BRAPA - Summer Special Day 1 : Pukey in Newquay

Perranporth beach, making pub 1169 seem better

As the plane touched down (well, smashed onto the runway with a crunch and a puff of smoke), I was still glad I'd made the decision to fly rather than 'train it'.  £59 return, 1.5 hour flight, total no brainer!

The man sitting next to me had been a legend, a lovely chap from Great Ayton near Middlesbrough whose family were visiting the UK from Qatar, couldn't be arsed to meet him up north, so they compromised on meeting at St Mabyn, a BRAPA friendly village near Wadebridge.  Logical of course!

The weather was glorious as I arrived in this strange new BRAPA land, Cornwall, a bit apprehensive as to whether the inhabitants were like, humans, but no chance to find that out yet as I hopped aboard the bus to Newquay and sat next to a West Indian lady from L**ds called Carol.  We had some nice un-challenging chats we could agree on - (a) the views at Mawgan Porth are nicer than those in the Merrion Centre and (b) it will either rain tomorrow, or it will be dry.

I located my Travelodge (one of the worst I've ever stayed in for heat and meanness of facilities), and after checking in, realised it was still early enough to blow some of my 'emergency taxi fund' on something outlandish.

Surprise, surprise, my taxi driver was from L**ds too, hadn't heard of Bolingey, had no Sat Nav, so we had an amusing drive out west, talking about things like the Yorkshire Bank and pub ticking.  Finally, we made it to my 1st of 25 holiday pubs, the kind of village that when a taxi pulls up, the curtains twitch, but not when it is everyone's birthday .....

1168. Bolingey Inn, Bolingey

I said 'hi' to an unresponsive older couple (perhaps corpses) enjoying the sun outside, and wandered in to find a cosy old wooden bar room jam-packed with folk, in the midst of celebrating someone's birthday - I knew this because I later heard a caterwauling rendition of "happy birthday" plus random village locals kept arriving with little gift bags like Cornish three wise men.  The ales on were standards, so perfect chance to try a "Doom Bar" in Cornwall itself, something I promised myself I'd do.   I took it outside and sat at a bench, and enjoyed this Doom Bar more than any other before!  Probably psychological ,  and probably because it's the first pint of an already long, hot day, but great nonetheless.  I was soon aware of Bolingey's answer to Stacey Slater, stood to my right, talking shadily into a mobile phone.  Before I could blink, a group had joined me at my bench and were wishing the older woman happy birthday.  Had she left the indoor party to sit out here?  A bit rude, I thought.  Alas, no, this was a different woman's birthday!  Confused I was.  Then Stacey Slater reappeared to give her Mum (as it turned out) a prezzie.  Mum was upset one of the lads had ordered her a pint of beer "do you know how fattening beer is?  I've not touched it for weeks!" she wailed.  I commented walking from pub to pub keeps the pounds off, little did I know how difficult walking from pub to pub would be in Cornwall!  The younger bloke, who'd now bought her something slimming like "gin", told me to 'not give up my ground' with my bench, a bit difficult as I'd already been invaded, so I told him as a visitor, I knew my place in the pecking order.  An awkward silence followed (nothing I said was helping!), made worse when S.Slater was told to scoot up the bench but said it was tricky in her short skirt, she didn't want people looking at her knickers.  She could only have meant me (as I'm sure incest is a myth in Cornwall) so I had to avert my eyes in an overly deliberate manner, before wishing Mummy Slater (not Mo) a happy birthday in a mumbled way, before making a hasty retreat, relieved to be out of the awkward situation!

Walking out of the village, towards Perranporth

Despite the tricky experience, it was nice psychologically to get a 'difficult' tick under my belt early doors.  Another main reason for doing it was a straightforward walk into Perranporth, which had another GBG pub and transport links.  I took it for granted, but it was one of the few pub walks I managed without the threat of being killed, as the roads are so narrow, and there are no grass verges, it is just not a pedestrian friendly county, it even makes North Yorks look acceptable!

Perranporth was a hive of tourist activity, not surprising being a fairly pretty coastal resort with lots of men climbing out of the sea, twilds with buckets and spades, and Mums walking annoyingly slowly like the type of people who aren't on a pub mission, which I don't suppose they are.  I found the next pub, pretty much on the beach .....

Tempting to apply!

Crazy pub mural, oi we're not in Bedminster or Sheffield you know!

1169.  Seiners Arms, Perranporth

I walked through firstly a confusing hotel entrance area, and then a conservatory where everybody was, because it had views onto the beach, into a dark long thin bar where the modern day version of Shakespeare's Sister looked at me sullenly.  I ordered an amazing stout from the Midlands called Peaky Blinder, yet this would prove to be one of my only non-Cornish beers of the holiday, I'm glad to say.  I thought the standard of pub over my stay was really high, beer fantastic too, but this pub just didn't inspire.  I nearly got mowed down by a surfer version of Toadfish who watched an overly long BBC News piece about a Panda, maybe he thought it was one of his species.  I sat indoors under speakers pumping out some shitty chart music, the occasional gloomy tourist came in and ordered food, and though I tried to smile, no-one reciprocated so the only moral victory I could manage was eating a sly cheese & onion pasty (the sequel to the one in Didsbury's Fletcher Moss the day before) without getting caught! 

Great ale, and avoided house beer to try and be cool!  Didnt work.

Wednesday is Pie and Pint night!  Didn't mean to photograph woman going into loo.

Look, the panda is still on TV even post-Toadfish who you can just see leaving pub

Quite a few things I didn't like about this menu.

Luckily my L**ds taxi driver had hung around long enough to take me back to Newquay.  After all the palarva getting here, I felt a bit miserable having to admit neither pub experience had been that great!  But am sure Newquay had plenty to offer pub wise, didn't it?  He plonked me outside my third pub of the holiday .....

1170.  Red Lion, Newquay

"Stunning harbour views" seemed to be the main selling point here, and I sure enough noticed the entire front of the pub like some viewing gantry, everyone swivelled round on these little seats just drinking and craning their necks to stare mournfully out into the ocean.  The rest of the pub was almost empty, but the staff were at least friendly in a cutesie kind of way so I ordered some ale with Cliff Thorburn surfing on the front, that MUST be the right one to drink.  Quite a bizarre atmosphere really, as I wrestled with a circular posing table, a woman with a northern accent (so probably from L**ds) argued with her man-friend about where they were going to sit.  I spied an outdoor seating area behind the pub, hurrah, and suddenly I felt alive, in amongst the hustle and bustle of locals.  There was a tin mining version of Sting, an odd mural of a lion (even worse than the Albert & the Lion 'Spoons in Blackpool), a twild who was suspicious of my pub photographing, her Mum who couldn't sit still for 2 seconds, a wheezy joker on the left, and that general feeling that those sat at the front looking at the sea were actually missing the true encapsulation of the pub.  So all in all, pub of day one!

Then things got really bizarre as Neil from work, also on holiday down here, shouted me over to meet his wife and twild-folk in their little holiday home (more people from L**ds!) , warning them of the 'weird drunken man', before I also spied where my sister's cat has been disappearing to on summer evenings, yes he's opened a nightclub in Newquay .....

Time for the final pub of the evening, my only Wetherspoons of the holiday.  I could even see it from my hotel window .....

Classic 'walking into a 'Spoons' moment you can all recongise

1171.  Towan Blystra, Newquay

So, Towan Blystra was what Newquay was called before tourist scum like me invaded the town.  I still had my wits about me enough to utilise a "Mudgie Voucher" to claim my 50p off, remembering we were now in July so I was on a new batch.  This was pretty standard 'Spoons like so many are, staff looked a bit dishevelled and weary, the carpet was full of excitement, a teenage were-rabbit made her long suffering Mum buy her a drink which seemed to be half pepsi, half guinness, not sure if that even has a name, and probably (sadly) doesn't exist!  But I might try it one day.  An impatient man across from me ordered food with a sense of urgency like I've never seen before in a serene 'Spoons environment, and when he ate it, it's fair to say he inhaled it Man v Food style.  Two old blokes got animated about a third, unseen man they didn't get on with.  It ended in one of them, during a lull in conversation, declaring "and I'll snap him like a parsnip after Christmas!" which seemed poetically violent.  

A brazen cornish bitter

A troublesome handdryer

The increasingly tattered GBG.  Is it September yet? 

A hungry bloke hoovers down his food

So that was a tricky day one of my Cornwall pub tour.  Glad to get 4 newbies under the belt, certainly things would improve on all 5 of the subsequent pub ticking days, but for now, it was time to enjoy the sunset, cope with my boiling hot Travelodge room, and get organised for tomorrow morning as we trek down to Penzance!  

Si

BRAPA - Chorlton and the Wheelie Annoying Bar

It was quite a late decision to have a bonus pubby day out before Cornwall, but a few things swayed me.  (a) I was totally organised with my packing.  (b) Tuesday is traditionally a BRAPA day.  And (c) I know ticking off a good 5 or 6 pubs each day in Cornwall may be a challenge as I don't think I've located myself very well in Newquay, and a few 'ticks' today would ease the pressure.

The next challenge was finding a little cluster of pubs not too far away which would all be open at lunchtime.  More difficult than you may think, so I was back on the Manchester Metro out to Didsbury for a third (and hopefully final) time.

On the Metro itself, I had both 'old' and 'new' Manchester around me.  Behind me, a posh man with a briefcase spoke loudly into his phone, saying things like "splendid" and "cheerio" to his business colleague.  Compare that to a man in front I'd been keeping my eye on, he stared out of the window at a crow and mumbled 'dirty' before sniffing his rucksack.  I'm not sure which man I was more scared of.

I hopped off at Didsbury Village, and behind some houses, the pub suddenly loomed large in a dark imposing way that only Lancastrian pubs can properly achieve ......

"Boo!"  Says the pub as it jumps out at me.

A gentler view from the front

1165.  Fletcher Moss, Didsbury

Must admit, my first thought was "Hydes", ugh this is gonna be a bit lame, airy and foody having had not the greatest experiences previously.  But this was different.  A huge sprawling but ultimately pub-tastic building, properly furnished side rooms in every direction and a decent welcome from the slightly bearded host with element of scouse in his accent.  I was the only customer so a bit spoilt for choice as I sat in the front right room, although the pub door was blowing a cold draught in, making me feel like a miserable old git as I smuggled my cheese & onion pasty behind a wall.  This was the only fault though, and I was never going to sit in the rear of the pub which was more dining oriented.  Though like a good twild, kind of "not seen or not heard".  In fact, the only chat I did hear was a 30 second strategy meeting between staff about some new Mini Cheddars that were coming their way.  You'd think they were coming off a cargo vessel from Columbia the way they carried on!  The loos were quite a patterned feast for the eyes in comparison to the rest of the pub, making me wonder whether it had been refurbed from some 80's disco fun bar.  My phone, which I'm starting to suspect is a pubby sentient being (Artificial Intelligence and all that) randomly told me I should go to Knutsford and check out a place called  Dexter & Jones.  I had no intention of it, it's not even in the GBG, silly phone!

Very apt!

"My" room, leading towards the bar.

This beer actually topped itself up!

The bogs were dressed a bit like me!

I was on the Metro soon enough, where an old lady with a buggy faffed around, sang the baby songs, and generally got in everyone's way.  It was to be a bad omen.

Even I have suspected in the build up that I've been overly harsh on Chorlton-cum-Hardy in the past.  This was my third visit, the first was weird to say the least, the second simply depressing.  Posers, hipsters and pregnant women abound a couple of summers ago, and had now birthed their sprogs but nevertheless, surely I'd overplayed it for comedic effect?

It wasn't long before I found myself crossing the car park of an Organic Supermarket called Unicorn, I looked at the people going in and the memories came flooding back.  I was heading for the two pubs furthest down Manchester Road, where I'd given up hope before, and although I'd been to the likes of "Spit", "Piss" and "Jizz" in the past, there were still two single syllabled bars to tick off.....

Took photo behind bush so outdoor poser women couldn't see me.

1166.  Font, Chorlton-cum-Hardy

I wandered in and felt like I'd been here before, it felt like "Bar", it felt like "Dulcimer", it felt like "Marble" and it felt like "Parlour".  The barman was particularly disinterested though (one thing I can say about all four of the afore mentioned bars, staff are total sycophants), this dude was like a chestnut haired younger Brad "Drab" Willis who sighed in a "this is inconvenient" way when he realised he had to pull my beer through, as he headbanged to some background shitty rock music that wasn't headbangable in my opinion!  To be fair, he did make eye contact as he handed me my change.  I'd already noticed the crowd, so many young Mums, so many buggies, so many babies, two twilds at the front eating mashed up pizza from crazily coloured plastic plates and knives and forks, it was like a special Mum-Kids Pizza day, but being Chorlton, probably just the norm.  A student looking girl with huge eyes set in desperation sat in the centre of the room, staring blankly at a laptop, wondering why her novella about girls like her meeting bearded hunks in organic supermarkets wasn't taking off.  But then a beardo came to join her, snapping her out of the misery.  Turned out they both worked here, of course they did.  They occasionally exchanged pleasantries with a chef wearing a bandana, usually resulting from whatever crappy piped song was playing now.  He had a shit sleeve arm tattoo, and a fascination with a bowl of potatoes in front of him.  The constant crying of babies was occasionally punctuated by the guffawing of two middle aged blonde ladies outside, one reminded me of Judy Murray with a blonde bob.  Same strained jawline.  I realised I was firmly entrapped, my battered green settee slung so low, there was no getting out.  To my right, a botoxed Nigella Lawson nibbled a bowl of wedges in an aggressive fashion, storing them in her cheeks like a squirrel, or was it the botox, hard to tell.   She tapped on a laptop too, looking every inch the business women but with that Chorlton melancholy "if you can't get a twild, get a laptop".  In most places, women substitute kids for cats or dogs.  Another woman wheeled a huge buggy in, she looked lost for a split second but on hearing babies wailing at the back, a smile of recognition crossed her face and she scooted off to the bowels of the building.  The Pizza Mums at the front loudly debated whether the girl they were thinking of was spelled "Sorcha", "Zorcha" or "Xorcha".  But a twild interrupted so was told "calm yerself mate!" It was time to leave, returning my glass to the bar and saying "thanks" (beer at least had been top quality), normally staff then say "thanks" back (for returning the glass) but our old mate Drab Willis just said "urrrrr, that's ok!" to rile me even more.  I left, at least, with tonnes of blog material but this was quite frankly hell on earth.      

Novella girl is joined by bearded friend.  Chef stares at his potatoes (again!) in background.

My pint and view towards the pizza twild mummy gang.

It was raining, and I exchanged smiles with a little old lady, I wondered had she lived here all her life.  What was Chorlton like back then?  What did she think of it now?   Then my phone told me it wasn't taking any more photos (was it protesting against Chorlton?) so apologies for lack of pub frontage, you aren't missing much.  They did have a new beer on though .....

1167.  Pi, Chorlton-cum-Hardy

So I took a deep breath, expecting more of the same, but this was small, timid, and almost homely by comparison.  I'd been to a previous Pi, in Altrincham, another place rapidly descending into outer Manc depravity, and that one had felt more Chorlton-esque than this!  This, small and square, the tables and chairs were all uncomfy and rubbish, but I wandered up three steps to the bar and was served some decent local ale by a nervy young barman.  It seemed like he was trying to be all cool, young and hipstery, but he was actually too awkward and dysfunctional to manage it, which kind of made him more endearing - though I don't think he liked me, for when he sat down with his lunchtime pie, he'd glared at me as if it to say "this is my time, don't you dare look at me".  Furthermore, he'd halfheartedly offered me complimentary peanuts on arrival which as an allergy sufferer, I took as a death threat.  I didn't care, the only other customer was an old man who screamed "gay Irish playwright" (well, he didn't actually scream it) and my Mum rang so I had a BRAPA chat and heard how Dad was sad cos him and his mates were watching wonderful Somerset stuffing shitty overrated Yorkshire at Scarborough like they do every year, even if Kevin Shine or Andre Van Troost are doing their accidental declaration bowling, but I digress.   Not much to report otherwise, but won't it be funny if something new for Chorlton gets in 2018 GBG?  "No it won't" is the answer.

Pie menu in Pi

The kind of ales you see in Chorlton bars

The most artistic pub shot you'll see all year in Chorlton

Journey back went well, apart from Spanish middle aged women blocking the aisles for no reason , and I ended up on the train that left L**ds for York at 16:17, which is the one I get after work anyway so that worked out ok.

Wish me luck in Cornwall, I might get 'Spoons, I might get Doom Bar, but at least I won't get anywhere like Font, well, I don't think so anyway!!

Si

BRAPA - The Taming of the Crewe

July BRAPA began with some sad news, as Dad knocked on my door first thing to tell me my Uncle Roger had been read his 'last rites' (or whatever the modern day equivalent is) and he was having to hot-foot it down to Great Yarmouth rather than join the latest Cheshire adventure.  

I hope it doesn't sound insensitive to say that as soon as I got on the train, I turned the GBG to Norfolk in case any impromptu BRAPA action may be called upon in the near future.... well, it's what he would've wanted, as they say in the trade.

The train journey west was uneventful until I hopped aboard the cosy one carriage train from Crewe to Wrenbury.  There, I spied Tom with a customary wild-eyed look, still somehow managing to commandeer a table of 4 to himself.   I joined him, and then to our surprise, two lovely young ladies (Lucy and Justyna) joined us - they were on their way back from Chester races, having "accidentally" stayed out all night!  They loved the BRAPA concept and I approved of them further when they said racegoers were all scum (not in those words) and the raceday scene wasn't for them.

They soon they were educating me on things like Llangollen, the Pontcysyllte Aqueduct and Betws-y-coed, and a even a pre-emptive tick in Oswestry!  And if this wasn't dramatic enough, Tom had worked out Wrenbury was a request stop so went to "have a word" with our friendly guard, Richard, a true gent.

Once off the train, we wandered down the pavement-less roads into Aston, past a lot of mean-spirited drivers with a sense of entitlement, and despite being 11:50am, our 12 noon pub was already open -  bonus!

Ready for the first pub of July?  Let's go inside!

1159.  Bhurtpore. Aston

24 consecutive years in the GBG, it must be good and you could feel the quality on first walking over the threshold into the "Sister's Cat Anatomy Pub" (Bert's Paw, Bhurtpore!  Sorry).  The barman appeared looking a bit flustered "we don't normally open this early but the rugby is on!" he said, which made little sense but I was like "dude, stop carping and pull me a pint and a blackcurrant squash for Tom".  Friendly man though, and with all these hidden handpumps god knows where, I ordered a Rat from 'Uddersfield.  Pleasingly, there was a bit of Indian style decor, with a frightening statue behind the bar, an elephant, plus tasty looking curry on the menu.  Some middle age wastrels we'd passed on the main road arrived, fannying about for an eternity and then loudly sitting at the table next to us playing cards with their pathetic 'tasters' of ales, probably waiting for whatever god awful rugby match was being shown to start.  Me and Tom got down to "Hull City Fixture List" business, doing the first quarter of the season, and was shocked how similar our minds worked which has to be a worry for both him and myself.  Conclusion = Norwich away is first definite game I'm attending.  We didn't wanna risk missing our train (every 2 hours they run) so we left nice n early and in the surprisingly warm sun, headed back for station.  Really good pub.

Me in the mirror, and the figure I kept thinking was real!

Elephant trunk holds up Charge of The Light Brigade 

It's cards, rugby and paddle tasters for these poor wretches.

Action shot of Tom in 'fixture list' discussion mode

We saw the same kindly train guard Richard again, and after some 'foreign students pay by card but struggle due to bad wi-fi connection' drama, we were in Nantwich.

"It's like a posh version of Louth" said Tom, totally in sync with what I was thinking, as we dodged pedestrians, market stall choirs, kiddies rides, and old ditherers window shopping imaginary properties to reach our first of two pubs.  Is "tweer" a word, as in this town is even twee-r than Louth?  Kind of pretty and well heeled on the surface, but scratch beneath it (and it's only a thin veil) and you'll find a town lacking substance.

Leaning on the second pub.

1160.  Black Lion, Nantwich

We wandered in to one of those centuries old buildings, very York in a way, nice n creaky floorboards and warped beams, yet at the same time, a little bit forced Brewers Tudor feel, Coldplay on the radio did little to help, and beermats existed but were hidden in coasters.  A nice young lad with a bookish hipster face served us, pronouncing my Celtic Pride with a soft 'C' which is surely wrong, but he was a decent host.  The beer on the other hand, poorest of the day, not "off" but very limp - like something you'd find in Central London.  Pickled Eggs behind the bar, was a plus point (not that I had one), I assume they come in bun cases, a couple with twilds in the back room got 'paddles' of thirds.  My chair was the wonkiest in BRAPA history, one leg seemed half the length of the other three!  Probably a deliberate quirky faux 15th century feature.  Near the loos, a boiling hot conservatory room called the "Hop Room" smelt of musky barbecued dogs, strangely enough.  And a twild girl whispered 'steak knife' as I wandered back from the loo, which am sure was some IRA code a few years ago so I told Tom we best get the hell out of here.  Interesting, if not fully satisfying pub.  

View to the bar

Tom looks in the brewery section for "Sandiway",  first time this section's been utilised in 2017!

Just down the road, we came to the other Nantwich pub, and despite local photobombing, I just about got a decent piccie of Tom:

Piss off Nantwich people, I've got a job to do here

Tom walks into pub, what will we find?

1161.  Crown, Nantwich

In-keeping with the town, the Crown felt very much like a large unapologetic version of the Black Lion, though it just felt that little bit happier and more honest to me.  Walking down the cobbled alleyway, it put me in mind of pubs like Ye Olde Starre Inne in York and Chequers in Oxford, but better than both.  It helped that the barmaid was a characterful friendly soul, as Tom squinted through the darkness to 'copper up' (almost) to buy the round (surprisingly cheap I think) and he even let me temporarily have custody of his ten pound note, the highest denomination of money I've ever seen him possess.  As meandering piano music played, a twild-based family sat next to us, plonking their B&M bags on the table and entertaining the little buggers with a game called Trolls, before mesmerising them with some shiny silver card.  It was time for the next leg of our Hull City fixture discussion, as Tom's ideas got slightly more outlandish (random Derbyshire villages pre-Sheff Utd) including quote of the day from the same person "as you know Si, I'm a reasonable person".  When I'd finished choking on my nice but slightly clarty Great Newsome ale (not the pub's fault!), it was time to head off to Crewe.  

The Swiss Family Twild, under the GBG "we're in it!" sign.  Twummy is in the loo.

The bar looking quite bling in the afternoon light.

It was my third visit to Crewe but my memories of the last two times, which both involved pubs I can't be sure on (possibly the Crown was one) are very hazy, which might the beer or might be because I find it a bit of a non-place.  But this was by far my favourite time here.  The pubs were a bit away from the station, but we soon arrived at our first of two ......

A shaft of rainbow light cuts across Tom and Mike (man on right talks to his motorcycle helmet)

1162.  Hops, Crewe

And just as we were about to walk in, a chap on a bench says "BRAPA!" and I'm like "yes, that's right, which twitterer are you?" (I'm getting good at this now) and it was the legendary presence of Michael 'Mike' Harris, who I'd always imagined to be an bald old geography teacher with elbow patches, but was more like if Russell Brand was left outside a pub overnight and told he had to 'become a pub man or die' whilst smoking lots and listening to Guns & Roses.   And I can whole-heartedly say, "what a lovely chap".  I know I always say that, but meeting Twitter people has always been a positive experience.  Inside, the bar reminded me a bit of Lass O'Gowrie in Manchester (well, before they tried to destroy it's character) and despite the 'Belgian Cafe Bar' threat, it felt wooden and cosy, and there was plenty of serious hunched over ale drinkers at the bar - I even got a couple of tasters without even asking, I just said I needed something light as I was feeling the heat already!   We sat outside with Mike, and got the benefit of his Crewe / Cheshire local knowledge though I can't remember all the topics.  But it was good, his non bearded friend arrived (which made me feel a bit better as I'd been feeling rather hairless) so that was our cue to move on to the other Crewe pub.

Tom & Mike

After recovering my bearings (despite Mike directing us), we soon found ourselves peering at the next pub from over a wall .....

Approaching the fifth pub

Nearly there now

Here we are!

1163.  Borough Arms, Crewe

And like Hops, I am 100% sure I'd not been in this Crewe pub before either - this one would prove to be our favourite pub of the day, it just seemed an extremely characterful local.  Firstly was an explicit conversation about abattoirs, just as I was trying to smuggle my sandwich.  All this ripping and cutting and blood letting chat was performed far too enthusiastically by the chief protagonist, almost certainly a serial killer who enjoyed the attention his lecture was generating to the point that he didn't shut up for about 20 minutes.  Meanwhile, two cheeky pub dogs (not twogs) sniffed around, wanting my food and hoping they didn't end up in Mr Abattoir's Dog Stew as he eyed them hungrily, only to be disappointed by the perceived lack of meat.   The barman had been a little bit slow I'd thought, but my pint of Oakham Inferno was perfection and was it just me or did he effortlessly just keep switching languages mid sentence?  It'd been a long day.  Various characters came and went, including Cheshire Buddha who I unwisely pictured stood pissing at a cubicle (I've not included it here for fear of reprisals) and a muscular version of Wolf from Gladiators, a screechy fish wife, and the many friends of Mr Abattoir who kept coming and going.  Really amusing pub, get yourself down there.

The dude from Silence of the Lambs waits for service.  Chianti? 

Muscular Wolf has crotch licked by dog but still holds a conversation impressively.

Both of us fell asleep on the Crewe - Chelford train, only just waking up as we pulled in to the station.

At first, I thought the pub had been converted into a private house, but "luckily" it was just a bit further on from where the GBG App red dot had said, and turning a corner on the main road, Tom saw a sign that said 'soup' which didn't appear to bode well, but was attached to a next door cafe which was okay, but ended up probably being something to do with the pub!  Did you get all that?  No, me neither and I wrote it.

Mood picture of Tom at our final pub tick.

1164.  Egerton Arms, Chelford

When I first embarked on Cheshire, I'd been warned by Pub Curmudgeon that there'd be a lot of this sort of thing, the gastro dining 'pub'.  I think I've been pretty lucky up to now, but luck has to run out occasionally.  This pub actually saw my pint of the day so can't dispute it's place in the GBG (summat Salopian and guesty) and you'd have to admit, if you were using it for it's real purpose, a restaurant, am pretty sure you'd have a quality experience, food looked amazing.  But this is BRAPA so sod all of that!  It almost had me craving the other Cheshire Egerton Arms, in Little Budworth, despite their novel approach to customer service i.e. customers are scum.  Here was friendly, but as warned by a bloke who has been here three times, the staff are overworked which makes for a bit of a fraught atmosphere on occasions.   One young blonde lady did her best to look happy, and circled the pub on a constant loop like a sexy vulture.  I was the carcass in the corner not being pecked at!  Pointless piles of logs in the wall, no beermats, it felt like this pub was deliberately trying to piss me off.  Food menus and blackboards were a wonder to behold, we're in July but plenty of Valentine's Day references.  They do a Valentine's Night tasting on Feb 7th (why?), where Mothers get a free Prosecco on arrival (or is that Mother's Day?).  There's a dessert called Egerton Mess.  You can get a 10% discount at the deli, not sure how, presumably if you bring a twild, form an orderly queue at the bar, ask for a 'taster' of every ale, say you are a fan of cyclists and Leciester, you're a bus driver, a beer blogger, use the word 'craft' without irony, have shares in Ember Inns and leave pub doors open on cold days!  Sorry, got a bit carried away there.  

Blowing my snotty nose on a pub napkin (sorry, serviette) was my highlight.

I wanna do Lord Ted's Quiz!

I said farewell to Tom in Manc as I boarded the chaotic train back to York, and sat next to a girl who listened to a Grenfell Tower Charity Song on her ageing iPod at least ten times between Stalybridge and L**ds.  Back in York, I popped into York Tap which was a seething mass of post-races, drunken debauchery.....

Best pub chair sitting of the year!

I was eventually joined by 5 balding Scousers who were on a stag do so I told them about BRAPA whilst they did the old "we are all comedians" routine, telling me I had 1950's hair which was a new one, before being urgently told to board the minibus in the next two minutes, which made me suspect this was some day release outing.  

I really enjoyed today, sad Dad couldn't join us, and this afternoon Uncle Roger did indeed cark it, so I'll be back for Tues BRAPA to have a celebratory pint in his honour.  Til then, have a good rest of your livers, not long til the big BRAPA Summer Festival and am very excited!

Si 

 

BRAPA - June Review / July Preview (2017)

TWENTY new pubs visited in the month of June represented quite a disappointing return, and if you don't count last October's "Aussie Adventure / Best Man"  month, you have to go all the way back to February 2015 to find a month when I did worse!

Still, three pre-emptives may help me out in the long term, two of them especially (the Hops & Cheese in Hartlepool and the Draft House in Milton Keynes)  are surely bound to get in, if not 2018, then 2019 edition of the GBG.

It actually felt like a much better month, with some great trips out.  North Bucks was a highlight, as was a Dad day in North Derbyshire.  Trips to Newcastle and Hartlepool were also superb days.  And probably most significantly, the re-introduction of "Tuesday Night BRAPA" with the shattering revelation that hardly anything in Greater Manchester is off limits after work.

Hard to pick three stand-out pub experiences to go into the final reckoning as the quality was generally very good but here goes:

1. Beer Parlour, Whittington Moor
2. Stratton Arms, Turweston
3. Split Chimp, Newcastle

July, like June, is historically good month with an average of 30 new pub ticks.

But unlike this June, I have time off work to go and treat the UK as my pubby playground, and am very confident I'll exceed 30.  I'm on 1158 as I write this, I'd love to be pushing the 1200 by the end of July.

We start tomorrow, back in Cheshire with Tom and Dad (and possibly Tom's Dad) for 'fixture day'.  This is where we all take a copy of Hull City's fixture list and work out between us which away games we like the look of (e.g. Burton Albion) and which was are quite happy to knock on the head (e.g. L**ds).

I then have a bit of time off work, this is my time to shine with the BRAPA Summer Festival.  I'll be heading to a county where I have a sum total of ZERO pub ticks!! I may even be able to sneak in a cheeky Tuesday Greater Manchester trip before.

If my liver is still ok by the following week (commencing 10th), I might get a bonus midweek trip, and am suggesting a Dad Day the following Saturday, though nothing is set in stone yet.

Sat 22nd sees me back in Bucks for perhaps the final time before the 2018 GBG comes out, I have only 8 pubs left in that county (it will increase!) but they are getting a bit spaced out so it might be that I only do 2 and the rest are in Herts or London.

And Sat 29th should by all accounts, give me the freedom to either get back to Cheshire or see whether my chauffeur is up for some Durham/Derbys fun.  I'd like to think Hull City will do something BRAPA friendly for pre-season, but when you notice we're playing legendary European clubs like Oxford Utd and Bristol Rovers on the Algarve, you can see what I'm up against!

I'll also try and keep up with Tuesday night after work trips to random places dotted around the Manchester area.

So, am feeling optimistic for the month ahead.  As we posh punks say, "I'll see you jolly fellows in the pit!"

Si

BRAPA - My Tuesday Night Bottom is Broad

After a day at work involving many terrible Broadbottom gags ("that's very personal, how dare you to talk about my posterior like that hahaha"), they let me leave early enough to get the 16:53 from L**ds to Manchester.  To be honest, my work have something called "life event days" and because visiting every pub in the Good Beer Guide is a life event for me (i.e. a step nearer my lifetime goal), I should get loads of holiday - but alas no.

I hopped aboard the Glossop-Hatfield loopy train from Manchester Piccadilly, and was just sat there waiting for departure thinking "there's a very eclectic mixture of weirdos on this train" when a guard comes down, shouting "anyone for Middlesbrough, you need to be on the train in front!" and all the weirdos (apart from the Thatcher's Cider drinker in red t-shirt) hopped off with a startled look on their faces!  Absolutely true.

I was soon in the rural surroundings of Broadbottom, walking the wrong way to the pub cos I had no signal, but recovered myself and it was very close to the station, even closer than the 5 mins walk the GBG had reckoned......

1158.  Harewood Arms, Broadbottom

As I approached, an elfin barmaid (probably older than she looked) was smoking outside, she said "ow do" (or something) and I nodded and wandered in.  It had looked a nice pub from the outside, and inside was even better with beams, wood panelling, old pots and Toby jugs hanging from the ceiling, some hopbines, even a pool table, and some proper red bench seating.  I must've got carried away cos somehow, Miss Elfin was now behind the bar trying to serve me - how did she shapeshift like that?  The ales were all by local Green Mill brewery, so I got a £2.60 Ella but was conscious a man stood dangerously close to me had appeared and ordered same thing.  We were served simultaneously, he was referred to as "Rollie" (interestingly, the name of the new solar powered lawnmower in Neighbours) and he also sat down dangerously close to me!  Luckily, he started chatting to the other guys, pub weirdo danger averted, for once.  Problem was though, his cough.  He already had an accent like Fast Show's Bob Fleming, and a cough to match, which after a while I realised was akin to most people breathing, a nervous tick?  The pub chat was lively, mainly people getting mad about politics but someone managed to kill the entire mood though with the innocent comment ""Do you know, I went to Altrincham today?"  As the tumbleweed blew across the pub, Rollie started rolling up some errm roll ups (perhaps how he got his name) and when he went outside to smoke, one of the lads he'd been chatting to said "don't abandon me with him!" (not sure that makes sense).  Then they all left together, and poor Rollie reappeared looking bemused.  I hid behind my GBG.  This was until a woman called 'Clarkie' arrived, told a dog it was 'savage' (it was), and wrestled it to the ground.  Rollie announced to the pub the weather forecast for Thursday was bad, and he was going to watch his daughter swimming.  Sadly for him, no-one responded so he got back to his coughing.  There was a bit more dog loving, a randy black poodle this time, and I had to skirt around the evil things to put my glass back on bar, but a really superb pub this.

Trying to do the pub justice in one photo was near impossible

A happy pint experience - yes I nicked a beermat.

At the bar having given Miss Elfin my £2.60 in exact change

Clarkie wrestles a savage dog

The journey back went better than could be expected, because we were in Manchester 19:39 and there was a 19:42 direct to York from the adjacent platform, so how lucky was that?  Down in first class, two final year student blokes had just made friends, and were talking about the need to look for employment.  I kid you not, the big haired one said "the real world is a fucking scary place!"  Gotta love students being parodies of themselves.  

So what's next on the BRAPA agenda brenda?  Well, the month end review and July preview is out on Friday.  I have ordered the new BRAPA 'kit' for the 2017/18 season and will reveal all soon (so to speak) on Twitter, and Saturday sees me back in the second most important county of 2017, Cheshire.  

See you all soon, Si-bomb.