Thursday 24 February 2022



A warm welcome from the locals in Shildon

Thirsty Thursday became Wobbly Wednesday for the second time this year, as work asked me to change my day off so that somebody called 'Louise' (actually her real name so not sure why the inverted commas) could embark on her own Thirsty Thursday.  Possibly.

After a jog, and a few weights, I made my now traditional English Breakfast.  It was okay, but again I did too few mushrooms and my poached eggs this time were underdone, one collapsing all together in a gunky splodge. 7/10.

Postman Pat was trying to catch up with the Reverend Timms whose sister was coming over from Australia, her train had been diverted from London to Manchester, and his van got stuck due to high winds so had to reach him on some roller skates that Ted Glen had just finished mending, Pat having already trashed Miss Hubbard's bike.   There was a Jess the Cat song too which was lovely!

Back in real life, the winds of Storm Franklin may not have received the same coverage as the recent Eunice or Dudley, but they were pummelling the train windows as we journeyed up to Darlington, changing for a BRAPA debut town, Shildon.

Keane Lewis Otter was back, Alex Apple dropped, Colin is resting for the weekend.  

KLO wasn't at his liveliest, having been in Hull the previous night, keeping up his record as my unluckiest mascot ever after a 0-2 defeat to bottom side Barnsley.  Or do we blame the hat, formerly of Blackpool Jane, still yet to see a win, or a Hull City player score a goal?  She did warn me about it.  Or, third scenario, Hull City are just quite rubbish.

After listening to two blokes share stories of the most famous people they've done 'work' for (Roger Taylor from Queen and Alan Shearer's wife were the eventual winners), I arrive in Shildon.

On first glance, I'm worried it is another Newton Aycliffe with undulating bits of greenness surrounding barren wastelands, but unlike N.A., Shildon did at least start to look like a proper town when I got into its centre.

My third last Co. Durham tick was a bugger to find, I had to walk around the back of this catch-all building, where a pointy arrow was helpful .....

And then an unlikely backdoor took you inside near another arrow .......

Past the loos, through another door and we're in!  Today was all about 'timing'.  This place only opens for a lunchtime sesh 12:00-14:30 today.  "She's got to pick the kids up from school" a lady later explained.  But my other required tick didn't open til 16:00.  And I didn't wanna be hanging around for ages drinking pointless ales or coffees.

So arriving at 13:30 seemed about right.  Canteen Bar & Kitchen, Shildon (2059 / 3622) felt quite unique as GBG entries go, and low-key classy to boot.  Words like 'canteen' and 'kitchen' are bandied around like it's going out of fashion these days, usually yielding lame results, but I only had to look at the photo on the wall displaying the canteen at full capacity in the days of yore to see its history and integrity.....

On-site brewery George Samuel provide the ales, only the second time I've seen them, after the Draughtsman in Donny.  Again, I go for a stout, again it is superb.  Sweet, strong, rich, fulsome. I'd not have been brave enough on a six pint (+ESB) Saturday, but Wobbly Wednesday's have different rules.  The lady who serves me is referred to as 'daughter' by a local lady, whilst 'Mum' is behind her wondering just how many more teacups she's going to have to clean today!  There's a smattering of customers, and being the North East, everyone is salt of the earth.  Not long before an eagle-eyed old chap, who I thought had been eyeing up KLO, comes over and asks if he can have a look at my GBG.  Him and wife have southern accents.  I ask if they are visiting, but they are Londoners who've moved here, possibly missing having people say 'hello' to them in the street.  In fact, even though they've been poised to leave for ages, takes them ages to get gone!  Once they do, I'm the only customer, chatting with the staff, but not for long as a young beanie hatted Compo Last of Summer Wine crashes in, just gone 2pm and asks if he's too late for a breakfast and a coffee.  He isn't, and before long, a freshly made brek, toast n coffee are brought out.  Had I not eaten earlier, I'd have gone for the Mince & Dumpling Stew & Veg with a bit of Orange Aero Tiffin.  As it is, about 14:15, I balance my empty pint on a thin ledge and thank them for their hospitality.  A really fabulous GBG debutant.  

KLO and our soon to be new friends in the background

Harvey, not Harvey's

Traditional basic and homely, with cheap freshly made scran.  What more could you want?

KLO thought he was pushing it, but Young Compo gets his late breakfast

The wind is howling through the building as I go for a quick widdle, and the outer door nearly blows off its hinges when I leave.  I'm surprised to see a man in a cap stood there smoking.  I say 'areet'.  He bows his head and walks around the far corner.  Ghost of one of the blokes in the old photo? 

The sun is out as I head towards the buses, passing a gorgeous park with bandstands and raised areas a bit like in Dukinfield if you've ever been, but you probably haven't.

In the bus shelter, a gummy man cryptically tells me 'nowhere's safe' so I just chuckle nervously.

They don't make centre halves like him anymore

Bus 99 arrives to take me to Spenny, about half an hour, and all seems calm despite the 'cash only' thing giving me a slight heart attack.  Come on Shildon, 2022, get with it!

But quick as a flash, this bloke leaps on, says "can you hold the bus for one minute while I nip home and get mi pass" and the driver kindly agrees.  He actually waits two minutes, and the absolute nutcase makes it just in time, resting his 2 litre bottle of Irn Bru and a takeaway coffee on the side whilst he struggles for change!

OF COURSE he comes to sit with me.  OF COURSE he's on all the way to Spenny.  His face, hair and teeth suggest a young chap who's had a hard life, done more than a few drugs.  He alludes to his time 'inside' and bad decisions he's made.  He's a bit shocked I've come to Shildon 'for a day out' but there we go. He's been to Hull and liked it but found Harrogate 'posh' so he's okay in my book.  He pulls out a bottle of Vodka (pairs well with the Irn Bru) wants me to join him, saying "I hate drinking alone" but I refuse, and before long, he's telling off a voice in his head.  "Slow it down Peter!" he admonishes.  Which makes me wonder which Peter he hears?  Mudgie?  Tandleman?  Purves?  Halmosi?  Sutcliffe? Hopefully all would give him sound advice.  For all his problems, I warm to the guy, but was relieved when he got off before me, all the same!

With 45 minutes to pub 4pm opening, I decided to kill some time by visiting my favourite Spenny pub from my previous visit, across that awkward giant roundabout. 

It was just as good as I remember from 'ticking' the Frog & Ferret, Spennymoor with Daddy BRAPA a few months before lockdown.  Sure the same guy served me.  They even have Bass on, possibly just a guest, but I could be wrong.  It came in a Tim Taylor Landlord glass, I was wearing a Tim Taylor sweatshirt, so all good!  Everyone who was in was a bit of a character, and plenty o' local drama to discuss.  Not just that Marston's are trying to build a dining pub next door, but there's been loads of police in Spenny due to some 'incident' which everyone could only speculate on.  I just grinned along from my corner, and on the way out, this lady says "awww, you shouldda come n sat with us!"  "Maybe next time" I reply.  Will there be a next time?  Me visiting a BRAPA pub THREE times?  Now that really would be crazy, but never say never, and it worth the walk out of town.

It was bang on 4pm when I reached my penultimate GBG 2022 County Durham tick.  But the shutters were still down.  Boo!  

I walk around the block, half hoping to find a public loo or maybe a secluded area I could wee in, but nothing doing, and after visions of sharing a cell tonight with my friend from the bus, I decide to Beautiful South it (keep it all in).  I try the pub door handle, 16:05.  Nothing doing still grrr.  

But I think I see movement within, loiter around the side trying not to look like a desperado, and at 16:07, a man brings out a board!  Hurrah!

And we're in!  Little Tap, Spennymoor (2060 / 3623) and he immediately apologises for the late opening.  Of course, I want to say "after nearly eight years of GBG ticking, it is what I've come to expect, especially from micropubs" but not wanting to sound snippy, I keep that all in as well!  Speaking of which, urgent loo needed.  After that, I can appreciate what a top tier little boozer this is.  Three things make it.  The ale, Toon Broon by Firebrick (who you often see in micros up this way) is superbly kept.  The carpet - not many carpetted micros, and as we spoke about last week in Beamish (despite that being otherwise quite poor), carpets make a huge difference.  "We nearly went with carpet tiles" our hero of the (half) hour Dave tells me.  I'm glad they didn't.  Dave is a great bloke, really easy to chat with, my kinda person.  I even let him highlight the GBG, as you know, the 'Hollywood Handshake' of BRAPA.  We remember the various stages of lockdown, tier systems, scotch eggs, outdoors only, how it affected the pub.  Interesting to think back, it already seems so long ago.    Time has absolutely flown, and my bus SHOULD be around the corner.  Another really good GBG debutant this, and good beer today after last week's struggles.  

The buses are all delayed, but I can't complain too much as there are plenty of post-work lined frustrated faces who've been waiting longer than me, and haven't been in any Spenny pubs today!

I hop off at Bishop Auckland, the still pre-emptive Caps Off is shut so I can't go in for a THIRD time but on the plus side, a bus is due in about ten minutes anyway.  Then it is back to Darlo, and after a few more delays and speed restrictions due to the wind, back in York at a reasonable hour.

So that just leaves evil Cotherstone!  I'm gonna have to bite the bullet and just get it done.

A Sunday is most likely, the only day it opens daytime (3pm) so bus to Barnard Castle (there is one!) and walk 3.8 miles along a (hopefully walkable) grass verge.  I've done plenty worse!

OR wait til the height of summer when sun is still out at 6pm, and do it on one of the weekdays it opens (Mon, Wed or Fri).  Open on a Saturday 6pm too but that'd feel a waste of a day, unless I did it on the way back from say, a Tyne & Wear Metro day, which'd just be too much.  I can get an evening bus there if I did it this way, but not back.  Ticking eh?  Don't do it lads!  

Anyway, thanks for reading.  Won't be another BRAPA blog now til Mid March (sad face) but if you are a Twitter user, look out for me in some very southern locations in the coming days.

Bye for now, Si 

Monday 21 February 2022


If you read part one, you might be aware that I wasn't having a lovely time in Suffolk, this being my first exclusively BRAPA trip to the county since 23rd Feb 2016.

As well as getting some good Ipswich pubs done that afternoon/evening, none of which are in the current GBG (Briarbank, Brewery Tap, Mulberry Tree, Thomas Wolsey, errrm Margaret Catchpole), that night was also famous for every photo of me looking like my head had been removed, and then re-attached to my body at a slightly weird angle.

Almost exactly six years on, back to the present we go, and perhaps the first signs that things were looking up was our realisation (especially Daddy BRAPA's) that Woodbridge was one of the most 'delightful places in the UK' with its rows of colourful cottages, and quaint town centre, where our next pub fitted in nicely.   

The rains of Eunice weren't abating, the pubs so far hadn't been great, but had been grating, we needed this one to deliver, as I continued to shiver ....

And it did deliver, in this sense that it was an improvement on what had gone before, though that bar was pretty low (excuse the pun).  Angel, Woodbridge (2056 / 3619) had a smouldering centuries old hearth to our left, friendly barmaid front and centre, and not one other customer to the right or in sight.  In fact, now I think about it, I'm not sure we saw anyone at all in Woodbridge who didn't work behind a bar.  A real ghost town, no wonder Dad liked it, it is always the people who frustrate him.  I'd feel the same if it didn't make blog writing that bit harder.  The Wherry was drinking excellently, I'm a big Woodforde's Wherry fan when it is in this kind of form.  Pairs well with a homemade sausage roll or three, which Dad was smuggling about his person.  Having had to suffer so much dining madness to date, snacking opportunities had been impossible.  He now strategically positions us so that we were not in full view of the bar but can still feel the fire.  Our situation is helped further when two ladies (presumably barmaids from other pubs) position themselves between ourselves and barmaid, so we can pop a succession of #MummyBRAPA homemade treats into our gobs in one go.  That's how to do surreptitious pub eating, ladies and gentlemen.  Whilst this pub was a vast improvement on the Cherry Tree, it didn't fully save the day.  What was it about the Angel which made the pub not as good as it should be?  Dad got it in one.  High stools, high tables!  Not in-keeping with an ancient pub like this one iota.  Flog 'em all on eBay and replace with something lower and comfier, and this pub could really be a winner.

State of 'em!  So needless too. 

Top Wherrying from our hostess

Smouldy old dough

Fire re-lit, and top saus roll blocking from this fluffy coated duo

After Dad did a bit more cooing in the direction of Woodbridge, we notice a building with something interesting and weird jutting out of the top.  A better blogger than me would spend the next five paragraphs telling you what it is, but I know you BRAPA fans  Only here for the pub!  Let's go in.

Olde Bell & Steelyard, Woodbridge (2057 / 3620) was a continuation of the theme recently developed by the Angel.  This pub fine-tuned it, to create the best pub experience of the day, and this pub would do well against any opposition.  This fire to the left of the bar is roaring from the off, the beams are crooked and warped, the furniture is low and comfortable, the floor is tiled and basic, and the Nightingale session ale is singing a sweet but unthreatening night time song.  An accidental 1 minute 27 second video I recorded, exclusively unearthed during the making of this blog, has the roaring fire up close, and mine and Dad's dulcet tones, as we make our way to a nearby table.  After discussing a pub we visited in Torquay before I knew about the GBG, Dad says "if only we'd come to these last two pubs first, we could've spent an hour in each, and rushed through the others!" which causes me to laugh hysterically, moan that my arms are still wet, which Dad ignores, and asks if this is our last Woodbridge pub or not, to which I say yes which pleases him greatly!  I tell you, accidental videos.  They're the future!  Later on, Dad says we haven't checked the football yet.  I look, wow, Hull City 1-0 up at QPR.  Dad accuses me of doctoring the FlashScores App data, he so doesn't believe me!  We'd already had piped classics from Billy Joel, Paul Simon and Dire Straits playing, when on comes 'The Lion Sleeps Tonight'.  "A win away, a win away, a win away" it seems to be going.  "IT IS A SIGN!"  I scream to Dad.  Yes, a sign I've had too much to drink.  Time to go.

At Woodbridge station, Dad's town love-in is complete as a little glass window allows us views out onto this river thing behind and all this cute little boats.  "Even better than Accrington this!" he concludes (steady on now Dad, you've gone too far now). 

One point I should probably note, Alex the Apple (our THIRD choice mascot, on the transfer list), hadn't surfaced from my bag in either of the last two pubs.  And we'd had a massive upturn in pub fortunes.  Coincidence?  I'll let you decide.  #BlameTheApple

Back in Ipswich, we now had plenty of time to get our sixth and final tick done thanks to our earlier taxi manoeuvre.  

We walk past Portman Road, where there are about seven minutes remaining in their game against Burton Albion.  The occasional 'ooooh' can be heard, and it leads me to wonder if this is the first time on a BRAPA day I've walked past a football match in progress.

After a few issues passing Dad the camera for the outdoor shot, we get there in the end ......

'And now for something completely different' as they say, here at the Arcade Street Tavern, Ipswich (2058 / 3621) and this bustling cafe bar (NOT micro, according to the GBG) has the kind of vibrancy that today has lacked, and it is nice to see.  It's got some depth too luckily, and Dad goes off to find us a seat through the back.  Getting served takes me a good sweet-ass time (if that's a phrase) and when I'm finally in, two pints of Earl Soham to finish the job.  I chose this because we passed through actual (unrelated) Soham on the train, mysteriously the station only known as 'SOJ' though when I say 'mysteriously', we can probably guess the reason!  Nice drop anyway, but it isn't long before some nasally voices appear behind me - Burton Albion fans.  Think Ipswich might've 'seen them sneaking out', for I'm not sure it is full time yet.  3-0 defeat, but they seem pretty chipper in the circs, their little red triangular shaped eye balls scanning the bar in vain for Bass, probably.  Dad's done well to get sat down, facing a big plasma of Soccer Saturday, but how come our game isn't finishing?  Injury time goes on and on and on, and though I'm sad to see it is now 1-1, Dad convinces me if we hold on, a good result, which we do.  Our keeper got taken off in a neck brace, that is why.   Some Tractor Boys soon join us, Alex Apple comes out for a final hurrah, and all in all, a satisfying end to a better second half of the day.

Blow ya whistle ref!

Alright lads, it isn't that exciting

"You're getting sacked in the morning!" Dad reads Alex's contract, detailing his 'release clause'

And now let the pain recommence as we try to get home!  A cheap but reassuringly strong Greggs coffee helped .....

Train delayed out of Ipswich station, and then the speed restrictions on the way to Peterborough mean no chance we can get our connection.  Boo!

Luckily, there are two later back up options.   First of which is a change and Donny and then a change at L**ds, which could get us back for 10:36pm which would be remarkable.  It doesn't look on however, as our train is delayed by six minutes and the Donny-L**ds connection only allows for five minutes!

Our good friend and BRAPA hero Tom Irvin is on the train behind, texting us latest updates.  He doesn't tell us anything we don't already know, but we are glad of his support.

We deserve a moment of transport luck and we get it!  The train coming into Donny is late too, meaning we DO have enough time to make this connection after all.  Hurrah!  Safely on, waiting to depart for Lds, who should knock on the window but Tom himself.  He even takes a photo .....

The Lds leg goes well, back in York 22:36.  Well we'd never have imagined that when we were supping Greggs coffee in Ipswich.

I slept til 12noon the following day!  I've had easier BRAPA days, but six ticks, and a positive second half of the day made up for a pretty trying start.

Well done all, even Alex, breaking news is that Colin and KLO are almost match fit again.  My Thirsty Thursday is a Wobbly Wednesday this week because work made me, so I'll see you over on t'Twitter for some midweek pub shenanigans.  Thanks very much for reading.  


Sunday 20 February 2022


Some pub ticking days, everything feels a struggle.  Transport, weather, the pubs themselves.  

A good sense of humour and a sense of fortitude are required to get you through, you take the 'little wins' where you can, and you tell yourself that it'll all be worth it if some/all of the pubs become regular GBG entries for the next two decades! 

Against a backdrop of Storm Eunice and train engineering works, Daddy BRAPA arrived at mine at 06:45 for the long trip to Suffolk, an unfamiliar county for me to visit.   Beyond Newmarket, Exning, Sudbury and countless visits to Ipswich, I'd not been there at all.

Hell, even today's mascot was unfamiliar!  With Colin the Caulifower and KLO both 'nursing injuries', Alex Apple had to fill the size 3's, his first appearance since Hertford last summer.  Twitter, always harsh judges of appearance, didn't like the look of him!

We might've known in advance that the York-Doncaster leg of the journey was going to take an age, but what we'd failed to spot was that Newcastle were away at West Ham for a lunchtime kick off.  Result?  We were basically on a Football Special.  

If you haven't seen a bald Geordie burp Stella into his eleven year old's face at 7:02am and then laugh, because you were wisely still tucked up nice and cosy in bed, then bully for you!

After pretty much fighting our way off the train at Peterborough, and with fifty minutes before our Ipswich connection, we needed 'refreshment', and that most magical of morning 'Spoons, Draper's Arms supplied it.  Dad and Alex's expressions said it all .....

Dad tried his hand at some arty photography .....

We'd managed to keep ourselves distracted from the Loony Toonies on the journey down by employing a series of mental gymnastics to try and work out how we could get all six ticks done without missing some kind of connection.  We must've come up with about five alternate plans.  Problem is, none of them quite worked! We decided to 'reassess' the situation as the day unfolded.

The Peterborough-Ipswich leg of the journey was comfier and allowed us to stretch out a bit .... but on the down side, speed restrictions due to Eunice made it increasingly painstaking from about Ely onwards. We are over 30 minutes late into Ipswich.  Luckily, I found a bus outside the station to take us directly to our 'outlier' .... to help us get back to within five minutes of our agenda.  The six pub dream was still alive!  

Duke of York, Ipswich (2053 / 3616) is down simply as 'Duke' in the GBG, but every other source shows the full DoY name.  Give it a year, maybe it'll be the 'Prince Andrew' by then, or maybe not.   The 'peaky morello cherry' painted exterior might've been a clue, that this was very much a 'live music' venue as much as a real ale pub.  First customers in, 12:07pm, and a clean up / fumigation from the previous night's hectic gigging was very much in evidence.  The staff were the highlight here, ultra friendly and welcoming.  The barmaid a superstar, and the bloke running around polishing every surface in sight, sweeping every bit of floor, ably assisted by pub dog called Eugene/Fred depending which side of the pub you were in.  One of the loveliest dog's in BRAPA history, and as you probably know, I'm no doggie lover.  "He doesn't normally jump up!" she says looking surprised.  Maybe he likes me, or maybe he can smell the gala pies in my bag.   The Lacons Encore was the perfect starter pint for an all dayer (if we ignore the Brewster's Hophead I'd had in Peterborough).  Dad is admiring what he thinks are flashing disco lights, or perhaps caused by the fake gas lamps.  But on further inspection, we discover it is just the roadwork warning lights outside the pub, reflecting in!  Funky.  

As we step back into the street, we are surprised to see that it has started raining.  Then we notice that the afore mention roadworks outside the pub mean that our bus stop is out of use.  Symptomatic of the little 'pain points' (as we say in the bank) which seem hellbent on spoiling our day.

The next stop is a few streets away, and noticing the traffic queuing nose to tail to get into town, Dad is right when he says it makes a lot more sense to walk to pub two, though the rain now approaching something like 'deluge' levels of wetness ......

Gorgeous timber framed 17th century joy, 'like wot we have in York' , greets us at Lord Nelson, Ipswich (2054 / 3617) , my penultimate current GBG tick in Suffolk's main town.  'Where the dickens are the handpumps?' is my first thought, walking the length of the bar, before realising that behind the three ladies serving are a series of wooden casks dispensing gravity beer, which I'd have known if I'd read the GBG description.  "Ooh so these are the real ales I take it?" I say, and quite rightly, the barmaids don't even bother qualifying that silly remark with a response.  Shut up Si!   We get something called Red Poll, and 'pow!' pint of the day, and yes I know a couple of people on my Twitter complain about the lack of head on my beer, looking like a pint of flat coke etc. but I say, 'when in Rome ....'  I like a head on my ale as much as the next sane person, but I'm not one of those northerners who brings a sparkler with me to southern trips!  And I don't believe you can always judge beer quality just by looking at a photo of the pint.  More importantly than all this beer chatter, the pub itself doesn't convince me.  Still plenty of old features, low beams and curving seats, but that only makes it even more of a shame that it has had a huge chunk of its character knocked out of it by turning it into a full-on dining venue.  There's a few pre-match Tractor Boys sat around looking like miserable stunned mullets, determined to make this place a pre-match boozer.  It isn't working, they look like fish out of water.  The expression on Nelson's bust matches theirs.  

Shacklock Holmes and his mate, Dr Wetson, due here at 3pm 

Alex supervises Daddy BRAPA's ticking in front of my 'flat Coke'

Remember our earlier conundrum with regards 'how to get all six ticks done without missing a connection?'

Well, the solution occurred to us now and was amazingly simple, even if it meant a financial hit.  We walked down to Ipswich station along the waterfront, the town looking less like Monaco than it did on my last 'sunny' visit!   

We hopped into a taxi to Woodbridge to speed us up by half an hour, this despite me having just bought us return train tickets.  The kind of decision that is enough to keep our friend Tom Irvin awake at night!  The rain is monsoon like by now, my clothes are sodden and sticking to me, the traffic crawls out of Ipswich, and I need a wee.  Ugh!  

Thankfully, taxi dude charges a reasonable fare in the circs, and having initially told us he'd never heard of the pub and hasn't a scooby, he'd recovered sufficiently to drop us off at the front door.

Dad's classic 'Central London pose' is back for 2022

If the first two pubs in Ipswich hadn't exactly whet the pub lover's appetite, then Cherry Tree, Woodbridge (2055 / 3618) would represent a real low point in the day.  Another dining venue, this one airy, light and lacking any of the olde worlde character of Lord Nelson.  Against our better judgement, we take a seat in the centre, too close to the foodie folk, wondering if we should take a leaf out of the other drinkers book and perch on a stool at the bar.  It is very 'Adnams', something I guess I'll have to get used to when I look to 'crack Suffolk' and have a holiday or two down here, in the years to come.  Not that I'm averse to their ales, love a well kept Ghost Ship, problem is, this pint isn't it.  Bit clarty.  The staff are going through the motions, robotic like, far too busy to engage. I'm not drying off either.  The table next to us want to delay their food order waiting for 'friends to arrive'.  When a young lad finally does, he utters the brilliant line "sorry I was late, I was playing video games!" before introducing his new purple haired girlfriend to the hang, one shade darker than the exterior of the Duke of York.  Dad mutters "it's a different world isn't it?" shaking his head.  In his day, you were only allowed to be late to dinner appointments if your ledger didn't balance.  We're having to stick to a strict 25-30 mins per pub to keep on schedule, despite the taxi ride taking some pressure off.  In pubs like this, it is quite easy not to hang around, clarty ale or not.  

If one sign could sum up an entire pub experience

Sorry Alex, it's usual easier than this (but don't get too comfy cos Col and KLO are coming back)

Pub actually had some really nice features, as shown here, but totally diluted by 'other factors'

Today had to improve, it just HAD to.  It would, wouldn't it?  Join me in Part Two tomorrow to find out.