BRAPA - Drunken debauchery in Bawtry

Evening all, hope that headline drew you in!  Of course, it wasn't quite as exciting as all that on Wednesday night as I once more found myself in that friendly/threatening outer Doncaster corridor.

The Donny bus station muzak CD seemed to have been stolen, and my bus driver was so relaxed, not only were we 10 minutes late into Bawtry but he'd have quite happily let me use my Donny PlusBus ticket all the way to Worksop had I wished.

Bawtry seemed a strange place for South Yorkshire.  It appears to have been shuffling towards Nottinghamshire over the last few years, embarrassed by it's roots, but not quite able to make it across the county boundary.  With it's set back market place and main road running through the centre, it felt more like one of those North Yorkshire villages around the Northallerton area.

Deliberately shaped like a ship?  Good effort! 

835.  Ship, Bawtry

The pub was eerily quiet on arrival, and I managed to embarrass the older of the two barmaids by accidentally catching her singing to herself.  I'd actually thought it was the central heating kicking in, but etiquette prevented me from criticsing her "dulcet tones".  I'd come straight from work, so with the Auckley "chef mistaken identity" incident still in my mind, I'd thought ahead and popped to the loo to change into less chef like clothing!  When I returned some 3 minutes later, it was like walking back into a different pub.  Now, a third stern barmaid was presiding over a local community of drinkers, you know the type "Your usual pint of Fosters, Frank?  White wine spritzer Rita?"  Had I walked into a different pub dimension?  The new barmaid was eyeing me with much suspicion, where HAD I appeared from?  I returned to the corner and drank one of the three Marston's beers that were on (4 are always on according to the GBG).   Excellent quality Burton Bitter, I might add.  The pub had a couple of nice old mirrors, but I can't help feeling that a recent attempt to modernise it has made it lose something of it's soul - it lacked the magic of Barugh Green and Auckley.  There was a growing hubbub though, and original barmaid reappeared to sing "happy birthday" to no-one in particular, then she sang an old Pizza Hut advert, finishing with a jaunty dance and ditty about a boy falling off a boat (or something odd).  Not so embarrassed now are ya luv? 

Time to tick off another new pub on my midweek travels.

Back in Donny half an hour later, I was looking for my final 'tick' in the town, the Marketplace Alehouse and Deli, but it was all boarded up!  Nooooo.  I had to scroll through their twitter to find out they'd (very recently) changed their opening hours to Tues, Fri and Sat only.  So had I stuck to my usual Tuesday plan, I'd have been okay!  Typical.  No harm done though as I need to return for one final Donny bus trip in a few weeks anyway so I'll do it then.

No midweek BRAPA for next two weeks due to family demands/nice events so I'll be back in the Barnsley area on 29th March most probably.  But now I need to sleep cos I'm on the 6:01 to Laaandan Taaarn tomorrow morning.  Phew, BRAPA never rests for long. 

Have a good weekend all, Si

BRAPA - South of Birmingham

Dad threatens to defy the piano rules (see pub 833)

Those lovely Sky TV schedulers know how to give BRAPA a boost.  Their decision to move Hull City's trip to Birmingham to a Thursday night gave me the chance to kick back and enjoy the freedom of a full pubby day for the first time here since August 2014.  

The train journey couldn't have gone better, including the local connection from New St to Selly Oak, though quite why my first pub had the BR symbol in the Good Beer Guide when it was over a mile trek probably says a lot about encouraging people to go to a random Ember Inn in a pretty miserable area of the city.

829.  Selly Park Tavern, Selly Park, Birmingham

It was quite a grand red-bricked building from the outside, but that Ember blueprint was present from the moment we entered.  Fake fires, mis-matched non pub furniture, a familiar beer range (minus the Abbeydale Moonshine), and a friendly barmaid who was both Brummie and Eastern European made this almost identical to my Edenthorpe Ember experience a few weeks ago.  It was warm and comfy though, and to Dad who isn't familiar with this chain, there wasn't a great deal to dislike.  The problem was, there wasn't much to like either!  Tom joined us as I forced down a strong, rich Rev James ale (the first time I've had this on draught in over 4 years and I could see why).  My new pink jumper, having been inspired by the barmaid in Leavening last week, made it's debut.  There was a skittle alley out the back I read, I wish I'd gone to have a look as this would have offered a quirk.  As it was, a hot tap that wouldn't turn off was as exciting as it got in the "difficult access toilets".

A Rev James, only myself to blame! 

A nice walk through a park, past Edgbaston and some allotments followed on a very cold Saturday lunchtime.  It was time for pub two.

Arriving at pub number two.

"Our" back room at the Prince of Wales

830.  Prince of Wales, Moseley, Birmingham

This reminded me so much why I love pub trips to this part of the world.  A fantastic old pub with a superb green tiled corridor and a couple of private little side rooms where you can close a door behind you and block out the outside world!  Apparently it has the UK's biggest collection of cigars too but not seeing these hasn't, in my opinion, hampered my experience of the pub.  The pub has been selling cask since 1861, quite a claim so it was fitting I went for a Victorian Porter from Lincs.  In the safety of our superb back room (bell pushes n all), conversation turned to how to commit the perfect murder.  Interestingly (or not), on the other two occasions I've drunk this same ale, I've also been discussing murder I later found out!  Things settled down a bit and TV crime drama became the topic instead.  I just hope those bell pushes didn't record our chat.  

Corridor looking back towards the bar at the Prince of Wales.

A short walk north took us to Ballsall Heath for our third pub of the day, and I tried to encourage a friendly smoking barmaid outside to join in the photo, she was reluctant, but Tom just about got her.... 

Barmaid (left), me (centre), Dad (right) at pub 3.

831.  Old Moseley Arms, Balsall Heath, Birmingham

Inside it was busy, friendly and ultra-traditional as we squashed in at the bar and I ordered a lovely Black Country bitter from Holdens, one of those great breweries you only see in these parts.  The barman was tall, South African, and had the menacing air of a darker Pistorious with two legs and no gun.  I don't think.  I was relieved when chirpy smoky barmaid returned and popped up just in time to direct me to the most confusing toilets of the day, outside then back in through an unmarked door.  Dad had taken up a place under a giant TV screen but the North London derby was really hotting up, and I was worried my new pink jumper detracted from Harry Kane's wonder strike.  Poor locals.  The food menu was cheap and curry based, and despite not being available to 6pm, Balsall Heath has it's own time zone and food was very much on the agenda, and smelt delicious.  But in the interests of BRAPA, I couldn't get distracted.  Then the TV went off just as the match was coming to a climax, nooooo, very Hole in the Wall, Hull 2004 in that respect except it didn't get stuck on a gurning image of Harry Redknapp.  Wonderful pub, best yet! 

The locals focus on the football, I'm focused on my beer! 

We then took a short bus ride up to Digbeth for our final pubs of the day.  The bus stop was right outside some superb old fashioned baths, so we had an impromptu photo session.

Dad - a first class male bather

Me and pink jumper - Women's Baths! (obviously)

Tom - a second class male bather

After some heavy handed bus conducting from a kind of 'bonus' conductor, we were crossing Bradford St to pub number four.

832.  White Swan, Digbeth, Birmingham

High hopes for this historic heritage pub, but it was sadly the weakest of the day, a bit lack lustre despite it's obvious charms.  Beer was limited to a couple of Marstonny efforts and whilst my New World Pale was superb, barmaid was totally distracted in the entire time we were at the bar, chatting to a local and it quite frankly came across as a bit rude.  Egg chasing and tennis lef us to decide that we'd be comfier in a back room a la our Prince of Wales experience but it was so cold.  I imagine heating a building like this it expensive but other pubs can manage it.  If I was you, I'd go to the Anchor down the road, well unless it's Valentine's Day and they have changed all their ales to terrible 'love' themed ones like in 2012! 

Dad and Tom trying to stay warm in the beautiful but disappointing White Swan.

833.  Spotted Dog, Digbeth, Birmingham

I'm always a bit suspicious of pubs branding themselves 'Irish' but as this is a big Irish part of Birmingham (plus Whelan's in Asselby is so good), I needn't have worried.  This was my pub of the day from the minute I took my first glorious sip of Fixed Wheel IPA and we sat in the quiet back bar, which had a lovely mid afternoon gentle hubbub which certainly you wouldn't have got on a football day.  Thanks Sky!  What with Malton's Spotted Cow being my favourite pub last Saturday, I wonder if a Spotted Elephant is going to pop up in the Berkshire countryside next week.  They did then suddenly decide to gently 'illuminate' us by putting the lights on.  This had happened in the White Swan too.  Do Digbeth pubs like to keep a close eye on their pub visitors?  For fans of Peaky Blinders, I could imagine the Shelby gang having a nice quiet pint in here, providing they left their razorblade clad flat caps at home.  A wonderful pub experience, you must visit before you die! 

Time for some Irish fun at the Spotted Dog.

My GBG App hadn't plotted the next pub's position very well at all.  Typically, the weather had taken a turn for the worse too, but perseverance paid off up New Canal Street and after what seemed like an age but was probably 5 mins, we were at the last pub of the day.

Me and Tom finally locate the Woodman

834,  Woodman, Digbeth, Birmingham

It was another hit on a day when the standard of pubs had been superb.  I guess the people of Birmingham must take for granted the wealth of brilliant pubs available to them.  As Dad said, certainly no need to return to the Wellington again when a couple of minutes extra walk gets you to a pub like this.  More great local ales were available, not sure I can count a 5.6% Shropshire porter as locale but I'll try.  This pub had a slightly younger, vibrant vibe than the others, but not in an annoying or threatening way.  In fact, using the pubs own condiments to season my smuggled pork pie shows just how relaxed (drunk) I felt by this stage.  The music was peculiar, one song particularly stood out, a Gothic version of the "Are You Being Served?" theme.  I felt a bit safer in the knowledge that the people on the table next to us were totally wasted, as I tried to figure out what made this pub's recent refurb so environmentally friendly.  Top pub! 

Drunk dude, condiments, great ales - the Woodman, ladies and gentlemen. 

And there you have it.  After a bit of coffee and nachos, the journey back to York flew by as I slept through most of it and listened to my music.   West Midlands moves up to 7th in the BRAPA league table, jumping 4 places above Durham, Tyne and Wear, Lancashire and South London.

Midweek South Yorkshire is on Wednesday this week due to pub opening problems, it might not be til Friday when I write that one up so I'll see you when I see you.  Happy pubbing.

Si

BRAPA - Barugh Green / Survey Results are in....

I like what I am seeing from South Yorkshire's pubs so far after another successful Tuesday night trip saw the county achieve it's 42nd 'tick', putting it into level 5th in the BRAPA league table with East Yorks.

After a short train journey from Leeds, I found myself in Barnsley Interchange (posh name for rail and bus stations combined).  I love Barnsley folk, and unlike Donny, Keighley or Huddersfield, the bus station didn't need muzak to control the locals and any violent urges they may have had.

I was actually informed the Dingles were actually at home tonight (versus Coventry) so it seemed a bit strange to see so many LEAVING the town, unless they were plastic Blunts fans which seems a weird concept.  They certainly weren't Fiddlers, the only other fairly local team playing at home tonight.   Anyway, it didn't hold at my bus and after a nice sojourn past Barnsley hospital (where I did some of my growing up!), I was at Barugh Green pronounced 'Bark' Green - thanks to Dad for the local knowledge, he may even have been a regular in this pub in 1982/83 on Thursday lunchtimes!

Straight off the bus at Barugh Green

828.  Crown & Anchor, Barugh Green

The parallels to my Auckley trip a fortnight ago were uncanny, as parallels so often are!  Set back from the road with a car park at the front, check!  Proper foodie area but pleasing separate drinkers area acting as a refuge for people like me?  Check.  4 young barmaids buzzing around like pretty bees?  Check.  A group of no nonsense local men at bar chatting and drinking?  Check.  It was like a higher class version of the World's End film where the second pub is exactly the same as the first!  But I exaggerate.  A bit.  There was a very well behaved dog belonging to the men.  Now for a place with "bark" in the title, this was a disappointingly silent mutt,  I got chatting to 'lead brunette' (as in 'what you take your dog for a walk with, not Pb')  about True North beers which seemed to dominate a pleasing range, they part own the pub and their IPA and Red Rye beers all the way from Sheffield were delicious and strong.  Lead brunette had too loud a voice, the whole pub now knew I was a strange visitor being geeky about real ale.  Thanks a bunch LB!  The locals conversation seemed typical optimistic South Yorks, the highlight being that if any of them had a stroke, it wouldn't be worth trying to save them due to perceived quality of life issues!  I was having no such issues sat in the furthest corner, admiring the low beamed ceiling with not a diner in sight.  "Blondo 2" (as I imaginatively named her) got my my half a Red Rye but her eye make-up scared me a bit.  I'd have to say the trippy music didn't seem to suit the pub, I guess it was supposed to be relaxing, but more in a 20 something's London way than here.    But, as I stood at an imaginary bus stop for the bus back to 'town' (which was on time), my conclusion ... I'd recommend this pub to anybody.

Pint in candlelight at the Crown & Anchor (note pessimistic locals at bar)

If I manage a South Yorks trip next week (it'd have to be Wed and not Tue due to pub opening issues), it will be 9 weeks on the spin, a new BRAPA midweek record! 

Survey Results

In my latest unscientific survey to try an encapsulate the perfect pub experience, I asked you faithful blog readers "What type of people do you most enjoy going to the pub with?" 

The winner, with 11 of the 36 votes cast said "close friends I've known a long time".  I don't think that this is a surprising outcome.  After all, most people like to go to pubs to switch off, unwind, have a good time, laugh, not have to think too much, and I know from my own Thursday nights in York with same main core of 3 friends I've been going out with for years, it's great not to have to make too much effort!

In second place with 8 votes was "on my own".  Now in BRAPA terms, this is ideal because you can analyse a pub better, notice more intricacies of the place and folk around you and perhaps are more likely to get chatting to some stranger, which I always think is quite life affirming.  But aside from this, again the solitude that a pub can provide is a key factor here.  I sometimes feel more relaxed and free reading a book in a pub 300 miles away than I do in my own sitting room! 

The lowest scoring category with only two votes out of 36 was, perhaps a bit surprisingly, "one friend (I don't like groups much!)"  Whilst 'one on one' chats are sometimes great, I think pubs are designed for group chatting, just something about the atmosphere they provide which is unique to any other social situation I can think of.  

Another very low scoring category (3 votes) was 'family' and I'm not surprised when I think back to trying to enjoy one of Skipton's best pubs, only for my sister to ask "where do you see yourself in 5 years time?" The truthful answer was of course, was in a pub like this, but preferably, not being asked interview style questions!  

One final point to note.  People would rather sit and drink with a fellow beer/pub connoisseur than have to sit with a 'newbie' and try and educate them on the wonders of pubs and ale.  Too much effort perhaps?  

I'll be back soon with another survey about some random aspect of pub life and culture.

BRAPA - February Review / March Preview (2016)

February Review 

Evening all!  A grand total of 32 new pubs were visited in Feb. making for a really productive month, more than doubling my regular monthly target of 15.  It is also just one pub off being the best BRAPA month ever (I did 33 twice, but both were in summer so it's a new winter record at least).

I also visited 3 other new pubs, one was pre-emptive, one post-emptive(!) and one a (quite rubbish) heritage pub but you never know, all three may well be in the GBG sometime before 2042 when I'm due to finish my challenge.

The standard of pub was noticeably better than in January so picking three to go into my reckoning for 'pub of the year' was very difficult but here they are in no particular order:

1.  Major Tom's Social, Harrogate
2.  Dun Cow, Sunderland
3.  Brewery Tap, Ipswich

Plenty more were really good too, the Rifle Volunteer in Burnley, the Hare & Hounds in Hindley, the Eagle and Child in Auckley, the Nag's Head in Sunningdale and the Spotted Cow in Malton, and that's only 5 of them.

A bit of time off work for brilliant trips to Sunderland and Ipswich helped get the numbers up.  Even the boilerman couldn't stop me.  It was nice to start my South Yorkshire evenings and get Berkshire underway, and have a first NFFD (Non-football football day) trip to Greater Manchester.

March Preview

Although March is generally seen as the start of spring, and lighter and milder weather, I'm not expecting to manage quite so many new pubs as in Feb.  Only one day off work you see!

I should be able to crack on with the South Yorkshire midweek trail on (mainly) Tuesday nights throughout the month with villages around Barnsley and Doncaster high on the agenda.

On Saturdays, we start with a trip to some pubs just south of Birmingham centre, that should be a productive day and I'm looking forward to it.  I love West Midlands pubs.  We then have a second trip to Berkshire though April will see the really big "liver busting" trip to this county.  The following Friday sees a trip to Middlesbrough, which will more be about pre-emptives and football than hardcore BRAPping.  And the weekend after that is Easter, one of those annoying times for BRAPA what with people wanting to "do stuff" and silly bank holiday transport fouling things up, but I have two mellow North Yorkshirey ideas sketched in.

So I'm looking at 22 maximum number of pub ticks, which isn't amazing, but April is going to be huge so am happy to take the (relative) 'hit'.  I did 18 last March so if I can manage 19 I'll be happy.

See you all on Wednesday for my latest South Yorks write up plus my (exciting) survey results.

Carry on pubbing ya bastards!  Si

BRAPA - Malton, Scagglethorpe & Leavening

A pleasing scene at the Ham & Cheese

After the high standard of Ipswich pubbing on Tuesday, I didn't think the quality would be quite so good today.  After all, rural North Yorkshire is hardly been the most 'giving' of pub places since BRAPA began, so I was skepitcal to say the least.  It was a 'Dad chauffeur' day though, so at least I could sit back and make no effort whatsoever!

Staking out our first pub, from the safety of the car!

824.  Ham & Cheese Inn, Scagglethorpe

Scagglethorpe was just off the main Scarborough-Malton road, and we had to wait for 11am opening, but Dad noted lights on and smoke billowing out of the chimney, good signs that they were on the ball.  When a member of staff arrived in a car, we took our chance and ambushed the pub.  We were greeted by Arthur the two year old dog, who may as well have served us because the other staff were occupied by decorating for a 40th surprise birthday bash.  Luckily, an outgoing young barman appeared and he was a friendly soul, quizzing us on Brass Castle brewery who made the local 'Ham & Cheese' ale which I'm glad to say, didn't taste of ham and cheese.  We sat in front of a roaring fire (the best of all 4 we saw today) on some low leather settees whilst the decorating continued.  Arthur came to sleep at our feet but we suspected he was a gun dog, for every time a balloon or party popper went 'BANG', he ran to far end of the pub looking for the obligatory dead pheasant.  And then he'd return to us, looking rather sullen.  Some regulars came in and asked for a pint of the 'usual', which here was Brown Cow by Farmers, probably the best 'regulars' ale I've ever seen - it's normally John Smith's or Fosters in this situation.  If you were being ultra picky, the clarity of the piped music (high fidelity, Dad said) was a bit intrusive, and there was no complimentary fresh ham & cheese pieces on the bar.  Dad had accidentally parked in front of a driveway, so after taking the non-threatening note from the windscreen, it was time to leave Scaggs for ever and ever.  Very good pub.

Arthur makes an early bid for pub pet of the year in Scagglethorpe

Malton was just 3 miles away, but I had two new ticks to do despite having gone there on my "F is for Filey" day in 2013, and once before, when I had a job interview working for a boiler company!

It was farmers market day so all you could hear was 'cock-a-doodle-doo' as we walked up to our next pub and we then had a BRAPA first as my pub photo was put on hold as a farmer who looked like Father Jack (RIP) carrying a box of hens walked past.....but finally we were in.

Mind the hens!  Dad arrives at our second pub.

825.  Spotted Cow, Malton

And this was our pub of the day, mainly because we chose to go into the empty tap room, with another roaring fire, low beams, old bric-a-brac, truly one of those magical old pub rooms which felt it's 300 years old.  We were served by a characterful old landlady who was busy working and ordering (bossing) around her teenage assistant, a malnourished looking girl in a Sunderland Bidvest home shirt.  We spent much debating whether this was a Marston's pub (it served their new world pale) but also a Roosters Blind Jack (named after the fantastic Knaresborough pub of similar interior) which went down nicely, whilst Dad decided to be 'good' and have a J20, though our ordering of these has always been reluctant since the Nag's Head in Preston fiasco.  There was lots of references to an old brewery called Rose's and some interesting ornaments - Dick Turpin, Florence Nightingale, Larry Grayson playing cricket and General Napier.  All of whom presumably got drunk in here, together.   Landlady smashed a glass just as we were leaving, we didn't cheer, this was certainly not Wetherspoons on a Friday night, and it was time to move on.  

Mirror and ornaments at the Spotted Cow

The silence in the street told us one thing, the chickens had all been strangled, mutilated and the farmers market had finished.  Why they hadn't all come to the pub was anyone's guess, but probably a good job my vegan sister hadn't come along to witness the blood thirsty scenes (well, in my imagination).

Pub three, me and my orange garb are going in! 

826.  Blue Ball, Malton

And it was another multi-roomed, low beamed heritage cracker from Malton, I had no idea this town had pubs so good apart from that Crown/Suddaby's thing and the one in Old Malton which might have been called the Royal Oak.  Anyway, this slightly more modernised but it had one of the smallest bars I have seen in any pub, EVER!  A friendly older lady shuffled around it, and you could

forgive them for not having their much anticipated guest ale on, I doubt there's room for 3 handpumps even!  The more characterful rooms around the bar were sadly full, so we sent to a charming little lounge with nice carpetting and of course, a real fire though in here, I was getting a draught from some ghostly presence to my right (not Dad) and it had only just been lit so wasn't generating a great deal of heat.  We were facing 3/4 of a female University Challenge team (Malton College?) who were discussing travel and boring stuff but had some very nice food.  Sadly for our own sandwich expectations, they had a Nazi style "don't eat your own food on our premises" sign which is something I simply would not do if I ran a pub (RIP the Welly in Hull!)  But then again, I'd only do simple bar snacks.  If you ordered the game, you were warned it might contain the shot.  If you ordered the kangaroo or ostrich, who knows.  I wondered if such creatures had been bouncing around at the farmers market earlier.  

Best quality pint of Landlord I've had in ages, at the Blue Ball.

Our final and 'key' pub of the day was in Leavening, about 5 miles south of Malton in no man's land going back towards York.  It was one of those "how on earth do you do this on public transport?" places a bit like Ellerton's Boot & Shoe from last year.  

Arriving at our final pub of the day, note my Sainsbury's sponsored  BRAPA survival kit bag!

827.  Jolly Farmers, Leavening

And just like Ellerton last year, we entered the pub expecting to be the only people there but found an absolute hive of activity.  First thing that stood out, the barmaid's pink jumper.  I've never worn pink, it's always seemed weird, but I had a sudden urge to get one exactly the same (Dad said I should ask for it, she'd probably say yes, but I didn't want to give her the wrong impression!)  Second thing that stood out, real fire number FOUR and there's the full house - bingo.  We sat in the main bar, though again there were a few side rooms off although I think these were more done out for dining (spit!) but the pub had a lovely atmosphere.  The door through to the loos had a sign "shut that chuffin' door!" and you could see why, as it just kept opening itself.  The pint of Wolds Way from localish Wold Top brewery was really good, and with a menu saying 'bar snacks', we caved in and were soon eating black pudding fritters which were just what you need to soak up the ale/J20.  The locals were getting very impassioned in a Trump v Obama debate, which I found hugely entertaining and irritating.  Maybe they are conscious of their lack of globalism living in such a remote place, but my response to them would have to be "Who gives a shit?  Enjoy it.  No-one's bombing Leavening any time soon!" This view was backed up by a friendly local woman who got talking to us, and compared this pub to the fantastic Goodmanham Arms in that place I can't remember(!)  You can definitely draw parallels, it is that good. 

If you are going to the loo / play the piano, be careful re the door.

So, that was that.  All the country through roads were closed so we had to go all the way back to Malton to get to York just to accentuate the remoteness.  But who'd have though all 4 pubs would have been this good?  I think I need to start being kinder about my home county.

Right, I'm off to order a pink older ladies jumper from Bon Marche.

Pint, fire and pink jumper - perfect stuff at the Jolly Farmers

Oh, and see you all tomorrow for the month end review.

Si

BRAPA - Ipswich at it's very best.

Urinals reminded me of 'Scream' masks in the Briarbank Tap

Tuesday night saw me get my first Suffolk pub 'ticks' in four and a half years, doubling my total from 4 to 8, all of which are in Ipswich.

The players materialise at Portman Road on a ghostly, cold night

And I like to start with an apology to this glorious town.  On previous visits, I may have described the town in less than complimentary words, but this time, with the sun shining on the quayside area through the occasional sleet shower, it was like a cross between Ely, Knaresborough and Monaco.  No sign of the drab greyness, the inwardly looking yokels, the hatred of away football fans or any chips on inbred shoulders or aggressive toothless chavs jealous of Norwich.  No, this was delightful Ipswich.

Early signs weren't amazing though.  After a slightly fraught start with our train being cancelled in York, we were thankful to still arrive on time but with my 'trickiest' pub closed from 3pm-6pm in an annoying weekday afternoon pub move, Dad came up with the good idea to ensure we made it by getting us in a taxi.  The taxi driver was the most sinister man of 2016 yet, and when he drove us towards the quay behind some unloading lorries, I was convinced he was going to store our bodies in a shipping container a la Shetland......

Still alive!  Arriving at the Brewery Tap.

820  Brewery Tap, Ipswich

....thankfully, we were dropped in a car park of a grand old pink building, and with no pub sign, I could only assume this was our destination by a 2016 GBG sticker in the window.  Early signs weren't great as we had to interrupt a business meeting involving red wine and mobile phones to find the bar, where a local pervert was complimenting the blonde barmaid before devouring a sticky toffee pudding with his shopmobility scooting parents.  However, once we'd settled down to a cracking local pint of Tolly Roger by the local Cliff Quay (Tolly Cobbold) brewery, we knew we were in a great place.  Without sounding too much like Derek Acorah, you could feel the presence of centuries of history, I'm sure Sam would have agreed.  To see pickled eggs, olives and crisps being advertised more forcefully than pub meals was reassuring.  Dad spotted an old hatch which we thought might be an old 'off sales' window, so he reminisced on being a child in 50's Hull picking up bottles to take away for his parents.  That reminded me of a heritage pub I'd read about just around the corner, but not GBG listed.  As for this pub, a real gem - as they say, "for fans of  .... Whalebone in Hull, West Cross near Mumbles, Artillery Arms in Stonehouse area of Plymouth!"

Facing the bar in the Brewery Tap

Margaret Catchpole, Ipswich

So, answer me this.  How can a pub, so friendly on arrival from both staff and locals, with a roaring real fire, amazing windows, and "the most unspoilt 1930's interior in the country" still manage to be quite shite?  I can't even blame the Doom Bar, as well kept as I've ever had it, though the only ale on.  They even had a local Suffolk dialect poster up which sadly I didn't have time to study.  I can only think the TV, fruit machines and adverts for live sport managed to totally ruin it.  

Heritage Guide pub doesn't always equal fantastic pub. 

We took the school bus back into town where we checked in at our comfy, soundproof Premier Inn (cheers Lenny) before heading to the Briarbank Tap, which was not opening for another half an hour despite what the GBG said, so we walked to pub three instead!  

821.  Mulberry Tree, Ipswich

Paranoid from the last place being closed, my half-hearted efforts at getting into this closed looking pub were not very successful.  Luckily, the barman was on the ball to chase down the street after us and joke about my lame door opening technique, though I think he was showing off to the nice Aussie barmaid.  As it was, a nicer range of beers than Doom Bar greeted us and we found a nice booth which could almost be described as a 'settle' to 'settle' into in front of a wood burner.  The radio was on, which didn't do much for the ambiance, but again, a lovely old pub which begged the question "what have I been buggering about at in Ipswich all these years going to rubbish/average pubs?" Dad treated me to a Jamie Cullen sing-a-long (delightful), and I then kept my door problems going as the toilet one was just as jammed as the main one.  Probably warped 16th century/1980's wood or something?!  In the melee, I didn't even get a pub photo!  

Back at the Briarbank, in front of the brewing equipment window!

822.  Briarbank Tap, Ipswich

With their unspecific "16:30 til Late' opening times, we had to get this one in pre-match in case 'late' meant "when we feel like closing" which for all I know could've been 7pm!!  We climbed the stairs to the first floor bar to this modern place, only opened in 2013 but wow, what a fantastic job they've made of it with shiny brewery mirrors displaying all the beer names making the long, thin room seem a lot bigger than it actually was.  No need to show my CAMRA card or be signed in, like the GBG reckoned, and whilst you could be forgiven for thinking we'd be served by a bearded man who loved cycling, it was actually an old woman, and what a star she was.  She really made the experience, nothing was too much trouble whether it was advising on the ales, opening a tab for us, getting us sausage and mash with the biggest amount of cabbage I've ever seen on one plate ..... she even identified us as Hull City fans!  So much for my disguise attempts, fake accent, and blue and white outfit.  And we didn't even get escorted off the premises.  Okay, the Briarbank ales were a bit hit and miss, but the Six Nations IPA was lovely, and we even had time to get a pre-match coffee to sober us up which I never do, it was that kind of place. 

Interior shot at the Briarbank Tap

After a pre-match bovril and the kind of wonderful away game experience which reminds you more of League Two than the Premier League (oh, and temporarily losing my phone in the ground!), we had time for celebratory last orders.

Dad arrives at our final pub of the night

One of the upstairs rooms in the Wolsey.

823.  Thomas Wolsey, Ipswich

You've got to love those crazy Tudors, and high on victory and the 16th century, I had to remember to wipe the big cheesy grin off my face and look like a sulky Tractor Boy as we "fought" our way to the bar after the match, not far from Portman Road.  It wasn't busy, it's just everyone insisted on standing at the bar, blocking it (PET PUB HATE number 1!) though Dad, with the air of a yokel local, quickly found some stairs leading to at least two totally empty, and I must say, magnificent Tudor style creaky uneven old rooms.  Feel the quality.  I followed with the pints and it felt just like being upstairs in the Black Swan in York (not always open to the public though).  We wandered around like being in our own private museum, even finding a view down into this little courtyard where the ghost of Catherine Howard could be heard clearing away glasses from behind a door.  Or was it me, it had been quite a long day! 

Quality stuff in the T.W. 

After a good night's sleep and a great breakfast on the quayside, I managed to solve a couple of Wetherspoon issues before the train home.  Firstly, I needed a dump quite urgently so went in the Golden Lion 'Spoons, probably can't call it a pre-emptive tick, it certainly didn't take 27.5 mins!  

Great relief at the Golden Lion!

And then, we worked out (and I've discussed this in the archives) that it was indeed the Cricketers and not the Robert Ransome 'Spoons we visited on 4th May 2008 before the Greyhound FINALLY decided to serve us.

So, great work from Ipswich.  Dove Street Inn is a great pub in my eyes, but don't waste your time on the boring 'Spoons, rip-off charmless Greyhound, the 'up it's own arse, self-satisfied' St Jude's or the 'passive-aggressive scenester' Fat Cat.  Get yourself to the four I did on Tuesday, much better! 

Si

 

 

BRAPA - Berkshire Part 1 (Under Starter's Orders)

A whole month has passed since I ticked off my final GBG pub in Bedfordshire, it felt like longer, and I'd been itching to get started on Berkshire.  My only previous experience of the county was on Hull City away days in Reading, where I'd visited the excellent Hobgoblin (now, Alehouse) and the wonderful Nag's Head so it was actually over 5 years (22nd Jan 2011) since I'd been to a new pub here,  It needed rectifying ......

An unpromising view of the first pub. 

I started in Bracknell, after all, it is on the first page of Berkshire's pubs and you know by now that I have alphabetical OCD.  Bracknell seemed a strange place, on the plus side it smelt like hot cross buns but on the downside, it looked like Milton Keynes without as much character and the people all looked manically depressed or simple, or both, in the centre of town at least.

815.  Old Manor, Bracknell

After much negotiating of nicely decorated subways and underpasses, I finally found a way into the pub and despite the above picture, I approached it from a beautiful Tudor angle which really did the building justice and must be unique for 'Spoons.  Inside, a low roof and a gentle hum of breakfasters (funny how the only time I find pub meals acceptable is breakfast in 'Spoons) added something of a unique ambiance not usually associated with this chain.  The staff were bored but competent, and a delicious pint of Bingham's Vanilla Stout was soon mine.  If this is a sign of the local ale to come, I'm looking forward to Berks.  A lot.  A group of young lads who looked and sounded like Spurs reserve team were feverishly planning a trip to Cardiff Bay behind me, and I've seriously never seen any group so excited about a trip to Cardiff, maybe that says a lot about Bracknell.  There were some nice side rooms off this pub too, and you could certainly imagine Henry VIII bringing Anne Boleyn here for Eggs Royale in a happier stage of their relationship. 

A better view of the Old Manor

A short bus ride to the south of town (Handworth) followed and I was delighted to see that that my next pub had it's own bus stop and had to chuckle when the automated announcer said "next stop, the Cannie Man public house!" but I wasn't chuckling when it stopped 0.4 miles away!!  Turned out this route was closed for something, having done further research at the correct bus stop.  Why is nothing ever bloody straightforward in BRAPA??

Arriving at my next pub after some bus confusion.

816.  Cannie Man, Bracknell

I think this is what they refer to in the trade as an "estate pub".  I guess there was a time when unashamedly 70's/80's pub like this were sneered at by pub enthusiasts, but nowadays with the emergence of Micros and 'Craft' bars, these will probably be lauded by English Heritage in the next few years, if not already.  It had a certain charm.  All eye watering carpet patterns, swathes of open space with one raised area, decor in the form of each flag of the home nations, all presided over by a friendly old couple, the old boy telling my T.E.A. was the only ale on despite the pump clips suggesting otherwise, plus he assured me it was a fresh barrel as though I was some CAMRA investigator.  Some locals lined the bar, looking expectantly at me as though as a visitor, I should perform an initiation dance.  I didn't.  I sat in the raised area where I could choose whether to watch my beloved Hull City get stuffed at Arsenal (it never happened), or watch Cardiff rain in the goals against a woeful looking Brighton.  Men ignored both and played darts in a serious manner, it was verging on WMC territory.  Some kids, muddy from football, came in to a hero ovation (they'd won 6-3) and ordered coke with NO ice thank you very much,  It was that kind of a place.

Estate pub joy at the Cannie Man

Due to the bussing issues, I had to walk a bit to the 'Qualitas' stop a few streets away, but was soon back in Bracknell and from there, on to Ascot.  One thing I'd learned from the locals in the Cannie Man was that it was race day at Ascot!  How could I be so silly not to have realised?  After all, Tim of Newbury fame had recently warned me my planned Newbury day in April clashes with the races, it's almost like I'm deliberately seeking out trouble! 

I was luckily unaffected, and with the rain unrelenting, a kind taxi driver (no busses in this area) took me past the racecourse.  He was very much like Barrington from Maid Marian and Her Merry Men, with the spirit of Little Ron.  

Note the men in the doorway, the second one slipped over and found it hilarious

817,  Duke of Edinburgh, Ascot

Despite the foody nature inside, it wasn't rammed down my throat on arrival as I declared "I am looking for a pint of real ale!" (I must be getting braver) and my bravery was further rewarded when a nice brunette liked the fact I shunned any 'try before you buy' nonsense and dived straight in to the premium Kingsdown special ale.  The bar chap David was a great lad too, telling me their strawberry guest beer was "gimmicky" and basically telling me not to bother!  I like honest staff.  In fact, the camaraderie of these two and a waitress girl really made this a happy pub, despite the diners.  In fact, if it wasn't for all the people buzzing about, this could have been pub of the day - a real cosy old feeling building, and various people kept coming over and asking if I was alright or needed anything else, as though I couldn't possibly just be happy sitting on my own with a pint and my book!  This was all that stopped me reaching my "state of contentment" for the day.  On the upside, they were quick to whisk away cutlery, placemats, condiments etc from my table once they knew I wasn't eating, so one up on the Gerrard Arms in Aspull last week. 

Inside the Duke of Edinburgh, a very good pub indeed.

A combination of lacking phone signal, lack of busses and being 3 miles from Ascot on a race day were all factors in my next decision, to walk all the way to Sunningdale instead.  Bit of mistake, no pavement for much of it on a busy B road, plus the teeming rain, meant I was drenched when I finally arrived in this little village which I'd been expecting to be some characterless urban sprawl, glad I was wrong!

Geoffrey in the door way at the Nags Head 

818.  Nags Head, Sunningdale

It was worth the effort, this was my pub of the day.  and with the barman having wandered into the carpark, I found myself alone in an empty pub with the smell of a real woody fire to my right, and what seemed like a full range of Harvey's ales (so you know you are down south!) immediately facing me at the shallow bar.  The barman returned and with my soggy state, a pint of Armada seemed appropriate but annoyingly, and like the Cannie Man, half the beers weren't on!  So I had an IPA which was pleasant, but like most Harvey's ales, a bit of a yawn fest from my experience.  Barman introduced himself as Geoffrey, he thought I was called Sandy (never mind!) and although he was fairly interested in BRAPA, he was more impressed in the fact that I'd got a 7:01 train down south and was due back in York the same day, like I was a time traveller.  He was a lovely chap, and even brought the chair with my coat in front of the fire to help it dry off.  It's touches like this that win staff awards.  He had friends in Poppleton, but hadn't visited them in years thinking York is so far away (it's really not).  He even accosted some locals in the street to give me directions to the next pub, very above and beyond.

Probably my moment of the day, in Nags Head.

819.  Royal Oak, Sunningdale

And it wasn't much of a walk at all, but here was where all Sunningdale life was - a hive of bustling activity as I struggled to the bar to get a Bingham's porter, so the day had pretty much come full circle.  How do you account for a pub as a nice as the Nags Head being empty, and this (admittedly with better beer choice) being choc a bloc?  I settled in front of Jeff Stelling, with two young lads playing darts perilously close to my head.  Then a dog, Lily (a Cairn terrier I was told) wandered over looking for a head scratch and some food, sulking because the darts players ignored her.  She went the long way around so the lead created a kind of spiders web around the right hand side of the pub, meaning going to the loo was like being in the 800m hurdles.  I got chatting with her owner, a local lady who admitted it was her first time here too, she didn't think women really came into pubs on their own, but she was past the point of caring, and she was nice but not one you'd argue with!  I'd got so wrapped up in the chat, never mind Lily's web(!), that I suddenly had to dash for my train back to London. 

Dodging darts and dog leads at the Royal Oak

It was a longer walk to the station than I realised, and I was so lucky the door was closing as I snuck on to the Waterloo train (had I missed that, I doubt I'd have made my 19:11 connection to York).  Phew!

As it was, I had time if not for a pint in Scottish Stores but for a 'swift half' in Parcel Yard of an unpronounceable thing from New Zealand which I had a joke with the surprisingly nice staff about, before me and a random football fan laughed at the screen showing L**ds own goal at Watford, only to turn round and find a sullen White Shite fan behind me (oops).  I hid in a side room until my Grand Central departure was ready to take off in a Yorkish direction.  

My swift errm 'half' in the Parcel Yard.

It had been a great Berkshire beginning.  I'd been expecting a lot of rubbish gastro stuff in uncharacterful places with unfriendly people, but I have to say looking back that all 5 pubs were either good, very good or excellent.  I'll look forward to some more Berks adventures next month and then my big 4 day beezer in April.  It doesn't look the hardest county to complete (as Retired Martin said), so perhaps by September I'll be in a good position to cast half an eye in a Bucks direction.  But won't get ahead of myself too soon.

Oh, and for those of you who like stats, Berkshire has shot up from 46th to 30th in the BRAPA league table!

Tomorrow, I have to decide whether to give my liver a rest pre-Ipswich or crack on with the next leg of my South Yorkshire 'midweek' challenge.  I might decide on the night. 

Si