The Cube/Qube - Corby

We're a nation built on traditions, in fact I'd say we're undoubtably world class traditionalists. Nobody traditions quite like us. Except maybe the Spanish, they're pretty big on traditions too.

These traditions don’t arrive fully formed and traditional on their own though. Someone, somewhere, has to invent them. Even those traditions we might regard as being ‘as old as time’, such as Morris Dancing, Thanking the Bus Driver, and Christmas, had to be dreamt up by someone. More often than not over a few too many tankards of foaming Mead during a lengthy Sunday afternoon tavern session. And in very bad company. Or so I've heard...

For traditions like these to survive they have to be practiced, revived, rejuvenated, and in some cases reinvented for modern tastes, and none more so than the traditional British Pub Crawl. Because I hear it all the time, once world-famous pub crawls, perennial favourites of Blokes and Hens, Students and Rugger Buggers, now mere shadows of their former selves due to the ongoing tragedy of pub closures (and the absolute scandal of reduced personal drinking capacity). Every town used to have at least one, and anyone who regarded themselves as any kind of serious boozer or pub man would have had at least half a dozen fruity anecdotes from the good old days of the ‘Fadgington Road Pub Run’ (or some such), and equally despair at their sad decline in recent times.

The Qube Beer Garden. No really!

Clearly pub crawling is not what it used to be. Of those that do survive, the closure of so many classic townie boozers has necessarily downsized many of them to little more than a stroll with a few pints, not the proper liver-damaging 'benders' of old, and that’s no way to generate barely believable booze-fuelled anecdotes to bore the next generation with. So, if the pub crawl tradition is to survive and thrive in the future, we perhaps need to think a little bit smaller, a bit less legwork, something more... 'vertical'.

The Corby Cube/Qube Bar Run

The Corby Cube is one of the many jewels in the crown of modern Corby Town. Such a striking stripey cuboid building, dominating the town like a futuristic Liquorish Allsort, which I believe was the working title before they settled on Cube. Everyone wants a Cube in their own town, and why wouldn't they, it's got three (3) bars (and some other stuff), the makings of a half decent bar crawl I'd suggest. I attempted to do them all for you on an epic Saturday afternoon crawl, initiating a new and exciting Corby tradition in the process. As luck would have it, young Marti Pellow was in the house, so I was expecting some top showbiz shenanigans to regale you with too.

Now I’ve got nothing against Marti Pellow. As Celebrity Clairvoyants go, he seems a harmless enough chap. Not that I'll be looking into his eyes mind, I've seen what these goatee bearded mystics can do! I just didn't fancy sitting through a performance like that at £75 a pop (VIP Ticket inc. Meet, Greet, Mystic Canapes etc.) just so I could have a pint in the auditorium bars. I needn't have worried though, he clearly knew I was coming (my goodness he's good!) and must have arranged for me to mingle at will with his followers. I wouldn't disturb the all-important aura. Thanks Marti, I owe you a 'wet' or three next time you're in town, though you'll already know that of course...

It's no Olde Trip to Jerusalem, but the facilities are top notch and inclusive

I decided the best route for my epic crawl was to arrive an hour or so before the 2pm Matinee Seance got underway when the bars would be open for business, but almost certainly empty. The audience keeping their spirit paths clear and unsullied by alcohol at this point I imagined. A quick half in the swanky Circle Bar (left), a chaser in the spit'n'sawdust Stalls Bar (below), before the climb back to ground level and daylight for a full Scottish pint in the Qube Bar (sp).

Naturally the Circle Bar was closed... not a good start then! So down-down to the basement where the accurately named Drinks+ Bar can be found, serving the Stalls and Lab, whatever that is. The bar was, of course, packed. Packed with a host of very smartly turned-out ladies, and a very light scattering of gents, almost all of which wore important looking VIP laminate passes. Was I feeling uncomfortable? Oh yes!

There was a definite frisson of excitement when I walked into the bar though, a keen quasi-sexual tension that soon dissipated when they got a better look at me. Sorry ladies, Steve McFadden is not in fact the support act for this performance.

Now the last time I was down here these bars were rare local outlets for a top craft IPA from Scotland that's far too controversial to name on this blog. Not any more though, the Brewdog is gone and it's bottles of London Pride for the CAMRA's, Peroni for the rest of us (other drinks are available, apparently), all served in quality plastic wobble-tubes. No Doom, no John Smiths Smooth, is this even Corby! The Peroni was ok for one, probably would have been better if I hadn't already pre-loaded on Salt Brewery Jute earlier at the White Hart. Ok readers, ready to crawl?...

I was feeling a bit nervous anyway, clearly Marti was going to turn up any minute and start pressing the flesh. I'm not very good around famous people, a hangover from a particularly awkward telephone install for Bill 'Selwyn Froggitt' Maynard back in the 80's (ask your parents). Not so much star-struck, as shy and embarrassed, and anyway, I think it was clear to everyone by now that this shabby street drinker didn't belong in the exclusive Pellow Talk VIP Zone. Besides, he can read minds you know!...

The ladies were arriving in droves by now, a strong current of chiffon, Chanel, and Chardonnay breath that I struggled to swim against but eventually made it up to the foyer, emerging blinking into the daylight and the short walk to Qube Bar round the corner.

Originally you could transit straight from the foyer to the Qube Bar, but I'm guessing the sight of a Janey Godley audience, high on mirth, thundering down the corridor chasing last orders was just too much for the poor bar staff, so the door is now locked and we have to go round the outside. There's a stack of tables outside, Palm Trees and decking. Add a swimming pool to the vista and you could kid yourself you were in Magaluf. Any call for a swimming pool in Corby?

As you can see, the football was on the tellys, the beer choice extensive and yet typically limited. At least four of those 'European' lagers could have been served to me blind and it's doubtful I'd be able to tell the difference, though how the hell I missed the Pilsner Urquell I'll never know. I guess it was a case of 'I wasn't expecting to see it, so I didn't', or was Mystic Marti at work here! As it was, I ended up with a surprisingly flavoursome Guinness, served the traditional way, straight from the can into a classy Pilsner Urquell Mug. I enjoyed it in a monsoon like gale on the tidy patio as customers laughed cheerily from within.

So not much of a traditional pub crawl I'll give you that. Perhaps the elusive Circle Bar will be open on your visit, and believe me, if you liked the Stalls Bar, you'll absolutely love the Circle Bar. They're exactly the same.