BRAPA in ..... SHE DRIVES ME GRAYSIE (BY THE FINE YOUNG CAULIBALS)

I arrived in Grays in the middle of the afternoon of Saturday 10th October, and my only prioer knowledge of the town, apart from Grays Athletic having a brief rivalry with York City in the Martin Foyle days,  was a little ditty by Kunt & the Gang which only made his B-sides album ......

Bit of a worry then that turning the corner outside the station, I nearly collide with an unsavoury looking character in a raincoat with lank dark hair and a fluffy moustache.  

Even the local caff looked a little bit sinister ......

And as I walked to Little Thurrock (pretty indistinguishable from Grays itself), Google Maps decided to incorrectly send me down a tiny cul-de-sac between a takeaway and an industrial unit.

When I reached the end and realised my error, I saw one man giving another something in a small polythene bag and money was exchanged.  Possibly a goldfish he'd won at the fairground.  They'd parked their cars in a way that made it hard to get through, but when I acknowledged them with a wave, they nervously got back into their cars and drove off at top speed!  Strange.  Still, important to get the goldfish home and into a proper bowl before it dies I presume.

When I finally tracked down what was hopefully the pub, I couldn't be sure it was the right place as I could not see any pub sign, only one of those GBG 'we're in it!' stickers from a few years back ......

Could be?  Maybe there'll be a clue inside

Traitors Gate, Little Thurrock (1895 / 3112) I think, had the kind of atmosphere more reminiscent of a 2019 Saturday afternoon pub experience than a 2020 one.  Course, the usual measures were in place but the locals were such a spirited bunch, it was barely noticeable after about 30 seconds.  This despite these huge flappy plastic dividers half way down the pub, but a bit like Nanny on Count Duckula walking through walls as though they weren't there, if local A in my section wanted to talk to local B near pool table, he simply parted the flaps and went on through (don't Russ).  In fact, a Jnr BRAPA in his first year of ticking may have found this atmosphere intimidating.  Almost like I'd forgotten how pubs 'should' feel!   I had to crane my neck and shout through a crowd to the bar from a seated position, in order to get an ale, and when I did, I went Mighty Oak basically because it was all I could hear.  A quick phone call with Mummy BRAPA calmed any nerves, Colin who'd be cowering came to sit on the table at long last, and the locals inevitably were soon waving at me and shouting over to find out what my story was.  Everyone reminded me a bit of Jimmy Greaves, which I suppose beats Sidney Cooke when you boil it down.  I let them give me intricate directions to my next pub, even though I knew full well I'd be using Google Maps which'd hopefully be more trustworthy this time.  Cracking boozer though, really lifts the spirits.

Bloke seated and one obscured by the man standing were the chattiest ones

Looking through the screen

I must admit, I was against the clock to get the train I needed to get back into King's Cross on time for my now accidentally traditional pint of ESB in Parcel Yard.  I've noticed a few times before that in this part of the world (Shenfield, Gidea Park, Upminster area), time just seems to get away from you!

So I marched back to Grays proper, and even though I was looking for the White Hart, I saw the 'Theo' first ......

Don't tell the locals in the pub I'd just come from, or even the ones in here on the day, but Theobald Arms, Grays (1896 / 3113) was my pick of the trio.  I even found the Fosters sign hanging off the side of the building strangely reassuring!  Once inside, I was given a warm welcome from the two boss ladies (I'm called 'darling' 'luv' AND 'sweetheart'), and the way they kept the cheeky locals in the check was a joy to behold.  The pub itself was spectacularly understated and undemanding.  Hopefully my photos give a feel for it.   Carpet and bench seating are top drawer.  She grins so joyfully when I order my beer ... "That's their favourite...." she tells me, jerking a disdainful thumb in the direction of the motley selection of locals "....they won't like you like choosing that, haha!"  A group of young lads stomp in like a herd of wide-eyed Wildebeest, do two full laps of the pub, and then announce they've decided to sit outside.  No one asked.  No-one cares.  Cue many raised eyebrows.  On the way back from the loo, I'm collared by a bloke. "Awrite Keith, how are ya, been ages?!"  I confess I'm not Keith, and never have been.  He's not entirely convinced by my denial.  The vast majority of the locals main gripe, and it's a bit like a broken record, the lack of heating.  I admit they have a point, though I'd not really noticed.  "Even the pub stripper is fully clothed!" roars one.  One takes it a step further, and says one of his mates his homeless and even he's cold in here.   I'm loving Grays.

Shame I can't linger, but I'm glad the other pub is so close as the clock really is ticking down.  This is the one most people had recommended .......

White Hart, Grays (1897 / 3114) and I'd say with the black and amber railings stopping you getting too close to the bar, and the fact my Entire Stout tasted a little bit like it was on the turn, probably meant it wasn't quite as great in my eyes as the last two.  Having said that, like the two that proceeded it, it was very much a pubbers pub!  You could almost convince yourself you were in Atherton or Tyldesley glancing up at the St George flags and wide open floor spaces.  The welcome was warm and friendly, and before I knew it, a huge thud from behind me as the guv'nor flips a table upside down to repair it.   I try to think of something funny to say, but can't.  Colin is making friends with an impressive collection of Gollywogs (Gollies?) seated behind the bar which actually reminded me to get some marmalade in.  With the table now fixed and some blokes sat at it, I suddenly hear someone addressing me.  "Warmer in here isn't it mate?!"  Yes, it's the cold moaning gang from the Theo.  I don't have the heart to tell them I'm a bit stuffy if anything.  I do however, ask if their friend is really homeless.  He's not.  We have a really nice chat, ably assisted by the brilliant barmaid from Lincoln.  Everyone is astonished I'm on a train back to York tonight, like I'm off to the Andes or something.  I admit I think Grays is a better town than Gravesend.  "Corr, you could stabbed for that!" I'm told rather worryingly.  We do all agree Mansfield is a tiny bit of a shithole though.   I notice one is drinking the stout so ask his verdict, he agrees, but the loud one says it's our imagination and it is fine!  Really nice end a surprisingly quality afternoon.   File Grays in with Bromley for 'pub towns to lift the spirts in difficult times'. 

Gauliflower or Collywog? 

Luckily, the train is a couple of minutes delayed to just allow me to kind of breathe and get my bearings .....

But shockingly, I don't have time for my Parcel Yard ESB, never mind a sixth pub at Aldgate which had also been in back of my mind!   

Join me tomorrow night, for a traumatic tale of tyre pressure problems and phantom Good Beer Guides in rural Durham.

Si