The Saddle, Whitegate Drive, Blackpool

Apr 19 2008 by Mike Chapple, Liverpool Daily Post

FOR SOME, Blackpool never loses its magic especially – and perversely – when it’s out of season.

There’s a melancholic magnetism for the connoisseur to wallow in created by a heady brew of showers, brass monkey breezes and the forlorn call of the bingo master echoing from his near empty hall at the end of the pier.

Yours Truly was making an occasional sentimental journey to a place that was always the family holiday favourite. It was a time when Doddy graced the Winter Gardens, the Beatles ruled the world and an embarrassed Our Kev and I watched Mum and Dad dance the light fantastic across the Tower Ballroom.

Later, it became a place where yours truly lived and worked.

This was Ashes to Ashes Britain when newspaper offices were brim-full of colourful characters, where differences could be settled with a punch-up followed by a conciliatory pint or five drunk amid the constant whirlwind of the Lost Vegas of the North.

All this was related in a misty-eyed fashion to Lady Penelope of Pensby as the Chapmobile trundled towards a mini break at the Hilton Hotel, a distinctly more up-market gaff than what the Pub Column is accustomed to when B&B-ing in the ‘Pool.

This reverie, however, was broken by an almighty squawk of “LOOK OUT!!!! THERE IT IS!!!!!!” from the Lady that nearly resulted in collision with a lamppost. Thankfully, this was merely her way of conveying that she’d won the time-honoured competition of Spot The Tower First.

She subsequently spent the rest of the journey in victorious, smug jubilation while Yours Truly nursed his shattered eardrums. A nerve-steadying drink was required and duly provided by the Saddle Inn on Whitegate Drive.

Formerly the Pub Column’s “local” and reputed to be the oldest alehouse in town, it’s also a real ale legend, voted Pub of the Year by Blackpool and Fylde Camra for the second year running. Along with the gut-wrenching Pleasure Beach rides, the donkeys, and the House of the Dead 4 zombie destruction machine in the Coral Island amusement arcade, the Saddle should be on everyone’s must-visit list.

There are eight different cask ales always on offer and there can be anything between 12 and 20 that will be got through within the week. But pride of place must go to the mainstay draught Bass which is kept in prime condition by the landlord of three years Alan Bedford, a Fleetwood lad, but a Bluenose nonetheless, having been turned to the dark side by Machiavellian Evertonian cousins during childhood.

Alan is keeping up something of a tradition here because when the pub was my local a quarter of a century ago (God is it that long?) it still served up the best pint of the stuff in Christendom. Thinking back to those times I made the mistake of using the past tense as barmaid Julie pulled pints of the original amber nectar.

“What do you mean used to serve the best pint of Bass – we still do!” she mock-barked, as the late Friday afternoon crowd began to pour in.

It’s a busy place here and can get especially full in the summer when visitors descend on the pub’s large roadside terrace beer garden to soak up the sun.

This though was a freezing, blustery mid-April which required other forms of warmth. So suitably and beautifully oiled we bimbled off to the marvellous Saddle Chippy nearby. Here, large portions of fresh chips and mushy peas were purchased then taken back to our Hilton room and promptly polished off.

You see, the Pub Column knows how to treat a Lady.

mikechapple@dailypost.co.uk