15th September 2016, it is official, the Good Beer Guide is upon us.
For those of us who have respected the embargo through those difficult days of late August / early September when the CAMRA carrier pigeons buckled under the 1,000 plus pages heading to "The North", some even being electrocuted on power lines just outside Stockport, today is a momentous day.
I have finished my "cross-ticking exercise". I was on 1,006 pubs going into the 'blackout' period, I emerge 110 poorer at 896. Was expecting about 100 drop, but at one stage looked nearer 150 so I can't complain.
Here's ten highlights, lowlights and BRAPA strategy ideas for the 2016/17 "season" (like you care).
1. Tuesday Triumph - Yorkshire of course is my main focus, living there n all, and it has not been too cruel. South Yorkshire looks very achievable by the end of 2016, and whilst West Yorkshire has thrown up plenty of new challenges, I love my Tuesday nights so lots to look forward to. North and East Yorkshire have been kinder, I'm aiming to finish all four Ridings (or whatever they are called) by the end of next summer.
2. The Bedfordshire Conundrum - Sounds like a dull Dan Brown novel*, but I'll explain. I had completed Beds, and moved onto Berks. But now Beds has new pubs to go at. So do I return to Beds once I've completed Berks, or move on to Bucks and sack off Beds until I've done all other counties in many years time, then go back round the counties again? My three leading 'strategists' all favoured the latter approach, so that is what I will do. Did that make sense?
3. Evil Greater Manchester - All this tooling around missing Hull City away games (NFFD's) to tick off the many weird and wonderful places that inhabit this region, and how does it repay me, with the biggest percentage drop of anywhere?! It's taking the P I S S out of me. Suddenly, Altrincham, Ashton under Lyne, Atherton, Billinge and Tyldesley all have new pubs to visit. I'm surprised Crooke hasn't opened up a new underwater canal micropub. Arrrghhhhh. And I bet it would have a shitty Christmas menu.
4. Berkshire Blast - My current "long distance" focus county is not looking too bad, by contrast. Amazingly ALL my pre-emptive ticks I did early September are in the GBG, even horrid Theale (fancy that!) and I can see me finishing the county by Feb/March 2017. I'd like to once again thank Tim Thomas and Sir Quinno for keeping me on the right Berkshire track back in April.
5. Bucking Hell - Which makes Buckinghamshire my "far away focus" (FAF) county of 2017. I lost more than 50% of the 11 pubs I'd done here (i.e. 6) so am annoyed our Wembley day pub ticking was almost totally in vain. Roger Protz might find it commendable MK has forgone all it's entries ("doing a Watford" as it is known in the trade), but for me, sheer annoyance!
6. Chauff me the Money - With self driving cars still not available, and Tom still not passing his driving test (not sure which of these two would be safer) Dad is my premier chauffeur / tricky pub ticking buddy having earned himself a new 2 year contract(!) with BRAPA, having impressed in mid-Wales. We've spoken about strategy, so on Hull City home days, I'm advised to focus on the likes of Lancs, Greater Manc, Merseyside, Cheshire, Notts, Cumbria and Durham and leave tricky Yorkshire days for when he's free. This is a shift in focus but makes sense, and our sporadic NFFD's with Tom will continue.
7. Pre-emptive Joy - Most satisfying to see some pre-emptive pub visits making their way into the guide, the gamble (in some cases) paid off. Cow & Cask, Newbury, Castle Tap, Reading, Bald Buzzard, Leighton Buzzard, New Brew-m, Burnley, Butchers Dog, Driffield, Gallaghers, Cross Hills - just some of those mainly micro pubs which've come good for me.
8. Marvellous Middlesbrough, Yucky York - Speaking of micro pubs, my place of the 2017 GBG is Boro. It has added Infant Hercules but none of the other micros apart from Dr Phil's which I perhaps judged unfairly due to the time of day of my visit (sure they all opened about same time as IH so must qualify) but what a fantastic bold step to reintroduce Isaac Wilson excellent Spoons near the station instead. Parmos are on me. I also think Sheffield got it spot on with it's entries this year. I can't really criticise most places as I'm rarely more than a one off visitor, but me and my York friends go around random York pubs almost every Thursday and I cannot believe the decision making. Fox is probably my pub of the year, anywhere. Deguided. Old Ebor, superb quality ale, cracking locals pub, passionate landlord, deguided. Rook & Gaskill pub of the year? Gimme a break. Falcon Tap deserves it's debut, Duke of York, well, it's okay, but hardly pulls up any trees. Still, as John Watson says, we (local CAMRA members) all get a vote, it's democratic, so you gotta abide by the decisions made.
9. Archive Surprise - I've counted 24 pubs in the new GBG which I hadn't reviewed since BRAPA has started, either because they weren't in 2014,15 or 16 GBG's, or I didn't consider them as GBG worthy pubs when I visited, so over the next three Mondays, I will be reviewing 8 of them at a time. Don't I spoil you?
10. You Absolute Anchor! - After a year plus of planning this fabled almost mythical pub, references galore with the likes of Martin Taylor and Pub Curmudgeon, me and Martin both get to it, it lived up to the billing with wonderful ale, top landlord and what happens, they de-guide it! If one thing sums up the frustration of pub ticking, this is it.
I've got today off (not because the Guide is out, but to "recover" from last night's York Beer Festival). I didn't overdo it because today seems like a fitting day to go BRAPping.
Si
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* The Bedfordshire Conundrum, Chapter 1.
I entered the dusty old Christian chapel on a wet November morning. A man hunched over an alter in robes, heard my footsteps and stood up, bolt upright. "Simon, is that you?" he ventured in a voice broken by too many average pints of Greene King IPA. "But how did you know my name?" "We have been expecting you. Biggleswade has been expecting you. You are the only one who can solve our conundrum .... the Bedfordshire Conundrum!".
Bewildered, I stood open mouthed but he reached forward with an athleticism defying his years, or come to think of it, anyone in East Beds. He grabbed my arm and took me over to an unkempt rusty window, displaying a stained glass prism. "You see the prism?" I squinted into the sunlight which had conveniently appeared at this moment despite the grey rainy morning. "Yes, I do sir" I replied. "Don't call me sir, my name is Alan". Alan seemed a disappointing name all things considered.
"Now see here", Alan rolled out some parchment over the parapet displaying a map of Biggleswade town centre. He took a quill (the poser could have used a biro) and marked a cross. This represents "The Golden Pheasant". He drew another cross. "And this, the Wheatsheaf". I looked sceptical. He drew a third cross and looked at me inquiringly. "Errrm, the Stratton House Hotel?" I asked tentatively. "Don't be fucking stupid, that place has been shit for years Simon. No, that is the New Inn Alehouse & Kitchen!" And then he drew a line going West. "And what is that?!" I exclaimed. "That is the bus route to the Cock at Broom. It has no bar. NO BAR!!!"
And then he vanished in a cloud of smoke, leaving behind him a scent of stale Charles Wells Eagle IPA. What did it all mean, the Bedfordshire Conundrum?
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Visiting every pub in the CAMRA Good Beer Guide before I die!
Thursday, 15 September 2016
Tuesday, 13 September 2016
BRAPA - Doncaster Doom
You'd have thought by now, the number of times I've visited the town of Doncaster, I'd have been confident, relaxed, been embraced by the locals as "one of them" .... NO CHANCE! With one of the hottest September days on Donny record, the freaks were out in force making for a hair raising experience.....
Leopard, Doncaster
The Leopard, one of those "oh my god Si how have you not visited this pub before?" pubs looked splendid from the outside. Green tiling must be my favourite pub exterior along with cats and stuffed owls on spikes. Inside was immediately more underwhelming, not that I had chance to take it all in. The ales seemed to be missing and a barman (possibly Leo Fortune-West) seemed just as confused as me, told me a blackboard displaying them had gone walkabout. A more senior barman then asked if I was a "Rep" and when I told him no, just a CAMRA member, he got a bit sheepish and gave me 10% discount. Wish I'd have said yes to see what would have happened, but no doubt my Tim Taylor top was to blame. I decided to sit in the right hand room of the three (table tennis and pool in the back). As I "admired" the fake bookcase and listened to conversations like (a) "if poker is annoying you, don't get addicted, just give up" and (b) "How did you manage to buy a church by accident?", I read my Donny Drinker thinking this is quite a standard pub experience for Doncaster, especially when a Vietnamese bag lady appeared from nowhere. But then, "Whisky Steve" arrived. Oh dear! Once he'd ascertained I wasn't gay (he said he always checks, it's the one type of person he won't talk to), he sat with me, forever. Wish I'd said I was. He was amazed to learn I was 37 and not 12 years old. He compared himself to Einstein (when sober), told me he liked boobs, and then when a chap in a turban walked in, he chanted "I Sikh him here, I Sikh him there, I Sikh him everywhere". So embarrassed, I downed my Sharp's Atlantic, made my excuses and ran out as quickly as I could.
Flying Scotsman Tap, Doncaster
Pre-Steve, the Donny Drinker had told me this was a pub of the season with it's Chantry ales and live music, so in need of a calmer experience(!), I headed down the hellhole that is Silver Street, all horrific bars and takeaways with scroats and skanks lining the streets, I'd been expecting some shiny metallic trendy bar full of uncomfortable posing tables, so to find quite a divey dark gig venue was quite a relief. The barman was of the enthusiastic, cheery ilk (like all bar staff in South Yorkshire towns, pleased to see anyone drinking ale). He asked me the old "What type of beers do you like?" question, I humoured him by saying "stout and porter" but it'd just gone off so rather than offering me the nearest fit, he sold me the lightest hoppiest beer on sale cos he liked it best! Bit too dry but the New York Pale at least reminded me of better pubs in Rotherham, I squashed into an incomprehensibly low settee as two unwashed old men chuckled about the warm weather and wives hanging their washing out (or something). The artwork was all Brewdog and Bowie. Ugh. Our barman kept checking on me & the state of the ale, calling me "duck" far more than was necessary - he must have moved from Derbys, he probably thought I was a rep too. The music was good, the place a bit dull, though just as I was leaving, "Go Now" by the Moody Blues started up which summed up just how welcome I felt in Donny tonight!
After another terrifying walk back to Donny station where three topless teenage chavs crossed the road in an aggressive manner, I did my usual ritual/superstition of getting fleeced by the station vending machine, (£1 plain chocolate Bounty). Three drunk men in vests came along to tell me I could pay contactless on this vending machine and how ridiculous that was but was I having a good evening? They had a point of course, but "WHY CAN'T PEOPLE JUST LEAVE ME ALONE?!"
It was a relief when I got back to 'boring, no-one gives a shit about their fellow man' York.
Good Beer Guide 2017 out on Thursday, I will be back with a special blog so see ya then.
Si
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| Man from my train fails to enter pub. Loser. |
The Leopard, one of those "oh my god Si how have you not visited this pub before?" pubs looked splendid from the outside. Green tiling must be my favourite pub exterior along with cats and stuffed owls on spikes. Inside was immediately more underwhelming, not that I had chance to take it all in. The ales seemed to be missing and a barman (possibly Leo Fortune-West) seemed just as confused as me, told me a blackboard displaying them had gone walkabout. A more senior barman then asked if I was a "Rep" and when I told him no, just a CAMRA member, he got a bit sheepish and gave me 10% discount. Wish I'd have said yes to see what would have happened, but no doubt my Tim Taylor top was to blame. I decided to sit in the right hand room of the three (table tennis and pool in the back). As I "admired" the fake bookcase and listened to conversations like (a) "if poker is annoying you, don't get addicted, just give up" and (b) "How did you manage to buy a church by accident?", I read my Donny Drinker thinking this is quite a standard pub experience for Doncaster, especially when a Vietnamese bag lady appeared from nowhere. But then, "Whisky Steve" arrived. Oh dear! Once he'd ascertained I wasn't gay (he said he always checks, it's the one type of person he won't talk to), he sat with me, forever. Wish I'd said I was. He was amazed to learn I was 37 and not 12 years old. He compared himself to Einstein (when sober), told me he liked boobs, and then when a chap in a turban walked in, he chanted "I Sikh him here, I Sikh him there, I Sikh him everywhere". So embarrassed, I downed my Sharp's Atlantic, made my excuses and ran out as quickly as I could.
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| Not much was going on at this stage ..... |
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| The calm before the whisky storm. |
Pre-Steve, the Donny Drinker had told me this was a pub of the season with it's Chantry ales and live music, so in need of a calmer experience(!), I headed down the hellhole that is Silver Street, all horrific bars and takeaways with scroats and skanks lining the streets, I'd been expecting some shiny metallic trendy bar full of uncomfortable posing tables, so to find quite a divey dark gig venue was quite a relief. The barman was of the enthusiastic, cheery ilk (like all bar staff in South Yorkshire towns, pleased to see anyone drinking ale). He asked me the old "What type of beers do you like?" question, I humoured him by saying "stout and porter" but it'd just gone off so rather than offering me the nearest fit, he sold me the lightest hoppiest beer on sale cos he liked it best! Bit too dry but the New York Pale at least reminded me of better pubs in Rotherham, I squashed into an incomprehensibly low settee as two unwashed old men chuckled about the warm weather and wives hanging their washing out (or something). The artwork was all Brewdog and Bowie. Ugh. Our barman kept checking on me & the state of the ale, calling me "duck" far more than was necessary - he must have moved from Derbys, he probably thought I was a rep too. The music was good, the place a bit dull, though just as I was leaving, "Go Now" by the Moody Blues started up which summed up just how welcome I felt in Donny tonight!
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| Put "Tap" in front of a pub, and it might get in the GBG one day! |
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| Empty moshing space |
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| Top quality Chantry |
It was a relief when I got back to 'boring, no-one gives a shit about their fellow man' York.
Good Beer Guide 2017 out on Thursday, I will be back with a special blog so see ya then.
Si
Sunday, 11 September 2016
BRAPA - Padiham & Burnley
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| The 'cushion of controversy', Padiham (see below) |
After a 17 minute bus journey, we were in Padiham. It wasn't the sandstone hillside Pendle village I'd imagined in my mind's eye with a friendly witch stirring newt eyes into a cauldron, but just a busy road to Burnley with a bridge over a river, a few shops and random buildings on each side. Still seems a strange place to have your hen-do, as my manager at work did.
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| Disturbed character waiting for pub to open. |
Hare & Hounds, Padiham
The pub was suitably multi-roomed, dark and a tiny bit dingy despite the sunny morning - perfect! A good range of local-ish ales were on (I tried the likes of Coach House, Worsthorne and Accrington's Clock) and Dad was swiftly admonished by the young barmaid for suggesting that a 7.3% stout was a "bit strong". She wasn't joking. I think this shows us that she isn't the kind of girl who'd fret about a sheep cushion being moved, but it didn't stop Tom trying to get me into trouble for moving it .... had I been 'barred' before my minimum 25 minute stay, there'd have been trouble! As it was, she was looking for the remote control and with the Manchester derby on three screens, fresh beermats handed out to the customer's like a card game, and the smell of wet dog (lolloping at the bar) neutralised by cigarette smoke (it isn't 2007 in Padiham yet), the pub really started to swing into life. When I say 'life', I mean the ever-so-slightly terrifying clientele. Twilds who you wouldn't dare call twilds had mini mohawks and troubled stares, their parents all tattoos, fake tans, tracksuits and hooped earrings. I didn't dare photograph them. To ramp up the "local interest" element, someone on Twitter told me that this pub is known locally as the Stabbers Arms after the landlady's partner followed a customer home, stabbed him, customer then returned to pub (presumably for a last rites pint of 7.3% stout) where he died on the pub steps. We speculated on whether anyone currently here might have been involved, and Dad whispered "they probably ALL have tags on and are out on day release". After this story, there was no chance we weren't going to take part in the pub football team raffle (I chose Hull City & Hibs) but I haven't been contacted with my winnings yet. Memorable pub!
After one of the more enjoyable 90 minutes at Turf Moor, I was walking away from the ground when I stumbled across this club looking like it was going to sell quality real ale, and despite a stern looking skinhead with folded arms outside the closed front door, I snuck in through a side door.
KSC 110 Club, Burnley
I suddenly had to set my expression from "94th minute equaliser euphoria" to "abject disappointment" as I saw the sullen faces of the Clarets packed into the room. I revealed my Notsensibles band t-shirt (Burnley's finest early 80's irreverent punk band) and shook my head at a kind old man as if to say "HOW did we not hang on for victory?" and before I knew it, I was in the inner circle being served Reedley Hallows superb ales - easily my pint of the day and it'd be nice to think this club would get in the 2017 GBG when it is released on Thursday. I perched on the end of the bar, a good way to see how ultra hard the army of staff were working and I don't think I've ever seen so many empties being returned to the bar in such a short space of time. Robert Snodgrass did a lot for local beer industry yesterday. I couldn't really move enough to leave the club (good excuse), so ended up staying for another where the kids and women started to disperse (the men said they were staying for just one more) and I finally got a seat for the last 10 minutes.
Back in the street, the football traffic had cleared and I had time to pop in to the Ministry of Ale for a final drink before the train back to York, via L**ds. The Ministry was one of my original favourite real ale pubs, surprised it hasn't been in the GBG in recent years, and I was just starting to suspect a falling out with the local CAMRA (politics!) when on this occasion, my beer was rapidly descending into vinegar. At least I got a nice chat with some stray Tigers.
So all in all, a pretty good day out and sat here 7:30pm on Sunday, still feel a bit hungover! On Ripper Street this week, Drake asked Reid why on earth he'd leave his peaceful seaside town to return to the grime and seedy crime of 1890's Whitechapel? "Because this is where life is!" and exactly why I'd take a million 'mild peril' pubs of East Lancs over a sanitised gastro buggy-friendly non-threatening place in South East London.
I'll be back in South Yorkshire tomorrow evening for more pre-emptive fun, and will write it up on Tuesday. Have a good week and get down t'pub!
Si
Wednesday, 7 September 2016
BRAPA - Barnsley Bonus Bonanza
Tuesday afternoon at work and I had that sudden compulsion that we all get at some stage of our lives, to 'randomly' visit the pubs of Barnsley that I'd not quite managed to do before.
After a train journey on the familiar 16:40 from DirtyL**ds, which was only notable for a power-dressing business woman slaying her own mother over the phone for not knowing where the bread was, I was in the muggy town of the Tyke Monsters in good time.
Dove Inn, Barnsley
I almost came here circa 2005/6, but deemed it "too close to the football ground" on a match day and likely to be heaving. If you don't know which way you are walking from the station, it isn't an easy one to find, and as soon as I stepped inside the Alhambra shopping centre, Google Maps basically said "Si, you are on your own from here". After side stepping some teenage chavs, I found myself being greeted by one man sat at a table in the middle of the pub, the landlord. "Yes cock?!" he exclaimed, well I've never been so insulted! Friendly Barnsley greeting I hope. As the only customer present (brilliant at first, but soon depressing), I sat in the main bar enjoying my Old Mill guest ale (a brewery I usually find a bit crummy) admiring memorabilia from Barnsley F.C.'s "golden ages". So 1910-11 and briefly in the mid 1990's then. Toby Tyke kept staring at me in a foreboding manner, I had to remind myself I lived here in 1983 (town, not pub) and my great uncle played for the Tykes in the 1920's so I am virtually royalty. My pictures might make the pub look ultra traditional, but it has suffered a massive stroke on the right hand side and is all a bit restauranty (well, dried flowers in small vases on wooden tables) and was this the reason for the emptiness? Isolating old school drinkers, yet at the same time, hardly the most salubrious of eateries either? Great ale though, told barman, called me "mate" this time as he hummed in a slightly mad, out-of-tune way to himself......
A 15 minute walk across town took me down Summer Lane, to a pub that myself and the redoubtable Tom Irvin tried to enter after 12 noon in July 2014, supposed to be open. We even rang the pub phone number but nothing doing. After some questionable theories, we settled on "pub closed forever" (it made me feel better) and returned, brows dripping with sweat, to the Old No 7 where Bernard Everitt was all like "why did you ever leave here in the first place?"
Commercial, Barnsley
A proper local community spirit was brewing on this warm Tuesday evening with an occupied pool table and England U21's on a screen. I was greeted as "luvvie" by a barmaid in a fetching black and white striped get-up, and was soon enjoying a typically amazing pint of Abbeydale Deception, choosing to sit "right in the heart of the action" rather than cower in the empty far corner room - after all, I needed blog material! As friendly (and ever-so-slightly edgy) as this pub was, the main criticism has to be the amount of hypochondriacs that abound. Firstly, barmaid herself. "I'm ultra tired, definitely something wrong with me" she kept saying. It didn't stop her getting animated at the slightest hint of excitement and told a tale of some drunk guy throwing a bucket of water on her last night. He nearly got barred when he refused to get in a taxi and then demanded another pint. This place must be fun at 11pm. Then a neck-aching layabout girl entered and ordered much Prosecco, admitting she actually cried when the doctor refused to give her any medication. She then sympathised with the chubbier pool player, he's been "laid up sick" all week - yet he was on his 5th bottle of Bud (since I'd arrived) and was racing around a pool table like a hairier but still more acceptable Stephen Lee. Was I seeing the dark side of Barnsley society? At least I got called "pal" for opening a door for a man with too many drinks and not enough balance, and then when Rashford scored for England U21's, they all nodded smugly in unison and went "aye, Rashford's got it, aye" as though he's a Barnsley born and bred regular. Insane pub.
Joseph Bramah, Barnsley
'Spoons time it was, armed with another Mudgie voucher to get the price down to £1.59 for a very good Horbury Beer. Reason I've not been here before was that when I went to the other Spoons, I just didn't have the heart to do two in one day! 'Spoons pubs seem to have one of two entrance types - either, and most commonly, the light glass door, wide and bustling, greeted by tables at all angles as you fight your way to a bar straight ahead. Or like this one, the narrow thin dark entrance with a few miserable locals lining the walls, where the pub slopes before sweeping round left or right to the bar. All the drama here was at the bar where a horrid man from the West Country, having earlier admitted confusing the young barman with a complex order, then slagged him off to more senior staff "You need to train your staff better!" "It's only his second shift!" protested the guy serving me, "EXACTLY!" said West Country Twat, which was a comeback which made no sense to anyone who witnessed it. Seriously, if I had a west country accent in Barnsley, I'd not be making a spectacle of myself. As I sat down at a sticky table and brushed crumbs onto the floor, I wondered what the army of female skanks (oops, waitresses) were actually doing, well until the tiny strawberry blonde tanned one smiled at me, then I forgave them. Upstairs was a huge seating area and another bar, the locals all looking at me like "this is an upstairs room for local people!" Then, nothing else happened for the next half an hour.
So that was nice, three more pubs errrm, not ticked off cos they aren't in the GBG just yet, but visited pre-emptively anyway. Journey back nice and uneventful despite changing at L**ds again, and back on with cross-ticking my new GBG in readiness for 15th September. I will be in Burnley on Saturday for some football and real ale, so will keep you posted.
Si
After a train journey on the familiar 16:40 from DirtyL**ds, which was only notable for a power-dressing business woman slaying her own mother over the phone for not knowing where the bread was, I was in the muggy town of the Tyke Monsters in good time.
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| All quiet on the Dove front. |
I almost came here circa 2005/6, but deemed it "too close to the football ground" on a match day and likely to be heaving. If you don't know which way you are walking from the station, it isn't an easy one to find, and as soon as I stepped inside the Alhambra shopping centre, Google Maps basically said "Si, you are on your own from here". After side stepping some teenage chavs, I found myself being greeted by one man sat at a table in the middle of the pub, the landlord. "Yes cock?!" he exclaimed, well I've never been so insulted! Friendly Barnsley greeting I hope. As the only customer present (brilliant at first, but soon depressing), I sat in the main bar enjoying my Old Mill guest ale (a brewery I usually find a bit crummy) admiring memorabilia from Barnsley F.C.'s "golden ages". So 1910-11 and briefly in the mid 1990's then. Toby Tyke kept staring at me in a foreboding manner, I had to remind myself I lived here in 1983 (town, not pub) and my great uncle played for the Tykes in the 1920's so I am virtually royalty. My pictures might make the pub look ultra traditional, but it has suffered a massive stroke on the right hand side and is all a bit restauranty (well, dried flowers in small vases on wooden tables) and was this the reason for the emptiness? Isolating old school drinkers, yet at the same time, hardly the most salubrious of eateries either? Great ale though, told barman, called me "mate" this time as he hummed in a slightly mad, out-of-tune way to himself......
A 15 minute walk across town took me down Summer Lane, to a pub that myself and the redoubtable Tom Irvin tried to enter after 12 noon in July 2014, supposed to be open. We even rang the pub phone number but nothing doing. After some questionable theories, we settled on "pub closed forever" (it made me feel better) and returned, brows dripping with sweat, to the Old No 7 where Bernard Everitt was all like "why did you ever leave here in the first place?"
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| Carling, John Smiths, Fosters or Beautique Treatments? |
A proper local community spirit was brewing on this warm Tuesday evening with an occupied pool table and England U21's on a screen. I was greeted as "luvvie" by a barmaid in a fetching black and white striped get-up, and was soon enjoying a typically amazing pint of Abbeydale Deception, choosing to sit "right in the heart of the action" rather than cower in the empty far corner room - after all, I needed blog material! As friendly (and ever-so-slightly edgy) as this pub was, the main criticism has to be the amount of hypochondriacs that abound. Firstly, barmaid herself. "I'm ultra tired, definitely something wrong with me" she kept saying. It didn't stop her getting animated at the slightest hint of excitement and told a tale of some drunk guy throwing a bucket of water on her last night. He nearly got barred when he refused to get in a taxi and then demanded another pint. This place must be fun at 11pm. Then a neck-aching layabout girl entered and ordered much Prosecco, admitting she actually cried when the doctor refused to give her any medication. She then sympathised with the chubbier pool player, he's been "laid up sick" all week - yet he was on his 5th bottle of Bud (since I'd arrived) and was racing around a pool table like a hairier but still more acceptable Stephen Lee. Was I seeing the dark side of Barnsley society? At least I got called "pal" for opening a door for a man with too many drinks and not enough balance, and then when Rashford scored for England U21's, they all nodded smugly in unison and went "aye, Rashford's got it, aye" as though he's a Barnsley born and bred regular. Insane pub.
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| The blurry beers |
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| Action shot of beer and one of the few people without an ailment |
Joseph Bramah, Barnsley
'Spoons time it was, armed with another Mudgie voucher to get the price down to £1.59 for a very good Horbury Beer. Reason I've not been here before was that when I went to the other Spoons, I just didn't have the heart to do two in one day! 'Spoons pubs seem to have one of two entrance types - either, and most commonly, the light glass door, wide and bustling, greeted by tables at all angles as you fight your way to a bar straight ahead. Or like this one, the narrow thin dark entrance with a few miserable locals lining the walls, where the pub slopes before sweeping round left or right to the bar. All the drama here was at the bar where a horrid man from the West Country, having earlier admitted confusing the young barman with a complex order, then slagged him off to more senior staff "You need to train your staff better!" "It's only his second shift!" protested the guy serving me, "EXACTLY!" said West Country Twat, which was a comeback which made no sense to anyone who witnessed it. Seriously, if I had a west country accent in Barnsley, I'd not be making a spectacle of myself. As I sat down at a sticky table and brushed crumbs onto the floor, I wondered what the army of female skanks (oops, waitresses) were actually doing, well until the tiny strawberry blonde tanned one smiled at me, then I forgave them. Upstairs was a huge seating area and another bar, the locals all looking at me like "this is an upstairs room for local people!" Then, nothing else happened for the next half an hour.
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| The scene so typically Spoons. |
Si
Sunday, 4 September 2016
BRAPA - Back in Berkshire (Part 7)
DISCLAIMER - Any pubs I visited today should be viewed as pre-emptive ticks. I'm asking you to believe that I heard about these pubs either through word-of-mouth, on social media, read about them in a CAMRA mag (Ullage perhaps), or simply stumbled across them when walking down the street and thought "ooh, that looks like a pub with quality real ale".
Chaos in Paddington station on Saturday morning. All trains were delayed/cancelled because one signal man had been taken ill. One man! I squashed into a "vestibule end" on the first available slow stopper but was still in Reading by 11am, where I then took another delayed train to Midgham.
Midgham Station is actually in Woolhampton, a local old lady telling me this is because there used to be "Wolverhampton" confusion so they couldn't call it Woolhampton. Fact of the day?
Finally, the pub was in sight but I couldn't get to it even then because one of those swing bridges over a river was letting canal barges through for 5 minutes. I finally got in the pub at 11:46am.
Rowbarge, Woolhampton
I was surprised to see such a wide range of ales (six of them), all from microbreweries and was greeted by six members of staff (none of them doing any work) so one fresh-faced lad stepped up to serve me. The other five took what seemed to be a "secret meeting" around the corner out of earshot. I saw my barman looking disturbed by this, so being evil, I asked him what plans they were possibly hatching! As I took my pint outside, I heard him demanding an explanation. Isn't paranoia wonderful? The other customers seemed very well-to-do middle agers reading broadsheets and drinking cappuchino in smoking jackets, making the most of canal-side sunshine before the rains came. I managed to make a spectacle of myself looking for the hidden toilets (up narrow staircase behind a door) and then the rain started early, a fact I pointed out to a posh lady who simple replied "quaite". I was drinking a beer by "Wild Weather" so it seemed fitting. We all went back indoors en masse, the pub and setting very much a cross between Curridge's Bunk Inn and the Crooke Hall Inn nr Wigan. I couldn't find a copy of Ullage so I perched in the main bar on a posing table, looking very innocuous as the lone drinker whilst my barman was still looking nervous, sulky and on edge. If a body is found in the canal this morning, I think we can all guess who it belongs to .... nice pub this.
One stop back up the line towards Reading is Aldermaston, which I used to get to Beenham back on my April four day extravaganza. But now it has a pub I "heard" about and needed to "visit".
Butt Inn, Aldermaston
Bull, Theale
Seven Red Roses, Lower Earley
In a strange quiet kind of shopping precinct, I'd never visited a pub attached to a Sainsbury's before and I went in to find a proper pub atmosphere, lots of men laughing loudly and immediately thought that this is to Reading what the Wigmore Arms is to Luton. Beer range was poor but a burly impatient but friendly bearded man served me a St Austell Tribute which got absolutely no love on my Twitter, but I decided it was pint of the day, a real testament to the quality. The weirdest thing about this place was the dry autumn leaves, blowing throughout the pub. I didn't know it was autumn until now and everytime the door was opened, they were whipped into a mini cyclone. One jovial man who smelt of wax asked a barmaid "what's with the tumbleweed?" but that could have been the result of all his terrible jokes. I bet he's one of the main offenders of the pubs "infamous karaoke nights" that are advertised. Meanwhile, a woman disowned her young family to watch Saracens v Worcester, intently from a settee. A strange man tried to buy her a drink, she went all coy, then remembered her kids were sat on a stool behind her with her husband. Hilarious, as was the whole pub.
The rain was coming down harder than ever as the bus edged back towards Reading, so I decided to forgo a long walk across Cippenham to get back into London instead. Once on the Tube, where a girl said "I was wearing a black t-shirt, literally", I emerged at Baker Street for some Marylebone fun.
Gunmakers, Marylebone
So I pushed my way through the bustling outdoor throng and made it to the bar, where a tattooed Eastern European lass looked concerned as I ordered a Portobello Very Pale Ale, asking if I wanted a taster. I did my usual "I'll be brave and go straight for it!" which never impresses anyone south of Sheffield. Well, despite the "mood" lighting, this pint looked murky, ropey, not very pale, and the limp head was a congealed mess. One sip confirmed my fears, and I returned it only for her to reply "that's why you should try before you buy, it is a very distinctive taste". Distinctive in that there aren't many ale drinkers I know who like a pint of vinegar. A Roosters replacement was far better, and I found one free table, with what appeared to be someone's lost black woolly jumper on the bench. Except it was a sleeping pub cat! Pub redemption at it's finest. I bonded with the group of 6 next to me over the cat, the friendliest having the most horrific Hawaiian shirt ever witnessed. Their conversations can't have been amazing, because on the few occasions the cat stirred, they were all transfixed. Late drama occurred as an American man was helping his toddler walk, cat got interested and looked ready to pounce, "not often prey comes into MY pub!" so I warned the Dad and left before I witnessed the second potential murder of the day. Cosy pub.
Golden Eagle, Marylebone
Just a five minute walk away was this pub. I feel like I've been into lots of London pubs like this, tiny side street one room gems with great stained glass windows and architecture so you walk in, all excited to be in such a lovely building, full of optimism only to have a P.I.S.S. barmaid looking like she's so bored, she sucks all life out of the occasion. At least the barman winked it me (in a manly no nonsense "I'm the guv-nor of a Landan Pab" kinda way). And in keeping with such pubs, the toilets were down a narrow staircase which you thought probably leads to secret underground tunnels. I had to perch on two seats of different heights by a wall, there weren't many customers (apart from a woman having an asthma attack everytime her hubbie told a joke) yet it still felt full. I think the atmosphere could have been better if they shut at least one of the pub doors - I really don't understand why pubs insist of having everything wide open on a wet busy London street corner. It was another Yorkshire ale (Kelham Island this time) to save me from the likes of Doom Bar and Fullers. Quite a decent pub, but prefered the Gunmakers.
I walked to Bond Street station (there's something about the Central line I like) and changed for Kings Cross and still managed to sneak a quick half in at the Parcel Yard, where a waitress did something unexpected for apologising for knives n forks n menus on my table when I only wanted a drink! And here was I thinking she was going to chuck me out of a dining area.
So, a good six pub day, NOT that I'm saying it'll benefit BRAPA in any way.
Speaking of which, cross-ticking of the new GBG continues apace. I'm only up to Gloucs & Bristol so far but trying to crack on this afternoon with it. Early indications (my BRAPxit poll if you will) suggest I'm going to make some serious losses, though strangely enough, I'm up in both Devon & Derbyshire, whilst Bucks has been particularly cruel.
Roll on 15th September.
Si
Chaos in Paddington station on Saturday morning. All trains were delayed/cancelled because one signal man had been taken ill. One man! I squashed into a "vestibule end" on the first available slow stopper but was still in Reading by 11am, where I then took another delayed train to Midgham.
Midgham Station is actually in Woolhampton, a local old lady telling me this is because there used to be "Wolverhampton" confusion so they couldn't call it Woolhampton. Fact of the day?
Finally, the pub was in sight but I couldn't get to it even then because one of those swing bridges over a river was letting canal barges through for 5 minutes. I finally got in the pub at 11:46am.
 |
| Finally at pub 1 after 3.75 hours travel torment! |
I was surprised to see such a wide range of ales (six of them), all from microbreweries and was greeted by six members of staff (none of them doing any work) so one fresh-faced lad stepped up to serve me. The other five took what seemed to be a "secret meeting" around the corner out of earshot. I saw my barman looking disturbed by this, so being evil, I asked him what plans they were possibly hatching! As I took my pint outside, I heard him demanding an explanation. Isn't paranoia wonderful? The other customers seemed very well-to-do middle agers reading broadsheets and drinking cappuchino in smoking jackets, making the most of canal-side sunshine before the rains came. I managed to make a spectacle of myself looking for the hidden toilets (up narrow staircase behind a door) and then the rain started early, a fact I pointed out to a posh lady who simple replied "quaite". I was drinking a beer by "Wild Weather" so it seemed fitting. We all went back indoors en masse, the pub and setting very much a cross between Curridge's Bunk Inn and the Crooke Hall Inn nr Wigan. I couldn't find a copy of Ullage so I perched in the main bar on a posing table, looking very innocuous as the lone drinker whilst my barman was still looking nervous, sulky and on edge. If a body is found in the canal this morning, I think we can all guess who it belongs to .... nice pub this.
 |
| Before the rains came |
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| Last seen alive 12:30pm yesterday serving a loud man in red shorts. |
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| Nice Butt |
As the barmaid pulled me a pint of strong Dr Hexler's West Berkshire Something ale (one of three on), she looked all panicky and exclaimed "bear with me, I'm new!" as if I was judging her pulling technique(!) Well, I wouldn't have even noticed. Of bigger concern were her tiny hands, not ideal when you are trying to pay for a £3.50 pint in mainly 10p's. With a very restauranty area to the left, and a whining dog to the right, I sat in the main bar but the lack of head on my beer (a common theme today) meant I spilled it all over the floor and table, and this wasn't the kind of pub which would have beermats to soak up the mess. Behind me, three oldsters had to try and fit three plates of ham, egg n chips onto a small table (no complaints about cold ham, this isn't Wentworth) whilst their docile dog, a lovely shabby thing called Jenny (stupid dog name) slept at their feet. To be fair to the whimpering dog on the far side, I think it was joining in with piped Adele. The landlady appeared with a cloth and wiped the surplus beer off my table, I apologised and was just about to mention beermats when she called me "darling" so it didn't feel right. Next we had a Twild of the year contender, appearing in a hoodie and having a strop cos he wanted sweets from a dispenser by the bar for his pudding. They gave in (weak parenting) on the basis he shared them, but he then exclaimed "noooo I HATE SHARING!" and ran off with the full pack. Main ham and egg bloke and me shook our heads and exchanged glances as if to say "spoilt little shit!" Kinda summed up the pub.
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| The bar at the Butt |
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| Eclectic bookcase action at the Butt. |
One more stop up the line was Theale. A town which should be good as it is an anagram of "the ale". It isn't though, it has an aggressive undercurrent of chavery which was best highlighted by a horrible man who got angry with the train for almost "not letting him off" and called everyone cunts which seemed harsh under the circs. His toothless girlfriend murmured it was his own fault as he'd fallen asleep after all that cider.....
With people like this around, at least the pubs of Theale should be "real" I thought, Wrong!
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| At the sign of the Bull |
I've not been in many Wadworth pubs before, if any, and if this is a reflection of them, I'm not missing anything. I was stood there for ages trying to get served, before the staff actually TURNED AROUND and only because I'd rustled a five pound note like I was after a cheap lapdance, probably the only kind in Theale. Remember my description last week of that pub in Marske, and all the little quirks that made it perfect, well this was the antithesis. Horrendous. Cushions, kids, Mum's, buggies, more piped Adele, sterile, bad service, staff apart from one man who waved at me for no reason were like zombies. Even when a barmaid caught me eating my own Sainsbury's spicy chicken bites, I said "hi" to try and cover myself and she just gave me a look of total contempt. Chucking me out would have been kinder. Children in fairy costumes appeared next, my IPA was ok but tasted unlike any IPA I'd ever had, and the 'gents' - jeez, well someone had put a massive pot plant in front of the door so you could hardly get in. Utter utter shite.
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| On the plus side, beer mats! |
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| A 3.6% IPA. Or a pale bitter as I call it. |
Back in Reading and despite the rain, there was a heaving happy atmosphere due to a "Pride" festival, and I'd not seen this many mustachioed men in leather in one place since I visited Preston's Dog & Partridge. I decided it was too busy a day to visit town centre pubs (besides, I hadn't contacted Sir Quinno to see if he was free which is Reading pub law) so I took a bus to Lower Earley.
Seven Red Roses, Lower Earley
In a strange quiet kind of shopping precinct, I'd never visited a pub attached to a Sainsbury's before and I went in to find a proper pub atmosphere, lots of men laughing loudly and immediately thought that this is to Reading what the Wigmore Arms is to Luton. Beer range was poor but a burly impatient but friendly bearded man served me a St Austell Tribute which got absolutely no love on my Twitter, but I decided it was pint of the day, a real testament to the quality. The weirdest thing about this place was the dry autumn leaves, blowing throughout the pub. I didn't know it was autumn until now and everytime the door was opened, they were whipped into a mini cyclone. One jovial man who smelt of wax asked a barmaid "what's with the tumbleweed?" but that could have been the result of all his terrible jokes. I bet he's one of the main offenders of the pubs "infamous karaoke nights" that are advertised. Meanwhile, a woman disowned her young family to watch Saracens v Worcester, intently from a settee. A strange man tried to buy her a drink, she went all coy, then remembered her kids were sat on a stool behind her with her husband. Hilarious, as was the whole pub.
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| A sample of dry autumn leaves |
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| A winning pint of Tribute and a bit of wrong-code egg chasing. |
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| Not one outdoor drinker posed for my photo. |
So I pushed my way through the bustling outdoor throng and made it to the bar, where a tattooed Eastern European lass looked concerned as I ordered a Portobello Very Pale Ale, asking if I wanted a taster. I did my usual "I'll be brave and go straight for it!" which never impresses anyone south of Sheffield. Well, despite the "mood" lighting, this pint looked murky, ropey, not very pale, and the limp head was a congealed mess. One sip confirmed my fears, and I returned it only for her to reply "that's why you should try before you buy, it is a very distinctive taste". Distinctive in that there aren't many ale drinkers I know who like a pint of vinegar. A Roosters replacement was far better, and I found one free table, with what appeared to be someone's lost black woolly jumper on the bench. Except it was a sleeping pub cat! Pub redemption at it's finest. I bonded with the group of 6 next to me over the cat, the friendliest having the most horrific Hawaiian shirt ever witnessed. Their conversations can't have been amazing, because on the few occasions the cat stirred, they were all transfixed. Late drama occurred as an American man was helping his toddler walk, cat got interested and looked ready to pounce, "not often prey comes into MY pub!" so I warned the Dad and left before I witnessed the second potential murder of the day. Cosy pub.
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| Pint and cat - always a happy pub scene. |
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| View of the pub, pre-toddler. |
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| And the Kraken rises (sort of) |
Just a five minute walk away was this pub. I feel like I've been into lots of London pubs like this, tiny side street one room gems with great stained glass windows and architecture so you walk in, all excited to be in such a lovely building, full of optimism only to have a P.I.S.S. barmaid looking like she's so bored, she sucks all life out of the occasion. At least the barman winked it me (in a manly no nonsense "I'm the guv-nor of a Landan Pab" kinda way). And in keeping with such pubs, the toilets were down a narrow staircase which you thought probably leads to secret underground tunnels. I had to perch on two seats of different heights by a wall, there weren't many customers (apart from a woman having an asthma attack everytime her hubbie told a joke) yet it still felt full. I think the atmosphere could have been better if they shut at least one of the pub doors - I really don't understand why pubs insist of having everything wide open on a wet busy London street corner. It was another Yorkshire ale (Kelham Island this time) to save me from the likes of Doom Bar and Fullers. Quite a decent pub, but prefered the Gunmakers.
I walked to Bond Street station (there's something about the Central line I like) and changed for Kings Cross and still managed to sneak a quick half in at the Parcel Yard, where a waitress did something unexpected for apologising for knives n forks n menus on my table when I only wanted a drink! And here was I thinking she was going to chuck me out of a dining area.
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| Autumnal Fullers beer for £4.50 a pint but quite nice. |
Speaking of which, cross-ticking of the new GBG continues apace. I'm only up to Gloucs & Bristol so far but trying to crack on this afternoon with it. Early indications (my BRAPxit poll if you will) suggest I'm going to make some serious losses, though strangely enough, I'm up in both Devon & Derbyshire, whilst Bucks has been particularly cruel.
Roll on 15th September.
Si
Wednesday, 31 August 2016
BRAPA - August Review / September Preview
I'm more "in limbo" than errrm, errrm Thom Yorke (it's a Radiohead song apparently) as I continue to wait for the 2017 Good Beer Guide to hit my doorstep with all the force of it's 1,000,000,000 pages or however thick it is this year.......
One thing is for sure, CAMRA's new distribution centre in Anchor, Shropshire was a mistake. September tomorrow so time is ticking on. This was the first year my direct debit had been set up / taken correctly too.
And even more galling, the privileged south-easteners (south of Cambridgeshire) have their copies already and have spent the week on Twitter like teenage gossip whores, breaking CAMRA confidentiality etiquette about GBG inclusion left, right and centre.
Or complaining they've received unexpected copies, which they no doubt rip the pages out of to mop up the caviar and swan gravy from their overfed mouths whilst Tristan parks on double yellows (stuff the fine, he can afford it) to bring the SUV round for Jemima before they scoot off to the Craft Kitchen Urban Tap and order Beavertown and Kernal's #777.76 collaboration brew (matched with "eats"). There's a 'meet the brewer' event with both later, maybe they'll get a selfie with their bearded heroes and Instagram it with the ironic hashtag #evilkegrules
Not that this lack of Good Beer Guide is getting to me or anything ......
August Review
22 new pubs is disappointing when I've had two weeks of annual leave and it is supposedly summer time, but as I always say, August is the hardest month to pub tick as I've been mentally preparing myself for the new GBG, worried about what might drop out!
The highlight is almost certainly the Welsh trip and in particular, finally getting to the Anchor! Felt really bad for Mum's sprained ankle which is kind of a metaphor for August pub ticking if you think about it. The other great day was around the Wigan area where I brought up the 1,000.
Here are my three pubs of the month:
1. Admial Rodney Inn, Criggion
2. Masons Arms, Billinge
3. Clarendon, Marske-by-the-Sea
Surprised to see Anchor not in? Well, it was amazing and magical in so many ways but putting all the romance aside of location, great landlord, great beer, the overall pub experience itself still wasn't quite as good as the three above.
September Preview
The month starts with the next leg of my Berkshire trip (part 7 I believe) but no idea where I am going yet. I'll be using Reading as a base but can only pray the new GBG arrives tomorrow or Friday.
Tuesday's are off limits for now as I enter "One Month Reverse Owl Syndrome" (don't ask) whilst the GBG cross-ticking exercise takes place. I'm on 1,006 at present, hoping not to drop below 900 but perhaps 850 is a more reasonable expectation.
Saturday's will continue in force, the 2nd Saturday is the annual Hull City away defeat at Burnley. I should be running out of pubs by now in this part of the world but Padiham and Ighten look enticing.
A week later, another punishing day in North Yorkshire looks the most likely county.
And a week after that, we celebrate Tom Irvin's birthday (not that he'd lower himself to such festivities) with a trip to Crosby which is near Liverpool. I see Bootle and Waterloo are nearby so it could be a rare pub ticking fest on Merseyside.
And hopefully, Tuesday's (South Yorkshire to a finish) will be back up and running after 15th Sept. Going to aim for 25 but it might struggle.
Pub Spreadsheet
I've spent the last month logging over 1,250 pubs into a spreadsheet with the (probable) date I first visited them. What a life I lead!
I'm now filling in the gaps ..... all those 'early' Good Beer Guide pubs I did at Hull City away matches circa 2002-04.
In an interesting twist, I've just had to re-order the 2003 and 2004 Good Beer Guides to retrace my thought processes for the 02/03 and 03/04 seasons. So I'm waiting for 3 GBG's now! I must be a masochist.
Si
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| Hopelessly optimistic (and increasingly weather beaten) sign on my front door. |
And even more galling, the privileged south-easteners (south of Cambridgeshire) have their copies already and have spent the week on Twitter like teenage gossip whores, breaking CAMRA confidentiality etiquette about GBG inclusion left, right and centre.
Or complaining they've received unexpected copies, which they no doubt rip the pages out of to mop up the caviar and swan gravy from their overfed mouths whilst Tristan parks on double yellows (stuff the fine, he can afford it) to bring the SUV round for Jemima before they scoot off to the Craft Kitchen Urban Tap and order Beavertown and Kernal's #777.76 collaboration brew (matched with "eats"). There's a 'meet the brewer' event with both later, maybe they'll get a selfie with their bearded heroes and Instagram it with the ironic hashtag #evilkegrules
Not that this lack of Good Beer Guide is getting to me or anything ......
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| All ready for some GBG cross ticking, just one vital thing missing..... |
22 new pubs is disappointing when I've had two weeks of annual leave and it is supposedly summer time, but as I always say, August is the hardest month to pub tick as I've been mentally preparing myself for the new GBG, worried about what might drop out!
The highlight is almost certainly the Welsh trip and in particular, finally getting to the Anchor! Felt really bad for Mum's sprained ankle which is kind of a metaphor for August pub ticking if you think about it. The other great day was around the Wigan area where I brought up the 1,000.
Here are my three pubs of the month:
1. Admial Rodney Inn, Criggion
2. Masons Arms, Billinge
3. Clarendon, Marske-by-the-Sea
Surprised to see Anchor not in? Well, it was amazing and magical in so many ways but putting all the romance aside of location, great landlord, great beer, the overall pub experience itself still wasn't quite as good as the three above.
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| Seriously good Salopian Oracle in Criggion. |
September Preview
The month starts with the next leg of my Berkshire trip (part 7 I believe) but no idea where I am going yet. I'll be using Reading as a base but can only pray the new GBG arrives tomorrow or Friday.
Tuesday's are off limits for now as I enter "One Month Reverse Owl Syndrome" (don't ask) whilst the GBG cross-ticking exercise takes place. I'm on 1,006 at present, hoping not to drop below 900 but perhaps 850 is a more reasonable expectation.
Saturday's will continue in force, the 2nd Saturday is the annual Hull City away defeat at Burnley. I should be running out of pubs by now in this part of the world but Padiham and Ighten look enticing.
A week later, another punishing day in North Yorkshire looks the most likely county.
And a week after that, we celebrate Tom Irvin's birthday (not that he'd lower himself to such festivities) with a trip to Crosby which is near Liverpool. I see Bootle and Waterloo are nearby so it could be a rare pub ticking fest on Merseyside.
And hopefully, Tuesday's (South Yorkshire to a finish) will be back up and running after 15th Sept. Going to aim for 25 but it might struggle.
 |
| Bertie shocked by lack of GBG arrival in August. |
I've spent the last month logging over 1,250 pubs into a spreadsheet with the (probable) date I first visited them. What a life I lead!
I'm now filling in the gaps ..... all those 'early' Good Beer Guide pubs I did at Hull City away matches circa 2002-04.
In an interesting twist, I've just had to re-order the 2003 and 2004 Good Beer Guides to retrace my thought processes for the 02/03 and 03/04 seasons. So I'm waiting for 3 GBG's now! I must be a masochist.
Si
Sunday, 28 August 2016
BRAPA - A Tricky Day on Teesside
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| Saltburn Pier, one of the few nice things of today. |
Luckily, I love travelling on the Grand Central and it calmed me down. It felt so North Eastern, I kind of expected to get a Pease Pudding Stottie + Vaux Samson 20 pence meal deal, shared in the company of a coal miner lecturing me passionately on workers rights. Train conductor Susan was a canny lass, telling me "lots of people are ganning to Saltburn today, must be the weather!" She managed to change trains with me, checking it on the local stopper too.
First annoying moment of the day came when the 11:47 X4 bus shot off without me. At 11:46! After a nice walk on the seafront, I got on the 12:17. A scary sergeant major hiking chap sat next to me. I heard a whimpering from his rucksack and the face of a black dog appeared, unable to move from the neck down for the 24 min journey. Animal cruelty surely, he got off at the same stop in Loftus, I followed him briefly and he unlocked a rusty white door next to an industrial complex, and took the bag in. Sinister.
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| Looks shut, because it is. |
SHUT PUB ALERT! The GBG said 12 noon Saturday opening. So did Whatpub. The Facebook page rather unhelpfully claimed "always open". Yet the sign on the door confirmed my fears, 3pm opening. On a Saturday? As that kind West Brom man said on Twitter, business must be good if they can afford to open at 3pm on a Saturday. CAMRA should implement a rule whereby if a GBG pub changes it's opening hours without notifying CAMRA, it gets de-guided from the next edition. Fuming, I trudged back to the bus stop to find three equally fuming locals, all throbbing temples and bloodshot eyes, claiming the bus had "gone missing". 23 minutes later, it showed up, 3 mins ahead of when the next one was due anyway.
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| As the nice lizard chap from Preston said, "never trust a pub sign with Comic Sans font". True! |
It was still the cricket season, meaning I had a chance of getting into the GBG listed Saltburn Cricket, Bowls and Tennis Club on a rare Saturday afternoon, providing they had a home fixture. Inevitably, they were away (to Sedgefield) - I had a feeling it was going to be one of those days......
After a pasty in the sun watching 5 foul-mouthed chavs wrestling with a crate of Fosters, I got a train to Marske and was finally in a pub, after 2pm though!
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| This better be good! |
1004. Clarendon, Marske-by-the-Sea
"Middle House" as the locals call it, this was easily the highlight of the day, and totally sober and therefore observant, I can tell you why. Big island bar sweeping around pub, superb pint of Flying Herbert from North Yorkshire Brewery served by friendly landlady who seemed to be Susan from the trains again. The pub was carpetted throughout, with a warming burgundy and tobacco colour scheme which extended into the toilets, surprisingly. Bench seating all around the pub, not a sniff of food, no music or TV, and the local old men said "alright mate" as I sat fairly close to them, wanting to be at the heart of the pub. The friendliest/oddest chap was reading a Marske Utd football programme, commenting on a dangerous player who once played for Corby Town! Having wished the one female in the pub a cheery goodbye (she was heavily tattooed), he then launched into a diatribe about how tattoos make women look common as muck (two faced?) and "look at that Beckham" he said, "he's got 'em all over his face!". He later tried to look cultured by saying him and the wife were having tagliatelle with a sparkling rose wine for supper, but then let himself down again by telling an incredibly toe curling story about when he nearly got punched for cuddling a man's Muslim wife who he'd watched grow up from a small girl. It was definitely time to leave, but what a classic pub.
Back on Marske station, I heard a strange noise and peered through a gap in the hedge to see geese, hens and ducks drinking green water from an old paddling pool. Unique.
Redcar East wasn't far off, but the pub was a good 15 minute trek despite GBG claims it was closer.
1005. Turner's Mill, Redcar
The biggest criticism of the Ember Inn chain is how identikit they are. But not only that, even the approach to them is depressingly familiar. Down a busy main road, past modern housing estates, on the outskirts of town, this was Grovesnor, Caversham and the Horse & Jockey, Aylesbury all over again. The one difference was a racecourse to my left. "Oh well, an Ember Inn it might be, at least it isn't raceday" I thought. WRONG! I entered to find it three deep at the bar as fuckwits in tight grey suits ordered blue WKD and Carling, jostling with silly bints in stupid hats and ridiculous heels looking for Prosecco. It was a farce as they had two members of staff on (a grey bearded man had apparently chosen the "wrong moment to go on his break") and the scene got increasingly fraught with racegoers complaining and the younger barmaid taking it personally and sulking. Luckily, two old locals helped the older barmaid judge which customer's were next in line, which stopped a 7 foot tall goon from pushing in front of me, 15 minutes later, I was served. My beer, when I got it, was cloudy and almost on the turn. Strangely though, the pub atmosphere wasn't too bad. Two theories for this. (a) Ember Inns are so bland, they absorb any 'edge', noise or atmosphere created. Or (b) York racegoers are such scum, it never occurred to me Redcar's folk may know how to behave. Your thoughts? I certainly offended the old chaps in Aldworth's Bell by insinuating any forthcoming Newbury racegoers would be shitbags. So who knows what the truth is? Next to me, an absent husband finally returned to his bleary eyed wife. He'd just nipped out to buy her some Optrex.
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| This pint is not quite right |
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| Microcosm of racegoers (surprisingly well behaved) |
So I basically had a dash on just to get one pub and get back again, as it was going to be the last train of the night. (Yarm was a slightly later train but an even further walk).
As I legged it down the main road, a smiley girl I'd seen earlier on a bike decided she wanted to stop and chat about my quick walking speed and what I was up to. Honestly, the ONE TIME a pretty girl asks me about BRAPA and I'm thinking "stop jabbering on cos time is of the essence, luv" (she slagged off the pub I was heading to but used to be a barmaid at the Black Bull in Yarm).
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| Should I tell them Euro 2016 finished a while ago? |
A homely and bustling main bar room awaited me, one of those where you feel the whole village /place / whatever Eaglescliffe is, has come together. I squashed in at the bar and a friendly barmaid (Susan from the train and Marske pub for a 4th time today?!) served me a Cameron's Strongarm, which seemed like the kind of beer you should not be downing in 20 mins but never mind. There was a bit of what we'll call "Swinton Saturday Syndrome" (SSS) going on with blokes blocking the doorway in and out (for the entire duration of my stay), even though there was much seating available. One nice feature was ivy (or some creepery plant) hanging from the bar and ceiling (nicer than the usual lazy hops plant decor) though it did seem perilously close to getting caught in one of those ceiling fans. I could see Hull City on in the far corner, so squinted to see us murdering Man Utd for the first 25 mins (my eyesight is bad) and reflected on how sad it is, in this day and age, that people can't just enjoy watching football in pubs and get excited for the underdog. Now it is all "YESSSS, I had a tenner on Pogba to take the first throw in", gambling and accumulators. It is all wrong. Nice pub though, I thought.
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| Strongarm and background Hull City |
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| The fan and the ivy (or similar plant) |
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| STOP BLOCKING THE DOOR AND JUST SIT DOWN! |
Back in York Tap and still feeling remarkably sober, I enjoyed a pint of Anarachy with a drunk guy from work and his mate - they are doing a Dutch version of BRAPA which means he understands me, but told me I'd never finish the whole guide, which was just want I needed to hear(!)
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| A busy Saturday evening in York Tap |
Neither of those things happened.
Si
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