BRAPA - Rock Around the 'Ock(brook)

Saturday 2nd March and I was half way through my first 'official' BRAPA trip to Derbyshire.  The Standing Order Wetherspoons in Derby had been good, the Smiths Tavern in Ashbourne very good, the Old Dog in Thorpe a bit of a lame duck.   The best (& worst) were still to come ......

Mapleton (possibly pronounced Mappleton which makes me hope the locals had Mapple Syrup on their Shrove pancakes this Tuesday gone) was a bit off the Tissington Trail, so it called for one of those hair raising BRAPA road-walks from Thorpe, which I've not had to experience too much recently thanks to wonderful chauffeuring efforts from Martin Taylor, Father BRAPA and the like.

Half the cars swerved over into the middle of the road, waving a hand in a kind of "god speed, BRAPA duck" way, the other half ploughed straight through trying to hit me, waving an angry fist in a kind of "fucking road walking lunatic, BRAPA duck" way.

Luckily, a right turning found a much more serene country lane, which led me into the village of Mapleton as the wind whipped up and the clouds of Storm Freya started gathering above ......

The pub looked nice and bleak.  Quiet, perhaps, off the beaten path?  Well, I could hope .....

1529 / 2499.  Okeover Arms, Mapleton

But I suppose any rural Derbys pub doing food, visited on a Saturday lunchtime, is always going to have a strong dining presence.  Good news, it was at least, more of a pub than the Old Dog.  It had beermats, a warming woodburner, it had proper glasses (sort of), and a pretty old crowd simply sat still, having a feed and a water.  Not many friendly faces unfortunately, as I swung my rucksack round towards the bar, and the barmaid served me in quite an offhand manner.  When I later asked her where the Gents was, she simply grunted and pointed.  But much later, I heard a local bloke ask her if she'd recovered from her bad experience and even alluded to hearing she'd not been herself lately, so for once in my life, BRAPA will not be judgey.  Okay, well maybe a little bit.  Fortunately, I sat next to a lovely old couple chomping their way through a mixed grill, the wife finally beaten by a fried egg of all things, oh she was so close but hubbie shovelled it into his gob in one go, that is true love!  It got me hungry, and as soon as another older barmaid looked moody, I started smuggling my mini sausage rolls in the middle of all the dining.  I know the ghost of the late great Alan Winfield would be judging me for this, but he'd probably wonder why I'd suffer walking miles to come to a pub like this in the first place!   The ale was slightly above average, and the clientele were the kind of social misfits who need the presence of a dog or two to spark a conversation.  The owner, a po-faced mardy bugger who'd scowled at me on arrival, explained all.  But just because you've travelled from Staffordshire (said like it was 300 miles away) and are the proud owner of two gorgeous Border Collies from a rescue centre, it doesn't make you a good human being.   As a random pile of logs sat there doing nothing, I'd seen enough, time to go.

Beer in a pint glass on a beer mat.  See 'Old Dog', it isn't hard is it? 

Random Pile of Logs Doing Nothing (RPOLDN)

Mostly unhappy diners

Back of a barmaid

Homely little fire

Another walk took me back to Ashbourne, where the locals were confused because their usual 'bus station' was being refurbished or some guff, so everyone dithered on the side of the road asking what was what.

I finally got a bus back to Derby, where I arrived to find a lot of glum looking Rams.  Hang on, it was still only 4pm, i.e. half time, they can't have lost yet surely.  Oh ........

My team were having better fortunes v the mighty Birmingham City, and buoyed by Dad's textual updates, I was up for two more pubs.  The easy option would've been of course to mop up my remaining Derby duo, the Last Post and a micro pub with Chester in the title.

But when has BRAPA ever been about the easy option?  No, just in front of me at Morledge (think Ben Morley and Roland Edge in a blender)  bus stop, the last number 9 of the day was about to depart for this place no one has ever heard of called Ockbrook with two pubs on the same road.  Bazinga!   Getting back might be an issue, but let's just enjoy the pubs first, ask questions later.

The journey sadly, was blighted by the fact my phone charger lead had broken and down at 25%, I had to hold it in a very specific position to keep it charging, which looked a bit rude and freaked out the only other passenger! 

Too traumatic, I was glad to see the first of two pubs as the light started to fade and the rain came down .....

1530 / 2500.  Cross Keys, Ockbrook

I didn't realise at the time I was stepping into my 2,500th overall GBG pub, quite the landmark!  It was a good introduction too, as I fought my way through some much friendlier locals than I'd been used to today to the bar, where I ordered an Oakham Citra and the personable barmaid says "here's one I've just poured!"  "Wow, how did you know?" I asked, knowing full well there must've been some recent serving mix up.  "I'm a mind reader!" she replies.  But before she asks for payment, she says "anything else?" to which I reply "no, but I thought you'd have known that!" which I thought was rather quick witted and brilliant of me, but she just looked a bit pissed off!  Oh well, for the second time today, I did myself no favours as I reckon (though I'm unsure) that the right side of the pub was the pubbier more atmospheric place to be, but I ended up squashing myself behind a pillar to the left with a bright light shining on an astroturfed garden and a very unpubby dining seat.  So not sure I enjoyed the pub as much as I could have.  Derby County memorabilia adorned the walls, and everyone crowded around me to watch West Ham or some shite.  One Derby County guy looked at me like I was Villa Scum, everyone wondered who Steve Holland was (who is he?) and then a family of 4 sat by me.  The bored teenage sons looked like the band Hanson, the Silver Fox hubbie tried to impress them by saying "pizzas are awesome dudes" like he was a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle.  They rolled their eyes, but he did later say something so genuinely amusing, I snorted Citra, but can't remember what it was.  All the while, I was having to hold my phone lead at that weird angle, but let us just say this experience fell just short of something very good.

I'm not Villa, don't kill me!

A short walk down the road took me to my final pub of the day, and I remember thinking "ugh, not a Royal Oak, they are never lucky for me!" on arrival.

1531 / 2501.  Royal Oak, Ockbrook

But here, we'd rewrite those Royal Oak Wrongs in some style.  "Bass!" screamed every sign, surface, lamp, mirror, pump, as I walked from front garden car park area into pub.  It felt like a Midlands Beer Twitter Tourettes Party.  The bar area was beautiful, curved by looked 50's or 60's and quite unusual, of course I had to have the Bass, end the day as I'd started it in the Standing Order.  Bit of confusion here as to who was supposed to be serving, and a young lady with an air of passive aggression came out of nowhere, served me and others, explaining to all and sundry that she's had to 'jump on' but she's not really supposed to be on!  Uh oh.  The Bass was warmer than you may expect of an ale, never a problem for me cos it brings out the flavour, but some wouldn't be amused.  "Like a prostitutes liver you've stored in the basement for a bit too long" I wrote at the time, and wondered if I should get back on Untappd.  I actually meant it in a good way too!  Then drama as a book went missing, could it be under my seat?  No.  I was relieved, it might look like I'd nicked it.  Just as I was relaxing into what a gem of a place to drink this was, landlady notices my GBG so I BRAPsplained.  Her impressed hubbie is listening from the door, and soon is giving me a guided tour of each room of the pub, their awards, the history, couple of local CAMRA mags, was really interesting actually!  I'd seen some condolence cards on the bar on arrival, and it turns out the guv'nor Olive (who'd been here over 60 years I think he said?!) had died two weeks back, and though she hadn't been active behind the bar of late, her name had been above the door.  Well, Olive can be proud of the legacy she's left, I don't to pubs this good more than a handful of times a year!  They both seemed doubtful of my plans to walk to this vague rural bus stop, instructing me to instead walk to Borrowash and get a bus from there.  Travel advice too!  It'd get better ......

As I said goodbye to the landlady and took my glass back, barman reappears with car keys.  "He'll run you down to Borrowash" explains the landlady.  Wow, what a gent.  So we're in the car chatting, and at the roundabout, he says 'change of plan', and turns the car towards Derby and drops me off at the station.  WOW!  Incredible 'above and beyond' service.  He even broke me off talking at Pride Park so he could boo it, he's a Forest fan, so we chatted about our game (Forest v Hull City) next week and he correctly predicted "you wouldn't wanna go back up to the Prem anyway would ya?"

What a gent, and end to superb day.  If today was indicative of what Derbyshire is going to offer me, I'm going to enjoy it immensely.

Just time for a swift half of that strong Siren Craft black stuff in Sheffield Tap before the last leg of the journey back to York......

Up to date on my blogs for first time since 8th Feb (23:22 on Thursday night as I write this), I'm getting on the South Yorkshire Friday night trail tomorrow as I'll only get three done in Notts on Sat.  Join me for those two reports in the coming days, thanks for reading, I really appreciate it, I know I ramble on a bit!

Ta, Si

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BRAPA - Ashbourne Thrilla' : Derbyshire Beginnings

It was a brave new start as 'Cambridgeshire became Derbyshire' (as the Spice Girls so nearly once sang) and it was time to get cracking on a new county.

I say 'new' county as though I'd never visited a 2019 Good Beer Guide pub in Derbyshire before.  Not true!  I'd done all of Derby apart from 3, all of Chesterfield except 1, and a host of other places mainly in the north including Glossop, Hundall and Hope, totalling 35 pubs, so it was actually in 19th place in the BRAPA league table.  And it was only going to rocket up the league between now and September!

The state of play before the 'official' start of Derbys.

Armed with my amazing Derbyshire Wayfarer ticket purchased in Sheffield (you have to write them a letter and post it off otherwise like in the old days!) I was all set to get to Derby and catch the connecting hourly bus to Ashbourne, my 'key' pub of the day as it begins with an 'A' I was going to do third!  The ABC murderer has nothing on me. 

Sadly, the train broke down in Sheffield, and by the time I'd hopped across the platform for the replacement, I had even more sadly realised I'd miss the bus connection.  I blame the short bald weirdo who'd tempted fate by walking up and down the platform saying "London is closed .... too many cockneys" and then laughing.  I avoided his gaze.  

A quick rethink was required, and an early opener in central Derby which I planned to do last now made sense to do first.  Can't be hanging around 11am in a town like Derby pint-less, can we? 

One of the prettier 'Spoons approaches in the U.K.?

Man on stick indicates it is going to be a decent start.

1526 / 2496.  Standing Order, Derby

Considering how many people bang on about the amazing pub scene in Derby, it seems unusual it has two Wetherspoons in the GBG (York's wouldn't stand a chance) but the reason is pure and simple (Hear'say), Derby's duo are both excellent.  The Babington, I did 13 years ago, my first Derby pub in fact, often gets talked about as one the top 'Spoons in the UK, but I'd not heard of this one.  I overtook an overweight family looking for a table number before they waddled to the bar, yet they STILL got served first cos I stood at the nice central island bar behind a pile of glasses (FAIL), cos that is where the ales are.  I put on my sad pathetic face and a nice purple haired lass said "won't be a minute sweetie".  Ahhh, can I keep her?  Swap her for Martin the Owl?  So I went to choose an ale and blow me down, Draught Bass!  Well, you know you are in Derbys/Staffs when this happens in your 'Spoons.  Really good too after my usual initial "uh oh, am I gonna enjoy this?" sip.  'Twas like the Cadbury Caramel Bunny's voice in a glass.  "Grandest!  Tallest!  The First!" gushed the GBG about the place, and I perched at a posing table for one amidst a sea of Stone Island clad chunky 18-21 year olds and Dad's with rolls of head fat nestled in between neck and tattooed baldness.  The type who'd goad away fans and then run away when it got stabby.  I assumed Derby County must be at home, perhaps a lunchtime kick off, but in fact they were away to Aston Villa.  One group of lads got a round of breakfasts, three jugs of Woo Woo, Cheeky Vimto or the like, and then some sausage baps for pudding.  A fine effort.  They eyeballed me a bit so I buried my head in the GBG and supped up, not long til that bus to Ashbourne! 

£2.05 for a good quality Bass, RM would be proud!

I like it when pubs are proud they are in the GBG!

Martin the Owl nearly gets a slap for calling someone a pipsqueak (he is SOOOO embarrassing)

Trying to capture the high ceiling grandness of this former bank

Smashin' those pitchers lads, with some reet good bantz no doubt.

By the time the bus got to Ashbourne, it was a couple of minutes to noon so rather than get out to the 'rural duo' first as planned, I decided to do the Ashbourne pub now instead.  After all, I needed to pee!

It seemed a pretty little market town, though very much out on a limb, really felt like it should've had a railway station of some description, but am pretty sure it didn't.  

1527 / 2497.  Smiths Tavern, Ashbourne

Didn't wish to be impatient, so I jigged around outside until 11:59am became 12:01pm, and then I went to push the door.  Only a small half of it came open, but I've been doing my tummy exercises recently, so I was able to squeeze my way in (no one in Derby's Standing Order would've stood a chance).  I noticed the landlord and landlady stood behind the bar looking a bit wide-eyed at my arrival, I was close to saying "ooh sorry, are you open yet?" but still scarred by Sixpenny Handley, my evil brain was telling me "fuck it, it is 12:01pm, this is my right!" so I launched into my order of a local dry Irish stout, the one non-Martsons ale I think was on.  Then, the landlord went towards the door and 'properly opened' so yes, I had kind of broken in.  "Just £3.90 darling" says the nice landlady.  "JUST?"  Is this rural Derbys or flippin' Hammersmith?  This was a gorgeous pub, my second favourite today, steps took you up to really atmospheric middle room with church pews where I sat, and a back sort of games room with dartboard and wonky floor, which I almost moved to.  My Mum and Dad had come here on my GBG recommendation a couple of years back, enjoyed it, and told me to look out for a dog on an old chair!  I barely saw another soul, never mind the dog, a bewildered oldster came in with his wife to pee (no, they didn't pee together) and got a Stowford Press as a token gesture like so many pissy old blokes do.  Nothing much happened til I was putting my jacket on to leave, and "WOOF WOOF WOOF!" from behind the door next to me.  "Lay back down Milo!" shouts the landlady, so that was the famous pub dog?!  "That's my cue to go" I tell her, and it was off to pub three .......

I'd enjoyed that, but now the hard work really began as my next two pubs were in rural 'no train, no bus' areas north of the town.  

Luckily, I'd seen this path called the Tissington Trail which would take me straight to Thorpe, the destination of the further of the two pubs.  

'Twas a nice walk but I had to rename it the Tossington Trail because even though it is British etiquette to make awkward eye contact and murmur "ow do" at anyone you pass on a rural walk such as this.  But East Midlands folk as we've witnessed before, are, outside of pubs where they are salt of the earth, a stand offish, wary, insular bunch on occasion, so my efforts repeatedly fell flat.

I power walked it, under an hour, bit over 3 miles, and I got some encouragement the pub wasn't far .....

Finally, the pub came into view looking all stony, isolated and villagey, I had high hopes......

1528 / 2498.  Old Dog, Thorpe

Really attentive smiley young bar lads on arrival and a welcoming fire to the right couldn't really distract from the fact I'd walked into a pretty sterile modern upmarket foodery, the strange handled jugs, naked flames and distinct lack of beermats pretty much told its own story.  I did myself no favours by trying to sit 'between rooms' so as not to be in peak dining area.  Seemed a good idea at the time, but the second bar and narrow walk way meant I was practically pinned against the wall for the duration, breathing in fumes of wet dogs, who came in looking terrified as the furry throes on the window seats looked like their fellow canines who had been skinned alive!   It would've been sensible of me to sit in the outdoor area, but it was too late now.  Nearer the loos, buggies and twilds dominated, a polite young father with a beard was having a cheeky spliff in the gents to calm his nerves before he had to get back to reality.  Clientele seemed to be a 50/50 split of a young attractive lycra clad biking set, and muddy arsed over 60's on a never ending ramble, in more ways than one.  It got even busier as I neared the end of my probably fine pint (hard to judge ale quality in such circs) as a group of loud blousey women came in, screaming about burgers and making general exhibitions of themselves.  "I want nachos but it won't be filling enough" whined one.  "Right, I've decided" declared the ring leader .... "I'll have a basic with cheese!"   Cheeseburger, as they are also known.  

The scene on arrival

Ale and candle and view through to left dining area

One of many dogs

Not a dead dog, probably

A tale of the two types of clientele in one shot which'll be revered in 50 years time!

I was glad to leave, I won't lie.  My next pub was back towards Ashbourne, but not really on the Tissington Trail, so I had a bit to do still.  More on that one tomorrow.

Take care, Si

BRAPA - Stung by the Bees? Bayswater and Ealing Please!

As we left Hammersmith in search of three more BRAPA required pubs in the sometimes unforgiving pub territory of West London, it was fair to say that Father and I didn't quite know where we were heading!  Okay, we knew we were on the Piccadilly line, but would it branch off south (Owl & Pussycat, Northfields) or north (Greystoke, North Ealing).  I like it when fate decides!

It did the latter, which was good news bladder wise because you could see the Greystoke as soon as you left the station, just across the road.......

1523 / 2493.  Greystoke, North Ealing

I wasn't expecting too much as I've been to Ealing pubs before and have found them all a bit 'upmarket boredom' and in some cases, identikit, when I think back to efforts like North Star and Ealing Park Tavern, which I'm convinced are actually the same place, just a trick of the time space continuum.  A coincidence both have been dumped from the 2019 GBG, I don't think so?!  But it was different here at the Greystoke, much better, sort of like one of those places, what do you call 'em?  "A PUB!"  Yes, that is the one.  The best quality beer of the day was enjoyed here, Copper Leaf by Wimbledon, and under £4 a pint, oh North Ealing, you are spoiling us!  Dad sat us strategically in a hidden booth of sorts, where we could smuggle our food with bar staff unlikely to see us.  Ok, so there was the odd reserved table, including one for a "Tom" at 4pm?  I know he'd be expecting us to be losing at half time, but it couldn't be could it?  Most of the focus here was on the football, as a gaggle of Tottingham 'Otspur fans (well two and a few casual onlookers) were praying their overrated chokers could win at Burnley.  Sad faces abound as Burnley score, I walked past them on way to the loo and my fake sad face was the least convincing expression I'd ever pulled, and looked like I was taking the mickey, which let's be fair, I was.  As I settled back into half a contraband corned beef roll, a strangulated cry of joy as 'Arry Kane had equalised. "Gerrin' 'Arry moi san" said a balding man in 80's sports jacket last worn by Ossie Ardiles, like he was watching his disabled grandson playing in the park.  I couldn't hide my disappointment next time I went to pee! As we got up to leave, near the end of the game, we glanced up at the screen and Craft Ashley Barnes of recent Bournemouth micropub fame scored the winner just as we opened the door.  Best exit from a pub in 2019, we did a jig right across the road back to the Tube Station.  I don't even like Burnley!

A pint of Racked Up was my initial choice (why would a pub do that?)

Tom reserves table in Arsenal colours, presumably to annoy the Spurs fans

Could do with a beer mat or 7

Next up were the first two listed pubs under West London in the GBG, W2 to be precise so a lot more central.  Again, there was a sense of "how had I not thought to do these before?" especially when I think of all those 'Project Calypso Nights' back in London in the Autumn.

Has there ever been a posher location for GBG ticking was the next question?

Okay, so this might not quite have been the next pub but I like the idea of one little old lady just rattling around in this building on her own.   The pub was just along the same road ......

1524 / 2494.  Leinster Arms, Bayswater

Oh yes, it was rather posh as our German barman and other staff were in smart uniforms as we walked in and I was concerned my stripey trousers were once more bringing BRAPA into (further) disrepute.  Luckily, I was saved by my Bass t-shirt.  "Ah, great t-shirt" he says.  Hang on, was this one of those Bass loving Twitter folk in a cunning disguise? Alas no, he was referring to the gleaming Bass mirror behind the bar and merely recognised the logo.  Buoyed by this interaction, Dad tried a subtle joke.  On a German.  Yes, I know.  The basis of this was the little yellow daffodil logo he was wearing, obviously some charity thing.  Dad knew that.  "So, you supporting Wales in the rugby today then?" said Dad, aware England v Wales was kicking off soon, as it was on a screen in this pub.  "Nein, it is a Marie Curie badge!" he replies, so Dad then has to explain about Wales and daffodils and of course so unsaid ancient German v English rivalry and it all kind of petered out semi-awkwardly as we trudged off to the back room.   Moment of the day?  For sure!   The back of the pub was standard London, but our football buddies must've been playing a joke on us.  Remember the 'Tom Reserved 4pm' table in last pub?  Now there was a Chrissy one!  And all that remained was to enjoy our fairly average pints of Tim Taylor Landlord as a less sexually motivated David Goodwillie waited for his dinner to arrive as the rugby took hold and all South Eastern faces turned towards their favourite sport, apart from the Boat Race.

Time for another food break, and Dad had always wanted to visit Kensington Gardens, so we found a nice bench close to the Princess Diana Memorial Playground and tucked into our second round of Corned Beef and Fruity Sauce sandwiches.  It's what she would've wanted.   Our next pub saw us carry on through and across the front of the gardens ......

1525 / 2495.  Champion, Bayswater

Why I always find myself in the south east on Twix Nations weekends I'll never know but it goes back to those early Bedfordshire days of 2014/15, when the Biggleswade massive lapped it up at every opportunity.  I bet the regulars in Wardlow Mires weren't even aware there was a game on this afternoon, but down here, it dominated every sinew of this probably quite attractive pub at any other time seeing as it is Grade II listed, 1838 built.  Had I done my research, I might've been able to hide in the sunken beer garden underneath the pub, alas we took our good Ghost Ship or whatever to the front of the pub where they'd opened the huge bay windows which allowed casual French tourists smoking those Gauloises to stick their heads through the window and make Franco-Welsh noises of encouragement just to try and put us out of our stride.  No idea what else happened, anyone got the remote cos Rochdale v Oldham was probably on the red button.

Dad puts a brave face on as the French peer in

The scene so typically London (nice tiled flooring, mind)

We'd done so well for time, Dad suggested I have a 'free hit' at something 'on the way back in'.  After a bit of GBG research, I came up with a pub listed under North London, the Sir Colin Campbell at Kilburn, as I worked out we could go Queensway to Bond Street, change onto the Jubilee line, straight up to Kilburn.  Alas, an incident meant we couldn't get through, even a diversionary route around Baker St left us hanging, so we gave it up as a bad job and as earlier agreed, went to meet Tom & Chris at a new Wetherspoons at St Pancras, pre-emptive surely?

We'd heard from Christine that Hull City had been "unlikely to come back to win" so when I checked the score and saw we'd lost 5-1, it kind of made sense.  "Stung by the Bees" our (hilarious) fans chanted, top self-deprecation in Hull, why it holds some of the finest folk on earth, probably.

Mauled by the Lancs barmaids

After lots of confused walking around St Pancras in a circle, we finally found it .....

Barrel Vault, St Pancras

As Dad pushed those unpubby doors and got us inside, it was quite heaving but the young barman was an absolute star, totally on the ball, had us served within seconds, he deserves some kind of London 'Spoons barman award in my opinion.  The Scunthorpe themed beer was decent enough (prices though, eek!) but it wasn't a particularly nice arena to have a drink in, too chaotic, clinical and echoey.  A bloke on my Twitter said he didn't believe it was as good as the Parcel Yard.  Ouch, that's gotta hurt!  But he may've had a point.  The guys turned up and without wishing to get all the gory details from Griffin Park, we had a nice catch up on our respective days, before t'long train back to York.

Tom spied this .... Yoga on escalator?  A joke or just a very London thing to do? 

So there we go.  Six more pubs chalked off, and a pre-emptive.  Join me tomorrow, I've been making a concerted effort to catch up on my blogs so I can get back to Friday nights.  Part one of my official Derbyshire debut coming up tomorrow.

Si