,
All were dreaming, of their whistles to whet.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Could it be Nicky? No, she's gone to see Slash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But Ewan McEwan, with eight pints of beer.

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be our Nick.
More rapid than eagles his Chums they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

"Now Den! now, Shaggy! now, Macca and Paul!
On, Ripper! On, Neil! on, Andy and Giz!
To the top of the Napper! to the top of the wall!
Now drink away! Drink away! Drink away all!"

As dry mouths that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the Napper the Chums they all flew,
With a belly full of Beer, and Our President too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and dancing of Ewan's wife Ruth
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney came Johnno, in time for next round!

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A crate full of beer he had flung on his back,
With a smile on his face, he emptied his sack.

His eyes-how they twinkled, he'd been on the sherry,
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
The beard of his chin was as white as the snow,
"To The Rambler", he shouted, "Let's do it, let's go"!

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Led me to know, we'd left The King's Head,
"We're a Chum down" the Prez did believe,
"Not to worry", we said, " It's just Guinness Steve"

We spoke not a word, went straight to the bar,
Damien looked cool, playing his air guitar,
We filled all our glasses like true working classes,
Some of us even, eyed up the lasses.

Nick sprang to his feet, I thought he might puke,
He was only off to The Thin White Duke
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, what a bloomin' good-night!"