Monday, 20 February 2017

BRAPA - More from the Moors

Saturday morning and for once, Mr Sat Nav wasn't the main source of our frustration as we journeyed north through the beautiful North Yorkshire Moors, past Malton and Pickering - today it was "Mr Windscreen Washer" who kept beeping every 5 minutes to remind Dad his levels were low.

The mist and fog swirled around once we arrived on the top, surrounded by grouse and heather, you could just imagine Basil Rathbone being chased by a devil dog with the face of Tom Irvin.

Back on the other side by the busy coast (it was half term week, spit!), it was all sunshine again so as we arrived at our first pub, which was admirably open at 11am despite the old Inn sign and front door looking unpromising.

1030.  Brown Cow, Hinderwell

We walked in through a very narrow corridor, the landlord (a sturdy steady stoic man in green) breathed in to let us past, and served us a great Farmers Blonde (I should've got it in Ackworth the night before) with Cameron's Strongarm the other ale on offer.  What also excited me was a Carling Premier font, not sure I've seen that since I accidentally spilt a skinhead's pint in Cardiff circa 1998 and had to run to another room!  This was a lot more serene, and it was one of those "almost someone's front room pubs", but with bird themed curtains, darts trophies galore, walking maps of the local area and the voice of Myleene Klass reverberating around the building (sadly, only on Smooth radio and not there in person) and classic 80's hits played.  We sat in the sun at the far end, I think we were the only customers, a great pub.

Dad basks in sunshine fun

My view of the bar

The Smooth radio screen
We then drove into the middle of nowhere back on the Moors, located our pub, but a fleet of cars were parking up and a big group were lurking the car park, so we parked down the road and Dad suspected Ugthorpe was a very odd place.  

1031.  Black Bull Inn, Ugthorpe

Back in the car park, Dad asked the friendliest looking chap in the group if we were waiting for the pub to open.  "I am open" was the quick reply, and he walked us inside, explaining these people were waiting for some kind of photo opportunity (and as a consequence, my BRAPA outdoor photo had to wait til we'd left the pub).  He was a very personal bald slimline young chap, explaining there's no point having more than 2 ales on in a pub like this - we agreed and had the "guest ale from Stockport", explained to us in a way which made Stockport sound continental and mysterious.  In truth, it was a guest Robinsons ale with lemon in it.  With the photo opportunity complete, the big group came inside for a hearty feed, plenty of beer bellies and beards flying about so the young girl who looked like Willow from Neighbours seemed a bit out of place.  Their shirts said "Audis and Dubs" and sure enough, loads of glittering Audis were parked outside.  Good job I find cars interminably dull.  Our genial host seemed to have the job of "entertaining them" aswell as running the pub, turned out his father and his father's father had the pub before.  He was definitely the right man for the occasion and he was definitely impressed by BRAPA, probably.

Dad ticks off one of he trickiest remaining Yorkshire pubs

My pint and the bar, pre-Audi gang

Which artist did this view remind me of (clue, this is the most highbrow BRAPA q ever)

On the way out, finally got my pic!
We took the short drive on to the incredibly scenic village of Egton Bridge and found a free carpark and walked over the "historic" (rebuilt 1989) actual Egton Bridge. The drive made me realise how much I nearly killed myself that BRAPA day of yore when I walked Beck Hole-Grosmont-Egton-Lealholm - a killer!

1032.  Horseshoe Hotel, Egton Bridge

We walked in through a rabbit warren of corridors and side rooms (this was our third residential pub of the day) and a huge group of feeding women were laughing like chimpanzees.  We got served this incredibly chocolatey pint of Great Newsome ale (better than any in 'Ull) and Dad told me a 'lazy wind' is a wind that goes right through you, because it is too lazy to go around you - it's a Hull thing so don't worry if you don't understand, just be thankful.  No sooner had we sat in a corner when a crazy, outgoing chap commented on my obviously amazing drinking trousers - though his older female friend (his Mum?) was less than impressed.  He'd love a pair the same but was worried his friends would take the mickey, they already judge his parking by giving him marks out of 10 (his highest score is 5, even when he parked perfectly and he seemed mentally scarred).  On the plus side, he had once dressed as a dog to raise money for charity, so claimed he knew what it'd take to wear such trousers.  Hmmm.  After practising barking, he left, no wonder Dad thought he was a bit weird, perhaps just a bit 'flamboyant'.  After that, Dad tried to send a picture on his new smartphone, which took what seemed like an eternity and didn't work.  I admired huge fish that locals had caught in the River Esk and hung on the wall in years gone by.

The visiting "Biker Mice from Mars" arrive for a drink

One of many giant fish
On the way back to the car, we cleansed our souls with a trip to the amazingly huge but also amazing village church.

Dad hiding behind some flowers and the crotch of Jesus
I was staying in Naburn for tea so the usual Fox post-pub trip couldn't happen.

Now I'm not saying we went to either/and/or the New Inn at Cliffe & Wadkin Arms at Osgodby, but if we had've done, we may have been offered/seen/taken advantage of free buffets at each.  Okay, so the New Inn might've been packed with footballers from Cliffe and/or Barton Town, the pasties may have been 90% pastry, 10% filling, and the brilliant Wadkin landlord might've heard what beer I was ordering from two miles away, moved us from 2 reserved seats, taken pity on us, and offered us free sandwiches and bhajis whilst Wolves messed up their chance of cup glory.

But all is hypothetical cos it probably didn't happen ...... but here's how it might've looked....

Three more off the list!  Only 6 left in North Yorkshire, and 5 in West Yorkshire to do.  The "completion by end of March" dream is still alive, and I'll be back in some fictional outer Huddersfield village tomorrow, which hopefully has better transport links than Emley.

Good bye, I'm off to see Sutton Utd set up a quarter final defeat against Lincoln City.


Sunday, 19 February 2017

BRAPA - Ackworth & Hemsworth Fun Friday

Friday night fun in Ackworth
You know the weekend is finally here when you land in Fitzwilliam station, only to be told by Google Maps (which loves a joke at my expense) that you are to walk 1.8 miles along muddy waterlogged dirt tracks through sinister looking woodland to get yourself to pub number one .....

Despite ruining a perfectly good pair of retro Hummel trainers, I was soon back in civilisation (if you can call the area between Wakefield and Pontefract "civilisation") and after walking along a winding road called Bell Lane, I found the pub .... and it was still just about light, suggesting spring is on the way.

1028.  Masons Arms, Ackworth

An impressive roaring fire on the left as I walked in, wall to wall with grinning raucous locals absolutely loving their Friday night drinks, sausage rolls on the bar, a friendly barmaid asking genuinely "how are you?" and calling everyone "luv", some pubs are just fantastic from the moment you enter.  Shame I chose an Exmoor beer ahead of the local(ish) Bradfield ones, but that was my only mistake as I found a stool 'twixt front door and the fire to keep my recent "seat in front of the fire" record in tact, and none have been as impressive as this hearth.  Perfect for drying the mud off my shoes.  I was facing the main instigators of Masons Arms Friday night jollity, and with so much chatter, I couldn't hear much conversation, but when I did, I almost regretted it.  Firstly a woman on a pub crawl revealed she had to break off part way through - "I've gotta nip home at 8 to inject the dog .... he's diabetic".  The things you never think you'd hear in a pub.  But even worse followed, "you can't buy minge lube in Tesco".  Woah, did she really just say that?  Repeating it 4 times actually stunned even the loudest people in the pub into an awkward silence as I stared sternly into my Exmoor, pretending to discover a depth of complex flavours that didn't exist.  A few locals stared intently up at "The Chase" on the ITV screen as if it were the World Cup Final.  A posh version of Albert Steptoe kept coming over to warm himself on the fire a la Emley woman from Tuesday.  I said hi and bye, for my bus was due.

A fire, and a nearby extinguisher cos who knows what'll happen here.
A (delayed) short bus ride to Hemsworth was next up, and the main reason for this Friday trip due to their inability to open on Tuesday evenings like a normal West Yorkshire BRAPA pub.  I had been warned about this town from my sister's boyfriend who was brought up here, but I was still not prepared for the zombie apocalypse style locals on every street corner, red eyed, drunk, hungry for human flesh, York human flesh.

1029.  Hamelsworde Brewery Tap, Hemsworth

So it was with some relief when I slammed the door behind me of this little safe haven, brewery tap by name but micropub in reality, though by no means a dud for it had a bit more depth to it than most.  In some ways, it was a bit like entering Doncaster's Little Plough, sanctuary when all outside is madness.  I was greeted by an eager blondie with red trousers I liked, who seemed keener to take me through the range of continental lagers and fridge bottles than the ales, strangely.  Once she realised I was a boring CAMRA beard anorak, I got an extra 20p off and paid about 6 shillings for my pint, or whatever currency they use in Hemsworth.  Two bald men were trying to impress the whole pub with jokes about their own baldness, the type who insist on wearing it like a badge of honour, urrrgghh.  They left soon after to much relief from the assembled crowd (despite leaving with a barrage of rhubarb and custard jokes which made no sense), an attractive couple of the window who we'll call Freddie and Amelia, a middle aged couple who hated each others company but loved the fact smartphones had been invented, and a huge pinstripe suited dude who sat at the bar (practically on my face) telling the now bored barmaid about his work jaunts to Newton Aycliffe and Stockton on Tees.  She'd rather have heard about BRAPA, I expect, but that's how the Hemsworth cookie crumbles.  It was quite dull after that, though my off season Christmas ale was a winner.  A woman came in and protested too much about not being a regular and not really wanting to try the new Prosecco but had time to kill, so she may as well.  Time to run for the bus.

Bald and slightly annoying.

A board of cask ales 
It was deja vu from Emley at the bus stop as it just didn't bloody arrive (I even checked the times at the stop) and after 20 mins, I took matters into my own hands and marched to Fitzwilliam station.  My luck turned as the next train was just delayed enough to enable me to get it, and once in Leeds, the same happened with a York train.  So even if the bus had been on time, I'd not have been home any quicker, just bored and colder.  So hurrah!

I'm getting close, only FIVE West Yorkshire pubs to do.  Back on the trail on Tuesday, but how weird are this pubs opening hours......?

I love a good all nighter with a full English Breakfast just before closing!

I'm having a new shower/bathroom fitted this week.  This is relevant to BRAPA cos (a) I'd rather be out and about than in a bathroomless flat, so expect much BRAPPing over the next fortnight.

And (b) I want to ask if anyone knows of a real ale pub out there with a shower you can use?  I confess I don't seem to recall one but it'd help massively.

See you soon, Si

Wednesday, 15 February 2017

BRAPA - The Romance of Emley

If all BRAPA nights were like this one, I'd readily admit defeat on my pub-ticking mission, retire, and instead do something more serene, like visiting all Norman churches in England, or becoming a member of the "92" club.

Not that tonight's pub, or location, were bad in any way, both lovely on this Valentine's night.  But the transport, ugh!

After a  straightforward train ride to 'Uddersfield and a two minute speed-walk to the bus station, I joined the half-term masses and local scroats on the bus to Wakefield, stopping of course at Emley.  I was directly in front of two schoolgirls.  One was telling off the other for dying her hair without her Mum's permission.  "She won't be too mad, it's only green!"  Traffic was horrendous but 15 mins later than scheduled, I was in this surprisingly remote hilly village just as dusk was falling .....

I tried to get Emley Moor and the mast in but failed miserably!
1027.  White Horse, Emley

I do like a good Ossett pub (I feel I must've visited them all by now!) and I wandered in relieved it was one their more traditional efforts, with 8 locals (men & women) in their fifties lining the bar.  I peered over the top and ordered what seemed to be a special Emley house beer, 'Emley Cross' - I might've been paranoid but I thought I heard a few stifled chuckles as I did so.  Is this a re-badged ale that they put on for the idiot "outsiders" like me?  Well, I don't think so in retrospect, as it was darker and maltier than 90% of Ossett beers, no nonsense stuff for no nonsense folk in t'village!  To keep Saturday's run going, I spied a corner seat near a roaring fire where a woman kept warming her arse.  At least she gave it a good poke (the fire I mean, not her arse).  "Looks like the best seat in the house!" I commented in jovial manner.  An insipid smile was all I received in reply.  In my 27 minutes in this pub, she came over TWICE more for further arse warming.  After that, it felt like I'd walked into a TalkSport phone in with the focus on the Championship.  Firstly, two Huddersfield fans were pessimistic about their chances v Rotherham.  Then, a Sheffield Wednesday woman said "let's hope all goes well at fortress Hillsborough" and then a seated Blackburn fan growled at her in Lancastrian tones which confused all present.  Then an excitable gambling scummer listed all the teams on his "accy" accumulator, including Rotherham twice.  And just to top things off, a man claimed Marcus Tudgay was the best footballer he'd ever seen.  Then, to put the final cherry on the cake, a woman tells the Blackburn man,  "you are owned by an Indian Bernard Matthews".  And I couldn't even take my glass back to the bar because the efficient barman took it whilst I was in the loo, so all I could do was wave goodbye from afar to the newly arrived blonde barmaid.  Oh dear!  

It's Championship chat fest!  The arse-warmer is leaning on the right.
I'd been downing my drink so I could make the 18:11 back to Huddersfield.  Except there WAS no 18:11, it was now the 18:48 after a timetable change.  How did I miss that?  Thankfully, a dotty old local woman crossed the road to tell me.  And because it was dark and there was no pavement at the stop, I couldn't see times on bus stop and had to perch in the road in my black coat leaning on a stone wall avoiding oncoming traffic  Nightmare.  Even West Berkshire's rural bus stops have bits where people can safely stand!

I'd assumed it'd been delayed due to all the problems getting here and accident on M62 (and I'd seen a broken down bus on the way up at Flockton Moor), but like she read my mind, dotty old woman said "it's not worth your while going back to the pub" (how did she know?  A witch?) so I explored Emley in the dark! Where's mi BRAPA torch?

Funniest of all, the centrepiece of the village seems to be Emley Cross (hence the beer name) but it's a tiny stubby thing if you compare it to say, Lymm Cross.  I wonder if residents of Lymm come to Emley to boast that theirs is bigger?  

18:48 turned up at 19:07, exactly an hour since I'd left the pub.  Arrrghh, give me strength.   Back in 'Udders freezing cold with a dead phone and a painful back from the stony wall, I was glad of an almost immediate direct train back to York.

See ya Friday for more "bonus" West Yorkshire adventures cos some pubs can't do the BRAPA basics (i.e. open on a Tuesday evening).  


Monday, 13 February 2017

BRAPA - Skipton's Three Links Club

A lot of the remaining Yorkshire pubs I need to visit have weird opening hours, hence why I'm doing the odd bonus BRAPA on a Friday or Sunday in attempt to finish god's own county.  Of course, if there was a god who loved real ale, he'd probably live North London.  I wouldn't trust him.

But you can trust Skipton to throw up new GBG entries year upon year, it is just one of those Biggleswadey, Mirfieldesque places.  And on a freezing Friday night, I was hot-footing it across a town I'd only ever seen on a summer touristy day before, and I enjoyed the gloom and misery.

Always a bit apprehensive going into a club, less reliable than a pub, an unknown quantity.  How will I be received?  Red carpet or spit in the face, could be either.....

The stone clad Three Links Club
1023.  Three Links Club, Skipton

I walked in to a large typically clubby lounge, with just one group of six people sat around a large circular table and bar at very far end.  I appraised it was five men and one woman, the woman was very gobby but three of the gents said 'hello' as I wandered past.  The barman was a young chap who was keen to see my CAMRA card, make sure I wasn't just a passing wastrel, a bit of a surprise as recent club experiences have been so informal, I've been able to just go to the bar and order a drink, so in a way, good to see him sticking to the 'rules'.  I took my Dark Horse ale to a table near the six old duffers in hope of overhearing some exciting convo, maybe even joining in, but save for a chat on wayward teenage girls, it was all 'committees', 'impending weddings' and 'dog breeding'.  Zzzzz.  At least the latter led to awful woman starting most sentences "If you buy a working cocker...." which was worth the admission price alone.  The funky 80's Stock, Aitken and Waterman style music DID NOT fit the club at all, why do places bring their own atmosphere into disrepute like this?  Which of these six old people were enjoying Rick Astley or Kylie and Jason?    I reassessed the company, and soon realised it was three men and three women!  Well, who knew?  Couples as well, and they left one at a time.  The barman was asked when his next customer was due.  A weird question I thought, but he answered it with a prompt "8pm".  Appointments?  Well, as the final couple left, Tiffany's "I Think We're Alone Now" started, most apt BRAPA song of 2017 to date.  I chatted to the barman after that, but at one point, he yawned and looked in agony.  "I've strained a jaw muscle yawning too much" he revealed.  Perhaps this sums up the number of customers on the early evening shift?!  Funny place but enjoyable.

The quiet bar area

The quiet lounge area 

My pint (very good) and two of the friendlier of the six.
I do really need a new Skipton pub to be in the 2018 GBG when it is released in September.  This is because on 23rd June 2018, I have to take my sister there to remind her of something we talked about on 23rd June 2013.  Cryptic I know.  But come on Skipton, you never let me down.


Sunday, 12 February 2017

BRAPA - North Yorkshire : Even More Ales in the Dales

'Twas a windswept, wintry day up on t' hills, the kind of day where you wonder how on earth you would cope without BRAPA chauffeur extraordinaire B.G. Everitt, and the kind of day where the hamlets, dwellings and villages that contained the pubs seemed to be more isolated than ever.

We arrived in the outlying Swaledale village of Reeth at 11:24am, 24 minutes after pub opening according to the GBG and WhatPub but annoyingly all was darkness from within after I'd trudged to the main entrance in a wet blizzard, having almost been run over by a tractor.   What did offer hope was a blackboard outside showing the winter food menu began at 12 noon, so we waited.....

Braving the conditions at a shut Buck
1024.  Buck Hotel, Reeth

And bang on 12 noon, the pub door jolted open and we raced from car to pub door, this time nearly being run over by that most uncompromising of BRAPA creature, the "dithering woman driver". Once inside, I was surprised to see we were not even the first customers.  Either this couple were ghosts, or residents staying in the hotel.  You decide.  Dad was very thrilled by a new 50 pence piece he'd acquired, which led the chatty no nonsense landlord down a "Scottish/NI notes are legal tender" rant, making sure we knew this pub saw more Scottish tourists than any other Dales pub (they probably feel at home with the weather).  We were soon on a much needed pint of Gamekeeper half in front of a roaring fire - man ghost found out the WiFi password was 'realale' so Dad took the opportunity to try out his new smartphone.  Baby steps, but I tried to give him a few pointers.  Three lads pretending to be walkers appeared on the scene, ordered brie n bacon, and went to watch Arsenal v Hull City in the back room.  Tempted to stay and cheer on our team?  No it felt like it was going to be painful and my hunch was right.  I may have accidentally trashed the pub in Clattenburg-rage.  We were more than content in the cosy bar area, Mrs Buck arrived, peered out of the window, and goaded the weather Delia Smith-esque style "come on heavy snow, we can't see ya, idiot weather forecasters, pathetic, where is the extra man??"  One of the best Dales pubs I've visited and that list has become quite long since 2014.

Back in the car, we typed in post code of pub two which returned that now familiar address "unnamed road".  We have become quite accustomed to rural outreaches and dodgy winding treacherous roads up here, but this still raised eyebrows.  We eventually found it even if Mr SatNav had stopped communicating with us (sulking from earlier cos they had built a new road near Bedale which confused him as he thought we'd gone 'off-road', the utter dimwit).

1025.  George & Dragon, Hudswell

I'd been really excited about this one because not only is it community owned but also shortlisted (or it was) for the top CAMRA pub of the year award.  So I was quite surprised how modern it felt, loungey, not at all restauranty, but we felt the huge back window view over the Swale Valley let a bit too much light in (the pub's main attraction apart from the ale) and thus, it lost something of the warmth of it's Reeth counterpart.  What was impressive was the barman's service, helpful friendly attitude and the superb beer quality (you know when you've been having good quality ale but suddenly one is so good, it really hits you?!)  And it had a great community feel as a sheepish old lady tottered in and asked us to take part in the raffle - or the greatest Hudswell rip-off, as it should be known.  You get a card with a few pairs of numbers on, from 1-30, then I was privileged to draw one of two numbers, 8, and someone else drew a 20.  Dad caused a kerfuffle by claiming he'd won because he had 28 on his card, but alas, you needed 8 & 20.  Chances of winning this?  A better mathematician will tell you it is probably about 1 in 1,800.  I let Dad vent about Hudswell village hall corruption, neglecting to tell him the woman was now sat right behind us!  She sloped out guiltily soon after.  Classic.

Fire number two

Long distance view of Dad being unaware woman sat behind him in window

Probably amazing in summer

Mine young host has the beer situation covered.
Back towards Bedale we found the pretty village of Snape, which no one has ever heard of before and was probably built in 2016 just so they could open a pub in a weird location and put it in the GBG to confound pub tickers like me.

Dad is happy to be in Snape
1026.  Castle Arms, Snape

The Grinton-esque Jennings sign was an indication we were entering Marston's territory, and whilst it wasn't one of their horrific family dining pubs, it's fair to say that you are hardly likely to be blown away by it's brilliance, because it isn't.  Cosy and low-ceilinged, another fire, though we had to share a table with the food and wine menus, oldsters with their faces in the nosebag, two poncey handsoaps and bog-standard (literally) paper towels arranged in a wicker basket, this was verging on twee bollocks when all said and done.  You know what is annoying in pubs?  When a group goes to the bar and then pay for all their drinks separately.  I'd normally blame younger people for this, so when three coffin dodgers sidled up to the bar and told the landlord "I hope you are good at dividing by 3", I thought it was a bit rubbish of them.  Our beers, a new fangled Wychwood and a new fangled Marstons were both a bit thin and limp, hard to know if pub or brewery but looked good so perhaps the latter.  A very hungry dog kept licking my hand, ugh.  The gents were labelled "Kings", the ladies "Queens" (I assume, maybe 'Prawns').  More and more dogs appeared, one called Lucy caused the most consternation, we were soon hurdling them Beckenham style, before someone announced "if he's got an attitude, he'll wee on the floor!"  Hard to know who they were talking about.


Oh dear.

Fire number three, hurrah!
We had to scoot back to York pretty sharpish for family related 'fun', but overall a really good interesting day and some nice pubs.

I've forgotten to review my Friday trip to Skipton so will do that tomorrow (Monday) night if I have the energy.  Tue and Fri I have further West Yorkshire trips planned, and a similar day to this one on Saturday.  Only 17 Yorkshire pubs remain - come on, we can finish this!


Wednesday, 8 February 2017

BRAPA - Back in the Bradford

In that formative year in BRAPA history (2014 to be precise), it felt like I was never out of Bradford pub-ticking, but since an amazing trip Jacobs Beer House on 4th November that year, I've not had reason to return to this crazy city.  Until now that is, two and a bit years on.

And so it came to pass that I was walking from Interchange station up through town on a relatively mild February evening - the dark evening sky stifling my inner core in a way which only a place like Bradford can.   And then, my pub/bar/cafe appeared on the street corner like a beacon of hope ......

A beacon of hope? 

1022.  Record Cafe, Bradford

"Mood" lighting combined with glaring spotlights coming from behind the bar meant that I could barely see what was on the handpumps at all - the blackboard was no clearer - and if you throw into the equation three stubborn old barflies who were reluctant to move, a perfect storm was created whereby I had no idea what I was ordering.  Just my luck then that I later discovered it was a 7.4% hoppy pale ale.  No wonder one of the men turned to me and nodded in a sage manner!  It made no sense at the time.  So what is this place all about then?  I'll tell you, vinyl, ale and ham.  And a sweaty Steve Coogan in his suit was sucking up a plate of salami, also stood at the bar.  Because when they say "ham" in these places, they actually mean "cured meats".  Gimme a bit of tinned spam any day.  I sat down facing the bar, back resting on a cushion against a brick wall.  So for the vinyl then .... and I spied an upstairs with records.  I went to explore, very retro, very 'cool', shame you couldn't sit up here.  And the record collection itself?  As you'd expect - boring Bowie, boring Beatles, Glumford & Sons, and just enough rare pressed pink Sex Pistols vinyl to make it semi-interesting.  Back downstairs, to my right, three elders greeted each other in French but became increasingly northern.  By the time I left, last thing I heard, and a direct quote "Eeeee corned beef hash!  Wi' brown sauce n Yorkshires, aye."  To my left, a beardie on a laptop.  He started on the ale but then ordered a pint of water with cranberries floating in the top with a side of olives.  Twat.  I liked this cafe's atmosphere though, and when the two bar girls wrestled a huge slab of pig into a vice like meat cutter, I had to stay for another half and observe.  A young Jesus finally came to their rescue.  You could do worse than visit this place.  A less pretentious Friends of Ham for an older crowd, and I do actually like that place too.

The pub's mantra

Pint of 7.4%, and flowers in an empty Beavertown can (classy!)

Meat n Merch, hanging from the rafters

Retro upstairs vinyl area

For sale.
The Great Yorkshire Progress

Only 21 GBG pubs left to do in the whole of Yorkshire (13 North, 8 West).  I'll be doing a couple of North ones over the weekend, see you Friday.  And work have promised me I can finally, finally get back to a few 4pm finishes which will help with some of the West Yorks trips that require a bus ride.
Still on for a late March finish, so this is my main BRAPA focus for the next few weeks.  Some, as you'd expect, have weird opening days and times so I will have to adapt my days a bit to achieve the goal.