BRAPA - Not imPrest(wich) but Ramsbottom Majors in Pub Science

Halfway through a Saturday straddling that imaginary border between East Lancs and North Greater Manchester, as Dad and I left the varied Rostron Arms in Edenfield on our way back to Irwell Vale station. 

Dad has always been one of the more adventurous walkers out there, and can be often heard saying "oh well, all roads lead to Rome!" as he looks for a shortcut down some unlikely country lane before getting lost.  

Follow that man

Technically speaking, he wasn't wrong in so much as the path did lead back to Irwell Vale station, but it was actually a longer way around and involved squeezing through hedges and over stiles and down muddy dirt tracks full of puddles. 

We weren't too concerned about missing the train though as we approached civilisation with three minutes due before the next hourly departure.  After all, not one train had been on time and surely they wouldn't start being on time now, would they?  

They would actually.  "Toot" went the steam train whistle, and we had to break into a gallop, me leading the way, managing to grab onto the door with the train starting moving and Dad yelling at the station guard.  'Twas like being in a 1940's film, BRAP Encounter or something.   We climbed on, out of breath and panting! 

The group in our carriage described the area as being like 'League of Gentleman' country, and one asked the others if they'd seen the comedy by the same writers which he reckoned was called "What's Going On Inside of that Number 9" or something!! 

And in one of the best moments of the day, the bloke next to him then asks with all seriousness "is it based on Downing Street?"  Classic.  

Ramsbottom was our next stop, and the real 'monkey off my back' pub was here, having had aborted attempts on two occasions to get to this GBG regular .......

And sure enough, I was quite fond of Major, Ramsbottom (1641 / 2610) in a low key no nonsense local kinda way.  Being a two roomed pub, I was a bit confused what ales were on but for once in my life, I did actually clock the blackboard.  But I was still confused, unsure whether there was a Moorhouses beer called 'Right Beer' and a Robinsons' beer called 'Right Now' (and they'd brewed them in sync!), so just murmured two pints of Robinsons' and was none the wiser.  The barman was a young surly chap to compete with Edenfield lady earlier, and to be frank, I expect better friendliness from this part of the world.  But on the plus side, with Dad having a suspiciously long toilet break which he didn't elaborate on in case I mention it in this blog (poops, I mean oops), the moody guy brought over FIVE Tim Taylor Landlord beermats and plopped them on my table, so he did have a heart.  As two young girls played pool, you could almost relax into a soothing community hubbub, the ale was pale but tasted like a proper bitter.  But 'relax' was not a word in our vocabulary today, and we had to look alive to get the next connection if we were to get all the pubs on the line ticked off as only two services were left to Bury.  Phew, what an epic day this was.

Teddy bear as confused as me!

Me at the bar feeling confused

Cricket and carpet - a winning pub scene

See the gap through the bar into the other room to the right?  Was SO tempted to run through and see if anyone said owt!

Onwards and upwards then, and no disputing the prettiest stop of the day, though it helped that the sun had finally come out.  Summerseat might sound a bit like the home of the greatest cricket team in the world ever (fight me!) but as a leafy rural outpost on the ELR, it was a joy.  And even the staunchest Somerset fan would have to admit it is prettier than Taunton as a place!

It was a bit of a trek to the pub, not too far in truth, but we did end up walking 9 miles today so you can see it soon adds up.  After a quick morale boosting call home to Mummy BRAPA to tell her we were actually still alive, the pub was found up an unlikely side road.

Yes, you do get to go to plenty of Cricketers and a few Rugby Taverns, but I think this might be my first pub with the name Footballers (1642 / 2611).

A welcoming barmaid and a busy pub full of burly jocular Lancastrians was just the tonic after a few lame experiences today in this respect.  I bet the much more clearly advertised gastro pub directly opposite wasn't doing the same roaring trade, proof all people want at the end of the day is a proper pub.  The Bowland Hen Harrier was glorious, competing with the Pedigree in Edenfield for ale of the day, and Dad took a 'Mini Cheddar Medley' from his bag to help wash it down, which was very welcome as we sat in a nicely dark corner by a big screen showing more World Cup Cricket.  The locals pretended to be interested, and from what I could ascertain, they thought that if they showed an interest in live sporting events on TV, it made them more 'active'.  Some even hopped around one one leg and jogged on the spot as the batsman got ready to face each ball.  Some looked dangerously ruddy faced, and I was glad when one wheezing man finally sat down before he collapsed.  Oh, the 'beer mystery' of Ramsbottom was solved as they had on a Robinsons' beer called 'Right Beer : Right Now' which now I look at the blackboard from the Major, makes perfect sense!

Wonder if it is brewed with the Parklife festival in mind

Some good lacings

Inevitably delayed to the point we were wondering if we were stranded in Summerseat for good, the last ELR train of the day finally chugged into view and we could get back to civilisation.  Well, Bury, but close enough. 

It was a toss up for final pub of the day between the 'Spoons I required .....

Art Picture House, Bury, still on the 'to do' list (but its okay cos I still have other pubs to do in this area)

.... or Prestwich which was on the Metro line back to Manchester.  A tram arrived quicker than advertised, so we went with the latter option.  

It looked a good decision as we approached, it was called the Church Inn (1643 / 2612) and had a nice bottom of the street quiet setting where Dad decided it'd be nice to get a pic of pub and church together ......

And on entering the pub, my first thoughts were 'wow, pub of the day!' as you entered into one of those classically northern central bar areas with separate rooms coming off at all angles, reminding me a bit of the Swan in York so quite a compliment.  Dad had spied Boondoggle so he did his current thing of asking if it was a Marston's pub when he sees a beer they'd sell, but I don't think it is, after all Marston's pubs don't look this characterful outside of perhaps a couple (Dobcross, Chester-le-Street perhaps?)  We sat in the quietest room which wasn't guarded by an angry Twog, and I confess we were slow on the uptake (had drunk plenty, palate a bit mashed?!) when I says to Dad 'this beer is off innit?' of our Brightside Odin and he agrees (I've had Odin before more than once, usually an above average pale).  First thought is to suffer in silence but then I hear the breath of Pub Curmudgeon on the back of my neck (phwoar) telling me bad beer is never acceptable and I must return it.  So I go back to the bar, not a staff member in sight.  "They are in the cellar changing a beer" says a quirky lady barfly.  "Oh, is it the Odin, ours is off?" I ask.  But she says it isn't the Odin they are changing.  "Do you work here?" I ask.  But she says she doesn't.  Yet she pulls out her mobile phone, and rings them in the cellar and tells them there's a gentleman here who says his Odin's gone!  Wow, love this lady!  Without complaint, a bloke appears and changes my Odin for the Boondoggle.    He doesn't look too convinced so I hover briefly behind a pillar to see what they are saying.  But phone lady grabs the pint off him and says, holding it up to the light "look 'ere, you can tell it ain't right just by looking at it, you shouldn't be serving that!" I just wish they'd smelled or tasted it too!  Mind at rest, I return to our seat and fair to say, when Boondoggle tastes like a Bass from the Teet of an 19th century Staffordshire Miner in comparison, you know you've made the right call!  Thanks voice of Mudgie.  Sadly, on the way out, Dad notes they haven't turned the Odin clip around.  Hopefully they'd already gone back to the cellar and changed that one too.  We can hope!  

Dog says you ain't comin' in!

Mystery red room

The room we sat in, I think

The Odin of contention, long before I knew it was dodge

So that was a bit of a 'sour' end to a difficult but epic day, one you can look back on and laugh about but at the time, is all a bit too much of a struggle.  Let us hope Cornwall can be more kind (it won't be).  See you in a week or two!

Si