Pellicle

1 month ago | pelliclemag.com | Emmie Harrison-West

Hastily linking arms with a stranger, I screech as I’m spun across the slippy lino. Turns out that old Dr. Martens are not the right shoes to wear to a ceilidh—and that Edinburgh’s Leithers take their dancing very seriously. “I need a break,” I gasp to my husband once the fiddle stops, feeling sweat prickle the back of my neck. Standing wide-eyed, I’m hardly able to catch a breath before the floor fills again as the next dance is called. A quick swig of NEIPA would do it.

1 month ago | pelliclemag.com | Matthew Curtis

If you’re a regular user of pubs I’m probably someone you’d refer to as a ‘transient’ pubgoer. I enjoy variety—the spice of life, as it were. Stimulation, for me, comes from visiting lots of different pubs, and here in Manchester I am spoiled for choice. It’s easy enough for me to hop from Café Beermoth, to The City Arms, to Bundobust, to head over to The Salisbury for yet another Old Peculier.

1 month ago | pelliclemag.com | Katie Mather

Pellicle’s life is intertwined with that of our pals at Balance Brewing & Blending. Sometimes it feels like we’re somehow part of the same grand and multifaceted organism—our mycelium spreading from very different parts of the drinks world, connecting to form a mycorrhizal network of creativity, big ideas, and a love for doing good in nature. After our fifth birthday party in 2024, which finished at Balance, we said we were going to have a “quiet” year.

1 month ago | pelliclemag.com | David Nilsen

Content Warning: This article makes frequent and detailed references to suicide and severe depression, therefore reader discretion is advised. No one should struggle with their mental health alone. If you are in the UK there are several charities you can reach out for support including Mind, the Campaign Against Living Miserably (CALM) and The Samaritans, who can be contacted on 116-123. In the USA you can contact Kevin’s Song on 313-236-7109.

2 months ago | pelliclemag.com | Fred Garratt-Stanley

In 1744, The Mermaid Inn was teeming with open secrets. Bands of rowdy, weather-beaten, sea-faring men would tumble in late at night, rest their pistols on the table, and wait for their tankards to be filled to the brim. Risk-averse regulars would swiftly filter out, wending their way home down cobbled streets while the notorious new arrivals settled in for the long haul. There were no last orders for this lot—the Hawkhurst Gang was untouchable.