BRAPA in ..... NO HOYLANDSWAINE, NO GAIN : FINISHING SOUTH YORKSHIRE

I couldn't avoid it any longer.  Having ticked off Brinsworth the week before, I had one remaining 'tick' to do in that rewarding county of South Yorkshire.  And with the countdown towards GBG 2022 release date getting ever closer, Thursday night was the night to get it greened up in full.

It would be the first time I'd complete South Yorkshire since the 2018 edition, for which I'm blaming the Allams.  #AllamOut

Not an easy tick at all, Hoylandswaine bus services have become sparser since my 2017 visit to the Rose & Crown.  Foolish of me back then to suggest I'd never need to return .......

*I (which I'm sure Russ told me in the comments at the time)

I closed my work laptop at 4pm and shinned it down to York station.  From there I took a direct train to Huddersfield.  Then a four minute dash to platform 2, where I took the connecting train to Penistone, home of THAT club who, a few years back, growled at me and said "we don't want your sort in here!" when I said I was a CAMRA member wanting a drink.  I'll never forget that one.

It was a 39 minute walk to Hoylandswaine according to Google Maps.  Evening dog walkers were out in force, jumping out just in front of me at every juncture in a housing estate with every road named after a famous poet.

This soon became a walk in the park (literally), crossing the River Don, more dog walkers to my left, viaduct to my right, stuck in the middle with Col.

An uphill housing estate followed, this time named after lakes in the Lake District.  A right turn onto a main road thankfully it had a pavement on the left, preventing it from being too much of a scary walk, but maybe a bit spooky ......

One awkward roundabout to negotiate, but at least it was called the Hoylandswaine roundabout, including a sign for the afore mentioned Rose & Crown which now had a new 2021 logo .....

A left turn downhill into the village, I got stuck behind a dog called Tilly who kept being told off by her owners for veering off the path / getting distracted by me.  I just couldn't get past the creature.  With dusk falling, the smell of real fires hung in the air.  "Is tharr firewurx?" says Mr Tilly, finally allowing me to pass.  Autumn is here, the air had a frosty bite to it this evening.  I love this time of year, all sort of magical like. 

The club came into view .......

But I'm panicking, there is no sign of life!  I was probably in denial, but I was even questioning whether I was in the right place (despite the name and address exactly matching what it said in the GBG!)   Not a light to be seen, but I couldn't admit it.   Down the back, past the beer barrels, a glimmering light in a neighbouring building.  Perhaps the bar was here?

But alas, this was the village hall.  "Bit of a long shot, but I'm looking for the bar of the Social Club, not here is it?" I ask a lanky drippy nosed lad with a southern accent.  "Bar, no not here ..... not sure where it is, I'm not local!" he tells me.  Just BRAPA luck to find the one non-local in the localist place on earth.  "Can I use your loo quickly while I'm here anyway?" I ask.  He blinks stupidly.  The lad is annoying me.  I don't wait for an answer and go through to the gents.

Back outside, I push a gate I probably shouldn't and I find myself on a cricket pitch.  I see a light through some French windows, and I peer in to see blokes playing pool clutching pints of bitter.  

I lurk until someone pushes a handle and let's me in.  This wasn't Welham Green / Woking / Urmston / Corfe Castle entrance difficulty levels, but even so, it ain't Bolton Ukranian / Birchanger easiness either. Seems the 'main door' is a dark little side thing I'd never have noticed!  

But I'm in!  Okay, so this wasn't the kind of place to make an exhibition of yourself, being the most locally local locals place imaginable, friendly to a tee, but I did feel slightly intimidated as the lovely guv'nor quizzes me on what I'm doing here, and everyone turns to listen to my answer and adds their two penn'orth.  Sports & Social Club, Hoylandswaine (2012 / 3441) really looked after me though.

Everyone is impressed to hear this is my final South Yorks GBG tick, even more impressed to hear I've walked from Penistone.  I mention the tardier than 2017 bus service but no one is any the wiser.  The accents are strong to the point I wonder if they are a bit put on, the way some words are pronounced unlike anything else I've heard in Yorkshire.  I bet they go all posh when I leave!  When I plonk the GBG down (not TRYING to be threatening, honest!) he whips my Moonshine off me which I was enjoying, changing it for a fresh barrel.  But that leads all the locals to want their Moonshine changing too!  He says that if I stay for a second pint, he'll shout me it!  Talk about the VIP treatment.  Fresh pint in hand (which I can't say seemed massively better, though my second free one did!), he puts on the back room light for me, gives me a local CAMRA mag , and tells me to 'have a look around' though coffee machine and a few sporting trophies are all there is to see. 

My CAMRA mag gets stuck to the table, ruining both in the process, which I try my best to cover up!  I make a mental note of all the pre-emptives, try not to make a fool of myself looking for the loo, and just sit very still otherwise!  Talk of CAMRA got something whirring in the guv'nor's mind, and he goes to find an envelope, which still has his 'well done for getting in the GBG letter and stickers in it!'  I tell him he might get a new one of them soon.  "Doubt it, we been shut loads over past year"  I tell him it has been the same the country over, Covid wasn't a Hoylandswaine only phenomena.   

The pub pool team, practicing furiously, have an away game tonight at Penistone Church, 8pm 'kick' (break?) off.  "If you hang on til 7:40, you might be able to cadge a lift back with them" I'm told.  I do a few mental maths, and tell them thanks for the offer but I'll dash.  Lovely experience this.

Even better than 'Spoons

It is raining steadily now, wind has whipped up, it is pitch black, and more uphill than the way there  I have no hat, but I did remember a little torch thankfully.  Maybe I should've accepted that lift.  If I dash, I can get the 19:43.  I have to run the last little bit but I make it!  

Out of breath, but very happy to have completed only my 5th county of a difficult year.  

I then go and undo all my good work by forgetting to change at Barnsley, meaning I have to go on to Sheffield and get home via L**ds.  What a doofus.  40 minutes to wait too, time for a pint?  I think so.

The famous steps that Martin Taylor fell 'up' on our day with Couldwell and Protz

Only one pub can soften the blow in this situation ......

Rutland Arms, Sheffield my Parcel Yard / Bull's Head / Draughtsman of Sheff, and it is in typically irrepressible form tonight, full of quirky pissed up twenty and thirty somethings, plus 5% + dark beers, staff who look vegan, banging tunes and a traditionally carpeted atmosphere.  The kind of pub where if you put your cauliflower on the table, people will either try and eat it or look at you like "that is exactly what I'd expect to see in here".  The Rum Porter knocks my socks off as I sit in a new seat, a low leather settee between bar and smoking area.  Plenty of people smile when they walk past.  One man sat alone has tears in his eyes.  I try not to stare.  I wonder if he's a pub ticker gone wrong?  Mr Ted has moved since my last visit with Citra, looking a bit forlorn on the floor in the main bar, I think Mrs Ted has written him a note to say she's leaving him, but all good otherwise.

No more delays getting home, which was a relief, as it was 22:30 when I got in.  Luckily I was on a 9-5 at work the next day which meant I could sleep in til 8:53am and still have time for coffee and toast whilst signing on.  #WorkingFromHomeLife.

Join me tomorrow for tales of North East Wales.  See ya then.

Si 

BRAPA in ..... BEAUT-TOXETER / CONGRESSIONAL CONFESSIONAL (More Staffs Adventures)

A week ago, and we weren't even in our third pub yet but it had already felt like a long day.  After an ill-advised pint in Stoke's bod, and rural fun in Draycott-in-the-Clay and particularly Marchington, the best taxi driver in North Staffs Chee Seong Lee dropped us on the outskirts of Uttoxeter, wearing the expression of a man who doesn't want to be roped into BRAPA action ever again.  He even pointed us back towards the town centre for when we were done.

The best quality ale of the day was enjoyed here at Plough Inn, Uttoxeter (2008 / 3437) about 15 minutes outside town in an area called Blounts Green.  The beer in question was called '?' which allowed me chance to have a joke with the fantastic barmaid as to whether you call it 'Question Mark', do the symbol with your hand, get your Dad to make the shape of a question mark with his pliable 74 year old form which is used to doing TWO daily Mr Motivator workouts these days.  She replied that 'Question Mark' would be fine so I didn't ramble any further.  A stodgy pub of some integrity, with a lingering air of background dining, this was a hard pub to judge.  Feeling the need for some air, we both joined a jolly group outside, after taxi stuffiness and the intensity of Marchington.  But what was interesting, a later trip to the loo found us both looking more favourably on the inside of the pub we'd walked out of.  The brickwork in the gents was not fake in any way, the floors nice and slatey, the corridors kind of narrow.  Not that we regretted our decision to sit outside, the weather still unseasonably good but above all, it made sardine and tomato sandwich smuggling that little bit easier!

It is cheating to say American Pale ale or just point at the pump btw

The walk back into central Uttoxeter allowed me to give Dad the training session he'd been demanding.  With a pub trip to Brum coming up with some of his friends, he wanted me to show him how to navigate yourself from pub to pub using Google Maps, with yourself as the blue dot.

So I let him plug in the next pub and walk us there, being careful not to give him too many pointers!  He was a natural, only problem was his old phone was so slow, it was taking too long to respond.  He said he'd get a new phone by next week, and our training would recommence then!  

But I had my own problems, my charger lead had stopped working, so I encouraged Dad to carry on best he could.  Biting my tongue as he walked us straight past the next pub, I coughed, looked to my right, and he eventually saw it!

 A micro amongst a sea of what looked to be a town jam-packed with old boozers, OF COURSE the GBG would decide to include this one, Horse & Dove, Uttoxeter (2009 / 3438).  It had a bit of depth to it, and a pleasant enough atmosphere, but I can't say it made a long-lasting impression on me.  Friendly youthful atmosphere, the Elgood's Plum Porter certainly was drinking well (it is no Titanic, I'm only part saying this to wind Citra up in readiness for my Hampshire holiday).  It might've been a sign of the stage of the day we were at, but Dad confirming that in all his 74 yrs, he's never seen a horse and a dove in the same room made me laugh far too much.  If pub sign fonts are anything to go by (and Matthew Lawrenson would tell you they are), this 'Algerian' is apparently the font that says 'meh .... whatevs'.  Which probably sums up the whole experience in truth.

For once today, the train was actually timed well so we hopped on one stop to a place called Blythe Bridge, back in the direction of Stoke, where I was hoping the next pub would wow us. 

Situated in a gloomy corner of a row of shops, I can't say it looked inspirational, but let's not judge a book by its cover, it might be pub of the year material .......

To cut a long story short, it wasn't.  Crossways Micropub, Blythe Bridge (2010 / 3439) had a glum air, save for this one overly chirpy bloke, who tried so hard to get somebody, anybody, to engage in conversation.  Not that anyone was having it, even we gave him a wide berth having briefly acknowledged him, I felt sorry for the lad.  Stick him in Crafty Fox in Old Colwyn, the Grocers in Cadishead or the Chiverton Tap in Cheadle Hume, or probably anywhere in Kent, and he'd find his level.  Someone green and woolly finally relented, and I don't mean Colin.  I wasn't a fan of the ale either.  The brewery of the hour being Peakstones Rock from nearby Alton, which I need to visit (one bus a week, 10am on a Wednesday type of place) just tasted 'chalky' to me.  All we could do to occupy ourselves was to debate where exactly the bus to pub six would stop.

I think he's saying 5 pubs up!

Green and woolly

The bus did what we asked of it, and we bounded down a lane to our final tick of the day, as Dad was desperate for the loo - I tell him he should do what I do, and always go on the way out whether he needs it or not (when will these kids learn?) ......

A BRAPA rarity, but the final tick of the day would prove to be my favourite, here at the Congress Inn, Longton (2011 / 3440).  It was the boozer today had been crying out for, especially in the second half.  A large sweeping main bar area, benches, carpets, and hidden back side (not backside).  Putting you in mind of Staffs classics, it felt like it belonged in Leek.  I was all happy and fuzzy by now, and could tell I was not fully focussed as I missed the Bass despite having a tee shirt on.  But you wouldn't wear a band tee shirt at that band's gig, so perhaps a similar unsaid rule applies re ale?  Luckily, the Fyne was more than fine.  A toilet selfie was another 'probably wouldn't do in first pub' move.  A young barmaid was making her debut, and as she was being shown the ropes by an experienced mother hen type, the jolly codgers along the bench from us told her beer was £1 a pint, and that the landlady had a baby aged 24.  But the child is now 16.  It didn't check out, and our newbie has a facial expression like 'crikey, what have I got myself into?' but I'd say she's done well, if I worked in any pub, this wouldn't be a bad one to choose!  Long as I could drink the profits and sit on the bench.

For the first time in history, Uber worked on a Daddy BRAPA day, so we shot back to Stoke station, and managed to hop on a train back up to Manchester, which wouldn't otherwise have been the case.

Annoyingly, we missed our connection to York by minutes, which is becoming an unlucky theme of my October pub ticking.  Only one thing for it, my Parcel Yard of Manchester ......

It had been a good few years, but must be at least my sixth visit to Bull's Head, Manchester , a pub I've always had a soft spot for.  A real boozer with a fantastic atmosphere this close to Piccadilly is such a thing to be treasured in 2021.  But how do you get in?  We eventually made our way around the back, where a fire escape style door was opened, staff peered appraisingly at us, and let us enter, obviously we looked like the right sort!  Jolly Anglers-esque then, but more inclusive.  A group of blokes starts singing, another thing that always happens here about 7pm.  The reassuring range of Marston's ales were on, served by the usual friendly staff, so a pint and a half of Sunbeam it was, sitting at the table I always sit at by the foot of the stairs.  Dad couldn't believe £6.49 was accurate, even went looking for a price list, but Manc Twitter assures me this is what we should expect in Manchester these days.  Jeeez, I've definitely been away too long.  I still thought we were in £3.50 a pint (much cheaper than York) territory!  Dad left early to get us coffees for the train, I caught him up once I'd finished my pint.  I had to ask someone to come and let me out as I pawed at the door - I felt like a cat.  

After a bit of confusion, I found Daddy BRAPA and we boarded the chaotic, standing room only train, which mercifully started to thin out after Stalybridge, and definitely by L**ds, as we'd been sandwiched like a sardine and tomato, into First Class.  A sobering experience?  You can judge.

We both found the Sunday a massive struggle, and I vowed that for the third part of this hectic Daddy BRAPA trilogy, we'd be 'more sensible' in North Wales next week.   I bet you can already guess how that went.

Join me tomorrow, for the tale of how I completed South Yorkshire. 

Si 

BRAPA is .... MARCHINGTON TOGETHER (WE'RE GONNA SEE YOU .... BOOZE!)

It was one of those typical Saturdays.  You know the kind of Saturday.  Where your Dad opens his fake football fixture list, which tells you to go pub ticking in Wigan and the surrounding area.  But then you realise you've only bought train tickets as far as Manchester.  And then you think that you aren't really 'feeling' Greater Manchester as a pub ticking region in 2021.  But then you remember how much you enjoyed Staffordshire recently, and how easy Stoke is to get to by train from Piccadilly.  And then you think 'oh well, if I'm going to Stoke, I may as well go to Uttoxeter'.  And then you think 'oh well, if I'm going to Uttoxeter, I may as well go to those two villages just outside'.  BRAPA logic.  

It would prove to be a particularly messy day.   The master of our own downfall from the word go by shunning a coffee in Stoke station for a return to bod for a swift Titanic Iceberg (drinking the SEVENTH pint first is never going to end well) before the connecting train.  I justified it by suggesting that entering at 'street level' rather than from the station side, we might get a totally different experience is this strange split bar.  Perhaps it is only a 'pub tick' if you've been in both sides?  Just saying. 

But once again, it failed to excite.  Guessing what football team various punters supported, and wondering if anyone was going to hurdle the divide to get closer to their mates were the only points of interest.

The football heavy crowd all jumped on our Uttoxeter train to our shock, bound as it was for the bright lights of Derby and Nottingham, and by means of a change, Leicester and Sheffield.  

A local with an air of an unholier Frank Zappa then misinformed us about our bus, and in my moment of indecision, one of today's heroes, Staffordshire's finest taxi driver Chee Seong Lee swoops down on us and offers us an easy way out.  I've taken too many taxis of late, but was never going to say no.  Got us to pub one a lot quicker.  I hint that he might like to hang around for 27.5 minutes and take us to Marchington, but his surprising response implies it is not far to walk, and I should stop being lazy'.  

We walk in and to my amusement / horror, the staff are all mimicking my above BRAPA pose and ask if I'm going to do the same as I order my pint!  Welcome to Roebuck, Draycott-in-the-Clay (2006 / 3435) , a pub which looks insufferably gastro both online, and from the outside, but this bar we were in at least had enough pubby qualities to place it third or fourth out of six in today's final rankings.  Their own onsite brewery too, that'll keep it in the GBG for eternity, says the cynic in me, but we were well impressed with the ales.  As Dad wees, I quiz our barmaid and a local on walking to Marchington, and despite arguing over which direction we should walk in, both seem to think it is a walk we should undertake, chiming in with the views of our taxi driver.  The loos in here are great, they play piped Only Fools and Horses episodes and have framed pictures from the show.  Not since Hemingford Grey's Blackadder have I heard piped comedy in a pub loo.  Am sure a second pub also did this today, but too drunk to remember which one.  After this, the pub experience all went a bit Paul Simon Graceland, as in this man walked into the room and said his whole life was on fire.  After the staff agreed he'd made some terrible life choices, he got a big hug.   Then the end credits rolled, and Daddy BRAPA and I were outta here!

So I plug Marchington into my phone.  41 minutes it says!  Ooof wasn't expecting that, but barmaid, local and taxi driver had all spoken, so all we could do was march it out and stop being York softies.

Daddy BRAPA in the distance, having stopped for a widdle

It was more like half an hour in truth, though sweating buckets by now in my quality new red leather jacket (NOT PVC!) and a roaring fire in the next pub I'd normally admire didn't help.

Here it was ......

It looked like a pub, it felt like a pub, it was my second favourite of the six today, welcome to a fabulous pub experience at Dog & Partridge, Marchington (2007 / 3436) .  When you see an ale on called Clever Colin, you know you are in for peak BRAPA fun.  Sat at the bar, our two favourites of the day, Sharon and Barry.  Nothing more heart warming on BRAPA days than meeting lovely strangers, and these were two of the best.  Sharon explains Barry is working his way through the ales left to right (Dad orders a 'Handy Andy')  Was Bass on?  I don't think so but I only had eyes for the Colin.  I get chatting with Sharon, loves a good pub ghost story like me.  We bond over Derby and Derek Acorah which is probably a line no one has ever written before.  I'm just getting into full BRAPA explaining mode, but Dad, keeping me grounded, reminds me I need to ring a taxi sooner rather than later with no bus for 50 mins.  With Uber refusing to play ball as it always does when Daddy B is in town, I go outside to ring Alton Towers taxis and hope I don't HAVE to go to the theme park.  Barry comes outside for a smoke, eschewing the virtues of pubs in Gwent, a county I admit I'm wholly unfamiliar with.  He is one of life's characters, you could say a bit bonkers in a good way, former military, freemason, he once diffused a potential war in Finland by introducing the locals to his 'Nargle' - a sign you do where you raise your hand to the centre of your face and waggle a finger,  A lot of fun, give it a try!  Back inside, we all sit down.  Sharon even gives us her number for future awkward Staffs trips.  The Loch Ness marathon is among the hot topics of debate (sponsored by Baxters Soup, funny what you remember), as Dad spies our taxi on the horizon.  Time to drink up and go.  Fabulous pub, lovely people.

Could that be turned around Bass to the right?

Hopping in the taxi, who should it be but only the legend himself Chee Seong Lee!  He doesn't even look at all surprised to see us.  Outer Uttoxeter here we come.

And because my memories got pretty hazy very quickly, I'll tell you about the other four pubs on Sunday in a slightly briefer way (he says now).

Take care, have a lovely weekend.

Si