BRAPA - North Yorkshire - School Adventure Day Trip

11am on Thursday morning and all was well with the world.  A day off work, the kind of beautiful summer's day we never get in summer, my York Beer Festival hangover had subsided, and as Dad was presented with his "two year chauffeur contract", Mr SatNav was at his stoic best, failing to tell us about various country lane turnings until it was too late.

I changed the starting pub three times in the first half an hour, but after a tortuous drive through the centre of Harrogate (very much like a tough piece of beef stuck in an intestine), it was 12 noon and I screamed "STOP!" as we tore past pub number one on the main road.  A quick U-turn and we were in the car park.

Me about to get slapped with a ticket for being in the disabled space.

897.  Hopper Lane Hotel, Blubberhouses

Being the first "official" 'tick' of the 2017 Good Beer Guide, I stomped into the wooden floored pub in cheery mood, asking the blonde daughter barmaid how she was today.  "Errm, I'm alright" she said in a pained manner out of the corner of her mouth, trying desperately to flex those facial muscles into a smile - but being a P.I.S.S. barmaid, she obviously failed.  After more painful interaction and me trying to pay using a stray dice I found in a pocket, we found a nice outdoor drinking area (can't quite bring myself to say 'beer garden') backing onto a field filled with sheep who kept hiding behind hedges.  Possibly because the smell of roast lamb was emanating from the kitchen.  Dad was being a bit lame, reckoning it was too hot, and not for the first time today, he played his "wasp get out of jail free card" by saying the insects were hassling us, trying to get into our excellent quality pints of Jorvik Blonde by Rudgate.  Being inside a least allowed me to get a feel for the pub, the quirkiest point being a bust of Beethoven staring down a glass covered well.  I then confused Dad by asking him if this was the Boyzone version of 'Words' or the Bee Gees original.  Mum landlady was even less smiley than her daughter, Dad appeared to be on Crack Cocaine.  The music was awful, the pub average and although Dad sporadically kept making assenting noises, "ooh I could bring your mother here", "quite nice", "decent pub this", as soon as we got back into the carpark, he stated "well, that was incredibly average wasn't it?"  And it was.

Dad - pre wasp complaints.

View of this large multi levelled pub, you can just see the glass well & Beethoven.

The sheep are hiding but a nice view.

 We carried along some rather extreme country roads (I almost feel guilty for making Dad do this driving lark) but we soon arrived at Malham.  And it was HEAVING with bloody school kids.  Where were the teachers?  In the pub.  Of course.

We'd both been talking about various school outings around here from our youths (me at the horrific Bewerley Park in the depths of January, Dad at some cave dwellings probably sometime B.C., he wasn't sure on the year).

Pretty frontage to the pub, but can it overcome tourist mediocrity? 

898.  Lister Arms, Malham

Having found a free car park but still needing to go "off-road" and park on the grass next to a tree, we had to walk past the schoolkids, who were all about taking selfies with stalactites and testing soil pH levels with iPhone apps, the youthy scumbags!  Anyway.  a square jawed black haired chap of suspicious friendliness (you could see him thinking "pints only, no food, and they aren't teachers, what is their game?") served from a good ale range, my Settle Mainline was very meaty.  We pushed past bikers in shorts and guilty teachers to find a bench seat, but this pub was hellbent on committing a plethora of BRAPA sins.  Pointless piles of logs near a fire - check.  Knives n forks on all tables- check.  Chintzy cushions making it hard to sit on flimsy bench seating - check.  Top Trumps style cards of all the staff pulling funny faces to make them look 'humourous' - check.    Uniformed waiters kept disappearing outside, to serve coffee, scones and jam to old people.  So I hope you are getting a picture of why this wasn't pub of the year, without being terrible.  Saddest thing was the tankard being used to hold 'our' knives and forks was etched with the year 1935 and the name of presumably a former customer when this pub was quite different / better!  My favourite part of the pub was the toilets - underground and refreshingly cool.  Wish I'd drunk my pint in there.

Note the old tankard with it's "new use". 

View to the bar after the teachers remembered their responsibilities.

Coffee, scones and jam more popular than beer here.

Parking in the famous and picturesque village of Grassington was even tougher, we had to pay and display here and still walk in, cursing the hot weather bringing out the tourists.  However, this was a much older crowd.  Topless old gents sucking up vanilla ice cream with sunburnt faces happily staring into the sun with vacant expressions.

Dad needs a wee, but he still manages to pose (sort of).

899.  Foresters Arms, Grassington

After two pubs lacking in what I could say was "true pub character", we were rewarded here.  The barmaid was on her phone as I scanned the bar to find the guest ale, obscured by board at the far end.  She must have seen us come in, for although Dad had long since disappeared to the loo, she turned round to ask "what would you both like?" and quickly looked puzzled as I turned to my imaginary friend and said we'd both love a pint of Wharfedale Blonde.  She did redeem herself by calling me "Sir", a nice addition to September's South Yorkshire pub greetings of "Duck", "Cock", "Luvvie", "Pal" and "Chief". The pub certainly was trying to give a rustic impression of still being in the 1940's, with money saving war slogans, an old typewriter, and pictures and photos of the pub from yesteryear.  It was perhaps a bit forced, but a nice sentiment.  Back in the 21st century, one of my favourite occasional BRAPA moments ensued when an old chap brought his Filipino bride into the pub - "give 'er a pint of blackcurrant!" he ordered (he may as well have added "whether she likes it or not!")  She later escaped his clutches to return to the bar, asking for 'pork crisps'.  After some confusion, turned out she wanted scratchings and there was much relief I can tell you.

Later on, our barmaid shouted from the kitchen area "shall I put the chicken on?".  In the true spirit of Martin Taylor's ace blogs, your quiz question today is "What was Dad's reply?"

Nice but very dry Wharfedale Beer served in correct glassware.

"I've got 300 loaves in my pantry, will that be enough to scare off Mr Hitler?"

 We meandered back towards York, taking a slight detour around the Ripon / Knaresborough area to help me get up my 900th pub - that is 1/5 of the GBG.  And this time, it was a bit of a happier experience than the Dulcimer in Chorlton-cum-Hardy.

We had to wait for traffic to clear for ages before achieving this shot.

900.  Guy Fawkes Arms, Scotton

What is this strange rural North Yorkshire phenomenon?  Yes, I do believe it is a friendly, happy, fully engaged and personable barman.  Well well well.  A rarity.  And what a lovely chap, bit concerned that a beer called Lemongrass Thai might need a "try before you buy", and despite some faint Fairy Liquid lingerings, it was pleasant on a muggy evening.  The pub was a little bit foody with a more traditional drinkers area near the bar being leant on by locals, so we went outside where earlier, a nosy old couple had watched Dad try to reverse into the smallest car parking space ever.  A bit like the low roofed pub, it seemed to have originated from a time when people and cars were a lot smaller!  There was a real calmness about the place despite a busy main road out the front stopping it from achieving full "Criggionesque" levels, and even the slow moving wasps, confused by the September heat, were not being threatening enough on this occasion to force Dad back inside. I did threaten to kill one with my new 2017 GBG but it crawled into an old woman's discarded glass of Prosecco and immediately died anyway.  Probably.

There was no time to pop into the non-GBG listed Fox (no I'll NEVER let that one go!) on the way back as Dad was cooking tea for the ankle invalid, and I had to be well enough for a project at work the next day.

Tomorrow, I'll be back on the BRAPA trail starting in a county where I only have 14 ticks to my name, before moving to one where I have 62.  But I'm looking for the maximum six tomorrow (three in each) so here's hoping for a good day with public transport!  I'll write it up on Sunday.

Si

BRAPA - Good Beer Guide 2017 published today!

15th September 2016, it is official, the Good Beer Guide is upon us.

For those of us who have respected the embargo through those difficult days of late August / early September when the CAMRA carrier pigeons buckled under the 1,000 plus pages heading to "The North", some even being electrocuted on power lines just outside Stockport, today is a momentous day.

I have finished my "cross-ticking exercise".  I was on 1,006 pubs going into the 'blackout' period, I emerge 110 poorer at 896.  Was expecting about 100 drop, but at one stage looked nearer 150 so I can't complain.

Here's ten highlights, lowlights and BRAPA strategy ideas for the 2016/17 "season" (like you care).

1.  Tuesday Triumph - Yorkshire of course is my main focus, living there n all, and it has not been too cruel.  South Yorkshire looks very achievable by the end of 2016, and whilst West Yorkshire has thrown up plenty of new challenges, I love my Tuesday nights so lots to look forward to.  North and East Yorkshire have been kinder, I'm aiming to finish all four Ridings (or whatever they are called) by the end of next summer.

2.  The Bedfordshire Conundrum - Sounds like a dull Dan Brown novel*, but I'll explain.  I had completed Beds, and moved onto Berks.  But now Beds has new pubs to go at.  So do I return to Beds once I've completed Berks, or move on to Bucks and sack off Beds until I've done all other counties in many years time, then go back round the counties again?  My three leading 'strategists' all favoured the latter approach, so that is what I will do.  Did that make sense?

3.  Evil Greater Manchester - All this tooling around missing Hull City away games (NFFD's) to tick off the many weird and wonderful places that inhabit this region, and how does it repay me, with the biggest percentage drop of anywhere?!  It's taking the P I S S out of me.  Suddenly, Altrincham, Ashton under Lyne, Atherton, Billinge and Tyldesley all have new pubs to visit.  I'm surprised Crooke hasn't opened up a new underwater canal micropub.  Arrrghhhhh.  And I bet it would have a shitty Christmas menu.

4.  Berkshire Blast - My current "long distance" focus county is not looking too bad, by contrast.  Amazingly ALL my pre-emptive ticks I did early September are in the GBG, even horrid Theale (fancy that!) and I can see me finishing the county by Feb/March 2017.  I'd like to once again thank Tim Thomas and Sir Quinno for keeping me on the right Berkshire track back in April.

5.  Bucking Hell - Which makes Buckinghamshire my "far away focus" (FAF) county of 2017.  I lost more than 50% of the 11 pubs I'd done here (i.e. 6) so am annoyed our Wembley day pub ticking was almost totally in vain.  Roger Protz might find it commendable MK has forgone all it's entries ("doing a Watford" as it is known in the trade), but for me, sheer annoyance!

6.  Chauff me the Money - With self driving cars still not available, and Tom still not passing his driving test (not sure which of these two would be safer) Dad is my premier chauffeur / tricky pub ticking buddy having earned himself a new 2 year contract(!) with BRAPA, having impressed in mid-Wales.  We've spoken about strategy, so on Hull City home days, I'm advised to focus on the likes of Lancs, Greater Manc, Merseyside, Cheshire, Notts, Cumbria and Durham and leave tricky Yorkshire days for when he's free.  This is a shift in focus but makes sense, and our sporadic NFFD's with Tom will continue.

7.  Pre-emptive Joy - Most satisfying to see some pre-emptive pub visits making their way into the guide, the gamble (in some cases) paid off.  Cow & Cask, Newbury, Castle Tap, Reading, Bald Buzzard, Leighton Buzzard, New Brew-m, Burnley, Butchers Dog, Driffield, Gallaghers, Cross Hills - just some of those mainly micro pubs which've come good for me.

8.  Marvellous Middlesbrough, Yucky York - Speaking of micro pubs, my place of the 2017 GBG is Boro.  It has added Infant Hercules but none of the other micros apart from Dr Phil's which I perhaps judged unfairly due to the time of day of my visit (sure they all opened about same time as IH so must qualify) but what a fantastic bold step to reintroduce Isaac Wilson excellent Spoons near the station instead.  Parmos are on me.  I also think Sheffield got it spot on with it's entries this year.  I can't really criticise most places as I'm rarely more than a one off visitor, but me and my York friends go around random York pubs almost every Thursday and I cannot believe the decision making.  Fox is probably my pub of the year, anywhere.  Deguided.  Old Ebor, superb quality ale, cracking locals pub, passionate landlord,  deguided.  Rook & Gaskill pub of the year?  Gimme a break.  Falcon Tap deserves it's debut, Duke of York, well, it's okay, but hardly pulls up any trees.  Still, as John Watson says, we (local CAMRA members) all get a vote, it's democratic, so you gotta abide by the decisions made.

9.  Archive Surprise - I've counted 24 pubs in the new GBG which I hadn't reviewed since BRAPA has started, either because they weren't in 2014,15 or 16 GBG's, or I didn't consider them as GBG worthy pubs when I visited,  so over the next three Mondays, I will be reviewing 8 of them at a time.  Don't I spoil you?

10.  You Absolute Anchor!  - After a year plus of planning this fabled almost mythical pub, references galore with the likes of Martin Taylor and Pub Curmudgeon, me and Martin both get to it, it lived up to the billing with wonderful ale, top landlord and what happens, they de-guide it!  If one thing sums up the frustration of pub ticking, this is it.

I've got today off (not because the Guide is out, but to "recover" from last night's York Beer Festival).  I didn't overdo it because today seems like a fitting day to go BRAPping.

Si

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* The Bedfordshire Conundrum, Chapter 1.

I entered the dusty old Christian chapel on a wet November morning.  A man hunched over an alter in robes, heard my footsteps and stood up, bolt upright.  "Simon, is that you?" he ventured in a voice broken by too many average pints of Greene King IPA.  "But how did you know my name?"  "We have been expecting you.  Biggleswade has been expecting you.  You are the only one who can solve our conundrum .... the Bedfordshire Conundrum!".

Bewildered, I stood open mouthed but he reached forward with an athleticism defying his years, or come to think of it, anyone in East Beds.  He grabbed my arm and took me over to an unkempt rusty window, displaying a stained glass prism.  "You see the prism?"  I squinted into the sunlight which had conveniently appeared at this moment despite the grey rainy morning.  "Yes, I do sir" I replied.  "Don't call me sir, my name is Alan".  Alan seemed a disappointing name all things considered.

"Now see here", Alan rolled out some parchment over the parapet displaying a map of Biggleswade town centre.  He took a quill (the poser could have used a biro) and marked a cross.  This represents "The Golden Pheasant".  He drew another cross.  "And this, the Wheatsheaf".  I looked sceptical.   He drew a third cross and looked at me inquiringly.  "Errrm, the Stratton House Hotel?" I asked tentatively.  "Don't be fucking stupid, that place has been shit for years Simon.  No, that is the New Inn Alehouse & Kitchen!"  And then he drew a line going West.  "And what is that?!"  I exclaimed.  "That is the bus route to the Cock at Broom.  It has no bar.  NO BAR!!!"

And then he vanished in a cloud of smoke, leaving behind him a scent of stale Charles Wells Eagle IPA.  What did it all mean, the Bedfordshire Conundrum? 

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BRAPA - Doncaster Doom

You'd have thought by now, the number of times I've visited the town of Doncaster, I'd have been confident, relaxed, been embraced by the locals as "one of them" .... NO CHANCE!  With one of the hottest September days on Donny record, the freaks were out in force making for a hair raising experience.....

Man from my train fails to enter pub.  Loser.

Leopard, Doncaster

The Leopard, one of those "oh my god Si how have you not visited this pub before?" pubs looked splendid from the outside.  Green tiling must be my favourite pub exterior along with cats and stuffed owls on spikes.  Inside was immediately more underwhelming, not that I had chance to take it all in.  The ales seemed to be missing and a barman (possibly Leo Fortune-West) seemed just as confused as me, told me a blackboard displaying them had gone walkabout.  A more senior barman then asked if I was a "Rep" and when I told him no, just a CAMRA member, he got a bit sheepish and gave me 10% discount.  Wish I'd have said yes to see what would have happened, but no doubt my Tim Taylor top was to blame.  I decided to sit in the right hand room of the three (table tennis and pool in the back).  As I "admired" the fake bookcase and listened to conversations like (a) "if poker is annoying you, don't get addicted, just give up" and (b) "How did you manage to buy a church by accident?", I read my Donny Drinker thinking this is quite a standard pub experience for Doncaster, especially when a Vietnamese bag lady appeared from nowhere.   But then, "Whisky Steve" arrived.  Oh dear!  Once he'd ascertained I wasn't gay (he said he always checks, it's the one type of person he won't talk to), he sat with me, forever.  Wish I'd said I was.  He was amazed to learn I was 37 and not 12 years old.   He compared himself to Einstein (when sober), told me he liked boobs, and then when a chap in a turban walked in, he chanted "I Sikh him here, I Sikh him there, I Sikh him everywhere".  So embarrassed, I downed my Sharp's Atlantic, made my excuses and ran out as quickly as I could.

Not much was going on at this stage .....

The calm before the whisky storm.

Flying Scotsman Tap, Doncaster

Pre-Steve, the Donny Drinker had told me this was a pub of the season with it's Chantry ales and live music, so in need of a calmer experience(!), I headed down the hellhole that is Silver Street, all horrific bars and takeaways with scroats and skanks lining the streets,  I'd been expecting some shiny metallic trendy bar full of uncomfortable posing tables, so to find quite a divey dark gig venue was quite a relief.  The barman was of the enthusiastic, cheery ilk (like all bar staff in South Yorkshire towns, pleased to see anyone drinking ale).  He asked me the old "What type of beers do you like?" question, I humoured him by saying "stout and porter" but it'd just gone off so rather than offering me the nearest fit, he sold me the lightest hoppiest beer on sale cos he liked it best!  Bit too dry but the New York Pale at least reminded me of better pubs in Rotherham,  I squashed into an incomprehensibly low settee as two unwashed old men chuckled about the warm weather and wives hanging their washing out (or something).  The artwork was all Brewdog and Bowie.  Ugh.  Our barman kept checking on me & the state of the ale, calling me "duck" far more than was necessary - he must have moved from Derbys, he probably thought I was a rep too.  The music was good, the place a bit dull, though just as I was leaving, "Go Now" by the Moody Blues started up which summed up just how welcome I felt in Donny tonight!

Put "Tap" in front of a pub, and it might get in the GBG one day!

Empty moshing space

Top quality Chantry

After another terrifying walk back to Donny station where three topless teenage chavs crossed the road in an aggressive manner, I did my usual ritual/superstition of getting fleeced by the station vending machine, (£1 plain chocolate Bounty).  Three drunk men in vests came along to tell me I could pay contactless on this vending machine and how ridiculous that was but was I having a good evening?  They had a point of course, but "WHY CAN'T PEOPLE JUST LEAVE ME ALONE?!"

It was a relief when I got back to 'boring, no-one gives a shit about their fellow man' York.

Good Beer Guide 2017 out on Thursday, I will be back with a special blog so see ya then.

Si

BRAPA - Padiham & Burnley

The 'cushion of controversy', Padiham (see below)

It was time for Hull City's annual visit to Burnley.  Seriously it doesn't matter whether or not we play in the EPL (spit!) or the Maidstone & Snodland District League Division 5, Burnley would still be in our division.

After a 17 minute bus journey, we were in Padiham.  It wasn't the sandstone hillside Pendle village I'd imagined in my mind's eye with a friendly witch stirring newt eyes into a cauldron, but just a busy road to Burnley with a bridge over a river, a few shops and random buildings on each side.  Still seems a strange place to have your hen-do, as my manager at work did.

Disturbed character waiting for pub to open.

The pub was off the main road, up a cobbled hill and we arrived dead on 12 noon to find the erstwhile Tom Irvin outside, soon joined by an old local at 12:01 anxious a late opening might stop his enjoyment of the Manchester derby.  Finally (well, 12:02), that happiest of all sounds as the door was unbolted from within......

Hare & Hounds, Padiham

The pub was suitably multi-roomed, dark and a tiny bit dingy despite the sunny morning - perfect!  A good range of local-ish ales were on (I tried the likes of Coach House, Worsthorne and Accrington's Clock) and Dad was swiftly admonished by the young barmaid for suggesting that a 7.3% stout was a  "bit strong".  She wasn't  joking.  I think this shows us that she isn't the kind of girl who'd fret about a sheep cushion being moved, but it didn't stop Tom trying to get me into trouble for moving it .... had I been 'barred' before my minimum 25 minute stay, there'd have been trouble!  As it was, she was looking for the remote control and with the Manchester derby on three screens, fresh beermats handed out to the customer's like a card game, and the smell of wet dog (lolloping at the bar) neutralised by cigarette smoke (it isn't 2007 in Padiham yet), the pub really started to swing into life.  When I say 'life', I mean the ever-so-slightly terrifying clientele.  Twilds who you wouldn't dare call twilds had mini mohawks and troubled stares, their parents all tattoos, fake tans, tracksuits and hooped earrings.  I didn't dare photograph them.  To ramp up the "local interest" element, someone on Twitter told me that this pub is known locally as the Stabbers Arms after the landlady's partner followed a customer home, stabbed him, customer then returned to pub (presumably for a last rites pint of 7.3% stout) where he died on the pub steps.  We speculated on whether anyone currently here might have been involved, and Dad whispered "they probably ALL have tags on and are out on day release".  After this story, there was no chance we weren't going to take part in the pub football team raffle (I chose Hull City & Hibs) but I haven't been contacted with my winnings yet.  Memorable pub!

After one of the more enjoyable 90 minutes at Turf Moor, I was walking away from the ground when I stumbled across this club looking like it was going to sell quality real ale, and despite a stern looking skinhead with folded arms outside the closed front door, I snuck in through a side door.

KSC 110 Club, Burnley

I suddenly had to set my expression from "94th minute equaliser euphoria" to "abject disappointment" as I saw the sullen faces of the Clarets packed into the room.  I revealed my Notsensibles band t-shirt (Burnley's finest early 80's irreverent punk band) and shook my head at a kind old man as if to say "HOW did we not hang on for victory?" and before I knew it, I was in the inner circle being served Reedley Hallows superb ales - easily my pint of the day and it'd be nice to think this club would get in the 2017 GBG when it is released on Thursday.  I perched on the end of the bar, a good way to see how ultra hard the army of staff were working and I don't think I've ever seen so many empties being returned to the bar in such a short space of time.  Robert Snodgrass did a lot for local beer industry yesterday.  I couldn't really move enough to leave the club (good excuse), so ended up staying for another where the kids and women started to disperse (the men said they were staying for just one more) and I finally got a seat for the last 10 minutes.

Back in the street, the football traffic had cleared and I had time to pop in to the Ministry of Ale for a final drink before the train back to York, via L**ds.  The Ministry was one of my original favourite real ale pubs, surprised it hasn't been in the GBG in recent years, and I was just starting to suspect a falling out with the local CAMRA (politics!) when on this occasion, my beer was rapidly descending into vinegar.  At least I got a nice chat with some stray Tigers.

So all in all, a pretty good day out and sat here 7:30pm on Sunday, still feel a bit hungover!  On Ripper Street this week, Drake asked Reid why on earth he'd leave his peaceful seaside town to return to the grime and seedy crime of 1890's Whitechapel?  "Because this is where life is!" and exactly why I'd take a million 'mild peril' pubs of East Lancs over a sanitised gastro buggy-friendly non-threatening place in South East London.

I'll be back in South Yorkshire tomorrow evening for more pre-emptive fun, and will write it up on Tuesday.  Have a good week and get down t'pub!

Si

BRAPA - Barnsley Bonus Bonanza

Tuesday afternoon at work and I had that sudden compulsion that we all get at some stage of our lives, to 'randomly' visit the pubs of Barnsley that I'd not quite managed to do before.

After a train journey on the familiar 16:40 from DirtyL**ds, which was only notable for a power-dressing business woman slaying her own mother over the phone for not knowing where the bread was,  I was in the muggy town of the Tyke Monsters in good time.

All quiet on the Dove front.

Dove Inn, Barnsley

I almost came here circa 2005/6, but deemed it "too close to the football ground" on a match day and likely to be heaving.  If you don't know which way you are walking from the station, it isn't an easy one to find, and as soon as I stepped inside the Alhambra shopping centre, Google Maps basically said "Si, you are on your own from here".  After side stepping some teenage chavs, I found myself being greeted by one man sat at a table in the middle of the pub, the landlord.  "Yes cock?!" he exclaimed, well I've never been so insulted!  Friendly Barnsley greeting I hope.  As the only customer present (brilliant at first, but soon depressing), I sat in the main bar enjoying my Old Mill guest ale (a brewery I usually find a bit crummy) admiring memorabilia from Barnsley F.C.'s "golden ages".  So 1910-11 and briefly in the mid 1990's then.  Toby Tyke kept staring at me in a foreboding manner, I had to remind myself I lived here in 1983 (town, not pub) and my great uncle played for the Tykes in the 1920's so I am virtually royalty.  My pictures might make the pub look ultra traditional, but it has suffered a massive stroke on the right hand side and is all a bit restauranty (well, dried flowers in small vases on wooden tables) and was this the reason for the emptiness?  Isolating old school drinkers, yet at the same time, hardly the most salubrious of eateries either?  Great ale though, told barman, called me "mate" this time as he hummed in a slightly mad, out-of-tune way to himself......

A 15 minute walk across town took me down Summer Lane, to a pub that myself and the redoubtable Tom Irvin tried to enter after 12 noon in July 2014, supposed to be open.  We even rang the pub phone number but nothing doing.  After some questionable theories, we settled on "pub closed forever" (it made me feel better) and returned, brows dripping with sweat, to the Old No 7 where Bernard Everitt was all like "why did you ever leave here in the first place?"

Carling, John Smiths, Fosters or Beautique Treatments?

Commercial, Barnsley

A proper local community spirit was brewing on this warm Tuesday evening with an occupied pool table and England U21's on a screen.  I was greeted as "luvvie" by a barmaid in a fetching black and white striped get-up, and was soon enjoying a typically amazing pint of Abbeydale Deception, choosing to sit "right in the heart of the action" rather than cower in the empty far corner room - after all, I needed blog material!   As friendly (and ever-so-slightly edgy) as this pub was, the main criticism has to be the amount of hypochondriacs that abound.  Firstly, barmaid herself.  "I'm ultra tired, definitely something wrong with me" she kept saying.  It didn't stop her getting animated at the slightest hint of excitement and told a tale of some drunk guy throwing a bucket of water on her last night.  He nearly got barred when he refused to get in a taxi and then demanded another pint.  This place must be fun at 11pm.  Then a neck-aching layabout girl entered and ordered much Prosecco, admitting she actually cried when the doctor refused to give her any medication.  She then sympathised with the chubbier pool player, he's been "laid up sick" all week - yet he was on his 5th bottle of Bud (since I'd arrived) and was racing around a pool table like a hairier but still more acceptable Stephen Lee.  Was I seeing the dark side of Barnsley society?  At least I got called "pal" for opening a door for a man with too many drinks and not enough balance, and then when Rashford scored for England U21's, they all nodded smugly in unison and went "aye, Rashford's got it, aye" as though he's a Barnsley born and bred regular.  Insane pub.

The blurry beers

Action shot of beer and one of the few people without an ailment

Joseph Bramah, Barnsley

'Spoons time it was, armed with another Mudgie voucher to get the price down to £1.59 for a very good Horbury Beer.  Reason I've not been here before was that when I went to the other Spoons, I just didn't have the heart to do two in one day!  'Spoons pubs seem to have one of two entrance types - either, and most commonly, the light glass door, wide and bustling, greeted by tables at all angles as you fight your way to a bar straight ahead.  Or like this one, the narrow thin dark entrance with a few miserable locals lining the walls, where the pub slopes before sweeping round left or right to the bar.  All the drama here was at the bar where a horrid man from the West Country, having earlier admitted confusing the young barman with a complex order, then slagged him off to more senior staff "You need to train your staff better!"  "It's only his second shift!" protested the guy serving me,  "EXACTLY!" said West Country Twat, which was a comeback which made no sense to anyone who witnessed it.  Seriously, if I had a west country accent in Barnsley, I'd not be making a spectacle of myself.  As I sat down at a sticky table and brushed crumbs onto the floor, I wondered what the army of female skanks (oops, waitresses) were actually doing, well until the tiny strawberry blonde tanned one smiled at me, then I forgave them.  Upstairs was a huge seating area and another bar, the locals all looking at me like "this is an upstairs room for local people!"  Then, nothing else happened for the next half an hour.

The scene so typically Spoons.

So that was nice, three more pubs errrm, not ticked off cos they aren't in the GBG just yet, but visited pre-emptively anyway.  Journey back nice and uneventful despite changing at L**ds again, and back on with cross-ticking my new GBG in readiness for 15th September.  I will be in Burnley on Saturday for some football and real ale, so will keep you posted.

Si

BRAPA - Back in Berkshire (Part 7)

DISCLAIMER - Any pubs I visited today should be viewed as pre-emptive ticks.  I'm asking you to believe that I heard about these pubs either through word-of-mouth, on social media, read about them in a CAMRA mag (Ullage perhaps), or simply stumbled across them when walking down the street and thought "ooh, that looks like a pub with quality real ale".  

Chaos in Paddington station on Saturday morning.  All trains were delayed/cancelled because one signal man had been taken ill.  One man!  I squashed into a "vestibule end" on the first available slow stopper but was still in Reading by 11am, where I then took another delayed train to Midgham.

Midgham Station is actually in Woolhampton, a local old lady telling me this is because there used to be "Wolverhampton" confusion so they couldn't call it Woolhampton.  Fact of the day?

Finally, the pub was in sight but I couldn't get to it even then because one of those swing bridges over a river was letting canal barges through for 5 minutes.  I finally got in the pub at 11:46am.

Finally at pub 1 after 3.75 hours travel torment!

Rowbarge, Woolhampton

I was surprised to see such a wide range of ales (six of them), all from microbreweries and was greeted by six members of staff (none of them doing any work) so one fresh-faced lad stepped up to serve me.  The other five took what seemed to be a "secret meeting" around the corner out of earshot.  I saw my barman looking disturbed by this, so being evil, I asked him what plans they were possibly hatching!  As I took my pint outside, I heard him demanding an explanation.  Isn't paranoia wonderful?  The other customers seemed very well-to-do middle agers reading broadsheets and drinking cappuchino in smoking jackets, making the most of canal-side sunshine before the rains came.  I managed to make a spectacle of myself looking for the hidden toilets (up narrow staircase behind a door) and then the rain started early, a fact I pointed out to a posh lady who simple replied "quaite".  I was drinking a beer by "Wild Weather" so it seemed fitting.  We all went back indoors en masse, the pub and setting very much a cross between Curridge's Bunk Inn and the Crooke Hall Inn nr Wigan. I couldn't find a copy of Ullage so I perched in the main bar on a posing table, looking very innocuous as the lone drinker whilst my barman was still looking nervous, sulky and on edge.  If a body is found in the canal this morning, I think we can all guess who it belongs to .... nice pub this.

Before the rains came

Last seen alive 12:30pm yesterday serving a loud man in red shorts.

One stop back up the line towards Reading is Aldermaston, which I used to get to Beenham back on my April four day extravaganza.  But now it has a pub I "heard" about and needed to "visit".

Nice Butt

Butt Inn, Aldermaston

As the barmaid pulled me a pint of strong Dr Hexler's West Berkshire Something ale (one of three on), she looked all panicky and exclaimed "bear with me, I'm new!" as if I was judging her pulling technique(!)  Well, I wouldn't have even noticed.  Of bigger concern were her tiny hands, not ideal when you are trying to pay for a £3.50 pint in mainly 10p's.  With a very restauranty area to the left, and a whining dog to the right, I sat in the main bar but the lack of head on my beer (a common theme today) meant I spilled it all over the floor and table, and this wasn't the kind of pub which would have beermats to soak up the mess.  Behind me, three oldsters had to try and fit three plates of ham, egg n chips onto a small table (no complaints about cold ham, this isn't Wentworth) whilst their docile dog, a lovely shabby thing called Jenny (stupid dog name) slept at their feet.   To be fair to the whimpering dog on the far side, I think it was joining in with piped Adele.  The landlady appeared with a cloth and wiped the surplus beer off my table, I apologised and was just about to mention beermats when she called me "darling" so it didn't feel right.  Next we had a Twild of the year contender, appearing in a hoodie and having a strop cos he wanted sweets from a dispenser by the bar for his pudding.  They gave in (weak parenting) on the basis he shared them, but he then exclaimed "noooo I HATE SHARING!" and ran off with the full pack.  Main ham and egg bloke and me shook our heads and exchanged glances as if to say "spoilt little shit!"  Kinda summed up the pub.

The bar at the Butt

Eclectic bookcase action at the Butt.

One more stop up the line was Theale.  A town which should be good as it is an anagram of "the ale".  It isn't though, it has an aggressive undercurrent of chavery which was best highlighted by a horrible man who got angry with the train for almost "not letting him off" and called everyone cunts which seemed harsh under the circs.  His toothless girlfriend murmured it was his own fault as he'd fallen asleep after all that cider.....  

With people like this around, at least the pubs of Theale should be "real" I thought,  Wrong!

At the sign of the Bull

Bull, Theale

I've not been in many Wadworth pubs before, if any, and if this is a reflection of them, I'm not missing anything.  I was stood there for ages trying to get served, before the staff actually TURNED AROUND and only because I'd rustled a five pound note like I was after a cheap lapdance, probably the only kind in Theale.  Remember my description last week of that pub in Marske, and all the little quirks that made it perfect, well this was the antithesis.  Horrendous.  Cushions, kids, Mum's, buggies, more piped Adele, sterile, bad service, staff apart from one man who waved at me for no reason were like zombies.  Even when a barmaid caught me eating my own Sainsbury's spicy chicken bites, I said "hi" to try and cover myself and she just gave me a look of total contempt.  Chucking me out would have been kinder.  Children in fairy costumes appeared next, my IPA  was ok but tasted unlike any IPA I'd ever had, and the 'gents' - jeez, well someone had put a massive pot plant in front of the door so you could hardly get in.  Utter utter shite. 

On the plus side, beer mats!

A 3.6% IPA.  Or a pale bitter as I call it.

Back in Reading and despite the rain, there was a heaving happy atmosphere due to a "Pride" festival, and I'd not seen this many mustachioed men in leather in one place since I visited Preston's Dog & Partridge.  I decided it was too busy a day to visit town centre pubs (besides, I hadn't contacted Sir Quinno to see if he was free which is Reading pub law) so I took a bus to Lower Earley.

Seven Red Roses, Lower Earley

In a strange quiet kind of shopping precinct, I'd never visited a pub attached to a Sainsbury's before and I went in to find a proper pub atmosphere, lots of men laughing loudly and immediately thought that this is to Reading what the Wigmore Arms is to Luton.  Beer range was poor but a burly impatient but friendly bearded man served me a St Austell Tribute which got absolutely no love on my Twitter, but I decided it was pint of the day, a real testament to the quality.  The weirdest thing about this place was the dry autumn leaves, blowing throughout the pub.  I didn't know it was autumn until now and everytime the door was opened, they were whipped into a mini cyclone.  One jovial man who smelt of wax asked a barmaid "what's with the tumbleweed?" but that could have been the result of all his terrible jokes.  I bet he's one of the main offenders of the pubs "infamous karaoke nights" that are advertised.   Meanwhile, a woman disowned her young family to watch Saracens v Worcester, intently from a settee.  A strange man tried to buy her a drink, she went all coy, then remembered her kids were sat on a stool behind her with her husband.  Hilarious, as was the whole pub.

A sample of dry autumn leaves

A winning pint of Tribute and a bit of wrong-code egg chasing.

The rain was coming down harder than ever as the bus edged back towards Reading, so I decided to forgo a long walk across Cippenham to get back into London instead.  Once on the Tube, where a girl said "I was wearing a black t-shirt, literally", I emerged at Baker Street for some Marylebone fun.

Not one outdoor drinker posed for my photo.

Gunmakers, Marylebone

So I pushed my way through the bustling outdoor throng and made it to the bar, where a tattooed Eastern European lass looked concerned as I ordered a Portobello Very Pale Ale, asking if I wanted a taster.  I did my usual "I'll be brave and go straight for it!" which never impresses anyone south of Sheffield.  Well, despite the "mood" lighting, this pint looked murky, ropey, not very pale, and the limp head was a congealed mess.  One sip confirmed my fears, and I returned it only for her to reply "that's why you should try before you buy, it is a very distinctive taste".  Distinctive in that there aren't many ale drinkers I know who like a pint of vinegar.  A Roosters replacement was far better, and I found one free table, with what appeared to be someone's lost black woolly jumper on the bench.  Except it was a sleeping pub cat!  Pub redemption at it's finest.  I bonded with the group of 6 next to me over the cat, the friendliest having the most horrific Hawaiian shirt ever witnessed.  Their conversations can't have been amazing, because on the few occasions the cat stirred, they were all transfixed.  Late drama occurred as an American man was helping his toddler walk, cat got interested and looked ready to pounce, "not often prey comes into MY pub!" so I warned the Dad and left before I witnessed the second potential murder of the day.  Cosy pub.

Pint and cat - always a happy pub scene.

View of the pub, pre-toddler.

And the Kraken rises (sort of)

Golden Eagle, Marylebone

Just a five minute walk away was this pub.  I feel like I've been into lots of London pubs like this, tiny side street one room gems with great stained glass windows and architecture so you walk in, all excited to be in such a lovely building, full of optimism only to have a P.I.S.S. barmaid looking like she's so bored, she sucks all life out of the occasion.  At least the barman winked it me (in a manly no nonsense "I'm the guv-nor of a Landan Pab" kinda way).  And in keeping with such pubs, the toilets were down a narrow staircase which you thought probably leads to secret underground tunnels.  I had to perch on two seats of different heights by a wall, there weren't many customers (apart from a woman having an asthma attack everytime her hubbie told a joke) yet it still felt full.  I think the atmosphere could have been better if they shut at least one of the pub doors - I really don't understand why pubs insist of having everything wide open on a wet busy London street corner.   It was another Yorkshire ale (Kelham Island this time) to save me from the likes of Doom Bar and Fullers.  Quite a decent pub, but prefered the Gunmakers.

I walked to Bond Street station (there's something about the Central line I like) and changed for Kings Cross and still managed to sneak a quick half in at the Parcel Yard, where a waitress did something unexpected for apologising for knives n forks n menus on my table when I only wanted a drink!   And here was I thinking she was going to chuck me out of a dining area.

Autumnal Fullers beer for £4.50 a pint but quite nice.

So, a good six pub day, NOT that I'm saying it'll benefit BRAPA in any way.

Speaking of which, cross-ticking of the new GBG continues apace.  I'm only up to Gloucs & Bristol so far but trying to crack on this afternoon with it.  Early indications (my BRAPxit poll if you will) suggest I'm going to make some serious losses, though strangely enough, I'm up in both Devon & Derbyshire, whilst Bucks has been particularly cruel.

Roll on 15th September.

Si

BRAPA - August Review / September Preview

I'm more "in limbo" than errrm, errrm Thom Yorke (it's a Radiohead song apparently) as I continue to wait for the 2017 Good Beer Guide to hit my doorstep with all the force of it's 1,000,000,000 pages or however thick it is this year.......

Hopelessly optimistic (and increasingly weather beaten) sign on my front door.

One thing is for sure, CAMRA's new distribution centre in Anchor, Shropshire was a mistake. September tomorrow so time is ticking on.   This was the first year my direct debit had been set up / taken correctly too.

And even more galling, the privileged south-easteners (south of Cambridgeshire) have their copies already and have spent the week on Twitter like teenage gossip whores, breaking CAMRA confidentiality etiquette about GBG inclusion left, right and centre.  

Or complaining they've received unexpected copies, which they no doubt rip the pages out of to mop up the caviar and swan gravy from their overfed mouths whilst Tristan parks on double yellows (stuff the fine, he can afford it) to bring the SUV round for Jemima before they scoot off to the Craft Kitchen Urban Tap and order Beavertown and Kernal's #777.76 collaboration brew (matched with "eats").  There's a 'meet the brewer' event with both later, maybe they'll get a selfie with their bearded heroes and Instagram it with the ironic hashtag #evilkegrules

Not that this lack of Good Beer Guide is getting to me or anything ......

All ready for some GBG cross ticking, just one vital thing missing.....

August Review

22 new pubs is disappointing when I've had two weeks of annual leave and it is supposedly summer time, but as I always say, August is the hardest month to pub tick as I've been mentally preparing myself for the new GBG, worried about what might drop out!

The highlight is almost certainly the Welsh trip and in particular, finally getting to the Anchor!  Felt really bad for Mum's sprained ankle which is kind of a metaphor for August pub ticking if you think about it.  The other great day was around the Wigan area where I brought up the 1,000.

Here are my three pubs of the month:

1.  Admial Rodney Inn, Criggion
2.  Masons Arms, Billinge
3. Clarendon, Marske-by-the-Sea

Surprised to see Anchor not in?  Well, it was amazing and magical in so many ways but putting all the romance aside of location, great landlord, great beer, the overall pub experience itself still wasn't quite as good as the three above.

Seriously good Salopian Oracle in Criggion.

September Preview

The month starts with the next leg of my Berkshire trip (part 7 I believe) but no idea where I am going yet.  I'll be using Reading as a base but can only pray the new GBG arrives tomorrow or Friday.

Tuesday's are off limits for now as I enter "One Month Reverse Owl Syndrome" (don't ask) whilst the GBG cross-ticking exercise takes place.  I'm on 1,006 at present, hoping not to drop below 900 but perhaps 850 is a more reasonable expectation.

Saturday's will continue in force, the 2nd Saturday is the annual Hull City away defeat at Burnley.  I should be running out of pubs by now in this part of the world but Padiham and Ighten look enticing.

A week later, another punishing day in North Yorkshire looks the most likely county.

And a week after that, we celebrate Tom Irvin's birthday (not that he'd lower himself to such festivities) with a trip to Crosby which is near Liverpool.  I see Bootle and Waterloo are nearby so it could be a rare pub ticking fest on Merseyside.

And hopefully, Tuesday's (South Yorkshire to a finish) will be back up and running after 15th Sept.  Going to aim for 25 but it might struggle.

Bertie shocked by lack of GBG arrival in August.

Pub Spreadsheet

I've spent the last month logging over 1,250 pubs into a spreadsheet with the (probable) date I first visited them.  What a life I lead!

I'm now filling in the gaps .....  all those 'early' Good Beer Guide pubs I did at Hull City away matches circa 2002-04.

In an interesting twist, I've just had to re-order the 2003 and 2004 Good Beer Guides to retrace my thought processes for the 02/03 and 03/04 seasons.  So I'm waiting for 3 GBG's now!  I must be a masochist.

Si