BRAPA - A Day of Two Halves in Leiceister (not in the beer sense!)

Why have I never FULLY enjoyed any of my 7 trips to Leicester?  I can't blame them for Hull City's usual inability to 'perform' here, but the pubs and the general lack of warmth and 'giving' from the natives are what we really get my (regimental) goat.

The people of Leicester must have HATED winning the Premier League.  They had to be happy and joyous.  It can't have felt right.  Pub blogger extraordinaire Martin Taylor appraised my favourite Leicester pub Ale Wagon as "perhaps Britain's grumpiest pub".  What he (probably) meant was that it encapsulated the city better than any other.  And that is the sign of a truly great pub.

Why else does Leicester legend Gary Lineker spend every Saturday evening trying to recreate the "Ale Wagon experience" on faux bench seating opposite Alan Shearer, a man with all the charm and charisma of an Ale Wagon regular?  "I'm off home to creosote my fence" MUST be a stock phrase uttered here.

I know a very nice man from Leicester called Richard (no he's not a hunchback who lives under a carpark).  He's a pub man, an ale man, a kind Leicester fan, very humble, supportive of BRAPA too.  But even his helpful local knowledge hasn't helped me get the best out of pubs in the City.

Their lack of shelf life is a problem - "The Pub" was hailed as a wonderful new thing about 5 years ago, by 2pm on same day, the TEN handpulls started running out at an alarming rate, I don't think it ever recovered.  Then it closed and got re-branded.   "The Salmon" supposedly amazing, my 600th BRAPA pub in fact, high anticipation, but a blocked piss-plunging disappointment with dull beer and disinterested staff.  This is why I didn't go with any "pre-emptives" I was recommended today.....they could all be dead within a year!

Dad walks away in disgust

'Twas just my Leicester luck, we'd got in before 11am, the sun was out, the Hull City scum were singing, we ran as far across town as we could to this 11am opener, the Charlotte, but it was shut, and I don't mean "not open yet shut", I mean "CLOSED DOWN PROPER SHUT!"  Peering in through the windows, rats seemed to be nibbling on the landlord's carcass in the middle of the floor (okay, I might be exaggerating) but it had been closed down for 2 weeks, so a ruddy faced man in Leicester Tigers shirt told us in a rare display of 'communicative local looks you in the eye' behaviour.

All my other earmarked pubs were 12 noon openers, but we all know what the saving grace is in situations such as this ..... SPOOOOOONS! 

Dad is smiling!  (for now)

1050.  High Cross, Leicester

A pub tick is a pub tick, is the best you could say about this bustling 'Spoons.  Dad jokes about "a pint of Wetherspoons" meaning they all have that standard stock taste (not gravy, quite), though his friend takes him literally and thinks he thinks there is a beer called 'Wetherspoons' can you imagine?!  I've actually had some wonderful Wetherspoons pints (Maltby, Bury, Castleford to name just three), just never with Dad, so I blame a combination of him and my "Leicester luck" for the fact that both our beers tasted identical, not awful, just boring and tired.  Despite being a huge place, Dad did well to find us a table in the sun, and when a strange bearded creature knocked on the window and waved at us, you could be forgiven for thinking this was a Wehterspoons 'character' until the presence of Tom Irvin was looming large over our table, with his usual greeting "we're going to lose today".  He's rarely wrong these days.  And the poor lad had just come from another 'Spoons, and two seasons ago, we went to ANOTHER one, called Last Plantagenet which had some tardy service in the extreme.  "A second rate king for a second rate Spoons" to paraphrase David Starkey.   Time to move on.

A very dull pint

The pub was full but the locals didn't appear in this photo spookily enough!

1051.  Rutland & Derby, Leciester

We stood outside  pub two and waited down this side street pub, fairly huge and modern looking, at 11:57am until they opened pretty much bang on 12 and we were inside.  I ordered an Everards Tiger because (a) it had a 3D pump clip (b) it might be lucky for Hull City and (c) it seemed the Leicesterly thing to do.  It wasn't really up to scratch.  Young bar chap was friendly with a "this isn't a proper boozer you do realise that?" kind of a smirk and soon we were sat in some hideous leather bench booths in an area called "Pub Garden Kitchen".  Not quite "Bowling Room" is it?   Another neon sign said "Lel" whatever that means.  LE1 perhaps?  It certainly wasn't lol.  Well, until a posho woman spied her posho friend, stared at her drink, said "what is THAT?", the reply "THAT is water!"  Thanks for Tom for encouraging me to use that exchange.  We then scowled at a menu on a blackboard, Tom suggesting this was a contender for BRAPA worst pub of the year but it was more Theale-bland than outer-Wolverhampton-thoroughly-upsetting.  It was utterly dull though. 

Me and Dad pre-opening

Dad appraises the menu of despair (Tom soon dispensed with his straw)

Please make it stop!

It was at this stage of the day where Dad had a "Good Beer Guide" crisis of confidence, denouncing my 'bible' as little more than a selection of pubs entered at random into the GBG.   The real problem, I tried to explain, is that Leicester has been given a WAY too big allocation - probably to give it similar rights to Nottingham and Derby - but about five or six would do.

Even so, I felt like I (as a staunch GBG advocate!) was under scrutiny just as much as Leicester,  the next pub simply HAD to deliver .....

1052.  Swan & Rushes, Leciester

It didn't help matters that Richard who I mentioned earlier, told me (at a Scunthorpe fan's 30th birthday in Hull!) that this pub had gone downhill in recent years.  But as soon as Tom opened the inner door and we walked up to the bar, Oakham ales gleaming, moody looking Leicester old men, a very straightforward pricing policy (see below), carpets, seats, basically, a proper pub, I knew we'd recovered and we'd be here to stay.  So typical then of Dad to say he was almost disappointed it was good and we were staying(!), "just imagine how many pubs we could've got done if we kept hopping from rubbish pub to pub!" And if this was the pub going "downhill", how good must it have been before?  We managed to save a huge table just for us 3 (and Ben when he arrived for a quick one after 2) which was quite an achievement when you think how high the influx of Leicesterites was due to this pub being quite near the ground. I was the only Hull City shirt in here, and was this the reason why, at 2pm when I went for the final round, it took over TEN minutes to get served??  I'd already noticed the staff were a bit slow but the locals, having prodded and picked at me for a few mins before realising I belonged to the same species and they could talk to me (no eye contact of course), wondered if my City shirt was causing the issue and they all went off to another bar like I was some leper!  Anyway, i was served about two seconds later so in yer face Foxes!  It'd been a great pre-match session and the earlier woes were a distant memory.

One of the better staff people pulls a beer in this busy pub (again, Leciester fans don't show up in photos)

I think all pubs should have this kind of thing.

We'll gloss over that little thing called a football match, and it was pouring with rain by now but we had time before the train, and I'd seen a pub between ground and station, with a 'trophy' next to it, meaning it had won some pub of the year award or something .....

My view on today's performance.

1053.  King's Head, Leciester

Ohhhh  yesss, and suddenly Leicester's pub redemption is complete!  This was the pub that Dad rated "even better than the Swan and Rushes" and you know what, I think I may just have to agree.  And a proper backstreet boozer with an Ale Wagon-esque crowd of curmudgeonly old locals - you'd have thought they lost 0-5 judging by their expressions, simply marvellous.  Vintage Leicester, and after craning our necks over the post-match barflies to get served, we shared a table with a sleeping version of the Elephant Man and I noticed a pub cat, totally unfazed like all good pub cats, asleep on the table next to me.  Poor thing though, I think Leicester fans are dog people cos they kept coming in, patting it's head, and scratching it's back like they'd not learnt the art of cat stroking before.  It suffered in stoic silence, yawned, and pretended the outside world didn't exist, you could tell it was a Leicester pub cat.  Before I could breathe, a man we always see after away games came to moan at us about Hull City for about 20 mins.  We were like "chill out dude, you're in an award winning pub, stroke the cat and/or elephant man and relax".  

So only 5 GBG pubs to do in Leicester for now, I don't suppose we'll play there next season and I'm not due to do the county of Leicestershire til the year 2032 but I will be back!

Si

BRAPA : Wonderful Warrington : Part Two

1046.  Looking Glass, Warrington

Like all good Wetherspoons clientele, I sloped out of bed at 9am, scratched my bum, yawned, and crawled past the bus station to join the old couples, shopping Mums and dusty men in hi-vis for a pint of 5% Jabberwocky and a full English breakfast.  I felt that this Wetherspoons missed a chance to be unique.  Pub pets are not something I've ever seen in the pub chain and with it presumably wanting to take on an 'Alice in Wonderland' theme, an actual Cheshire cat would've been perfect.  Would it have been grinning from ear to ear?  Well, the service was efficient if miserable.  The table a sea of sticky crumbs.  My table number had been 'stolen' so I had to 'describe' where I was sat (always fun), the beer was good, breakfast nice but a bit tepid - bacon a bit like eating a brillo pad, the old women were friendly (had I stayed any longer, I might've got a bingo invitation) and there wasn't much else to say of a grey Friday February morning in 'Spoons.

I hopped on the bus to Thelwall, somewhere I considered on my Lymm day but I decided it was a pub too far, and probably better approached from a Warrington angle.  The bus was a sociable hive of coffin dodging lunatics, who waved at anyone they saw in the street - and the bus turned down EVERY estate going to give them that opportunity.  The 80 year old gent next to me with the footwork of Bruce Forsyth wouldn't keep still, thinking he'd be better off near some lady friends at the front of the bus.  But they weren't Miss World contestants.

Thelwall looked like a nice place, and the pub was tucked out of the village round a bend behind some trees .....

Had the pub just been this tree trunk, I'd have probably been happier.

1047.  Little Manor, Thelwall

One thing I'm learning in the course of BRAPA is "the longer the pub driveway, the more gastro nonsense it'll be".  Chester's at Sunderland, the Chestnut at Ayr, the Victory near Leeds, and now this, I felt like I was walking to a wedding evening function rather than going for a morning pint!  Luckily, I chose the correct door out of the thousand options (always go most wooden and battered) and after some deliberation over where the staff were, an business like European lady appeared and served me a £3.70 thing which was Oliver Cromwell themed, and Cromwellian in it's lack of fun fun fun.  Though it grew on me like a malty fungus.  Fair play to the pub, it had some surprisingly real features you might not expect from an expensive chain gastro-pub.  Like real bookcases and a real fire at the far end, the woodsmoke smell probably the highlight.  A lack of beermat and a few groups of frightful old posh ladies having tea and scones (at this time!  terrible etiquette) didn't help, but a text from my shower people to tell me they were completing, and some free Wi-fi cheered my mood.  In the bogs, I went to grab a paper towel and the whole thing collapsed on my thumb - it was red for hours afterwards and I may be suing Brunning & Price(y) if they do this to me again.  I'd been to 4 of their pubs before and am sure I always get injured going to the loos! (slipped on leaky green soap in Armoury, Shrewsbury , hit head on beam in Rowbarge, Woolhampton, collided with a twild in Old Harkers, Chester and got hit by chef coming out of kitchen too fast, Wharf in Manchester).  As one of the posh old ladies spoke of her "difficult upbringing" and declared that 'depression doesn't really exist' only to be admonished by her peers "anyone could be listening!", they were.  I hid a BRAPA card in "The Principles of Physical Geography" by F J Monkhouse.  If you find it, let me know.

The rain was pouring down by now so the bus just had to be late didn't it?  A lively old couple crossed the road to tell me if I'd been here 3 minutes earlier, I'd have managed to get a delayed bus back into Warrington instead.  Just what I needed to hear, thanks(!)

Back in Warrington, I decided not to go out to another village (I was getting short on change anyway) so decided to seek out my third and final Warrington tick .....

1048.  The Lower Angel, Warrington

Good things come to those who wait, and my final Cheshire pub of this fruitful overnight stay proved to be the best.  I knew from the minute I walked in, smelt the dank 100 year old grime, observed two middle agers in a corner munching their sandwiches from a carrier bag, the hopelessly but wonderfully worn bench seating, and the locals telling me it'd be easier for me to look at the blackboard rather than try and peer round them at the pumpclips.  Their ulterior motive, they were all trying to get a good look at 'Geoff's' phone, seemed he was on a dating site and had got a date with this local woman who they reckoned was far too good for him!  "She hasn't seen your coconut head yet!" said the camp scouse landlord in a bid to boost Geoff's confidence(!)   Alas, I think I was the only person in the pub not shown her profile picture.  Still, it served me right as I'd broken my own BRAPA code of conduct "the locals are always right" by telling them it's much better to look at the pump clips than a blackboard - they did NOT like that.  What was I thinking?  I sounded like a know-it-all twat the second the words had left my mouth.  And I was an outsider for the rest of my stay, only a strange gargling man with long beard and half a mullet nodded at me, and that was probably his nervous twitch playing up when we were stood in the bogs drying our hands together!!  A couple of other visitors arrived to make me feel less of an outsider, they all got tasters of the 7.2% Polygraph from Shropshire which led to some terrible 'Polygraph testing' jokes, but a minus point to the pub for only selling it in HALVES.  Jeez, you automatically get a pint of Old Tom in Crewe or Stockport by simply looking the direction of the pump clip!  Anyway, a classic pub that couldn't have been less like the previous pub.  I bet I know where F J Monkhouse prefers to drink.

Back on the train after I bought lunch from a mad woman who gave me a recipe for this amazing stew she was making (Warrington was determined to leave an impression on me, though I think I'll need to be back for some of the surrounding villages) and although the train back to York was direct, it was (a) heaving and (b) I might arrive home too early and see the shower-men still in my flat, so I hopped off at Manchester for my final pub ....

 1049.  Sir Ralph Abercromby, Manchester

Manchester GBG ticks are pretty hit n miss, it has to be said.  One minute, you can be full of joy in a place like Angel or Marble Arch, the next you can be crying into your pint in somewhere like Pie & Ale or Rising Sun, wondering when life is going to end.  But this is everything I like about Manc pubs, central yet hidden down a quiet unassuming side street, full of dithering old locals, switched on friendly staff, and in this case, a fire which I could warm wet clothes in front of as Sky Sports News hot luminous screen singed my eyebrows just above.  Such was my happy sense of goodwill, I offered to give an old man 80p to help pay for his pint so he didn't have to go into a £20 note, though if I'm being brutally honest, the old bugger had been faffing around for so long, it was a case of me impatiently wanting to order a drink ASAP as much as anything,  He told me the poor lighting in the pub combined with his bad eyesight was the problem - he needs to go to Record Cafe in Bradford or Further North in Chapel Allerton if he's struggling to see his change in here!  These Lancastrians don't know they're bloody born!   If the rumours are true that Gary Neville wants to buy this pub, I'm sure it'll be light and airy in a year or two when it's a restaurant.  Arsehole.  The music was funky, a group of men played darts happily in a tiny back snug, and there was a weird kitchen like canteen thing in the far corner.  A bit of controversy to end as the erstwhile barman declared to a colleague that this pub's new manager has been sacked before he'd even started!  He did say why but it was too hushed for even my BRAPA ears to hear.  We can only imagine.  Maybe he's a Man City fan.

Great pint, great fire.

One of many old ditherers blocking the bar

If this was blockbusters, I've got a vertical Cheshire line! 

So that was fun, I'll be back tomorrow to review Saturday's trip to Leicester.  Plenty of venting needed about that city, so get ready.

Si
    

BRAPA - Wonderful Warrington : Part One

A hastily arranged day off work and overnight stopover took me to Warrington for the first time in my life, being a town that doesn't have a football team though I did almost consider stopping off here on the way back from "L is for Llandudno" in 2013, but I ran out of time.

Cheshire (along with Bucks) is the main focus now for the British Real Ale Pub Adventure, and although Alsager is next alphabetically having done Agden Wharf last year, the 2pm Saturday opening time continues to annoy me so I went for the next one along, Appleton Thorn with it's limited clubby opening times.  The 8E was late setting off due to chatty bus drivers, everyone was either cockney or scouse on this bus.

Bus photo - another new BRAPA low?

1042.  Appleton Thorn Village Hall

A bit of confusion on arrival as I was greeted by two women smiling expectantly from behind a desk, with boxes on the table and some polling booths just behind them.  Luckily I spied a window through to a bar, pushed an unpromising looking wooden door, and inside was seated half the village waiting expectantly for the smiling barman to 'pull the ales through' - it was 19:30, same as the opening time, so I tried not to look too eager for a pint!  They'd be waiting all week for this moment.  Having said that, I was second to be served after a 10 year old coca-cola drinker so it was some classic queue jumping I'd pay for in Leicester two days later.  I also ordered a pork and apple pie, which he said he'd bring through to me, 30 minutes later but worth the wait!  The hall was a grand place with huge vaulted ceiling and curtains, a nice echo, a bit like a religious beer festival.  I was a bit scared by the ancient agricultural machinery, and wondered if the pitchfork was used to chase pub bloggers out of the village if they complained about tardy pies.  Some off-putting lycra clad men started handing out beermats, and like he could read my mind, gave me one for my beer, and one for a souvenir!  Some lost looking people came in, wondering if the bar was where they voted!  Whether the Appleton Thorn by-election had a surprisingly high or low turnout, I think this excellent Village Hall can be held entirely responsible.  The bus was a bit late, as car after car arrived so I played "pint drinker or voter?" judging by the occupants of each vehicle.

The bus driver seemed in a hurry (well, if your mates hadn't been stood around gassing earlier, you wouldn't have to rush now!) and I pretty much jumped out of a moving vehicle at Stockton Heath straight into the next pub.

1043.  Costello's Bar, Stockton Heath

It all felt very familiar until I realised I'd been to a bar with the same name (and feel) in Altrincham, selling wonderful beers by Dunham Massey and Lymm, but also lacking a bit of proper pub fibre.  Though warm and comfortable it was.  I also wonder if Lymm's Brewery Tap is one of these two, it seemed to have the same 'beer menus' on the tables.  A friendly barmaid with the high pitched whine of a Twild served me, meaning the neighbourhood dogs started barking and bats started circling the premises.  As I stood at the bar, the staff did that off-putting "where are all our customers tonight?" as though my presence actually reduced the number present.  I sat in a booth near four no nonsense men, one had a grey tracksuit on which looked to be an extension of his skin, and he spoke passionately on the topic of vaping, and went outside 4 times during my stay, returning to say things like "smell that .... custard, mmmm" which was a bit weird.  An extended version of pub favourite "Bad Moon Rising" played for about 20 minutes, until the regulars started joining in.  And then an excitable local Jonjo Shelvey won a bet with his wife about how long this bar had been open, and jabbed her aggressively in the chest in celebration.  They met up with another couple but the man was sent away for "being annoying" in what seemed to be the least successful wife-swapping I've seen in a pub so far, and believe me, you do see it in the north-west with unerring regularity.

From a comment of Twitter, it was hard to know whether I was supposed to think Stockton Heath was a salubrious posh-hole or a down and out scroat-hole, but as I passed some shifty looking hooded individuals near a bookies, I was in the next pub, or should I say the first pub, of the night.

1044.  Red Lion, Stockton Heath

This was much more how I'd imagined 'Warrington' pubs in my mind's eye on the train over here, a proper no nonsense multi-roomed Thwaites house, making the most of itself with top quality ale, a happy joyful clientele (note to Costello's, here's where your 'customers' are - a proper pub) and people crowded in front of a rugby league match which was causing much hilarity as L**ds were getting a tonking.  Nice to see dislike of the White/Rhino shite spans different sports, and binds us all together from Warrington to Hull and back again.  Heart warming.  As was the tiny little "bowling room" where I was fortunate to get myself seated opposite 3 young student nerds who reminded me of me and my friends on night's out, getting frustrated with Untappd and making weird comments - the highlight being "we are all chess pieces if you think about it" and yes, it was meant literally.  However, putting your phone on loudspeaker to chat with a hungover friend was a lack of pub etiquette which is harder to forgive.  Like the face-timing Grandma/Grandson in Settle that time, ugh!  The barman had obviously been told eye-contact was important when dealing with the public, he took it to the nth degree, but I liked him.  The students and only other people in the room all left, just as another couple came and sat down - "is it something we said?" they joked.  "It's okay" I said, "at least I'm still here!" They didn't look thrilled.   Really good pub this.

Two of the students act quirky, my pint was great

My attempted artistic shot from bowling roon to bar almost worked!

I walked back over this bridge past a couple of motorway ring roads and before I knew it, I was back in Warrington and still time for a last orders drink, after all the GBG said this closes at midnight and it was only just half ten ....

Fact : I took this "mid-session" as my phone battery died on the way in.

1045.  Tavern, Warrington

When you walk into a pub and the first thing you hear from one of the old blokes sat at the far end of the bar is "the thing about fucking Southerners is that they get so fucking easily offended!" is that this is 100% pub.  Well that and my sudden need to order a pint of Warrington Special Bitter in t'most Northern way I could muster - ey up mate, paaarnt of that WSB or whatever it's called laaakkke". (I got told I was too posh to have ever lived in Barnsley the other day!)   I think I got away with it, though I was slightly terrified.  Bar assistant Paige, was already clearing up, and Maurice, the most vociferous of the 'end of the bar gang' bought her a pint.  She looked like an honest lass, working hard to make ends meet to feed her child.  Speaking of which, the pub also had free quiche on which seemed totally uninkeeping with the situation.  I didn't dare risk going for a slice, whichever way you take that, it could've ended my life!  The pub was a hive of Warrington Wolves paraphernalia and must be lively on match days.  I sat on one of those awkward barrel stools (whoever thought they made good pub tables should be shot, where do you put your legs?) One thing I couldn't get over was the weird smell of the pub, something that'd become something of a Warrington theme but more on that tomorrow.   Yet in a strange way, I quite liked this place.

Spot the quiche

For now, it was back to my refreshingly archaic Travelodge which had actual KEYS rather than swipey cards.  Still, nice to get a shower and that there was no denying after 2 weeks only being able to do the vitals in the sink.  And on that note, see you all tomorrow for day two.

Si

BRAPA - February Review / March Preview

Icy roads of rural North Yorkshire, a common BRAPA scene in Feb.

24 new Good Beer Guide pubs and 1 pre-emptive was a return I could never have dreamt of when the month started.  Despite my optimistic predictions, I worked out I'd probably not reach 20.

But what with my bathroom/shower woes meaning I was "better off out & about" and a sudden thirst to finally put Yorkshire to bed, I had quite a few fun Fridays (and a Sunday) to entertain me, as funny pub opening times added an extra bit of spice to proceedings.

The month started in fantastic fashion as I finished Berkshire!  It was almost a full on Yorkshire fest from there.  Only FIVE Yorkshire pubs to do now, 3 in North and 2 in West.  If you can name all five, you win a free BRAPA pen next time I see you so get thinking, these pens are items to be truly treasured(!)

Here are my three favourite pubs of the month in no particular order.....

1.  Buck Hotel, Reeth
2.  Masons Arms, Ackworth
3.  Captain Cook Inn, Staithes

One of many great fireplaces this month, at Masons Arms in Ackworth

The days out were generally great.  Tim Thomas the perfect host as I finished Berks.  Dad the perfect chauffeur around impossible North Yorkshire - the day on the 18th at Ugthorpe, Egton Bridge and Hinderwell was a real strong point.  And my Sunday in Saltburn and Staithes was majestic, though I enjoyed my Greater Manchester Saturday a lot too despite a sad experience in Droylsden.

March Preview

By the time you read this, I'll have done my "secret" bonus overnight trip to Warrington as attentions start to properly turn to the county of Cheshire (though I've been saying that since my trip to Lymm about six months ago!)   

I'll have also done Sat (4th), in Leicester, lots of pubs still to visit despite about 6 away games there with real ale pubs in mind.   Interestingly, my favourite pub Ale Wagon prevails, former GBG recommendations like "The Pub", "Salmon", "Slug and Lettuce" and "Globe" are not currently up to GBG standard.  And when you are recommended things with names like Brood@VinQuatre as a potential pre-emptive, I think it's right to err on the side of caution and get concrete ticks in.

No Tuesday night this week as I catch up on my pub write-ups, but the following weekend I'm starting Buckinghamshire (officially) with an anti clockwise tour of the wondrous and mythical outer Milton Keynes villages.

Dentist / beer festival events (not at the same time) then complicates my routine but it will be a good time to take stock of the future.  How will I proceed on midweek nights without Yorkshire?  How will 'Dad Days' be affected?  Don't worry, I have irons in the fire (no I don't mean I'm off to West Ham or Scunthorpe).

Sat 18th sees the long overdue return of NFFD - I will ask Tom and Dad to sign a clause of confidentiality but they both know which northern seaside town we'll be enjoying.

Tues 21st will be D-Day for my West Yorkshire ticking so can't wait for that.

And the following weekend is HUGE, 25th is the final North Yorkshire chauffeur day, with the final pub being done as a "mother's day treat" on the Sunday lunchtime.  I'm practising my opening gambit to the barmaid already "NO WE ARE NOT DINING, NO WE HAVEN'T RESERVED, WE ARE HERE FOR A DRINK OKAY YOU SOUR FACED BINT?" on then off home for Mother's Day Spam Fritters n Soup or something.

Tue 28th is off limits (more dentistry), so overall, I'm putting an estimate of 25 pubs on the month but we will see won't we my blog chums?  

Good night,  Si-pub.

BRAPA - Saltburn and Staithes (BRAPA-by-the-Sea)

I was nervous as I walked through Saltburn on Sunday morning, one of the North Yorkshire's most underrated coastal towns in my opinion.  This club just HAD to be open.  How else would I fulfil my Mum's wish of visiting my FINAL Yorkshire pub with her on Mothers Day?

My last trip up here had been fraught with disaster, but with the sun shining down on me and a stiff but mild North Westerly (or something), I knew today was going to be different.

A padlocked fence around the cricket, bowls and tennis clubs didn't help my heart, but my hopes were raised when I found a building tucked behind it all, THE CLUB, and an open door!!

My joy was short lived however as I wandered in to find the place in darkness, shutters down over the bar.  I know fellow pub ticker Duncan Mackay would wrench it up and pull himself a pint and down it in one in this situation, but I'm merely a junior pub ticker so I tiptoed from room to room, until I found an old couple drinking coffee and reading papers......

Time to do a Duncan? 

I felt a bit awful disrupting their peace but "OI CHUMPS WHEN YOU BLOODY OPENING EH?  11:30AM GBG N WHATPUB MEAN ANYTHING TO YA?!"  They told me "just after 12 noon, so to be polite, I stood in the bracing wind outside in my long black veil and waited forlornly.  Like a faithful dog waiting for it's dead master to return.

Tetley's lamp of note, perhaps

No cricket on today.

I was just contemplating if '12:00 and 1 second' was too early to go back in, when the steward man shouted to me "we're open now".....

1039.  Saltburn Cricket, Bowls & Tennis Club, Saltburn-by-the-Sea

I had a nice chat with a young bar bloke who obviously thought it weird, me looking so delighted to be here seconds after opening, so I bored him with BRAPA for  a few minutes until other customers arrived.  I didn't have to show my CAMRA card, sign or book or owt,  Take that Skipton!  After admiring the view of the cricket pitch through the low windows, and then the massive trophy collection, two Indian lads came in with cricket bats.  A bit off season I thought.    And then the locals descended and it became proper clubby.  Much Middlesbrough moaning "we are relegated!" was a big theme, having to say "happy birthday Dave" was another.  A ladder had been propped up at the bar, presumably for me to walk under, and they started putting up a curtain as a partition which hid the real ales - so was glad when they gave up on the idea completely.  What is the worst type of Twild?  A ginger one of course, well there were FOUR of them with Adam Henson playing the role of "Dad".  The young girl wanted a glass of pepsi.  "Do you want vodka in that?" asked an old local.  "What is vodka Daddy?" (possibly quote of the day).  "Wait til the last match of the season, then you'll find out!" was the old man's reply.  The girl was upset when her twild brothers went outside. "They are not playing, darling" said Mummy Henson, "they are practising football!"  Classic.  As if this family couldn't get any better, they then complained about the lack of Caffreys.  "It's just not selling", said old man steward, "you're the only ones who drink it".  Ginger twilds?  Caffreys?  Who were these people?!  I was then asked to appraise my real ale, very good - "and why should we listen to YOU?" asked old local.  "Because I am BRAPA" is what I wanted to say, but the young barman told him I drink a pint in every GBG pub, and that shut him up!  Time to go.  Crazy but wonderful place. 

Little did I know i'd have to give an opinion on this

Trophies, trophies and other stuff

The curtain of real ale denial, and a ginger twild.

I walked back through Saltburn, took a bit of sea air on the pier, and had a lamb samosa like all good seaside people do, and then my bus arrived on time amazingly and 35 mins later, I was in Staithes.  

Another pretty coastal resort, this had a touristy element at the bottom and a local feel at the top.  One pub was at the bottom, one was at the top.  Guess which I prefered?  Anyway, it was very photogenic.

1040.  Cod & Lobster Inn, Staithes

Yes, it was wall to wall diners and the only space in this small but homely pub was at the bar, so only one thing for it, I swung off my coat, scarf and bag with the certainty of a chap who was even fooling the three regulars into thinking he was a regular!  If that makes sense.  After a few nods and "ayes", I settled down with a pint of some rebadged house beer nonsense, served by a friendly barmaid with the most glittery eye make-up ever witnessed in BRAPA history.  Taking photos of any aspect of the pub was impossible, it was cheek to jowl and even lifting my pint was a struggle.  Writing notes about people sat 2 inches away felt a bit wrong too!  The nicest man turned out to be the landlord, I think, but this experience reminded me very much of when I sat at the bar in the Speaker in Westminster!  Spookily, we all had to say "happy birthday" to a man again (probably called Dave) and an Indian family turned up, not with cricket bats this time, but their order of chicken nuggets and coffee to a table outside, was the most dramatic it got apart from a mushy peas v garden peas faux pas.  Almost everyone else ordered scampi cos they think they are in Whitby, tourist idiots!  It was good to see close-hand how hard staff work at busy times, not helped by a ruddy faced young man who came downstairs, revealed he was feeling rough from night before, and went back upstairs to bed immediately.  I drank up in 25 mins and was glad to be out of there, would love to go on a quiet wintry midweek night.

The only pic I could take without being arrested! 

I climbed back up this really steep hill, and nearer the bus stop was this forboding looking building, looming large in the fading light, quite sinister and finding the front door was a challenge .....

The gothic horror novel of pubs ..... (no, I know I'm not in Whitby)

1041.  Captain Cook Inn, Staithes

This was a happy, smiling pub from the moment I entered, loved the green and white colour scheme, quite unusual, felt like being in a Plymouth Argyle supporters club and locals moved to let me see the the pumps.  However, I was being a bit freaked out by a man who looked like a homeless Jimmy Savile with walking sticks, propping up the bar and staring in my direction.  It later turned out he was former landlord Trevor who had to give it up when his eyesight failed, so I was hopeful he couldn't see me.  I was served by a lovely young brunette made almost entirely of flannelette, like a granddad's nightshirt.  Another stand out barman was the athletic Kyle Kane, so named by me cos he supported Spurs, was glad to see them winning 4-0 and looked like their entire starting 11 amalgamated into one.  He was everywhere, until he totally let himself down by putting the rugby on!  The pub couldn't believe it.  But good news for one man, who's marriage had been on the rocks since he asked his wife to move from a nice sunny large window seat to a dingy side table so he could have a better view of the game!  She rolled her eyes, and mouthed to me "what a wanker he is" or something (I've never been a good lip reader).  I'd missed my bus so ordered another one - my beer was from Kent (obviously) and about 6% but I didn't notice that as I'd pressured myself into it due to Trevor.  Apart from one customer who stood at the bar "accidentally" touching everyone's arse, the rest of the pub descended to a table next to mine (friendly old duffers), and started looking at pictures and YouTube videos of bird boxes (??) on their mobile phones - for about 10 minutes!  One of the blokes then had the temerity to make the following social observation  "you'd be lost without it wouldn't you?" I agreed with him, declining to mention bird-box-gate.  But we soon got chatting - the art of letter writing has been lost apparently, but soon I was on more familiar BRAPA territory and I soon realised the whole pub was listening!  And it was huge room.  An audience with Simon Everitt.  Wennington pub garden all over again.  It even allowed estranged husband to escape his wife's evil glances, nip out and check the score, as she was listening to me from the far window.  Utter classic!

Trevor Savile, Kyle Kane and the Phantom Arse Toucher at the bar.

I took the bus back into Saltburn, really fancied some fish & chips as I had an hour to kill before my train home.  It was dark and very windy, and suddenly all I could see was pizza places!  Earlier, loads of fish n chips at 11am.  Silly Saltburn.  But then, I saw some gleaming handpumps from a modern glass window and I could see the lights flashing "pre-emptive" so I decided to investigate.....

Gun Bar, Saltburn-by-the-Sea

I asked the barmaid (a cute young thing who still hadn't learnt that it was okay to talk to strangers if you work in a bar) how long this'd been here and she said it opened less than a year ago.  Not sure if it was a micro,  it didn't feel limited enough and just had 4 ales on(!) and a cider, and more than one loo and a decent area downstairs/upstairs too.  Plus they had some quite nice features.  But then to prove the day had come full circle, a family containing ginger twilds arrived and they all gurgled in my ear'ole for the next 20 minutes.  The door then inexplicably opened and slammed shut on it's own - and me and the barmaid looked at each other like "definitely a ghost!"  Not sure if this is a co-incidence or not but something weird followed.  Remember that embarrassing Brit Awards where Sam Fox and Mick Fleetwood co-hosted, very badly?  Well, a gothic Mick Fleetwood and a beetlejuice Sam Fox suddenly appeared at the bar.  All a bit too much for me, and whilst I admired the bar for looking a bit like my new bathroom flooring, I left before I was anymore freaked out!

The view from the window that enticed me in.

The Twild Family Robinson

Fleetwood and Fox appear at the bar.

 I think this was the most fun BRAPA day of 2017 so far, and there've been some great ones.  I now take a break for Pancake Day on Tuesday (today as I write this) and to take stock of a fruitful Feb.

I'll be back for a month end review but I have a surprise early March trip to look forward to!

Si