BRAPA - North Yorkshire Complete .... at last! / Welsh bonus.

I might live in North Yorkshire but I still think it's been the hardest county to complete so far, and I'm really hoping none of the others are quite so traumatic, because a large percentage of the more rural pubs have been achieved with the help of Chauffeur Dad.  Really, self driving cars cannot come soon enough for me!   Cumbria and Devon aren't too far off in the alpha-brap.

And after last Saturday's Melsonby disaster "we're a pub that only opens in the daytime for two hours a week!", it was back off the naughty step on Sunday 2nd April and time to try again.  With us this time was BRAPA glory supporter, Mummy Everitt, almost fully recovered from ankle woes sustained last summer, and although it was tempting to chant "where've you been since Llansillin?", she showed no sign of nerves as we got out of the car in Melsonby and hobbled up the road ....

"You're nervous aren't you?" she correctly observed, having known me for almost 38 years.  This was Anchor Anchor levels of "you'd better be bloody open" pub anxiety.  Mum strode confidently up the steps, crashed through the doors like Oliver Reed on a stag do, and we were in after the obligatory photo opportunity.

1074.  Black Bull, Melsonby

Phew, my round I think under the circs!  Though I sadly remembered I couldn't show off my new £1 coin I'd squandered yesterday which would surely have been massive news in a Darlington postcoded outpost like Melsonby.  It's a bit of a cliche to say "it's like walking into someone's front room" in the world of pubs, but this actually was, and so front room-esque, it lacked a bit of pubbiness (bench seating, a log fire, and some pointless beams would've been nice though bold leather seats, daffodils and a turntable had to do.  It was a real "grower" this place though, the foundations laid by superb jolly friendly staff and a good job as a local man came in muttering something about his mate being beaten up at football in Blackpool, or something.  But there was no time for sympathy in his direction, as his wife was delayed on account of holding a watery funeral for her dead goldfish.  Sympathetic eyes abound when she arrived, though the landlord kind of killed the mood by asking if she'd flushed it down the toilet.  My subsequent "Finding Nemo" joke was met with blank stares.  Oh dear.  I'd checked the ales three times to ensure the Ward's Best Bitter was real and not a mirage from circa 1998, Mum was on her customary pub lemonade, and Dad decided to be a little angel and have J20 which surprised all.  "Absolutely any flavour will do Sime!" he told me, before adding from the corner of his mouth "anything with orange in it",  Errrm, so the orange flavoured J20 then Dad!  So awkward some people.  As we sat and admired the old Vaux mugs and Mum wondered if I'd find anything to write about(!), landlord brought us some complimentary snacks - cheese on sticks, pieces of sausage, Yorkshire pudding and pickled onions in a little white boat thing.  You know when a pub wins you over, and you worry you've been easily 'bought'?  This was me in here!  I had a 50/50 decision to make as to where the bogs were, so obviously I went the wrong way and had to be retrieved from a smokers area, but this was a fine pub experience to finish NY in.

Mrs Goldfish contemplates her loss.

Pub Archiving and a Bonus Tick

So, as I probably mentioned before, I'm currently spending evenings going back through every football match, holiday, gig, trip out since 2002 to try and retrace my pubby footsteps - rebuying every GBG from those years and trying to reassess my thought processes.

I've so far documented 502 pubs I've visited not currently in the GBG but of course, there's many more I'm unable to identify for definite.  And I'm only up to 2008 so 5 for more years to look at!  But one has come up trumps which is actually in the current GBG!!

1075.  Griffin Inn, Dale

On the first of three British holidays circa 2008-2010, that the parents invited me on, we were staying at St Bride's in West Wales and had many amazing walks along the Pembrokeshire coastal path.  It was already my "trademark" to research a few nearby GBG pubs and as it was pre-BRAPA and there wasn't that sense of a "target", I had to just gently persuade them to pop into the odd one.  I'd put a probable date on this of 24th Sept 2008.  I remember the drive into Dale, seeing how watery it was with the pub clearly visible right by the water's edge.  We walked in and a view bedraggled old scroats stood at the bar (all long grey beards and trackie bottoms) with that kind of "we're resigned to the fact that we get tourists in so we just accept it but it doesn't mean we like you".  I drank something Welsh, brown and quite boring like Rev James or Buckley's but no idea really, and we sat at a small table on the right of the pub never really feeling at home, or that this was going to be a memorable experience, which it nearly wasn't!  The GBG from the day says there's table skittles, though I cannot recall it.  We may have done another pub that holiday, St David's, Roch or Solva?  But I really can't remember and I wrote a dreadful poem called Walking in Wales where I rhymed "Dale" with "Ale" - revolutionary.  But at least it was the clincher I definitely came here.

So there we have it, I'll carry on with this "bookwork" and who knows, I may have another pub revelation to report but I won't bank on it.

Si

BRAPA - Buckinghamshire Part II : South Bucks Fizz

I was breathing in Slough air for the first time in my life as I waited for a bus to take me to the village of Hedgerley, despite the GBG claiming it was a busless location in the 'pre-match build up'.

The problem was, Google told me to wait a Stop D (which didn't exist), the sign on the bus stop said Stop A, but the electronic display said Stop C.  A bus driver going to Britwell couldn't help, neither could a toothless old man, and after a brush with 3 lager drinking Poles at an unknown numbered stop, I crossed the road and found the bus at Stop F.  Obviously(!)

20 minutes later and the grey building site of Slough seemed another world away in the green and flowery village of Hedgerley, with it's woodland footpath to the pub saving me from road-walking.

It was still 10:50am so I sat in the sun praying for prompt 11am opening.  A vacuum cleaner nozzle made a brief appearance, hoovering the doormat, which I took as a good sign and although I suspect the pub was technically open, I waited until 11:02am to observe polite pub etiquette though it was a lovely pub to sit outside .....

1069.  White Horse, Hedgerley

So nice it was, I almost expected to be disappointed inside but not a bit of it - for once, the left hand bar was the place to be, a proper no frills boozers bar and a jolly man with fair amount of ginger facial hair was the first victim of my new response to the "what type of beer are you after?" question, which is "something which is local and I've never tried before."  This'll panic 'em, how can they possibly know what I've had before?  As it was, this man looked like a psychic and probably was and I was soon drinking a 'straight from the barrel' foaming nut brown ale from a dimpled jug, things I normally find tacky and forced were actually perfect in a pub like this.  He told me the sun had blinded him as he was used to this dark interior, and the whole family appeared one-by-one and a stream of locals arrived - I've never said "Morning" to so many folk in one pub.  One of them took the probably imaginary dog "Troops" for a walk, such was it's silence.  But there was still enough reason to remind yourself you were in South Bucks as one young female was given a lecture about Vegan Thai Curry next to a huge deli counter serving quiche.  Young barmaid Sam asked crazy local Mark (not John as I put on Twitter) why he was indoors in a thick woollen cardigan on such a beautiful summer's day?  "Because I am Dracula" was his reply, delivered perfectly deadpan, does Dracula wear a cardigan?  Mark was a fan of whatever football team played Kings Lynn yesterday, and he was soon exchanging Peter Stringfellow (who'd been spotted nearby) anecdotes with Mr & Mrs Gold Label, so called cos they kept carrying cans of it around the pub.  "Once I saw him in his massive black Jaguar, it was a windy day, his hair was flapping in the wind and went in my mouth!" complained either Mark or Mr GL.  A local rang through and made Sam go through all the ales on offer or coming soon, but sounded like he'd had them all!  Sam was rightly pulled up on her pronunciation of Deuchers (Deutsch-hers) by Mark who then asked why a great pub like THIS would be getting a beer like THAT!  I'd seen enough, a quick cheerio to Mark and Mr and Mrs GL and I was on my way.  Magnificent pub.

Mr GL, cans of GL, and Mark.

It wasn't a long walk to Farnham Common, probably a mile and a bit though I did go through a place called Egypt which seemed strange.  What would Tom do in this situation, I wondered?  Probably raise his arms aloft and chant "Allam Out!" and other songs in accidental mock East Yorkshire tones.  I'm more self conscious so just murmured it under my breath.   The pub was in sight .....

1070.  Stag & Hounds, Farnham Common

I was hit by the full force of Greene King from outside, so imagine my relief to find a quite traditional pub with an interesting range of ales, which I had ages to decide between - because there was not a single person in sight.  As I went to the loo, I wondered if I'd have a Saltburn-esque moment and find them all drinking coffee and reading the paper in a side room.  It was 12:03 after all, and finally a man with slightly less ginger beard growth than Hedgerley man arrived and served me an IPA from some new random Berkshire brewer, keeping my "local and different" theme going.  I felt sorry for the guy as he seemed to be embroiled in a phone argument with a woman (girlfriend?) and I could hear her distorted nagging from across the pub!  I decided that if Hedgerley's White Horse was heroin, this pub was probably Methadone. A 'customer' arrived but only to ask if they'd be showing Wasps v Leinster (whoever they are) at 3pm.  "It's a massive match it is!" he mumbled as he left to a general ghostly chorus of "youfuckingwhatmate?" from nobody in particular.  Union scum.  The bain of the south east TV pub.   Before I could blink, the pub had filled up with a series of 'rugged' pub men watching the Merseyside derby, the most entertaining of which ate the tiniest gourmet burger ever (which didn't suit him) and seemed wholly unimpressed with anything scouse or football related.  The obligatory minute's silence, colourful boots, topless Everton fans, huge banners - they all got the "treatment" so I nodded politely as he juggled a pepper pot like it was on fire.  Time to move on but I did quite enjoy this one.

Wrong glass, no beermat (again), but still a decent pub.

 Another short walk took me to the outskirts of Farnham Royal off the main road in a peaceful picturesque area .....

1071.  Emporer, Farnham Royal

However, I wasn't quite so impressed with this one.  Full of people looking confused about how to order food at a bar, and young fathers with babies attached to them trying to force brown baby much down their throats with a plastic spoon, or women wondering whether the pub was too traditional to 'get em out' and start breastfeeding.  It was a bit of a quandry, this place, £4 a pint now and Ringwood the most exciting brewery of the three on show, perhaps fitting that this is the first place I should receive my first new pound coin!  Which I later squandered on the bus out of here.  There was a fire in but looking at the surroundings, an outside pint on the nice grassy front area seemed a good idea, even if it had clouded over.  The toilets were a gaudy purple, even by my standards, and the soap sounded more like a modern fangled 'craft' thing than an actual soap! It was a nice location to have an outdoor drink, I just was aware I wasn't really living the Emporer dream in terms of 'pub observation'!  At least a traumatised young lad on a bike appeared, rang his friend to say he was at the Emporer and generally seeming more and more distressed.  If this was the 1850's, I'd have sat the poor lad down with a lemonade til he recovered but you can't do that sort of thing without getting arrested nowadays, so I waited til his friend rescued him and then I ran for my bus, as I'd got too comfy imagining myself body-boarding off the mossy old pub roof for some BRAPA video special! 

Pint of the no 77 Savon Liquide De Marseille

Nice little fire, but I'm off out.

Pint in the almost sun.

I hopped on the obviously delayed X74 bus towards High Wycombe, jumping out at Loudwater which I almost went to back in Jan if it hadn't been for mid afternoon midweek closure.  I crossed a park with a spongy play area, passed a shed which was probably the inspiration for a Fast Show sketch, and the pub was peering out from behind the trees.

"This week, I've been mostly drinking London Pride".

East Yorkshire CAMRA man, Ellerton Boot n Shoe denier, and all round nice chap Mark Bainton once told me that a good BRAPA strategy idea would be to focus on the pubs that are in the GBG year on year, and be a bit more skeptical of those new entrants.  It is good thinking, not so easy to achieve in practice, but this pub, 27 years in the GBG, must surely be a "valuable" tick.

1072.  The General Havelock, Loudwater

Fullers pubs, like Greene King pubs, aren't always my favourite though there are at least some good examples, but this was up there with the very best.  From the moment I entered, the locals turned round to greet me, reassuringly oddball-ish and when the barman found out I'd travelled from York, he proclaimed that this pub is "halfway to France!"  Not quite sure about the geography, or what the context was (if there was any), but I nodded sagely.  A curious chap with hearing aid who'd seemingly pinned himself to the bar so he could remain there in perpetuity started chatting to me about the weather, but couldn't hear me, so I took my pint to a table quite faraway.  As I drank my pint of Heathcliff and tried to get Kate Bush out of my head, some strange 1970's French Cinema style music started playing.  But what I'll really remember about this place was how gleaming, polished and shiny all the wooden surfaces were, like someone with terrible OCD works here - it's hard not be impressed by this place.

First sighting of a beermat today, well done Loudwater!

I jumped back on one of the thousands of buses that went to High Wycombe, not a town I know at all well so where I was dropped off I had no idea but once I'd got my bearings, I still had a mile walk down the backstreets to the next pub.

1073.  Belle Vue, High Wycombe

There's something delightful about a proper backstreet boozer and this was as perfect an example as you could hope for.  There aren't enough crazy Asian ladies working in pubs, and there should be more like this one, mad as a box of frogs, in a good way.  I couldn't tell whether she was putting on a show, or whether it was her personality - all my beers so far had been approx 4.9% and my powers of observation were waning all ready though I had smuggled a sausage roll in the last pub!  She was telling some punter, if he was coming back later in the day, she'd start a tab for him and keep it open.  Trusting!  He vaguely agreed, as he was off to do some painting.  Perhaps he was confused between pub and DIY Q&A session, for he then asked her "will my roller I've wrapped in cling-film be dry yet?" It all sounded a bit innuendo laden to me, not to mention very random, but the pub tried to assist like a good community local would.  Barmaid poured him a shot and put it on the never ending tab, and the conundrum seemed to be solved.  The general mood though was so laid back, it was glorious.  Soft blues music played.  Locals in combat shorts and sandals snoozed or read books.  Dogs dozed under tables, someone brought one in, there was a minor skirmish, but both dogs yawned and went back to sleeping.  West Haddlesey would not have understood such a scene.  Classy in the most understated way imaginable.  I left as I was feeling my eyes shutting.

Me freaking out the locals in the so called C*cktail Bar.

Hardly a beermat all day then three come along at once.

A mood shot of life in the Belle Vue.

I was back in Marylebone before I could blink, and onto Kings Cross via Paddington though I did go to Warwick Avenue for no apparent reason, but am sure it is a lovely place.  Popped into Scottish Stores for first time in ages, and unlike many people I know, found a great range of well kept ales, I think it is a lucky pub for me and virtually empty in my favourite corner to sup some red ale from Mad Squirrel.  I did get told off by a stern member of staff for leaving my bag and jacket (and phone!) unattended whilst I went to pay a call, but I trust those cheeky central Londoners implicitly.  Perhaps.  And I was home for MOTD, bit unsure how come I'd not seen ONE Sunderland fan on the way back from Watford when the train is usually teeming with them.  

I'll be back tomorrow / Tuesday to write up my Yorkshire solution.  Goodnight!

Si

BRAPA - March Review / April Preview (2017)

Good evening fellow ale fans, pub lovers, or people who have clicked on this by mistake,

March was a successful month with 27 new Good Beer Guide pubs visited, breaking the BRAPA record of 25 set in 2015.  The March monthly average is also 25, so my new BRAPA stats number crunchers tell me (I keep them locked in the basement away from sunlight).

The surprisingly productive month was mainly thanks to an early month binge of North Cheshire, only my second 'official' visit to the county, though with 24 ticks there, it is still my 12th most visited county as things stand.

That brings me onto another BRAPA record, I visited pubs in EIGHT different counties across the month.  One highlight was completing West Yorkshire again, the other one was getting all 5 of my outer Milton Keynes pubs done.  The standard of pub was, how shall we say it, "mixed".  I generally either loved or hated them.  But more love than hate.  Here are my three favourites:

1. Lower Angel, Warrington
2. Lamb, Stoke Goldington
3. King's Head, Leicester

Lower Angel, Warrington

I also discovered what a good town Southport is, how happy the folk around Milton Keynes are, and reassuringly, how depressing Leicester still is.

April Preview

Last year, I set a liver-busting record of 45 pubs in the month of April and though I don't expect to reach those heights again, I will be disappointed with anything less than a pub a day.  35 if I'm being really honest.

We kick off on the 1st of the month with my second official BRAPA tour of Buckinghamshire, this time we are going much further south than MK.  I better not overdo it as the BRAPA-parents are helping me finish North Yorkshire on Sunday lunchtime.

Tuesday 4th could see the first of my non-Yorkshire Tuesday nighters, but it all depends if work let me out at 4pm.  If so, Nottinghamshire, Derbyshire or Greater Manchester are likely locations.

The following Saturday, it is NFFD (Non Football Football Day time).  After consultation with the brilliant enigma that is Thos. Irvin, it seems train strikes are a factor so we have devised a devilishly plan so simple, it'll confuse all.

A week later is Easter, and whilst I don't have any immediate Good Friday/Easter Monday BRAPA plans, I won't rule it out.  The Saturday has become 'Caturday', for the first time in BRAPA history, Ruby the Cat actually dictates when Dad can get away, and being a loyal son, I said I'd not leave him stranded in a rural York cattery at 12 noon so pubbing starts late.

Ruby looking wretched after putting Stoke in jeopardy 

I still haven't worked out where I'm going on 22nd April, the events of the previous week may have a bearing but as you know, I'm as keen to crack on with Cheshire as I am with Buckinghamshire.

It's at this point that BRAPA really hots up.  The day after, I'm in Derby for a punk gig and I still have two ticks to do, and I wouldn't mind getting out to a village or two aswell! 

And after the Monday to recover, we have our first of three BRAPA holidays of the year - "Ale in Aylesbury".  Has anyone been on holiday to Aylesbury before?  Who knows, it seemed a bit grim on my last visit, but I'm spending 4 nights there picking off random Central Bucks pubs like meat off a potentially gristly carcass, but beware those midweek opening hours in dodgy little villages! 

And I'm straight to Southampton from there to watch those soon to be/already relegated Tigers, by which time my liver will be pickled so I won't care.  And if I get chance to pop into Kentish Town on Sunday 30th, I might as there is a 'Neighbours' meet up in some non GBG pub and of course it is  the best TV programme ever!  Bank Holiday Monday 1st May?  Recovering with a cold compress to my head.  But hey, you've gotta live haven't you so if York's first micropub opens on that day, I'll drag myself to it in the evening! 

Si

BRAPA - The Frustrations of North Yorkshire

So this was the weekend when I would finally finish my home county of North Yorkshire (or so I thought), after almost three years of dedicated effort, missed buses, chauffering genius, Theakstons, Black Sheep and pubs masquerading as restaurants, or vice versa.

It'd all come full circle as my first designated NY day was in Aldbrough St John & Manfield, when I escaped Tour De Yorkshire scum in July '14, and I was back in the same area on Saturday.  To spice things up, we temporarily crossed the border into Co. Durham for an 11am opener ......

"Pub & Kitchen" - never a good sign, in more ways than one!

1066.  Fox Hole, Piercebridge

I should've really been in Hastings / Battle for pub tick 1066 but too late to worry about that, and in the warm sunshine, we found a side door marked "Welly entrance" which I'd like to think was a tribute to Hull's Wellington which also had a side entrance that opened five minutes before the front, alas I think it was for walkers with muddy boots.  The friendly barmaids knew we were waiting, but a staff conflab surrounding 'foody tactics' meant "The Fox Hole Kitchen (and vague pub)" would've been a worthier title.  We sat in an overly tight window seat for two to wait for them to organise themselves.  Our first ales pulled through were used for fish batter, so the most wired barmaid told Dad, which helped us get one of the most cracking quality BRAPA pints of the year so far.  Striking portraits of grimacing old locals, probably bemoaning their village pubs demise into restaurant territory, looked down on us, and we were glad we were in here bang on 11am as 'reserved' signs littered the tables.  A blackboard said "free beer" and got me excited but it wasn't forthcoming.  And piped reggae reminded me of Keighley's Lord Rodney Bar & Kitchen, and despite the lack of church bells today, I decided I shouldn't moan too much!

Side of the pub - note the Welly entrance

One of the locals wonders what's happened

Did someone say 4.9% Free Beer?  

If you were wondering the real motive behind a foray into County Durham, it was to demonstrate to Dad (BRAPA chauffeur extraordinaire) that his 'skills' are easily be transferable from North Yorkshire to Co Durham without much effort!  After all, with Yorkshire almost complete, we had to discuss "his future" and negotiate a new contract - he proved his Lincolnshire worth in Louth a couple of months back, and now he's proved his future is secure by agreeing to some south Durham requests.

However, the immediate challenge was not yet complete and a short drive south to another pretty North Yorkshire village, Melsonby, was about as frustrating as BRAPA gets.

We pulled up at 12:03pm to see a smiley raffle prize Easter Egg lady balancing 12 of the things, waiting on the pub doorstep looking confused.  I joked they'd surely never had THREE people waiting for opening before, and would wonder what's going on, when I noticed a blackboard clearly stating 5:30pm opener on a Saturday!  Which is rather anti-social isn't it?

Both the Good Beer Guide and Whatpub had said 12 noon opening, and even more damning, Mrs Easter Egg had been chatting to the landlady only last night and was sure she'd said she'd be open at noon.  We found a phone number and rang, straight to voicemail.  I peered in 3 windows, all very dark.  Oh well. "it is what it is" (Dad's favourite phrase) so we moved on.

It was time to adapt.  Special mention now goes to Mummy Everitt, her of Welsh Ankle fame.  She'd insisted on being present at my final Yorkshire tick - West Haddlesey the following day.  But now, it'd be Melsonby I'd finish in, so how would she feel about doing that instead on April 2nd and we do West Haddlesey today without her?  No problem.  Top Mum BRAPA work.

If all this seemed complicated and traumatic, the A1 up here was closed in about a million different places and by the time we found a route to Hunton (through Richmond), we'd been going over an hour to get about 8 miles and were thoroughly traumatised and in need of a pint!  It seemed a lovely rural setting.  You know when the GBG says "off the beaten track", it means "impossible to get to".

1067.  Countryman's Inn, Hunton

And this closes at 2:30pm apparently and was now gone 1:30pm so kind of just relieved to see it open under the circumstances!  I think I'd have ripped my GBG in two and run off crying.  But our Half Moon ales were seriously vinegary and after some debate (just to be sure, still a bit scarred from Droylsden!), we returned them.  The landlord's total lack of reaction and surprise seemed, errrm, surprising!  He changed them with good grace though, turned the pump clip straight round, but a bit of empathy wouldn't have gone amiss.  Didn't he want to smell/taste the beer for himself?  A jolly red faced one armed landlady appeared in what was 'BRAPA cameo of the day', shame she didn't stick around, she must be the charisma behind the pub.    Meanwhile, he helped a tourist book a taxi to a golf club, and talked him through the beers noting "those two gents said the Half Moon is off, so I'll need to investigate that" which I really hope wasn't code for "I'm turning the pump clip back round as soon as these dimwits drive off".  It all felt a bit Llansillin York Guzzler.  Golf club man got a shock when he turned around to see his wife had vanished, but she'd gone outside to escape.  We enjoyed our replacement ales, and no longer had any qualms about smuggling our cheese n onion pasties.  Then the landlord went outside to spy on us through the window, pretending to tend to his window boxes, see if I'd wired the pub to a listening device etc.  It was that kind of a pub.

Golf club man's wife considers a quick getaway.

A fine replacement ale.

After a bladder busting drive back down the A1 towards Selby, we finally reached West Haddlesey.  It's fair to say it had been a weird day (even by BRAPA standards), could it get weirder?  Yes it could!

I need the pub defibrillator on a day like this!

Quirky entrance hall.

1068.  George & Dragon, West Haddlesey

So if we hark back to late January, I was fuming about this place when we left Hull City v Man Utd early, so we could get here at 10:20pm, with their advertised closing hours of midnight, and the pub was lit but plunged into darkness as soon as our car pulled up.  Coincidence, no it wasn't! So my face was set to "disapproving", but annoyingly, the pub was brilliant from the outset with it's bric-a-brac, two jolly old duffers, wheezing landlord, wood-smoke smell, not a food menu in sight.  Perfect.  And a little beer garden (well, benches in a car park!) to enjoy the first outdoor pint of the year - flippin 18 degrees by now, it'd been blizzarding in L**ds on Tuesday!!  BEEP.  We ate our sandwiches and noted the bench tribute to Bruno 2016-12, presumably the pub goldfish, who'd passed away but was still remembered.  BEEP.  Our calm was disturbed in a series of novel ways.  BEEP.  Firstly, two scruffy scroats brought FOUR dogs of various species to another outdoor table, and all decided to fight with each other intermittently.   BEEP!  Secondly, what kind of Twild wears a t-shirt bearing the slogan "Mick Parrott Plant Services" with the company phone number on the back?  One that burps coke in everyone's face and then riles the 4 dogs into a further frenzy, that's who!  BEEP.  And then a docile dog appeared and the 4 evil ones ganged up on it.  BEEP!  And all the time, a flippin pub alarm sensor which I thought was a sophisticated Starling and Dad thought was his mobile phone (by dint of him being rubbish with it) BEEPING every few seconds!!  I'll wait a bit longer for a relaxing 2017 outdoor drinking experience.  Crazy stuff.

Now I'm not saying that I then told Dad what a good pub the Wheatsheaf at Burn was and that we should pop in, but had we have done, we'd have probably found a thoroughly brilliant airbase themed pub, friendly barmaid, great beer, but I'd probably still ban it from the GBG for one incident I noticed - see photo below and see if you can guess what my problem was?

What do I disapprove of here? 

Well, no-one said North Yorkshire was going to be easy, and I'll be praying at 12 noon next Sunday then when I arrive with Mum and Dad, the Melsonby pub door is open and I can celebrate having completed another county.  I'm taking an axe and flamethrower with me just in case.

On Sunday, I was able to revisit my 2015 BRAPA pub of the year, the Boot & Shoe in Ellerton.  An absolute classic, would be in my top 100, and quite why East Yorkshire CAMRA have forsaken it in favour of the likes of Market Weighton's Carpenters Arms, Pollington's King's Head and South Dalton's Pipe & Glass, only they can tell you.  My sister's new local pub since she moved, she did well.

The Fam enjoying some Dark Horse ales and lemonade.

No midweek BRAPA this week but I'm doing plenty of "bookwork" to document every GBG pub I visited from 2001-2013 as a result of Hull City away games and other random trips as I still need a definitive total as well as the "current" GBG total.

And I'll be back in Bucks on April Fools' Day so don't wait up. 

Si

BRAPA - Putting West Yorkshire to Bed! Sandbeds. And Keighley.

After a traumatic day at work where I first walked through a blizzard, and then found out in a nerve-wracking redundancy meeting that I WILL be keeping my job after all (almost a shame as Tom had worked out I needed to move to Stoke Gifford), I was ready for a pint, or two (or seven).

And so it got to 4pm and I was ready for the final trip to West Yorkshire (well, until September) and chance to try out a new railway station, at a place called Crossflatts which I'd always thought was called Crossflapps.

After a stroll along the menacing B6265, I was (eventually) confronted by a huge cow made of wire and I'd knew I'd arrived:

1064.  Airedale Heifer, Sandbeds

Although confronted by one of my pub pet hates, those piles of logs which are always for show and never EVER put on an actual fire, the pub had a warmth and friendliness about it despite being vast and suspiciously foodie.  The barmaid was one of those characters, I broke her off in mid sentence as she was about to ask me "what style of beer I liked" but undaunted, she told me the new five pound notes "will never be the same".  I laughed, a bit confused, noted the cosiest pub areas near limp fake fires were taken, so sat on a huge table with a fine array of Amstel beermats in the shadow of a poor cow, that had been force-fed til it was 312 stone by an evil man of the cloth.  I almost collided with three school teenagers, too old to be twilds, but they loved running from one door to the other, opening them, giving weather reports to 'Mum' (barmaid), and then running to the next door to cause a chilly through draught.  "No it isn't snowing, but it might be sleet!" was the general theme.  The one local at the bar nodded sagely, and made a vague presentiment that spring was not quite here yet.  No one cared so he left the building.  As I noted piped Bryan Adams and a specials board offering Rosemary Jus, I suspected this'd be an easy pub to criticise, but the warm feeling and great pint of Bridgehouse left me feeling pretty contented about the place.

Holy Cow!  A great pint.

Appreciating the Amstel beermat domino effect

Quiz : which of these three locals foretells of winter being here to stay?

You fat bastard, who ate all the rosemary jus? 

I got the (obviously delayed) Shuttle bus into Keighley, where each passenger smelt of either wee or weed and had tea cosies or hoodies pulled up over their heads, and a five minute walk down the road from the bus station greeted me with one of Keighley's more picturesque landscapes:

1065.  Lord Rodney Bar & Kitchen, Keighley

So I had a great feeling about this place before I entered, and being confronted with a healthy range of Timothy Taylor beers also added to my sense of Keighley wellbeing, as I was served by a friendly young moon-faced blonde who said "do you want anyfink ewse?" and looked generally happy but vacant.  As I looked around me though, I suddenly realised why it had that horrid "bar and kitchen" tagline - half the "pub" was diners only, and they seemed to be afforded more traditional snug pub seating than the drinkers area - as I witnessed when a group of oddball twenty somethings lurked in the doorway as though they didn't know how pubs operate, before nervously saying they had a table booked.  The place was near on empty.  Then a disturbing ginger slob resembling the Airedale Heifer waddled to the bar, bought a shot for his girlfriend in an obnoxious way, then waved two menus around like he was landing an aeroplane, before ordering food.  Girlfriend looked embarrassed, Miss Moonface remained pleasant and professional.  The church bells next door tolled, but couldn't drown out the piped reggae, but at least a trip to the loo made me realise an almost snug area facing the ale pumps was a bit cosier.  But on the whole, finishing West Yorkshire here isn't to be recommended, and when you think how good Brown Cow and Cricketers are, what is the point of all this?

Trying Tim Taylor's new beer, Knowle Spring - quite springy.

Relocated to my "snug" area, facing the pumps.

I wandered back to the station, half tempted to pop into the Self Publicist Arms and ask for a pint of BEST BITTER to see if I got thrown out / corrected / beaten up, but alas my train was due very soon.

And there we have it, West Yorkshire complete for a second time, and only 3 pubs left in the whole of Yorkshire which I hope to mop up on Saturday (x2) and Sunday (x1).  So see you then.

And what of the future of my Tuesday night after work BRAPA trips, I hear you ask (or is that just the voices in my head)??  Well, I've identified an achievable one in Notts, possibly Lincs, a good few in Greater Manchester, and I'll take another look at Lancs too but suspect they are too rural.  It'll more likely be once or twice a month now, until September where we'll no doubt have new Yorkshire challenges to look at.

Si