BRAPA in ..... THAT'S SO CRAVEN : More from The Ruge, Great Wyrley and Brum

With Cannock ticked off, I took the train back to Rugeley where, if you cast your mind back to part one, I'd already done the fantastic Plaza 'Spoons earlier but had failed to notice one of the other required pubs didn't open til 2pm.  

Well, as olden days #Pubman Geoffrey Chaucer said during his time mopping up the Mercia ticks in the GBG 1370,  time and tide wait for no man.  It was approaching 2pm, and this pub should be open in a few minutes.

Rugeley still had a worrying gaggle of ne'er do wells hovering around the station, and if you thought I was being harsh on the place on part one, BingeDrinkerAndy off of Twitter, who actually KNOWS,  had this to say .....

That made me chuckle.  But I wasn't chuckling at 13:55 on Saturday 15th Jan as I realised this pub was a good 20-30 minute walk out from the centre, into the undulating 'burbs, as Rugeley's innards sprawled out like a diseased intestine.   I kind of love the place, but it might not come through in my writing.

Rusty Barrel, Rugeley (2012 / 3575) is the name, and I put it here before we've even got to the pub because the 'theatre' of the walk there, and location, contributes a large part of what makes it 'special'. The address is ambitiously listed as 'Fernwood Shopping Centre'.  A different take on the shopping centres I normally encounter.  My heart sinks as we get within sight of it as it looks about open as the Raj Takeaway next door.

But I push my hand against the door between the metal grates on the front, and to my relief, it clicks open.  A selection of old guys who, in Harry Potter terms, are somewhere between Mad Eye Moody and Albus Dumbledore, turn, raise a skeptical eyebrow, and welcome me into the lair.  They're a jocular bunch, the 'bantz' is strong with these lot, and they are superbly marshalled by the friendly lady in charge.  Conversation seems to be about this part of Rugeley 'going downhill', as various anecdotes of recent crimes and sinister events are recalled.  From a mystery dead body, to fly-tipping atrocities, and THAT burnt out car from a month or two back.  "Anyway .... we can't stand here chatting, we've got work to do" says the most vocal bloke.  'What?' I'm thinking, as he and 3 others sit at the booth adjacent to mine.  They pull out an envelope containing what must be a wad of at least 50 lottery tickets, and then this scanning device.  'Beep!' is followed by 'nope!" about 49 times, apart from one occasion where one ticket yields a £10 win.  The Halfords ale (didn't know they did ale) is drinking well, but the place suffers from the same lack of warmth and comfort that blighted the New Hall Arms earlier, and I think Daddy BRAPA may have spoken too soon last time out in Newcastle under Lyme about micropubs merging into actual comfy pubs.  Still, a fun memorable experience, and I'm glad I witnessed it!  

Four pints in, I need to remember to keep eating if I'm to stay soberer than last week, and with a long walk back into The Ruge proper ('stop trying to make The Ruge happen Si, The Ruge will never be a thing'), now is the perfect time to get on my runny yolked scotch egg.

Not two minutes from leaving the Rusty Barrel, I nearly collide with a bloke and make him jump!  I apologise, and he mutters 'okoi moite'.  He is loading piles of children's clothes into the boot of his car.  And then an unseasonable firework goes off close by, and it is my time to jump.

I tell ya, Rugeley will live long in the memory.  No wonder punk heroes Eastfield do a song called 'Rugeley Crimestoppers'.  It seems to make more sense now that I've visited.

Back towards the centre, my final The Ruge tick is in sight ......

Ah, this is more my speed, welcome to the Vine Inn, Rugeley (2013 / 3576) where a tiled corridor takes you off in all manner of multi roomed directions.  The main bar has a warming fire to the right, and seems to be acting as a focal point for those wanting a quick warm and a way into conversation with the locals.  And it is very local.  And they all have that curious grizzled Rugeley expression.  But they will look you in the eye and chat.  And that is never a bad thing.  They even do their own 'Vine' ales, which I manage to ask about, just for something to say more than anything.  Very nicely kept pint.  My first thought on sitting down is 'how large are the gaps in this handsome bench seating?'  And yet, when I realise I can't find my phone a few minutes later, it doesn't twig I've probably dropped it through the gap!  Must be the 5th pub effect.  "Don't panic' I tell myself, for I can remember taking the above photos.  But the observant locals have clocked my wide eyed look, and when I scan the bar in case I'd put it down whilst getting served, they ask what is wrong, and a couple of chaps offer to ring it.  When someone does, I can see a glowing behind a radiator under my seat, and manage to get my hand in to extract it.  I look up to see the whole pub looking down at me.  I apologise from my hands and knees position on the floor for wasting their time.  Talk about how to make an exhibition of yourself in a locals local!  Their indifference suggests that they are used to nobhead visitors coming into their pub and doing this.  They soon get back to their favourite topics of conversation, like the benefits of diazepam for a good night's sleep.  A baby wails loudly from beyond.   Oh well, at least I feel part of things now and my pub wandering, photos and warming myself on that fire are a lot easier to achieve!  Nice pub.

Next, I take the train to Landywood (though the folk in Birmingham's Craven Arms later on tell me it is Ladywood which sounds more correct, so maybe I added the 'n' due to the pub name!) where there is another micropub within a short walk.  Here it is ......

Andys' Ale House, Great Wyrley (2014 / 3577) is the name, and note the apostrophe - it is actually run by two chaps called Andy.  I've finally found a micropub today I can fully get onboard with, nice and busy, a local but not insular atmosphere, just full of happy chappies and lassies, AND may I add warm and comfortable.  A delicious pint of Oakham Inferno for a second consecutive Saturday is just the ticket at this stage of the day, and I plonk myself on one of the lowest flung leather red settees in BRAPA history, quite central to proceedings, having to crane my neck to see what is going on.  One long suffering hubbie has been sent to the bar AGAIN by his wife.  He comes back with two cobs, a small bottle of freixinet and a bag of pork scratchings, and she still doesn't smile.  Some people!  My memories get increasingly hazy, I think a lady started trying to talk to Colin the Cauliflower, and a bloke with long arms and a large dog did a bit of ducking and diving, but it was all becoming a bit of an Inferno fever dream.

And if this is second Andy appearing in background behind first Andy, then it is my photo of the day

This bloke didn't look like a Colin fan

Think this chap spoke to me and Col, but not sure if he was the long limbed dog one

Still, despite my increasingly hazy state, a long drink from my bottle of weak lemon barley on the train back to Birmingham New Street helped me decide that, with time on my side, a 'controversial ' 7th pub tick of the day was definitely something I could handle.  Four central Brums to choose from.

Colmore?  Don't be silly!  Head of Steam?  Hmmm, wasn't really in the mood.  Bull?  Wasn't sure where it was.  Instead, I walked towards one of those 'Si, how the hell have you never been there before' pubs.  It was stood alone, looking sort of proud, sort of lonely, at the end of this road .....

Well, those who'd recommended it to me, and there had been plenty, were not kidding, Craven Arms, Birmingham (2015 / 3578) is a fine, fine boozer.  Understated, just far enough off centre to be more than palatable.  Not one bouncer to be seen.  No anti-man policy (get over it Si).  A square, perfectly formed, self-contained carpeted, cosy, any pub lover surely would have to be a fan.  I grab my pint of something dark and am not entirely surprised to see a total lack of seats.  Just the perfect number of people in the pub.  Though my presence was probably spoiling that.  With my inhibitions gone from my previous six pints, I spy a seat at the edge of this table and am just about to ask this group of four if I can perch on the end, when they offer me it anyway.  The chap closest to me, Darren, has a nice easy ability to talk, so I'm not too surprised when he tells me he is a DJ on Dazzle FM - the Brighter Mix, an online station.  Give him a listen.  His other half, Michelle, is the spiritual type which makes her the perfect candidate to wield the green highlighter.  Their two friends are lovely too, I've forgotten their names, 7 pints, but I did tell them this would probably be the case!  They love the BRAPA idea, and soon are showing guv'nor John my GBG and what it's all about.  I go to the bar and have a nice chat with him, he laments the GBG write-up as not doing the pub justice or being entirely accurate , but at least it seems visiting giggers like Pete Doherty, who once consumed 3 pork pies in one sitting, are also fans of this fabulous pub.  On the off chance you've not been, please do!

Original shot of Mish highlighting didn't take, so I had to set up a fake shot of her 'pretending'!

Daz dazzles at the bar

The choc-a-bloc was superb

The pub just being great

So there we had it!  A cracking seven pub day, my Staffs progress is really going great guns now, and if I'm not careful, it'll be fully green before Herts n Hants and that was never in the 2022 script.

Train journey back was fine, apart from the late change at L**ds and 11pm arrival back home a bit knackering. 

Join me tomorrow night, similar time when I'll tell you just what the hell is happening in Hull.

Si 

BRAPA in ..... MOULIN RUGELEY / CANNOCK KNOCK JOKES (More Laughs from Staffs Pt 1/2)

I might be neglecting my southern counties of Herts and Hants in these early weeks of 2022, but on the plus side, North Yorkshire and Staffordshire are receiving much attention from the Green Stabilo.  

Although to be honest with you, I'm thinking of ditching Stabilo for Staedtler in the coming months as they continue to refuse to sponsor me, or even embrace the free publicity I'm bringing these ungrateful second rate Germans.  

So now I've burnt those bridges, let us tell you about my latest Staffs adventure on Saturday just gone.  

Birmingham New Street was the predictably depressing starting point.  My train from York pulled in on platform 12, my connection 6 minutes later was from Platform 2.  

At any normal station in the UK, that wouldn't present a problem.  But in BNS, it meant moving from one zone to another.  It was like the Crystal Maze.  But not a fun zone like Aztec or Medieval, more Ocean or Industrial.  It was only by dint of my connection being delayed that I made it, and it was only thanks to a helpful stranger that I didn't end up spending the day in Wolverhampton.

There was something vaguely apocalyptic on my arrival into Rugeley just before 11am.  I peer through the dense mist where groups of even denser looking Neanderthals huddle together on platform edges and street corners, supping cans of high strength low value lager, Man Utd and Aston Villa scarves pulled up around their jutting chins. Gorillas in the Mist 2022 reboot?

Could our first pub put me at my ease and help me view 'The Ruge' (as I'm sure the locals call it) as a softer, more cuddly place?  

I feel 'centred' when a BRAPA day begins in a Wetherspoons before 11am, it gives me a similar 'all is well with the world' feeling I get when I'm supping my ESB in Parcel Yard at 7pm after a South Eastern trip.  Plaza, Rugeley (2009 / 3572) accentuated that feeling by being a former 1930's Art Deco cinema, possibly the most rewarding type of 'Spoons.  Conscious of the woozy state I got myself into post Newcastle-under-Lyme, I scan the bar for a low percentage starter and make the classic schoolboy error of ordering a 'Coming Soon' beer (why do Spoons show these, whyyyy?  So damn annoying).  In the end, Betty Stoggs will have to do.  She's less buxom in the cleavage dept than last time I saw her in Piece, a rural Cornish outpost, which might either be to do with 'sexism in pumpclips', or a breast reduction due to back pains like a lady at my work was considering.  Whatever, #WokeSi2022 approved and doesn't forget to hand over his 50p Mudgie voucher.  The bar area is deservedly packed, so I take my ale up a spiral staircase which offers a better perspective of this grand place.  A large clear window to my right is where the cinema screen used to be.  Me and Col are sat in the sort of position Statler (not Staedtler) and Waldorf off the Muppets would be sat.  It is Colin's return after his quarterly wash, and apart from a brief 5 minutes, he remains concealed, terrified of the sheer volume of young men with neck tattoos and paint stained overalls treating their 11 year old lads with crew cuts to Full English Brekkies.   Photography isn't easy, there's not a lot of 30's art deco appreciation going elsewhere, but overall, this was a great way to start any pub day. 

A tough return for Col

I've made a faux-pas in the planning, realising one of my other Rugeley pubs doesn't open til 2pm.  As it is only 11:30am, and a train is imminent, I decide to shuffle off to Cannock now, get both 12 nooners done, and then come back up here later, fill in the time as best I can.

More big groups of men, without tickets, arguing with guards, talking about 'getting smashed', are littering up the place, and I'm relieved when I walk off at the noticeably more genteel Cannock and follow the other alighting passengers ten minutes into town, negotiating a subway with the kind of horrific daubed street art which I really should've photographed if I was a better pub blogger.

The two GBG ticks in Cannock this year are practically next door to each other, but still #BRAPARules that you do the furthest one away first.  Took a bit of finding, due to odd Google Map plotting.  

If you zoom in, you can see the chap in charge in the doorway ......

And he opens the door, and welcomes me in!  What a nice start at the New Hall Arms, Cannock (2010 / 3573) or Newhall Arms without a space depending which source you look at.  If it wasn't for the one customer at the bar, I'm convinced I'd have loitered and got into conversation with him.  Beer of the day is here, by Shiny of Derby.  Kept in immaculate condition, look at those lacings.  A brewery I've often coveted, but had forgotten existed until recently.  Perfect timing too, as I was wanting a brewery I'd not ordered from before for Daddy BRAPA's birthday ales, and providing he doesn't read this before 27th and I haven't spoilt the surprise, Shiny is the one.   The place itself left me a bit cold, literally not much heating or light, not helped by the lack of bodies, but it is fairly soon after opening time so we'll cut them some slack re 'circumstances' because I want to be kind to this place.  And if Colin had needed his nappy changing, it had one of the best baby changing stations I'd witnessed in recent BRAPA history.

Now you see it

Now you don't!

Perfect time for Col to try on Jane's old unlucky hat

A quick sprint around the corner like the Olympic sprinter Mr Christie (not the bloke who's done up Zetland in Middlesbrough), I reach my second 'Spoons of the day .....

This part of the world is seriously blessed with some well above average Wetherspoons, first the Plaza, now came this beauty, Linford Arms, Cannock (2011 / 3574) which had such a 'traditional pub shape' rather than your long sweeping floors , it not only confused me, but gave me a long forgotten flashback to a 'Spoons I visited in Barnet called the Railway Bell.  The nooks, crannies, and awkward tight edges meant I was constantly breathing in, as a procession of thirty stone Staffordshire Manatees lumbered past me looking for cutlery, cakes and coffee machines.   My eyes lit up at the sight of Titanic Plum Porter, right next to the Doom Bar, but I was never tempted to be contrary, and TTP in top condition for £1.49 a pint is a thing of joy, make no mistake.  Again, I found myself climbed a staircase to get away from the crowds, and again, my vantage point allowed me to appreciate the vaulted ceiling.  It was warm and secluded in my corner by the radiator, even if a bloke got his tattooed guns out and strutted around the pub to stop me forgetting it was 'Spoons completely, and yes, I know 90% of #BeerTwitter would choose the New Hall over this, and the Shiny was ace n all, but I preferred this pub experience ....  so shoot me (just not with a tattooed gun, cheers). 

This chap was told this coffee machine was broken, but a succession of people got coffee out of it later 

Bit disappointing for a 'Spoons carpet I thought

Choices, choices

So there we go, back off to Rugeley for pubs 4 and 5.  Then Great Wyrley (whatever that is) for pub 6, and a Brummie bonus to finish with late on.  

I'll tell you about them in part two. but no idea when that will be because for some bizarre reason, I've got Thu, Fri, Sat, Sun, Mon and Tue all booked up - three BRAPA's, three others!  Dunno how these people do Dryanuary, always seems to be too many good reasons to go to the pub to me.

Take care & finally #AllamOut, 

Si 

 

 

BRAPA in ..... THE MAGIC AYTON BALL (Thirsty Thursdays Pt 2/52)

Ain't Middlesbrough great?  I was here yet again in my ancestral home last Thursday, again using it as a handy transport interchange in my quest to complete North Yorkshire ticking for the first time since 2017.  

The town had served me well to date, helping me to get to Yarm, Egglescliffe, Ingleby Barbaric and Guisborough.  But Great Ayton was a more badly behaved animal.  Despite owning a train station and a few buses, it requires an earlier start than those others to get there and back to York in the same evening.

Talking of badly behaved animals, Keane Lewis Otter continued his recent run of form, helping with the pre-match research and a packet of Welsh 'Dragon's Breath' Mini Cheddars. 

Such a friendly town is 'Boro, on this sunny windy afternoon I stood in the shadow of the giant Virgin Money and was surprised, like in Wigan, at the number of strangers smiling back at me.   You don't get this in Shyteleafe. With plenty of time until the bus (the transport timings meant I had 59 minutes) I considered a pre-emptive in this lovely looking boozer .....

But it wasn't very open, so I retired to the cafe above Copeland's for a hot choc with the old dears, and when I was offered a Flake in it, I thought, well it ain't a pint of banked Cameron's Blackpool Jane style, but better than nothing.  I also noticed how small Flakes were these days.  An old one would've easily stood in the drink (despite the melting potential), this tiddler needed propping up!

Getting the bus was a familiarly arduous task.  Is there a colder more depressing road in all of Christendom than the Albert Road?  The usual collection of likely lads and lasses with wheezy lungs and bad eyesight asked me to help identify where their bus was using my 'gizmo' (I assume they meant my iPhone and not KLO). 

School chucking out time meant we were stuck in traffic for much of the 40 minute journey, as I listened to the music of Titus Andronicus which didn't really take the edge off hotspots like Nunthorpe and Marton.  

I was surprised to have to ring the bell and be the only passenger to hop off in the centre of GA, but here we were, and under the clear skies and afternoon sun, the first pub was across the road waving back at me like a long lost friend .....

Royal Oak Hotel, Great Ayton (2007 / 3570) immediately strikes me as quite a serious, well-to-do sort of place, where you find yourself tip-toeing to the bar so as not to cause any geriatric heart attacks.  A couple of off season tourists blink at me from a window seat, as if to say 'I wonder what his game is?' whilst Stern Annette Crosbie pours a cup from an elaborate teapot for a husband who looks on his last legs.  Tim Taylor Landlord is one of two ales on, and with one of those 'Champions of keeping TTL in top condition' awards next to it, it's a no brainer.  Shame I have to ask her for a top up, second time this has happened of late with TTL, such an expensive beer (£4.10 here), I love a head on my ale but there are limits!  The atmosphere threatens to liven up when 'Local Ron' arrives.  "Waheyyy, Ron!" says every member of staff, and I'm convinced he's going to 'bring the banter' when he asks who has the longer hair out of both staff members - Mr Twizzle Beard's beard, or the barmaid who failed to top me up.  Ron's early promise as a potential #PubMan fails to garner any real traction, as he soon asks for a Latte and a Cappuccino 'to go' like we're in bloody Central Perk, not Great Ayton.  In the back room, by a handsome grandfather clock with an actual face, a lady with a clipboard is looking business-like and discussing CO2.  I feel like this pub/hotel had more in the locker, but was reluctant to reveal its hand.

Ron asks TB to compare hair lengths, whilst Elaborate Teapot watches on

The TTL that didn't settle

KLO gets a taste for the ale

Handsome clock chimed at five to the hour, weirdly

Edible fungus, NOT Eddie Fogden as I originally read it out of the corner of my eye!

One bar of signal in the town wasn't ideal when you are trying to use Google Maps to navigate between pubs.   But I just had enough to find the unlikely micropub that'd allow me to green off Great Ayton in full.  If it initially looked more like it specialised in gassing Jews than serving brews, it soon became a bit more hospitable looking as I rounded the corner. 

Whilst sat in the Royal Oak, I'd decided that there was a certainly a gap in the local market for a beer focussed place such as the Tannery, Great Ayton (2008 / 3571) and I definitely saw the evidence to support that this afternoon.  Opening at 4pm, it was 3:58pm when I arrived but two blokes were already having their pints pulled through.  Closed Mon-Wed, you could sense the locals were chomping at the bit for their Thirsty Thursday.  The barman less so, first day back after a long break, one local mentioned, he looked like he was fighting his inner tiredness to get 'back in the zone'!   Before I'd finished being served, a smiley lady (a rarer thing in Great Ayton than other Teesside towns I'd been to, perhaps a bit higher class and close to pretty Stokesley?) had already commandeered the cosy seat in the corner I was eyeing up.  As it was, I sat at a table designed for eight.  And was feeling slightly guilty when, by 16:10, a tenth person wandered in.  Oh yes, they love their unusual well kept ales in GA.  And when an 11th (John Bishop's face beneath Ryan Sidebottom's hair) arrived shortly after, I contemplated moving to free up room for bigger groups.  But I couldn't, because this nosy but well meaning dog had penned me in on all sides.  Considering the pub 'theme' seemed to be a William Morris jungle-scape commissioned by Elton John and Ru Paul, I could've felt a bit suffocated, but no, it sort of worked, even if I did have to shuffle a pile of 'fabulous' cushions on my bench.  Deservedly popular boozer though, and a cracking pint.

Although I'd bused it in, I walked 15 minutes to the railway station.  The timings were better, a shorter journey, and more pissing opportunities if I so desired, which of course, I would.

With the moon facing me, a glorious sunset behind, and some very rural stretches on congealed compacted wet slippy leaves, it was quite an atmospheric walk back! 

With 45 minutes until my train to York, an idea was forming in my mind based on a recently refurbished pub I'd read about in my pub heritage book.  A quick check on WhatPub showed it did serve ale, and it didn't require you to dine, so I thought I'd give it a stab and treat it as my first preemptive since Goodworth Clatford back at the beginning of November ......

The guv'nor sees me taking the outdoor photo, so I give him a big wave as if to say 'don't worry, I'm not just a photographer, I'm a pub ticker, I'll be with you in a second' and jog into the pub and enter the bar area, a door to the left.  Welcome to Christie's Brasserie - The Zetland to give it its new full name.  One local in the bar, chatting with the main man, who I'm assuming was Mr Christie himself.  I peer across, one ale on, but it is one of my all time favourite's, Rivet Catcher.  I was very very sad when Jarrow went under, but delighted it is as good as ever and kept superbly here.  I'd like to think this pub could get in the GBG on one perfectly kept ale, but it'd take a CAMRA branch with some serious stones to put a one ale pub forward in 2022.  I find they normally rather 15 middling quality ales, than one great one, but that's a different story!  The other customer leaves, the main man goes off do other vital pub work, so I'm left in the bar with only Prince Andrew for company (dominating the news on the little TV screen).  I don't need the loo (for once) but I use the walkway to the toilet as an excuse to explore as I'm sure this pub has hidden delights.  And it does!  I enter the restauranty back room.  Fabulous old smell, and a quartet enjoying what looks like some very highly quality scran.  I try to be invisible, skirting around them as I take photos whilst they eat, but they engage me in conversation, so we have a quick chat about how lovely it is.  I retire back to the bar, ask our main man if the football fans have found this place yet.  He says yes.  Conversation is a bit stilted, not sure he entirely feels comfortable chatting to me (maybe KLO bit him under the table, maybe I gave off 'pub spy' vibes?) but so glad I popped in, and would definitely recommend it to those of you visiting the town, tickers or not!

A quick 3 minute jog across the road to the station, and back in York for a reasonable hour.  Two more North Yorkshire ticks chalked off, and I'll continue on this Yorkshire Thirsty Thursday quest until the spring when we might start moving into Durham/Lancs/ GMR.

See you all tomorrow, when I'll try and tell you about the first half of my epic day in Rugeley, Cannock and surrounds. 

Si