Tuesday 6 December 2022


(LAST BLOG ON BLOGGER, actually wrote this before Edinburgh when the photo upload was just about bearable).  Join me on Wix from tomorrow (link at the bottom, as the kids say).

'Bottle of red for breakfast?  I'm not judging (apart from the obvious Wotsits oversight).  Mr Pink Shirt looked like a Levellers fan, and he had to neck his final glass as we pulled into Newport.  Having found a 10am opener, I was reassured to find someone drinking earlier than me. 

Yes, I was back in the town that Gwent nearly forgot.  I was aiming for the same kind of strategy that had garnered six ticks yesterday.  Do a couple in town, and get a bus out to the villages. 

I was getting the impression that Newport was a proper drinkers town.  As I peered through a few steamy windows, the only folk smiling were those with a drink in their hand.

Up a colourful (for Newport) sloping side street, the windows lined with old books, I was expecting the Pen & Wig, Newport (2431 / 3995) to be sweet and quaint.  But not a bit of it.  It was a moody, sticky tabled, slightly divey basic boarded pub.  A surprising number of unusual ales on, but when I see that magic red triangle, all bets are off.  It is the #PubMan way.  Never touched the stuff pre-2014.  The Bass here was not as scintillating as in Abergavenny's Station Hotel, but I'd still put it slightly above halfway in the Bass league table, pushing for a late play off place but losing a key player to injury in April.  The soundtrack was very late nineties which was a nice gear change from the lazy Britpop throwback you get in far too many places, but with the constant threat of Cliff's Millennium Prayer, the Vengaboys and Martine McCutcheon hanging in the morning fug, threatening to bring the Wig into disrepute at any perfect moment (thanks!), I decided not to linger (which would've been a great Cranberries pun if they'd only held on a few years).

Still in the GBG? It is, I get the feeling it is probably a regular too.  Always the best type of tick.    

Time to get myself aboard a bus in a Chepstowy direction before my bladder filled up too much.  Plenty of ticks to be had in this southern section of Gwent, and at 11.62 precise miles out of Newport, this was my first stop. 

Quite a grand looking place from a distance, the Wheatsheaf, Magor (2432 / 3996) didn't stand out as particularly special on my visit.  It did at least have a smidgen of soft furnishings and warmth which were lacking in the Pen & Wig.  'Swerve Oakham Citra, get punished' has been the message coming through loud and clear so far this year when I've shunned Peterborough's finest in favour of something more crafty (or Whitstable Bay).  So no way I'm avoiding it here.  Great pint, canny guv'nor, but the so-called child drawing certainly had the hallmarks of an adult trying to passing itself off as a child!  Weird behaviour.  See pic below, and let me know what you think.  The words probably are by the child, but the cat facial features make me suspicious.  I reverse my arse into one of the cosier spots facing the bar, perhaps too cosy as a local lady is having lunch for one and I nearly end up with a bum full of sausage & mash.  After a while, we get chatting.  She seems to think I'll have empathy for her Magor woes despite having a 'Good Beer Guide' and a mascot sheep on my table, and is going on about local road trials and tribulations.  "Someone drove between 10-17 mph in front of me all the way here, how do you think that made me feel?!" she complained, in one of the most unanswerable questions ever.  The only other customer around this side is a nervous pint drinking man.  When his phone rings, he jumps.  It is the wife.  "Sorry luv, really have very little signal out here, crackle crackle crackle, nope you're breaking up" he says, before hanging up, downing the rest, and rushing off.  And so must I, a bus is imminent. 

Still in the GBG?  It is, deserves it for that Citra alone. 

"You can save this picture to your seasoned cat"  Mmm, I'll have a salt n pepper tabby please. 

Next stop out east, don't go crossing that border into BORING England, is Caldicot.  The pub was errrm, quite astonishing! 

With shopmobility's and walking frames dominating the frontage, I should've been prepared for the step into the twilight zone which was the Cross Inn, Caldicot (2433 / 3997) - all eyes turn on me as I enter, I try to smile warmly around the room, but I'm inwardly taken aback, I hadn't been expecting this level of local Welshitude.  For a pub like this to make it into the GBG is increasingly rare, more's the pity.  Dartmoor Jail Ale (in a Doom glass) is the only cask on, and nowt wrong with it, as I realise I've got no choice but to sit in the centre and immerse myself in Cross Inn culture.  A dividing wall / fireplace seems to contain just as many crazies behind me.  I'd say the place has a WMC atmosphere, but it is more 'charged' than that. Even the folk watching 'Doctors' on a giant plasma are doing it with quite a degree of passion.  Everyone has 2003 Nokia phones, with polyphonic ringtones, 'The Good, the Bad and the Ugly' theme being the most popular, and the most apt.   A gnarly bloke with a face like the planet Mars walks up to a man sat at a table, "I've just seen yer da' Geraint, he's looking well for 83" but the man he is addressing looks 83 too.  Strangely falling in love with this place, more rewarding than the previous two, much more life, even if a lot of the life was close to death.  Superb. 

Still in the GBG?  Nah, binned off in favour of a brewery tap room!  Sad, but not surprised.  Beer guide, not pub guide, or so they say. 

See you all over on Wix!  Address is going to be https://simeyeveritt.wixsite.com/brapa

Take care, Si 

Sunday 4 December 2022


62 pubs done in November, the second best ever BRAPA total - eclipsed only by my 66 in October this year.  And if we throw in the 16 I've already done in December, that is a liver shattering 144 pubs since 1st October.  Ooof, the Winter Break is looking a better decision the more I think about it!  More on that later.

I write this with England v Senegal on in the background, the second half has just kicked off so I cannot see them losing this now.  Problem is, the thought of that Mbrapa chap ticking off our defence in the next round is frankly terrifying. 

November started in Clitheroe's excellent Beer Shack with a lady trying to staple Christmas decorations to whatever you call that bit that separates wall from ceiling:

And it ended in the smoky fug of Cloisters, one of Edinburgh's many great bars which have a cosier, pubbier atmosphere than many of their English counterparts:

(I'd do a pic but Google Photos and Blogger have stopped speaking to each other .... oh, and England have a third, what drama here!)

Moving my Blog to Wix is looking more appealing by the day, photo uploading constantly times out, adding 20-30 mins per blog.  Not good enuff!

Ah yes, Edinburgh & the Lothians, my first fully green 'county' of the year and what a holiday I had.

<Imagine photo of a fully green Stabilo'd Ed & the Loths>

I really need to do more of this, getting into new areas I've not previously 'conquered' rather than chasing my tail for the umpteenth time around Central London, Cornwall and North Yorkshire.  'They all need ticking though, Si' you might well say, but as I'm only at 49.89% completion of the GBG (yes, I'm almost back to the magic 2250), I feel this is the right strategy for now.

Kent is my ongoing pet project of the moment, and you may see I've been taking my first baby steps in Notts and Lincs.  'Poor baby', you might say (no I'm sure they are both full of lovely pubs & people). 

<Imagine photo of Lincoln's Birdcage being quirky, red and fun>

My favourite five (okay, six, I lost my discipline) pubs of the month in no particular order are as follows:

1. Old House, Ightham Common

2. Little Gem, Aylesford

3. Plough Inn, South Leverton

4. Wheatsheaf Inn, Falkirk

5. Volunteer Arms (Staggs), Musselburgh

6. Kay's Bar, Edinburgh (North)

<Imagine photo of Little Gem interior, with RetiredMartin and Christine looking stoic but intrigued>

Yes, the serendipitous moment of the month was finding that Martin & Christine were in Maidstone at the same time as me.  They kindly drove me round some harder to reach pubs, which incidentally were all great, superb stuff.

BRAPA person of the month was Daddy BRAPA which in no way means he won't be the overall BRAPA person of the year, but if he isn't, the November Shield should offer some consolation:

<Imagine photo of drunk me and happy Daddy B grinning down the lens in York's Fox>

Lowlights?  And I don't mean a pub in North Shields, haha (sorry, just a pub tickers joke there).  The Bay Horse at Market Weighton wins award for most depressing pub of the year to date.  The price I paid for a pint in Sir John Oldcastle 'Spoons in Farringdon shocked me to the core.  Lincoln's Tiny Tavern private members style policy I found jarring.  York's Blue Bell once got booted out for similar.  And there were a few too many poor quality ales pulled in Edinburgh which must be at least slightly linked to the amounts of the Big T being drunk instead.  But overall a great month.

<Imagine a photo of Oscar the Owl necking a celebratory pint of Tennent's in Stockbridge Tap>

I performed a second reconciliation of the GBG with surprising results!  It came about cos this underground pub ticker called Jim (well, he ain't on Twitter) added me to this glorious shared tickers spreadsheet, which makes keeping your stats up to date so much easier than my current system.

Well, I'd erroneously highlighted Wrexham's Royal Oak but I definitely haven't been! But it generally worked in my favour, I gained two in the West Midlands as I'd forgotten to highlight Coventry's Hearsall, plus I'd miscounted by one.  And there were forgettable pubs in Camden and West London I'd forgotten I'd visited.  Oh, and I hadn't realised Ulverston's Gather used to be called Beerwolf.  What drama!  Again.

<Imagine a photo of me crunching the numbers and looking confused>

So onto December, and the final Thirsty Thursday of the year is next up in Notts.  Then I have three days in the South East as I use up my remaining work holidays, before the first ever official BRAPA winter break begins on Tue 13th Dec and is now extended to mid Jan due to train strikes, and what I call the 'pub tickers corridor of uncertainty' (i.e. ticking in early Jan).  I'll recharge my batteries, liver, catch up on blogs, save a bit of money, and come back stronger in the New Year.  Oh, and I might get a couple of 'accidental' ticks done on football days in Hull, Wigan and Birmingham (Colmore anyone?)

<Imagine pic of Colin in a Christmas hat waving wistfully at the camera> 

Right, there we go. Apologies for lack of photos but it is 9pm, full time, and I can't be bothered.

Take care, Si 

Wednesday 23 November 2022


Q : When do you most want your Good Beer Guide to look like this? 

A : When you are in a Sam Smith pub!

It was the shortest walk from Tiny Rebel in Newport centre to this gem, but they were world's apart in almost every way.

Olde Murenger House, Newport (2428 / 3992) really makes me sad that there aren't more Sam Smith pubs in the GBG, an unpopular view I guess, but the combo of eccentric unpredictable owner plus just the one cask on (OBB) are perhaps too much to bear for most CAMRA branches.  Shame, but as the Cheeky Girls would comment 'touch my bum, this is life'.  Their buildings are generally stunning old time warps, and this was a fine example.  Despite the 'no electronic devices' rule, I manage to sneak two photos (instead of my usual 4-5) early doors, pubs this beautiful deserve to be seen by the widest audience possible.  If this rule still exists in five years time, I'll be shocked.  Dimly lit, beautiful wood panelling, old settles, stained glass, I was purring like a kitten as I shoved my phone firmly back in my pocket, savoured my excellent pint, and read my GBG like a novel.  A surprisingly deep pub too, a walk to the loo taught me that, and in every nook and cranny, a warty old bloke with long hairy ears.  One chap at the bar is explaining that he lives in Malta these days, but he's back for the free healthcare, before pointing graphically towards his prostate.  I had to chuckle that my pint in Tiny Rebel had been cheaper (closer to £3 here the heathens!), I'd have put money on the opposite at the start of play.  

Still in GBG?  It sure is, Newport CAMRA you absolute enlightened legends!

Time to go the wrong way out of Newport (AKA not towards Abergavenny OR Chepstow), where I had two ticks conveniently situated on the same train route.

This was the first .....

Commercial Inn, Pontymister (2429 / 3993) had an eyesore Covid throwback of an exterior, and once inside, it was a pub lacking any distinct personality or zhush.  Perhaps a bit harsh to dismiss it as an identikit dining pub, what with the flashing screens, cocktail and food offers .... but a real return to reality after the Murenger. I'd later discover a pool table, jukebox, and a heariter locals atmosphere to the right, which was some consolation.  It reminded me of the kind of place you find in the 'burbs of Cardiff, and I guess I was getting closer.  My pint was decent, Pig & Porter are one of those breweries following BRAPA around the country at the moment.  The pub experience almost entirely passed me by as I tried to work out which of the young staff's 'drink, food, music' combo is least horrific.  I think I'll go with Ginny providing the wine is red, the chilli is mild, and 'Dancing Queen' turns out to be some punk cover and not the original.  Fifth pint syndrome may've been a factor, but just when I was about to try and quicken my drinking speed and piss off, a huge group of ladies arrives.  "We have this table reserved, sorry" they tell me so matter-of-factly, I don't even argue despite the lack of table reservation sign, which I'd expect in a pub of this ilk.  In fact, wouldn't it normally be a staff member who move you in this situation, this isn't the LNER to Peterborough pals!  They end up asking me to stay and join them when we get chatting BRAPA, me now hovering awkwardly, GBG in hand.  But I politely decline, all bar one was a loud Welsh clucky mother hen.  That is when I discover the vaguely pubbier right side, and the late intrusion had sobered me up a bit too, so all in all not a bad ending. 

Still in the GBG?  No, and I'm not hugely surprised.


Colin : ESB / Mini Cheddars / Cauliflowers Fluffy

One more tick before the end of day three in Gwent, and one more stop on the same train line took me to Rogerstone.  It was a surprisingly long confusing walk, but when has a brewery tap every been located in a reasonable place? Very much like modern day football grounds.

And this place was akin to Wembley Stadium, flippin' massive to navigate the perimeter and find the entrance, welcome to Tiny Rebel Brewery Bar,  Rogerstone (2430 / 3994), more like a warehouse.  In some ways it reminded me of the time I nearly inadvertently broke into Sellafield.  The place was exactly as I expected, a right industrial monster.  The one big surprise was how poor the cask was, not too many on but the Peleton Pale was dishwater, ugh, I'd rather have had a pint of Coors, not sure they sell it.  Bit embarrassing they can't get cask right in their own brewery tap, for two pub tickers messaged me to say they'd both had exactly the same experience!  The theory is that people come here more for events, food, cocktails etc. and the ale doesn't get the same turnover the one in Newport centre gets.  But no excuse is it?  The music tried to cheer me.  Billy Idol's Rebel Yell must be their anthem, got stuck on repeat a bit in a Ghost Town/Father Ted style loop, before the unlikely combo of Billy Joel and Metallica tried to raise my spirits.  I resisted the temptation to buy my mate a Tiny Rebel t-shirt for his birthday, or some craft cans for my hotel room.  This was a damp squib of an ending to an interesting, mixed day three.  

Still in the GBG?  Yes, and there was a certain air of inevitability to it. 

No #ThirstyThursday tomorrow so I'll try and bang out part 7 - BRAPA holiday coming soon so watch out for my adventures on Twitter from Friday night onwards as I tackle a county where I only have FOUR ticks at present, all in the same town!  

Take care, Si 

Tuesday 22 November 2022


I've pub ticked in Newport Essex, Newport Shropshire, Newport Isle of Wight, and I'd certainly have ticked Newport East Yorkshire if it had a GBG pub.   But I'd never been to the Welsh Newport, perhaps the most famous of the lot.  I once read it was the suicide capital of the UK, but with a solid six GBG entries, that was hard to believe. 

Monday 3rd October 11am, and you know what Monday's are like, scratting around for any sort of pub sustenance.  Luckily, Gwentish options were plentiful so I take myself off to the bus station where suddenly the suicide stats made sense, before making the short journey to Caerleon, which is basically outer Newport.

As you can probably tell from the above photos, location is everything at the Hanbury Arms, Caerleon (2425 / 3989) , the interior was certainly unspectacular, a bare wooden dining place, the only colour provided by our fabulous hostess with the pink hair and piercings, one of the friendliest of many friendly staff members I'd meet all week.  Rev James was about the only ale on, 'groan' I thought, but perhaps it is because I associate it with Ember Inns, because this was a delightful malty drop, best enjoyed outside at high noon, the sun shimmering on the bonny bonny banks of the Usk.  An old man with red socks sits and stares at nothing, he's got the right idea, and when a bloke arrives with a droopy flower it looks like he's yanked from a nearby flowerbed, he presents it to the lady who has come to join him for lunch, giving her a kiss on the forehead in the process.  Romance lives in Caerleon.

Still in the GBG?  Nah, despite the quality of the Rev James, one (or two) ales on often isn't enough for the CAMRA's who have replaced it with a different Caerleon pub offering Landlord, HPA and Butty Bach.   

Although my next pub was actually listed under Newport, it was a short walk from here , it was even on Caerleon Road .....

With a classic inn sign and a lovely plain frontage, from this angle at least, hopes were high for the St Julian Inn, Newport (2426 / 3990).  After all, every time it got mentioned later on in this holiday, or on Twitter, the consensus seemed to be 'cor ain't it bladdy lovely?'  But I found it a bit of a moody gloom pot, and the joys of autumn which swept over me whilst outside at the Hanbury quickly evaporated.  The staff didn't help by refusing to smile or make eye contact at any juncture, even when I was sat alone on a low leather settee just by the kitchen door, which got frequent usage.  My beer was from Bristol Beer Factory, and this pub had quite the range for those of you who sneer at anything too popular.  I didn't think it was fab quality though.  It was a pub of two halves.  A bright shiny conservatory looking out onto the river was inhabited by elderly ladies who not only lunch, but lunch in lycra. A bit like watching a snake eating a rodent, you could see the digestion process in all its horrible glory.  I sat in the larger pubbier main area, where two local Jezza Kyle types with arses hanging out of trackie bottoms played pool and drank lager in a disconsolate manner, despite you could argue, living the dream.  Only a few fruit machine twinkled as blissfully as the Usk in the sun.  I returned my glass to the bar at the end and got a contorted attempt at a goodbye smile from the bloke who'd had the most potential.  Yup, I was struggling to shake this suicide stat.  

Still in GBG?  Course it is, bright shiny beers from exciting places that ain't Brains, Wye Valley or Fullers?  Local CAM's wetting themselves with excitement, probably.

I took a bus back into Newport because they were plentiful and we were still a good 2.5 miles out of town, though I'm pleased to report that my right knee and right hip which I don't like to talk about were much recovered from the weekend's exploits.  Pub three and the final one in Part 5 was nice and central.

Easily the best of the two local Tiny Rebel bars I visited today, Tiny Rebel, Newport (2427 / 3991) benefited from having a fair few people turning over the cask, even on a Monday.  They had special Bez and Shaun Ryder themed all day 'happy hour' going on (Happy Mondays, I might've made that up), and it £2.50 for a nice pint of something wheaty and murky.  I say this with some surprise because some of the worst beers I've had all year are Tiny Rebel - my fault entirely, not theirs, I always know what I'm getting myself into ordering stuff like 'Battenberg', 'Pink Grapefruit' and 'Oat Milk & Rusk' flavoured brews, they always pique my interest, I go full pint of course cos it is the only way to drink, and regret it quarter of the way in!  Can you be too experimental?  I'm talking about beer so much because the place is exactly as you'd imagine, hip young things, cool music, terrifying Roy Keane mural, cute yellow dragons, shabby chic industrial bollocks (not literally, though that'd be interesting wall art I'd not put past them).  I even got a free taste of the Banoffee cider but I wasn't rushing to say yum, sickly sweet.  A bit cosier downstairs by the loo, probably nicer on a busy evening this place, and respect where it is due to TR. 

Still in GBG?  Course it bloody is, untouchable I'd guess in the year 2022. 

I'm seriously considering moving blogging operations away from Blogger and onto Wix in the near future .... uploading photo errors must be adding a good 20 minutes to each blog I write.  Wouldn't be bad if Twitter goes under, I could have a totally fresh start in 2023.  

No Thirsty Thursday or Wobbly Wednesday this week, I'm being sober and good, well, until Friday night so will keep the blogs coming up until my latest holiday.  See you tomorrow for more from Newport and Tiny Rebel. 


Monday 21 November 2022


 2:20pm on 2nd October, and it was time for my third and final of Brecon's GBG pubs ......

And the Clarence, Brecon (2423 / 3987) would prove to be my 'Goldilocks' pub.  The George Hotel had been a bit too Wetherspoonsy, the Brecon Tap had been a bit too Microey, but the Clarence was just right.  My only sighting of Wye Valley Bitter all week, despite the HPA and their glassware being rather too omnipresent, and it was immaculate.   The barman was a gent, the carpet was an 8/10, even the pile of logs wasn't too random, a wood burner in close proximity.  The front room at least, was pure pub.  A ginormous group of pre-booked foodies filled a less cosier back bar, but out of sight out of mind was my motto here.  Okay, so I was a bit jealous that they got the benefit of piped Kylie and P.M. Dawn, but for the most part, I was a picture of contentment.  Sunday afternoon is a great time to be in a pub.

In 2023 GBG?  Frustratingly not.  Brecon CAMRA seem to have gone full crafty, leaving in Brecon Tap and ditching this and the 'Spoons in favour of a 'Hop in Beer & Gin House' which I almost certainly won't get to in the next twelve months.  I'll do it with Bwlch in 2035.

As much as I would've loved to stay on this bus route and tackle the likes of Bwlch, Crickhowell, Llandgynidr, Pencelli and Groesfford, a sparsity of bus services plus my aching bottom half (which I don't like to talk about) meant that a return to Abergavenny was the only option. 

Slim Pickens, as the cowboy said to the actor (oh I miss Wine, Westerns and Wotsits nights, didn't have to leave the house!) so I had to be imaginative and come up with the decent pre-emptive.  This was the non-GBG pub that kept being mentioned, and actually was in the 2021 Guide.

I knew from the moment I pushed through the 'Vaults' room door at Station Hotel, Abergavenny (pre-emptive) that I'd struck gold.  And that was even before I tasted the Bass, which was an A* Bass and I've drunk enough of it this year, mostly good ones, to know.  Someone on Twitter's father-in-law agreed with my assessment, and as Bass king TheWickingMan said, FiL's are the most reliable sources.  Only my most recent pint of it in East Markham was on a par.  I'll probably get to writing about that pub next Easter.  The Station had a bawdy local atmosphere, though a 'sensible' youthful guv'nor, and it was only this earlier sober hour which prevented it from becoming a full on balls-to-the-wall Y Cantreff experience from the previous night.   Suddenly Brecon's Clarence seemed distinctly less pubby.  Folk played cards in the back room, a smoky smell took you back pre-2007,  folk talked about shopping, washing and household chores, and it was only when there was a mass migration for the exit door that a bloke with a short body but long arms, think a Welsh Mr Tickle, decided to ask what my game was.  Give this pub a more vibrant colour scheme, ditch the spider lights, and you've got a pub of the year contender.  A real step back in time and I couldn't stop smiling.

In the new GBG?  Yes!  I'd have rioted otherwise.  Can only assume its year of absence was due to change of ownership / temporary closure, or some other technicality. 

The Station folk had suggested I pop into the Railway over the road, but then laughed to themselves and told me that whilst I'd receive a hearty welcome and get some fantastic blog material, the beer was bad, it'd take me ages to get served, and it had no chance of making the GBG any time soon!

Not to worry, because close to my Premier Inn, and about a 20 minute walk from here (25 today as my legs were currently big lumps of lead), my 'local' for the week could be found nestling on the other side of the river across the bridge separating 'Gavenny from Llanfoist. 

Bridge Inn, Llanfoist (2424 / 3988) sums up everything which was wholesome about my week of pubbing in Gwent.  A perfect example of a community local, it had everyone here from grandkids to grandparents - and I don't mean that in an annoying 'grrr, kids in pubs being twats due to twat parents, grrr' usual BRAPA kinda way, I just meant that folk flitted in, laughed, drank, sat, pissed off quite quickly,  it was a living breathing ball of life.  I had a Cwrw first, and pronounced it with the confidence of a man who'd been watching Welsh YouTube language videos for a week, and settled into a recess in this warm sweatbox of a pub.  Folk fawning over a newborn baby upset the older sister, so she was given a bag of Mini Cheddars to placate her whining.   I went to the bar and bought some, I cannot be in the presence of folk eating Mini Chedz or Wotsits or Pickled Onion Monster Munch without wanting my own.  A Welsh flag fluttered joyfully behind me, as two blokes discuss their onion growing.   I hear a 'pop' behind me, then a yelp of dismay, older sister's Mini Cheddars have exploded all over the floor.  She's not having a good day the hapless little loser.   On the other side, I hear a groan.  An old bloke dressed as a canary (well he had a yellow jacket) is trying to stand up, but it is a struggle.  With the heat stifling, I buy a Jemima's Pitchfork and take it outside to the beer garden, and I mean garden, lovely and green and spacious.  The air is so fresh down here too.  SEVEN taxi companies I ring to try to take me to Pantygelli to salvage a late fifth tick (I'd had a second wind by now) but when bloke no. 7 laughs and says 'no chance tonight boyo', I give it up as a bad job.  Two dogs start fighting, a man dressed as Toadfish hits the Madri, and with a cold chill descending on Llanfoist, I decide to call it a night and start afresh, hopefully with better legs, tomorrow. 

Still in the GBG?  Of course, I'd have been horrified if not.

So with the north of Gwent nicely greening up, it was time to hit the Newport area tomorrow.  Would it be a comedown, or similarly beautiful?  Hmmm, join me in Part 5 to find out.

Right, back to the USA v Wales which I've paused on live TV, 0-0 17 mins gone.