BRAPA in ..... 1B OR NOT 1B (AND THAT ISN'T EVEN A QUESTION!)

A week ago today, 'twas colder than keg, bitterer than bitter, as the wonderful Father BRAPA drove us around a few pubs in the Blackburn area before our football team, Hull City, played there.

We'd done three pubs with varying levels of success, but with time ticking on, rush hour looming large, and roadworks meaning chaos on the M6, it made a lot of sense to continue our journey away from said motorway, from Haighton to the isolated but in no means tiny town of Longridge.

Sadly, our SatNav's love affair with the M6 wasn't over yet, and it turned what was probably a three mile drive into a nine mile one, trying to turn us back onto the motorway at all costs, grrr.

Longridge had two pub ticks in the 2020 Good Beer Guide, but only one was open today, so I will need a return visit if they let me back in.  For now, we were happy just to get into one and navigate our next move back towards Blackburn ......

Dad looking hopeful

I don't have a great deal to say* about Tap & Vent, Longridge (1722 / 2939).  I'd been to the Kirkham Tap & Vent (near Blackpool) when it was merely a 'preemptive', and presuming they are part of the same chain, they were very different.  I enjoyed the Kirkham version's modern kitcheny feel much more than this more traditionally micropub feel.  That surprised me.  Always nice to surprise yourself occasionally.  The small gaggle of young men gathered around the bar seemed to almost close ranks on our arrival, and I'd later be told by a Lancs man "People in Longridge are ..... errm, can be, a bit strange!"   Nearly all the ales had handwritten bits of paper acting as pumpclips rather than actual ones, and I can't decide whether that is delightfully DIY or a bit sub-standard?  Does it depend if breweries send you one?  Shouldn't they?  I really don't know how it all works.  Anyway, the ale was good, we sat at a rickety high metallic table of zero comfort, Dad made friends with some reindeer still up from Christmas, and if any good came of this, it crystallised in mind how much I'd enjoyed the other micropub style places we'd visited today.

* See, it still didn't stop me writing a typically needless wittering passage!

Lovely pic of Father BRAPA and his new friend

It's probably really clever if you read it

Cluttered room of junk near the bogs

It ain't that bad!  (Ohhhh, it's a Beatles thing!)

View t'bar

Father BRAPA now broke the news I'd been fearing .... "I think we've only got time for one more before kick off".  My SIX for the day plans in tatters but not to worry too much, five is fine.  

I'd always envisaged us approaching Blackburn from the south, so we could park down there because Ewok Park is south of the town.   Darwen had been my originally plan, but it looked a long way off from here.  Next closest then, and worry about getting to the ground afterwards.  And that place was called Great Harwood.

I had a sleep for the most part of our drive (such a princess!) but I distinctly remember saying to Dad at one point "one thing that has been missing from today which I'd expect from Lancs is a friendly, chatty pub".  'Twas like they read my mind .......

I'm feeling optimistic and shadowy

1B Tap, Great Harwood (1723 / 2940) and as we enter, before Dad even has time to wipe the condensation from his specs, this superb friendly lady behind the bar is saying "HOW ARE WE TODAY THEN GENTS?" and that set the scene for a very memorable pub experience.  Two customers flanked us, to the left a gorgeous gentle hi-vis guy who reminded me a bit of West Berkshire's finest, the equally gorgeous gentle but less hi-vis Tim Thomas.  And to the right, a lovely guy who supported Burnley so was desperate for us to win tonight. Apparently, the pub clientele is about a 50/50 Burnley Blackburn split, so I guess we were lucky tonight!  Of course, Dad and I soon launched into chat of BRAPA pub ticking escapades and when our Burnley friend mentioned a Reading/Partick Thistle guy, I suspected he meant Duncan Mackay, showed him the pic of us from the other week, and hey presto, he recognised him! (You have to imagine Partick Thistle and St Mirren are the same thing which they sort of are, but otherwise, spot on).   And just when I didn't think I could get any happier here, the owner Mike/Michael/Mike appears and what a smashing chap he was too.  The ale quality was absolutely spot on, so no surprise he was so proud of his cellar as to give us a tour ..... AND he loves old skool pumpclips and I even got one as a souvenir!  I even suggested he has a day where he puts loads of old skool ales on and uses these pump clips, so if you hipsters go in expecting to find your Tiny Rebel Cloudwater DIPA 7.1's and instead find Youngs, Directors, Fullers and Burton Inde Coope, then BRAPA is to blame!  Dad and I left with massive grins on our faces (and good directions for parking to walk to the ground), and the formula is quite simple, top ale and above all, a people's pub with a massive heart!  Cracking stuff.

Great ale!  Prosecco next? 

HVTT smiles, and Dad seems to have camouflaged himself in the coats

BRAPA in the cellar.  Note the potential for a quick game of Mallet's Mallet

Mike / Michael / Mike does the BRAPA ticking he deserves

We followed the parking instructions to the letter, and when we got under a bridge, we pulled into a pub car park with a name I can't quite remember, something like the Golden Anus, no time for even a half, but we realised we were only about 20 mins walk from the ground, so not too bad really.

But then I kept hearing this voice shouting us from behind, and finally a bloke caught us up and said we owed him £5 for parking in the pub carpark.  Well, he could've been anyone, and we could've easily parked on the street for free in hindsight, but we handed over the money anyway! 

The match was more abominable than the worst type of snowman, first half was more like a Conference North game and that is being cruel on them!

We obviously got a kick up the golden anus at half time, cos we came out for the second half really well, and our player who is friends with Claire Balding in real life hit the bar, but then we forgot what we'd been told cos we have no bottle or leadership, and lost 3-0.  My feet were like blocks of ice!

A bit like the journey over, Dad left Blackburn via an alternative route and before I knew it, we were directly passing a village called Belthorn where I had a required pub tick!  Wow, I knew I was being cheeky, but if you don't ask you don't get, and with hours stating 5-11, Dad agreed to wait for me while I went in!  

Sadly, as I strode towards the front door at the Dog Inn, I realised they'd closed early, due to a lack of custom probably. I don't actually blame them looking back, can they really be expected to hang around in the off chance of a pub ticker visiting 10:20pm on a cold Feb Tuesday night?  

The upstairs was lit up though, and I stood there for a fleeting minute and imagined the landlady played by Julia McKenzie with her hair in rollers, adjusting the wireless, just as her husband, played by John Henshaw, walks in with a brew and a plateful of bourbon/custard creams. 'Their' song (by the Seekers or the Searchers) comes on, and they slow dance around the room together.

Then a gust of wind blew, brought me back to reality, and I remembered Dad was parked up around the side of the pub.  He did a good job of not looking too ecstatic when I informed him that the pub was closed and we could go home, to his immense credit!  

So everyone, that is how you go to Blackburn on a freezing Tuesday night, lose 3-0, and still very much enjoy the experience.  Thanks for reading.  I'll be back tomorrow with more North Eastern tales as I'm staying in to recover from a horrible weekend bout of sickness and diarrhoea.

Souvenir pumpclip, now has pride of place in the 'BRAPA Nerve Centre'

Quick Note on Lancs Pub Ticking

After these five pubs, I've now visited 64 Good Beer Guide pubs in Lancashire, which puts it above County Durham, Cumbria and South London, 6th in the BRAPA league table.  

Not bad to say Lancs is never a county I've deliberately pursued, but just knocking off a few bits here and there on football trips and random days out is paying dividends.

It is a difficult but very rewarding county in that it is one of the few I've visited where the micropubs give the more traditional ones a run for their money, and I think the people are big reason behind that.

So much more to do still, I'd just LOVE to get to that one at Nether Kellett for example, but I think if I can knock off County Durham in the next few months, a few Lancs summertime Saturdays might just be achievable, so watch this space.

Thanks!  Si 

BRAPA ..... MARKS BOWLAND PUBS (PART ONE)

(And had I been able to ride to a pub called the White Swan, the blog title could've been more amazing).

Tuesday 11:30am, and Father BRAPA picked me up from the Yorkshire Bank after a good 3.5 hours of Static Data joy.  I like Static Data.  It doesn't move.  We were Blackburn bound, and what an opportunity this was to get some awkward Lancastrian ticks in before the match.

Even with the benefit of Dad's car, planning seemed a struggle with so few pubs open before 4pm on a Tuesday, if it all.  I had a vague plan which meant starting at Accrington's Canine Club and moving on to places like Wheelton and Darwen.

I'd even rung the BRAP-elusive Black Bull on the outskirts of Blackburn itself to see if despite normally being closed on a Tuesday, they make a concession when Rovers are at home.  A man with a healthy Lancs burr told me they don't.  My THIRD Black Bull fail, I WILL get you eventually!

With Storm Ciara blowing a gale, we had snow one minute, bright sunshine the next, and Dad took an 'educated alternative route' which saw us climbing up past the likes of Ilkley and Skipton, where we passed the front door of three former BRAPA pubs - the rather nice Flying Duck, touristy Woolly Sheep and eminently forgettable micro snoozefest, Early Snores.

Further north than anticipated, time to pull out the battered GBG and reassess the options.  Clitheroe made most sense, two pubs needed, both open noon apparently.  You have to adapt in this game.

But it wasn't a great start when we saw this .....

Dad thought he could see a man sat in there in the dark!  But no need to get upset, it was already gone 1pm and a 'Beer Hall' with shitloads of handpumps was lurking about 10 minutes away.

Some accidental photobombers got their BRAPA moment of fame .......

Steady on tall stringy people, Bernard is trying to pose .....

.... and then there were none (unless you count Dad)

One of my more highly anticipated modern GBG ticks, there's been quite a lot of talk about the Bowland Beer Hall, Clitheroe (1719 / 2936) , mainly people wondering how a town like Clitheroe can handle so many handpumps on the go at once!  I did a circular tour of the bar to count them today, and it's the first time since I walked around the bar at Clapham Junction's Falcon that I've needed to stop half way around for a Kendal mint cake tablet and a rest.  27 I counted including ciders and Bowland's own, and I see the GBG this year talks about 24 guest ales rather than the 42 handpumps it mentions in the 2019 edition.  An elderly gent in a flat cap shuffled up,seemingly recommending the ales with a label sticking out of them, but we'd already chosen two which didn't have labels, and no idea what he said in any case!  The building itself and complex which holds the Beer Hall was really impressive (architectural awards n all that!), and they didn't scrimp on heating which is always a danger on days like today in places like this.  There were a good number of people in, mainly ageing ditherers looking for lunch and asking far too many questions of the patient staff.  Unfortunately my ale was bland and lacking any spark, but Dad's tasted good at least.  In a rare concession to your trad pub, we found a bookcase in one of the quieter rooms of this majestic rabbit warren, and it had GBG's and Wisden Cricketing Almanacs.  So engrossed Dad got in trying to work out whether Ian Botham broke his own 1981 record in something, he nearly forget to drink up!

Big circular bar - take your walking boots

Tried to choose a weather appropriate ale but it backfired

Dad looking holy in our peaceful side room

It was just gone 2pm ..... and good as their word, the Ale House, Clitheroe (1720 / 2937), was now open .....

And cosier than it appeared from the outside too, I was a fan of this place, certainly one of the stronger pubs of the day.  I suspect some locals had come along a bit before 2pm, seen him closed and sat in the dark reading his paper, banged on the window "ey up lad, get yersen oppen!" (or whatever they say in Lancs) because the locals at the bar and a couple in the side room looked nicely established and settled into their drinks.  I enjoyed asking for 'Two Girls Blouses' from that Problem Child place in Parbold I didn't massively enjoy a few month back, and it was quality stuff and locals smiled warmly and talked about going back to sheds in Darwen to touch them up with a fresh lick of paint.  The loos were interesting cos when I set off upstairs, I heard a bar local say he was off for a pee and he set off following me.  But he must've found a magic tradesmen's staircase for I heard a neighbouring toilet door lock when i reached the top.  I've long since given up trying not to look like a first time visitor on these pub trips, and this is exactly the reason why.  Is there really a second staircase?  Comment below if you know, it is slightly bugging me.  Great pub this.

I knew I was expecting a lot of Dad's chauffeuring skills next, as we continued west out of Clitheroe and almost ended up in Preston for heaven's sake!  Also his SatNav was obsessed with the M6, whether we needed to be on it or not, and this was compounded by roadworks and heavy pre-rush hour traffic.  Ugh.

With some relief, we parked up at pub three.  I'd even found the zip for my coat!  Things were picking up ......

Hang on, there was something slightly familiar about Haighton Manor, Haighton (1721 / 2938).  Rural location.  Plush grounds.  Former country house hotel.  Roaring fire and rugs on entrance.  Quirky Victorian prints on the walls.  Uniformed staff trying to look authoritative but failing.  House beer.  Men in suits stood next to farmers with sleeping dogs.  Oh yes, it just had to be a Brunning & Price.  In a 'pub moment of the day which amused me far more than it should, Dad sensibly orders a coffee, and as she gives him the options, he chooses cappuccino.  She's not concentrating though.  "Did you say latte?"  "No I said cappuccino (though to be precise, you said cappuccino and I said yes!)"  replies Dad.  Then Whitney Houston belts out "I Feel So Emotional" as Dad's cappuccino arrives and he theatrical plops a sugar lump into it, our hapless barmaid returns to try and light a candle for our table but nearly fails and sets the table alight.  Oh I don't know, it might not sound much in retrospect but I didn't laugh this much in Clitheroe, and certainly not Blackburn later on.  The Brunning & Price Spotify playlist then blasts out a bit of Billy Joel, Queen and probably Savage Garden and Runrig.  Dad suddenly looks shocked and exclaims "WHY DO THE BEERMATS HAVE A PICTURE OF THE  CORONAVIRUS ON THEM?"

"Errrm Dad, that is the Lancashire rose" I tell him gently.  Though similar effect on us Yorkshiremen, I admit.  Warm and amusing with good ale, Haighton Manor had done the job for us.

Dad plops theatrically 

Brunning

and Price

Still time for two (three if I was very lucky) pubs, as well as the match.  Could Hull City win?  What would our pub of the day prove to be?  And why did a man start chasing us down the street, shouting?

Find all of the answers to the questions you never asked, and more, tomorrow night in part two.

Si 

BRAPA is ...... DRINKING IN MODERATION (Treading Carefully in Reading)

Greetings and here is a rare treat for you all, a BRAPA blog released pre-watershed!  Remember, this is going out live so don't say fuck or bugger......

Father BRAPA had gone rogue on this one, and booked Hull City match tickets for a day where Tom and I were fully expecting to be doing what we call an N.F.F.D. (Non Football Football Day) where we visit six GBG pubs, often in the general area Hull City are playing, but without that horrid bit between 3-5pm to spoil it!

Not that I was complaining too much, I was intrigued to see how bad my team looked after officially 'the worst transfer window in football history' ™

Having completed Berkshire back in 2017 (I'm generally 'leaving it alone' for now), I feel familiar with Reading thanks mainly to the efforts of the wonderful Sir Quinno.  Reading CAMRA seem to be one of the more imaginative branches, and are always looking to put 'new stuff' in the GBG to give us pub tickers reasons to return.  And even though fellow pub ticker Duncan Mackay was weaned on breastmilk from the teet of the Purple Turtle, it's not always so easy for us northerners to keep 'abreast' of all the new pubs that need doing.

I still had the weird Uni bar to do (not open weekends,obs) but aside from that, I still had three ticks to go at.  The perfect 'pre-match' number you might say, if you are having a pint in each.

Before that (and incoming Tom) though, it was time to do something I'd never done before and visit a pub in Slough! 

WELCOME TO SLOUGH LADIES & GENTLEMEN FOR THE BRAPA DEBUT!  THE BIRDS ARE MIGRATING.

Anticipation was high (said no one in Slough ever) as I rocked up at the local 'Spoons early doors.

A man leaned on a wheelie bin groaning around the back of a shopping centre, the air was cold, the wind howled, everything seemed grey and metallic.  I was pleased.  This was the Slough I'd imagined.  John Betjeman wanted friendly bombs to drop on it, but it just needs a cuddle.  Moon & Spoon (1715 / 2932) was a reassuringly familiar Wetherspoons, swathes of patterned carpet and a big empty floor space leading to the bar, a few old men pinned to the walls by their own pessimism.  Some glared at my yellow trainers as though they offended their eyes.  Mancunians like them.  The service was brisk, approaching friendly, with a light southwesterly.  The Sambrook ale did a job, more than that actually, it was good enough to be joint second best ale of the day.  Dad and I had found a nicely partitioned booth, but a clamour of noise changed the atmosphere and a truckload of travelling Cardiff City fans had swarmed into the bar area.  Well, what a motley crew!   They all looked like either Craig or David Bellamy.  But not Craig David. and I was almost unsurprised when Dad returned from the loo to tell me one of them was stood in the middle of the bogs (not at a urinal) with his trousers down, staring into space!    Time to get out of here, but as a Slough debut experience, decent.  But it does make me wonder what else Slough has to offer pub-wise, surely at least a boring micro?!

£1.49 with a Mudgie Voucher for added value for money!

I'm framing this and calling it "The Things We Said Last Spring" 

Rare evidence of the Cardiff 'invasion'

On with the main event then, and no time for Maidenhead (sob!) as we had to get into Reading to meet Tom at the first tick, sort of North behind the station, almost Caverhsammie but not, at a pub called the Moderation - and you could argue, Tom is always best in Moderation .....

When I Google Mapped it (because the online GBG App nowadays is horse shit, bring back the old one with the orange background, please!) I was interested to learn the only other Moderation was in Hull!  I wonder if it is any good, or at least, better than this one?

The font on a pub sign (as Matthew Lawrenson has taught me) is often a giveaway to what lies within, and perhaps that should've been the first warning sign at the Moderation, Reading (1716 / 2933) where we were surprised to find a particularly busy, bustling 12 noon atmosphere.  It is a fact that the closer to the home counties you go, the harder it is to differentiate the 'Rugby Union Jolly Boys Outing' from 'CAMRA TWAMRA knees-up'.  The polo shirts are the issue, but whilst I initially thought rugby, Dad observed some geeky beer behaviour and I could spy 'Whittle...' on the back of a lady's shirt which made me think Whittlesey CAMRA visit, unless they were part of a Justin Whittle appreciation society which would've been more wholesome.  North Cambs ale folk have been following me around this year, Peterboroughians chatting loudly in Hartlepool's Rat Race a few months back.  I squashed in at the bar and some Thai ladies (this pub does Thai food and is an 'East Meets West Fusion' I read, Vine in Norwich?) served me an 'Angels with Dirty Faces' (classic punk track) but it went off and before I could utter 'what a Sham!' they'd still squeezed one out, which was pure 'cleaning lines fluid'.  So I swapped 'em out for Tim Taylor Landlord (Doom Bar was the other option) and Dad and I marvelled at how they could make a pint of TTL taste so much like a Carling!  Dreadful.  We'd snuck into a backroom to escape the crowds but whilst going for a wee 10 mins later, the place had totally emptied out!  All the while, 'where was Tom?' was the question on our lips.  He said he'd meet us here.  I assumed he'd overstretched himself with some train manoeuvre and I was expecting a legendary obscure text message like "Foul up at Cleobury Mortimer on a standard bog cart 12 down with points failure at the crossover left me out of apex twin due in Sandhurst a week today".  Turned out he was in the front room (which we didn't know existed!) the entire time!  He'd heard one of the barmaids telling a Whittlesey person to 'shut up'.  Wonder if they'd criticised the pub?  Oh well, time to go. 

Dad brought out the Mini Cheds early to make our ales more palatable 

Focus on the fish mural and it'll all be over soon

CAMRA v Rugby Union

And then there was one .....

Getting served

We stuck to the west side of Reading, along a bit of a frightening main road where we turned off for pub two where a normal person would go to the Nag's Head and stay there til kick off.  But this looked a corker from the outside, Dad noted, and hopes were high as we made our way in .......

Me and Tom, ready for pub number two 

It was a real case of 'a pub of two halves' at the Butler, Reading (1717 / 2934) or at least, 'a pub which seemed to deteriorate the longer you stayed in it!' which isn't quite so good.  The initial euphoria probably centred around the fact that this wasn't the Moderation, and it did have something resembling a pub atmosphere, flimsy and fleeting as it was.  Just the one customer when we arrived, and I felt the barman could've made much more of an effort with us (or at least cracked a smile!) considering how dead it was.  A world away from Great Harwood.  My pint of Moondance from 'Triple fff' (isn't that fffffffff?) well, it started well but I was a bit bored of it by the end.  Outdoor bogs and some fabulously gaudy sofas were a nice touch, and you could tell it was a music pub as there was even this cartoon 'Butler' who kept appearing, trying to be cool in his shades and stuff.  I hated him, Butler's should Buttle and maintain a respectful distance from gaiety and glee.   All in all, a pub with bits to commend it, but ultimately falling a bit short of the required standard. 

Note to self - don't check in on Twitter too early!  Also, anyone read Imago?  Comment below.

At the bar

Looks more like a skinhead from a Ska band.  Sad times. 

Most pubs with outdoor bogs are classics....

I'd have these in my flat if I could!

Meandering our way back into town, not far from the bus station, it was time for our saviour to errrrm, 'save us'.   Here it is ......

Yes, just like last season when The Retreat reminded us how good Reading pubs can be after a pretty demoralising experience in a pub called the Fisherman's Cottage, Allied Arms (1717 / 2934) meant we could go out on a Reading high.  Small and perfectly formed with low beamed ceilings and an army of jolly ruddy faced men and patient eye-rolling women jostling for position at the bar, it had a cracking atmosphere, you could just sense that 1828 history.  I'd been craving a dark beer after some pretty average stuff, so was delighted to see that Bingham's Stout on and by gum, it puts hairs on your chest, especially when you have to try and down it.  Struggling to get a seat, a bloke at a table saw us and moved to sit at the bar so we could have his table.  What a gent.  You'd not have got this behaviour in our previous pubs.  Dad meanwhile said the young barman was so 'switched on' it was almost scary!  Tom had a weird glint in his eye I recognised.  He wasn't planning on coming to the match, and I could see he was hoping Dad and I would settle into the Allied experience so much, we'd forgo our match tickets, leave it too late for the F1 Bus to the Madjeski, and carry on with the original NFFD plan.  I'd normally be tempted, especially as I STILL haven't seen THAT Terersa May mural in the Maidenhead Con Club, but I was today determined to take a look at the post-Bowen & Grosicki Hull City so after much sharing out my stout with Dad, then pouring some of it back into my glass, we strode off towards the bus.  Pub of the day.

Tom's brain tries to hatch a cunning plan

Dad is in at the bar

Capturing the superb atmosphere of the Allied

As we hopped aboard the stadium bus, I glanced up at another good Reading pub I'd been to previously, the Greyfriar.  Little did I know Quinno was in here at the time, presumably giving them a special award for having the draughtiest pub door in the land #NeverForget

The match was nice cos we played really well, got a deserved late equaliser, and drew 1-1.

A post-match pub certainly looked on, but by the time the bus had dropped us back off at the station, time was ticking on towards our 19:30 train home.  Maidenhead seemed too outlandish, then Ealing did, then even Central London ticks in Aldgate and Chancery Lane seemed overly ambitious.

In the end, we had to make do with the Parcel Yard, you never quite know how it is going to perform on the night, but today, despite Six Nations people blocking every orifice, the Ossett Silver King and other one I tried were great, staff were funny and we quite enjoyed our corridor seat .....

I'm calling this one "I've seen life, I've seen Slough"

We found Tom in the front coach in an empty bay of four, so joined him for a pleasant journey back home, and here's a wholly 'accidental' shot of the contents of his bag in case anyone reading wants to know he's a very healthy chap.

Top day out, and we'd get to do it all again in a couple of days, this time, in and around Blackburn.

Si