BRAPA and ...... The Yeast of Bodmin (Cornwall Part 3)

Having learned that a Hull City-esque home crowd of 9,207 people lived in Bodmin in 1971 (see part 2), it was time to add one to the current tally of (14,736 - avg Hull City home crowd according to our chairman) and make the town my first port of call on Wednesday, the first full day of my holiday.

It wasn't as easy to get there as I'd hoped, having to get a train to Roche and then wait in the freezing cold with a jagged wall stabbing my ass for a bus to Bodmin where a bloke told me it was amazing we were making the same journey on the same day at the same time.

Although he was a bit hairy, he wasn't the Beast of Bodmin who I was hoping to catch a glimpse of whilst I was in the town, having been captivated by the legend for many years.  Still, I think he stays mostly on the Moor.  Consequently, it was probably no surprise I found the town a bit down at heel, just a lot of grubby folk shuffling in and out of pound shops and cornish pasty bakeries.

But such a scene paved the way neatly for my first pub, a Wetherspoons!  And a grand one at that, I felt like I had an appointment at the Royal Palace just walking up to it, no wonder it is one of those the company are currently trying to flog, probably worth a fair bit .......

Cornish as a first language?  

Glad I never really had to pronounce Chapel an Gansblydhen (1647 / 2617) but there is something strangely reassuring about entering a 'Spoons on such a potential unknown, chaotic holiday, for I could take solace in the fact that from Inverness to Bodmin, and everywhere in between, the chain stamps their indelible mark on you from the moment you enter, which outside peak dining times, puts you at ease.  A 50p off voucher on a perfectly kept pint of Oakham Citra followed, served by the smiliest lass in Bodmin, and I perched at a posing table amongst mainly old breakfasteers from South Wales loudly extolling the virtues of Rugby Union in between gulps of free coffee refills and rashers of bacon.  An old bloke behind me asked our smiling barmaid for a beermat.  Pubman!  I could've leant him one of mine for the duration but she cheerily replied "of course, don't worry, it isn't like I've got a lot to do!"  If this was sarcasm, it was beautifully disguised.  He didn't have a clue.  The layout was less open plan than your average 'Spoons with the occasional bit of carved wood and stained glass reminding you were in a place of 'worship'.  No sooner had the bell tolled for 12 noon, when like clock work, my breakfast menu was whipped away to be replaced by a chicken club one.  They were on the ball in here.  As I returned my empty, our smiliest friend said 'have a good day', I murmured 'you too', and she looked at me like 'are you taking the Michael?'

Bodmin was the only place on my list for the holiday with more than one required Good Beer Guide entry, so I crossed town back towards the bus stops for my second pub, famous for being an old debtors prison.  I'd seen it listed in many GBG's so was expecting big things.  

Through the prison gates showing my visitors pass, I wasn't straight in the pub, first I had to negotiate a leafy pathway through a courtyard, not to mention a caged creature designed to scare of twild life, I presumed ......

The errrrm Lion of Bodmin?

But my Cornwall holiday really came to life here in the Hole in the Wall (1648 / 2618).  I visited many 'classics' this week but this was the first.  A lighter dining area towards the front of the pub, leads to a delightfully dark atmospheric bar area, and you could feel the echoes of those incarcerated spirits wailing for freedom, or perhaps a pint of Bass, for I was surprised to see that was a guest beer on here so I just had to have it.   Throw into the mix one of the chattiest most hospitable landlords of my trip, and you had a pretty perfect BRAPA situation developing.  He mentioned Bass being an unusual old classic to have on, so I tried to wax lyrical on its cult status as I understood it from Beer Twitter, but he broke me off mid sentence to ask what other pubs I was doing!  He even gave me a tip the Blisland Inn 'might' be returning to the next GBG.  Hold that thought.  After a bit of a silence (he told me he was working on something, I said 'that's ok, I've got important highlighting to do!') he asked me how to spell 'prison'.  Strange.  The calm was broken when a chirpy southerner arrived with blonde wife and a new born baby in a buggy and the landlord turned his attentions to them.  Felt like I recognised the chap, and it was only the following day when it occurred to me it may have been Steve Backshall, that adventurer bloke.  Even stranger, these crazy town crier / lord mayor types came in for a special lunchtime feed dressed in all their crazy garb.  After getting lost looking for the loos (cos I assumed they'd be outside, strangely), it was time I got a wriggle on like a deadly snake.

Now it was time to catch a bus to pub 3, but I don't want to give you too much all at once cos BRAPA is a bit like a drug, so I'll tell you all about the other pubs tomorrow, in part 4 of 14 or something ridiculous.  

Good night for now, don't let the Beasties bite.  

Si