BRAPA and ..... MILEYS OF SMILEYS (Hallowe'en in Essex)

Off the bus from Ballards Gore and back into Rochford, the rain still teeming down, my first act was to nearly get run over by a dodgy white van man (is there any other type?)  His surly expression unforgiving of his relative dryness in comparison to myself.  

The biggest revelation of my journey down from York to London earlier (apart from impending Lockdown II) was that my next pub reopened TODAY for the first time since July 4th.  Sometimes I bemoan dreadful bad luck in my ticking expeditions, this was quite the opposite. 

In true South Essex 2020 pub tradition, we played 'hunt for the entrance' which is always the least likely looking door buried deepest in the bowels of the premises.  Aesthetically speaking, Miley, Rochford (1711 / 3138) isn't perhaps one for the purists, pitching itself somewhere between sports bar, WMC and 'venue' whatever that means in 2020.  It is irrelevant anyway, when you consider the warmth of humanity within.  I'm greeted by lovely landlady Louise, and become the first person to sign their guestbook, second customer.  We have heartfelt chat about today's announcement, the hard work getting ales back on, which will now be wasted, and how the decision to delay re-opening for so long was based on an elderly mother and three year old daughter.  I did a lot of sighing and platitudes like "ya couldn't make it up!" but not much you can say in these circs really.  They may as well have taken a 'wrecking ball' to the place.  Their poor achey breaky hearts!    Like the Golden Lion before it, the card machine is a busted flush,  she ends up phoning this man to come and have a look at it.  Must be something in the Rochford air.  The Spooky Moon ale is going down well, the bar is filling up with excited locals in West Ham and Liverpool shirts, and soon the afore mentioned daughter Tiva comes over to say hello, gives Colin a good curious stare, and introducing him to her Tiger, which doesn't really have a name.  Mr Miley is playing games with her, and when I comment I'm particularly fond of the Tiger because I am a Hull City fan, he tells me where it all went wrong for us.  The Allam's of course surely, but no, apparently our decline started when we sacked Phil Brown.  Well well well, that's a new take.  On the way out, I drop my hat and when I emerge from toilet, bloke in Liverpool top is waiting in the rain to hand it back to me.  Yes, even the plastic scousers are top people in this wonderful bar, and I wish them all the best for the future cos they deserve it.

Next, a trip to the recently visited Brentwood, which involved a change of trains at everyone's favourite Essex/East London interchange, Shenfield, which would be a really handy place to pop a GBG pub (just saying for future reference, thanks). 

My mood improved even more when I saw a fleet of taxis outside the station, as buses to nearby Herongate were a bit sparse.

However my mood was pretty downcast by the time we reached the pub.  It all started when the driver sneezed and did the whole "don't worry pal, it ain't Covid" charade.  That somehow segued into a tale of woe re two mates of his dying, not due to drugs, but weakened by drugs, and vivid descriptions of the funerals, anguish on mother's face etc.  Add to the mix the fact he was a reformed alcoholic and was silently judging me for pub ticking.  Okay, so I probably shouldn't have said "I nearly said I'll invite you in for a pint, lol!" but when he didn't laugh, I immediately felt guilty enough to give him a tip he scarcely deserved.

So perhaps my low mood contributed to the reason why I found the Olde Dog Inn, Herongate Tye (1712 / 3139) such a crashing disappointment.  Well, perhaps that is a bit strong, but utterly dull.  I was swooped upon on arrival, and taken around the very first corner to a table facing away from bar, action, walls surrounding me.  The house ale didn't really hit the spot, they had a doggy themed area called the 'dog house' and for all the talk of a 17th century weatherboarded freehouse, character and atmosphere seemed to be in short supply.  The two couples within earshot were typical Essex quirky friendliness, shouting the odd pleasantry in funny accents, and saying things like "enjoy it while you can, you 'eard about this announcement then?" and  "No wan's gonna wotchit cus we're all ganna be daaaaarn the pab innit fella!"  I laughed along, but the only real moment of satisfaction was getting out the green Stabilo and highlighting my final pab (sorry, pub) in that South Essex region.  Onto mid-Essex next.

I had to walk pretty quickly to make the bus connection at Herongate, about 15 minutes max, and after some more jiggery pokery in Brentwood, I was back en route through east London looking for two more pubs.

Absolutely brilliant

Eyes suggest that demonic 5th pub of the day experience isn't far away

I'm also blaming Olde Dog Inn for Hull City 1-0 on arrival, lost 1-2 to 'crisis' club Swindon

The good thing about a brand new GBG is suddenly you have 'options'.  By the end of the 2020 GBG, I'd have had to have another stab at risky Upminster, or get back to Central London and do some faffing about to get something south of the river.

Now, I was spoilt for choice.  Well, I had two new Wetherspoons to do anyway!  

Ilford was first up, a place I'd only ever been to for the wonderfully weird but somehow great Jono's.  Could this compete?

Great Spoon of Ilford (1713 / 3140) was rather less memorable.  I smiled at a bloke in a turban who scowled back, the carpet was lush and red, staff were incredibly chirpy and attentive for a chain relying almost 100% on the GOAT of Pub Apps, the Wetherspoons one.  Fuck you Wadworth, sort yourselves out.  Good job they were attentive, as my beer was dire.  Where is a plant pot when you need one eh?  I did something forbidden and took it back to the bar and no one told me off, so I loitered and got a very nice Adnams Ghost Ship as a replacement.  I'd only gone Hobgoblin cos 'it felt right' on Hallowe'en.  I'd not even realised Ghost Ship could be classed as a spooky beer.  The heat coming off the radiator positively radiated.  Guess that's why they call them that.  And just when you thought things couldn't get any spookier, I receive a random phone call from cheeky Sussex chappy of gammy leg fame, John Depeche Modem.  He rambled on like he does, all very pleasant and an entertaining way to pass the time in a fairly dull 'Spoons but I had to curtail him if I was gonna get a sixth tick in, which now seemed imperative with Boris's presser looming.

My final pub today was listed under Stratford, but luckily, I went on Google Maps just as we came into Maryland (home of the Cookie, not the lager variety) and realised this was a much better place to get off.  Go, go, go, I said outloud, scaring passengers as I desperately press the button just in the nick of time.

What I wasn't prepared for was a queue snaking around the block!

Uh oh, this wasn't in the script.  I looked at my watch anxiously, but decided to stick with it.  If I missed Parcel Yard ESB, I guess it wasn't the end of the world.   Sob!  Queue did move at a fairly good pace, as two masked doormen helped people track & trace, hand santitise etc.  I was the oldest person in the queue, some had Hallowe'en fancy dress on, some seemed to be there for a final Saturday pub hurrah for a month, and quite a few were ID'd on the way in.  A decent camaraderie developed with people helping each other scan the QR code on their phones.  When it got to my turn. he eyes me up and down doubtfully.  "Just a drink?  Just you?  Okay, but you'll have to sit outside!"  But then again so was everyone being admitted to the pub.  Not one seat available indoors.  Rammed, in a social distanced way.  Phew, welcome to Goldengrove, Stratford (1714 / 3141).  I got myself seated, ordered.  Drink took what seemed like an AGE to arrive.   Interesting atmosphere.  People guessing each others weird Hallowe'en fancy dress.  Barmaid dressed as Where's Wally finally brought me a stout and apologised for the delay, but how could I be mad?  Ali G sat alone in a smoking booth.  Bloke in Guantanamo Bay get-up got himself trapped in the door and had to be freed!   And someone from a cult teen film I'd never heard of impressed a group of ladies.  All the while, you could here the none fancy dressed crew murmuring "press conference is on now .... yep, yep, lockdown confirmed.  Another drink?  We'd better!"

Determined to get back to the Parcel Yard in time for a swift ESB before the train north, I leapt through the Underground network like a gazelle.  My friend and travel expert Tom Irvin would have been proud the way I barged loiterers off escalators and took gambles on whether Tubes were heading in right direction.

I was rewarded, almost, with my now regulatory seat in the middle of the main room.  Sure the staff recognise me.  Now that is a bit embarrassing in here.  But no ESB, noooooo!  Had to go London Pride.  Unsatisfactory.  Not that it wasn't good Pride, I'd just had my heart set on ESB.  Colin donned his devil horns and hit the limited edition Jalapeño Mini Cheddars.  Stinging Cauli ring first thing?

Last pint in a pub til December?  Not on your nelly!   On the journey back, I was joined for bit by fellow pub ticker who doesn't make a song and dance about it like me, the lovely Eddie Fogden, and we had a nice chat I can't remember much about.  

But my subconscious was in overdrive, planning what I could fit in before Thursday 5th November 12:01am.  Join me on Monday evening for part one of a three part pre-Lockdown special.  

Si 

BRAPA and ..... A ROCHFORD CUDDLY TOY (Part 1/2)

 

These blog titles write themselves don't they?

Breaking news as I travelled down to London from York on the morning of Saturday 31st October (Hallowe'en fittingly).  Rumours were circulating that a government leek (not a cauliflower) has announced a second national lockdown is imminent, shutting English pubs for the next month.  Nooooo!  The new Good Beer Guide had only been out officially for two days.  I didn't want to believe it, but best to get totally rat arsed today just to be on the safe side.  

"So you gotta feel for me baby, feeeeeeeel for me baby, and gimme some pub". 

From King's Cross to Liverpool Street, and then onto Roachford, sorry Rochford.  I always imagined it would 'pair well' with Southend, but last week, I had enough to go at so it was back down today, with Dad & Tom unable to make it to Swindon, which had been the original plan.  Tom's Mum has a Hallowe'en birthday, there's a joke in there I'm not brave enough to make!

The best pubs are just effortless aren't they?

Golden Lion, Rochford (1709 / 3136) decided to make a late bid for BRAPA pub of the month, not bad with 53 to choose from, and finished about 3rd or 4th all things considered.  Paying for my drink felt reassuringly like olden times (i.e. 2019), he even says "you're not getting a card out are ya?" to which I tell him I have back up cash, which is good, cos their machine is broken.  As I sit down, Elvis bursts into life (not the real guy, though if he is alive, here would be a good place to start checking) nearly giving the old bloke next to me a heart attack.  He is frail, I'm terrified he'll keel over and I won't be much good in a first aid situation.  84 years old, he tells me.  I'd have guessed 168.  He tells me he's had new lease of life from a cataracts operation, and from the number of 'locals' finding out where he lives, checking up on him, bringing him food parcels.  Heart warming stuff, excuse the pun.  He tells me he'd be lost without his daily walk to and from the pub, and I can't bring myself to tell him the news I've heard this morning.  "What gets said in this pab stays in the pab" says the guv'nor at one point.  He's never heard of pub blogging obviously.  The two cheekier blokes are at the far side of the room.  One speaks about facemasks in a way I've heard before ".... They are like balaclavas.  Walk into a bank in old days with one on, they'd fink you were a bank robber.  Walk into one now, they don't bat an eyelid".  "They would with a face like yours!" replies the guv'nor.  Hilarious at the time, but under closer scrutiny, does it make sense?  As the other slower bloke asks when Hallowe'en is, it is time for me to go.  The old guy tells me he remembers working in my next pub when he was a lad, but it was in a different building back then, which means a required GBG revisit for Duncan if he did it in the inter-war years.  Top characters, and an ambience to match.

Where's this heavy rain come from?  It was dry when I entered the pub.  A fleet of taxis in what Rochford probably considers a market place will do me nicely, with it still not quite 12 noon, and a month long shutdown most likely meaning I'll have spare dosh burning a hole in my pocket!

Taxi driver is a right chirpy chappy.  And when we approach this slightly rural dining backwater, and water is the word, he spies a couple going in with two dogs and tells me "he's a lovely knowledgeable bloke, tell him Steve says hi".  Flippin 'eck, so now I had an extra task in addition to all of the 'going into a pub in these strange times' rules!

Shepherd & Dog, Ballards Gore (1710 / 3137) was a fairly plain, laminated floored, spaced out dining pub, but you could at least feel some history and happiness within those walls.  I immediately find myself on the adjacent table to Lovely Knowledgeable Bloke (LKB) and his Art Garfunkel like sentient hair do, so I tell him what the taxi driver said, and luckily they know the Steve I'm talking about!   Being sat on Table 13 on Hallowe'en in a place with GORE in the title, was never likely to bring good luck, and my 'relationship' with the younger barmaid proved difficult throughout.  It all stemmed from me trying to take a panoramic shot of the bar, from a good distance, but she looks up at the wrong time!  Now I know what you are thinking, 'Si you got form for unwise, invasive photos', but I've been a lot more sensible and discreet in recent years, and this really was bad luck, believe it or not!  She looks at me throughout in a very accusatory way (no words are said but I deleted pic in guilt!) and later she asks if I want a menu, I don't hear properly, she brings me one, then I say no I'm not eating.  That wastes her time.  Then, she tells me I have not signed in.  I have to assure her I did, luckily older barmaid who seems to like me, can vouch.  And then I nearly bump into her on way back from loo, head on.  Oh dear, just one of those situations!  Luckily LKB is proving to be lovely.  He stopped his car to give an old man an umbrella due to the heavy rain, but the man refused and "grumped off".  On seeing my GBG, he tells me he dabbled with pub ticking once, Devon in particular, but found it hard going.  Definitely not a 'beginners' county is Devon!    A knowledgeable man should know that.  Why is 'Walking on Sunshine' blaring out of the speakers with no irony?  The rain is still teeming down.  Speaking of which, LKB then spots someone's car windscreen wipers are going full pelt (I unhelpfully suggest they are possessed due to the time of year) and there's a quick poll of pub inhabitants to find the owner.  Proper Good Samaritan.  But I've got a bus to catch, and they've got their lunch to eat.

Well, I've run out of time.  We are past the 9pm witching hour, I've got things to do so I'll call it a night for now, and join you Wed or Fri for a longer part 2 (I seem to be strangely busy considering we can't go anywhere at present.  Nearly done my Chrissy shopping mind!

I waited for a bus at the stop, not shelter sadly, and jolly lady in a van kept passing me, waving, smiling, splashing me with a puddle, turning round, and then doing that on repeat until the bus mercifully showed.  Back to Rochford!

Cheers, Si 

BRAPA in ...... WELL PAST MY SELBY DATE

Friday 30th October, and I was toying with the idea of my first BRAPA after work pub trip since (checks spreadsheet) a 31st January trip to Sheffield.  Despite an all round lack of motivation, I had a nap, decorated my flat in a Hallowe'eny way cos I like my traditions, and stepped out into what felt like quite a charged atmosphere in York.  

Unaware of the 'pub closure breaking news' that would hit the following morning, the decision to make this trip seems even better with hindsight.  Actually, I'd attempted the same journey the previous Friday only for Hull Trains to cancel the service *pretends to be shocked* and I gave up on that occasion.

Once in Selby, I got wedged behind these two slow walking young ladies on the narrow pavement, could not get past (I could talk about wobbly bottoms but don't wanna be hit with a sexism charge so I won't), and had to follow them all the way to the first pub, which they also went in, even achieving a BRAPA cameo role ......

Looking like a desultory piece of supermarket bought Lancashire cheese from the outside, No 1 the Crescent, Selby (1707 / 3134) offered very little for the pub purist indoors.  Shabby chic style exposed brickwork, ducts and pipes up top, a table cloth reminiscent of a Subway sandwich wrapper, a swing you could sit on, wooden Pret a Manger style benches, whichever market they are appealing to, it sure as hell ain't me!  This building actually used to be the Albion Vaults pub, now that sounds boozery and I'd be interested to know just how different it is.  I repeated my 'Mawson's of Southend' trick of wandering towards the bar, getting noticed, and then doubling back on myself to a table, from where I peer expectantly at staff from a distance.  Okay, so it makes me feel like a dog wanting to be taken out for a walk, but seems to work.  A few young couples were scattered around having burgers and nachos, but the atmosphere was generally as drab as the decor.  Solace came in the form of a magnificent pint of Old Mill Blonde Bombshell.  Like a low key Sam Smith's with nice owners, I've been to plenty of their houses mainly in the South York area, their beers are superbly old school, I used to say 'bland', but as my tastes mellow & mature over time, and you realise the Raspberry Ripple Mistletoe IPA was for Christmas, but not for life, you start to appreciate the joy of a beer like this, however incongruous it felt in these forced trendy surroundings.  Nevertheless, I must say I was glad when I stepped back into that almost fresh Selby night air.

I should also note that this had been the 'first official tick' of the 2021 Good Beer Guide, with the release date having been the day before.  So with embargo now lifted, I could finally put the book on the table and highlight in clear sight!  

About five minutes walk from here, probably not even that, Selby had a second new entry to sample, I really was being spoilt tonight.

Selby & the GBG hasn't been a great experience for me in recent years.  In the only other other two Good Beer Guide entries, the Giant Bellflower Wetherspoons, and last year's dreadful Nelson, I had a pint of vinegar in each.  My only other pub experience, a non GBG pub called the Cricketers (Sam Smith's) was fantastic.

What struck me firstly, and most prominently, about the Doghouse. Selby (1708 / 3135) was 'LIFE'.  Vibrancy, noise, colour, happy laughing faces, bar staff singing.  It crystallised in my mind just what had been lacking at the previous pub, had I been in any doubt.  'Have I booked?' Don't be silly, so I have to perch in the main bar area on a stool which means I'm more leaning than sitting, the angle of my stance suggests 'accidental male prostitute'.  The dog theme, botanical feel, gin menus and signs like 'embrace the haze' meant it was always going to be an irritating place, but you can't deny the efforts to create a happy atmosphere to potentially get wrecked in.  Second great pint of the night too, it wor from Barnsley this time.  When Under Pressure by Queen and that strange dead bloke came on, it was treated to a full-on karaoke session by the staff.  I've never rated it as a song personally.  A lady near me was encouraged to have a taster of many different ciders, but painfully aware she should be 'masked' when stood up, but couldn't be masked to drink, it was up and down like a bride's nightie.  Now that's one song that should've been given the karaoke treatment.  Doghouse also have a pub in Castleford and a Brewery Twap just north of Snaith which must be decent pre-emptive shouts for 2022.  I feel like my blog has been strangely informative tonight.  You'll make a Chris Dyson of me yet!

So, there we had it.  My best Selby experience to date.  No time for any late night heroics, as we had the now traditional 7:38am start for South Essex the following morning.

Join me for tales from Rochford tomorrow evening.

Thanks, Si 

BRAPA in ..... ESSEX EMBARGO (Part 2/2 Southend to Leigh)

With Westcliff greened off, it was time to hop aboard the train to Southend where, despite thousands of football visits to Roots Hall over the years, I'd not done two of the three 2021 GBG ticks, both of which remained in this edition, having also featured in 2020.

I'd done the giant impressive Last Post, the Bell near the football ground, the fantastic Cork & Cheese in a shopping centre, and a nice modern one with Trout in the name, plus a few others I forget.

Good piece of advice from the bloke in charge at West Road Tap - for the first one, I was best getting off at Southend East.  Southend has an east?  Well, well, well.

I walked through the mean streets (well Lovelace Avenue for example) and past such delights as Kink Hair, Grumpy's Diner and a pop up Fireworks classic, nearly that time of year of ......

Stop for a slurp?

Enjoying that traffic cone far too much

I had to turf above lady out of doorway, she'd decided this was the best place to get a phone signal.  So how do we rate Mawson's, Southend then?  Awesome, or boresome?  Well, neither really.  After the increasingly common sight of being required to sign a paper guestbook because the NHS Test Trace seems to be widely distrusted, and one of the runniest sanitisers ever, I impatiently wander forward to the bar just to make sure they know I want serving, before being predictably shown to a seat.  This was the 'pubbiest' venue so far today, deep red walls, warmth and sci-fi conversation, hell even the West Ham fans were nerds.  I thought they were all Grade A hooligan class.  Music by Hall & Oates, yes, for a Micro, this was reassuringly boozery.   So what did I have to moan about then?  Well, the beer surprisingly.  First one had gone off, so he has to come back and remind what's on again.  One of the problems with table service.  This one tastes like compost, in a slightly health-restoring way, but the fact it is served in a lined glass, yet still filled to the brim (meaning I have well over a pint measure) isn't particularly welcome.  The couple behind me have the same scenario, first beer off, have to order another.  As he walks past the second time, he glances furtively at me.  'Alright mate, I ain't the beer police!'  Frustrating really, cos a quality pint and a bit more interaction could've made this pub of the day.

Col gets his own little flag, which is a nice touch

Retro game table, always sign of a solid pub

I hopped back on the train to Southend Central, where the next pub was visible from the platform, which makes sense as it had 'Railway' in the name.

A more adventurous BRAPA day would see me impaling myself on railings, then dragging my blood soaked frame over the brick wall, cos always best to get to pubs 'as the crow flies' which is why I'm looking to the advent of jet packs in the coming years, but sadly not soon enough for the likes of Taylor and Mackay to witness the benefit.

So yeah, frustratingly, I had to walk around a few corners to get to this point ......

A couple of people commented that the above pub photo represented the perfect example of a beautiful original pub (bottom green section) spoiled by an unwise tag on (the upper bit).  I agree.  It would prove an incredibly apt point, as my entire pub experience at the Railway Hotel, Southend could be described as fabulous on one level, dreadful on the other.  We'll focus on the fabulous first.  The pub interior, very impressive.  The colourful, quirky staff and customers were wonderful.  Like a cross between an asylum, and my walk-in wardrobe.  The quality of the Ghost Ship, superb.  But talk about shooting yourself in the foot.  I was instructed on arrival to download the App, despite the lack of customers and huge amount of staff doing nowt but chatting.  This App was called 'Swifty' and is up there with Wadworth and Ordery for least intuitive Apps to navigate.  They all need a good Wetherspoons lesson these Pub App developers!  I complained when she brought my drink, but she said Boris rules (not as in 'Boris rules O.K.' , but 'the rules of Boris') and then I totally invalidate my argument by saying "and how do I pay?" when the whole point of the App was I pay there and then.  I KNOW that, but this was a reminder this was my demonic 5th pub of the day.  Dickhead Si.  Oh, and the gorgeous beer was ruined to a large degree by serving me out of a polycarbonate receptacle.  Light as a feather.  I was later told this is a licensing issue because they are such a live music hub, but surely to goodness in these times where live music is not likely for some time, they have a stash of real glasses they can utilise?  Felt like for all the pubs assumed air of boho chic, free lovin' hippy fun, it was one seriously inhibited by some silly rules.

These folk were great and does it surprise you the stripy one tells me he once had a pet broccoli?

I now had to walk to Southend Victoria bus station for my final pub of the day, and if there'd been the odd sign of my drunkeness peeping out, it was apparent to me now as I spent ages trying to my north from south, east from west, left from right, and arse from elbow to work out how one would catch a bus in the direction of northerly Leigh-on-Sea.

Luckily, a kindly driver told me I was doing it all wrong and it suddenly became obvious what I should have been doing all along.  

I pressed the button just in time for the Progress Road stop, and soon I'm getting lost amongst industrial units, down the wrong side of a fence.

I even took a video of my 'progress' (haha, see what I did there?), which caused five seconds of amusement on Twitter.  I'd put it here, but videos never work on Blogger unless you give YouTube a poke in the guts.

My sister is recovering from Covid, so I sent it to her to lift her spirits, and I got this semi-positive feedback .....

Don't listen to sister BRAPA, probably the Covid talking!

Leigh-on-Sea Brewery was, for me, a perfect place to end the days ticking.  It is not trying to be the Holly Bush or Makeney or the Eagle & Child in Staveley, and once you get your head round that, you'll love it too.  The hours I'd looked up said it opens today 1-6 but when I arrived, just gone 5pm, the lovely Ian (who'd been expecting me due to my Twitter posts in this direction) had almost given up on me, and was already to close up and go home because the closing time was actually 5pm!  Brilliant of him to not only hang around and be the perfect host, but also to buy my pint for me.  Only the 5th time this has happened I think in BRAPA history.  I suppose it's kind of his fault I was a bit hazy by this stage, for I'd already had pints of Leigh-on-Sea beers at both the Peterboat and the Mile and a Third.  But it is funny what a face-to-face conversation can do, and I suddenly felt a real sobering clarity washing over me as I drank my third L-o-S pint of the day, which I think was the below Boys of England.  National Beer Cauliflower Scoring System = yummo.  And with the strong winds whipping the autumn leaves about and making metal doors go clunk, there was a wild, atmospheric last orders feel to proceedings.  Ian later told me I can take credit for them extending their opening hours on a Saturday, which I think are now til 8 (well, that didn't last long sadly!) All the pubs today had good and bad points, but here was one experience where I could feel truly happy with, and I'd saved the best 'til last.

Colin makes friends with Ian 

Top ale, entertaining looking snacks

My lack of clarity returned as I got majorly confused again trying to catch the bus back to Southend.  I annoyed a young chap who just wanted to have his headphones in and not answer my questions.  Then I furiously tried to flag down an out of service bus.  When I got on a proper lit up one, I slipped on a wet leaf but kept my balance and paid the fare, all in one movement, which sobered me up again! 

By the time the train reached London Liverpool St, I was on a quest to get to King's Cross as speedily as possible because you can probably guess what I wanted to achieve before the long train north.  Yes, ESB in the Parcel Yard time, woohoo ......

 

Colin says ESB is his favourite pint and much nicer than Harvey's

Train back seemed to go smoothly from what I can remember ......

And I was all nicely tucked up in bed for midnight.  Great day, Essex strikes again!

Join me on Sunday evening, where I'll be telling you about the night I went to Selby.

Thanks for reading, Si