BRAPA - Thanx for the Manx (Part 6 of 7 - TT Thursday)

One of my 'required 9' from the bus stop in Douglas

Wednesday had been painful in every way, no doubt about it.  But with an air of Nigel Adkins at the height of positivity, I stepped out into the fresh sunny air, breathing in the winds blowing in from Ireland, the Wirral, North Wales, and wherever else winds might blow to Isle of Man from.

Nine pubs to go, one and a half days to do them, the dream was still alive.  Nothing definitely shut.  Yet.  Though angst was building with each 'pub approach' that went by.

At my now all too familiar Douglas bus stop, a thin grey faced man told me he wasn't well and was going to the hospital for injections. Had he drunk ale all his life, I doubt he'd be in this condition, though that cannot be verified.  I wished him well, the poor chap needed it.  It started raining.

The bus took me through Peel, and around the North West of the island, on the road used for the famous TT Motorcycle race which happens here in the summer for two weeks.  The terrain was very leafy and wild.  I approved.  I reached my first pub shortly after it's 12 noon opening time.  I pressed the bell on the bus with the confidence of a man who'd settled into Manx life.  The pub looked open, I was relieved ......

1251 / 1997.  Raven, Ballaugh

Pronounced 'Balaff' btw (who knew?), I walked into the Raven and was greeted with the kind of surprise that told me that Mrs Blonde Barmaid and Mr Odd Job Man didn't expect customers at this time.  I always feel this shows a lack of confidence in their own pub, for if they aren't going to believe in themselves, how can they expect the punters to?  Having said that, I wasn't the first.  A couple were propping up the bar, but they left quick smart as soon as I said 'hello'!  Notorious you see.  The key point here was ordering the 'house' Okells beer "Raven's Claw" which you won't get anywhere else.  It was dark and malty, a nice one to nurse on your 4th consecutive day on the ale when you have an hour to wait for the next bus!  Being on the TT circuit, most of the decor was blokes on bikes, which might excite some visitors I guess.  The pub was just about warm, cosy and 'pubby' enough to please the purist, but if truth be told, a bit of a snoozefest, and in my secluded corner, all I could do was my own private George Michael karaoke (Careless Wispa, his fave choc bar) followed by a bit of jigging around to Karma Chameleon to keep my own amusement levels up, I just hope no one saw the embarrassing sight.  I could've 'live periscoped it' but thankfully I didn't.

The bus raced over Ballaugh Bridge like it wished it'd been a motorbike, and I just managed to flag it down in time.  "Do you stop near Ginger Hall?" I asked the driver.  "Yes, just press the bell as we are going over the bridge" he told me, as though I knew all about this second famous bridge of the day.  Oh the stress of Isle of Man bus bell pressing was very much still alive.  I managed it, and crossed the road and walked down where this grand looking pub was situated.

1252 / 1998.  Ginger Hall, Sulby

My heart gave a nervous flutter as I saw a very shut door with a notice on, but it was merely telling me to 'use the other door'.   DON'T DO THAT TO ME!   This was an exciting tick for me, for in the Good Beer Guide, it is actually the LAST pub listed in the British Isles, on page 684 - even more satisfying if you've removed the brewery section (sorry Angela).  I walked in and was immediately greeted by mine host, Laura, a blonde lady with the positive aura of someone who's properly in charge, though she told me she was just a lackie.  This pub was everything the Raven had been lacking, and one of my faves this holiday.  A huge TT racing map on the ceiling, shiny fittings and mirrors, warm roaring fire, odd Thai Green Curry smell on way to loo, and I'd told Laura a ghost story from York's  Golden Fleece within 5 minutes, and let her highlight the GBG entry, which probably is the highlight of her 2018 to date.   Of course.  A cheeky old retired Irish farmer came in to drink Guinness and tease Laura for not polishing the pump clips carefully enough(!), he told me despite being retired, he'd somehow ended up with more sheep than ever, and was working harder than ever.  I tried to empathise!  "Sheep eh, what ya gonna do with 'em?" I said.  Thankfully, it was a rhetorical question.  Then a jolly young man with a determined look in his eyes came in.  He was called Ben, and as luck would have it, he was off to my next pub, the 'Traf' in Ramsey and if I hung on he'd give me a lift.  I said yes, the downside being it was a long wait as he had to drink the tallest fizziest looking pint of Carlsberg ever, as Laura explained BRAPA to him, and they discussed pub strategy.  He ran the 'Traf'' now but was taking over Ginger Hall in Apr/May time.  He's taking on a good one, you gotta love Ginger Hall.

Failed attempt at ceiling map photo

Laura reads GBG entry, the highlighter is within reach .....

DONE!  Top highlighting there.

Cosy fire and red walls make for great atmosphere

Nice mirror as mentioned in GBG description

How lucky that I chose to go on Thursday then?? 

Oh yes, you could tell the misfortunes of Wednesday had subsided and Thursday was back to Monday and Tuesday levels of greatness.

As Ben drove us to Ramsey, we chatted what makes a good pub and it was great to hear him say he'd consider getting the CAMRA Pub of the Year award as the best accolade going.  He was a really focussed young chap with a vision, and am sure he'll make a great go of whatever he does.  He'd bigged up the 'Traf' so much meanwhile, that by the time we parked opposite, he was nervous as to whether I'd be so impressed!  Only one way to find out ...... GO INSIDE.

1253 / 1999.  Trafalgar Hotel, Sulby

But I knew what he meant.  One of those happy warm community pubs which envelope you, draw you in, and kind of hold you there - I could feel it straight away, and the relaxed nature of the clientele.  I wonder if I could be a 'pub whisperer', a bit like that programme where Derek Acorah chatted to haunted antiques about their past.  I could make a fortune.  Ben bought me a pint and swiftly disappeared, what a gent!  I went for my second house beer of the day, the Trafalgar Bitter - excellent quality, SBS A- if truth be told.  Pub was overseen by Ben's brother in law, the kind of dude who always looks like he's just got out of bed and can't quite remember if it is morning or night.  But he had an endearing quirkiness which wasn't deliberate.  I got chatting to a lovely local called Dave and stood at the bar with him the whole time I was there.  He told me his wife was on holiday so he had no option really but to spend all his time in the pub!  We had quite a deep chat about the relaxed way of life on the Isle of Man, giving a damn about your fellow man and the like, so I made him have a selfie with me because his granddaughters are always asking him for one normally!  No truth of the matter is, I'm doing this "Si Selfie Challenge' to raise money for Mind UK Mental Health Charity, 100 selfies with 100 different people.  I'm up to 43 at time of writing.  Feel free to donate.  Great pub the 'Traf', and make no mistake about it!

Ignore the jam jars, time for a superb house beer

Me and Dave having fun at the Traf

Just down the road, was my other Ramsey pub.  For a third time on the IOM, it was plotted quite poorly on the GBG App, but being less gullible than yesterday in Port St Mary, I didn't try to swim out to it ......

Jeez, this was reminding me of when Woodies in Headingley, Leeds moved 30 miles off the coast of Ghana.  Or the time when a Crosby micropub was relocated to the Louisiana / Texan border.

No, it was right there on the front ......

1254 / 2000.  Mitre , Ramsey

If this really was my 2000th ever pub listed in the GBG (it probably isn't, but as close as I can get with the info available to me!) it lacked a certain celebratory fanfare.  Up some steps of the 'Harbour Bar', into a gloomy shallow carpetted hotel style bar which swept around to the windows out onto the sea and the bar area, where two old blokes (Beavis & Butthead), chattered incoherently, sniggered, made random rude comments, acting very much like schoolkids with sticks and hearing aids, was bizarre! "Huh, huh, dude, he , like, said, 'Bushy' hur hur".   Mine host was a young lad I think called James, am sure Beavis said he was 18 at one stage, he looked older to me, but I asked him about my third house beer of the day "Jough", thought he was gonna chat to me at one point, but he didn't so I took it to the bench seating overlooking the sea.   It was warm and pleasant enough, a bit of a come down after the last two pub experiences, but sometimes you need a bit of boring 'downtime' to reassemble your thoughts for the next push - pubs I mean, not toilet going.

Possible James pulls my pint of Jough

Beavis & Butthead, Manx style, enjoy their ales and some rude chat

According to the GBG Ap, the pub is actually out there in the sea

There'd been a traffic 'incident' near Laxey so for the first time this week (causing a wave of excitement for all on the island), the buses were running a bit behind schedule so I waited patiently with the schoolkids and coffin dodgers for one to arrive.

I was off back to Laxey to try and'tick off' that first pub that had evaded me on my travels, as it had now gone 4pm.  Back in Laxey in the daylight, I could really appreciate it, with it's famous wheel, snaking road, heritage railway stop, I think it's my favourite part of the island I got to.  

Hard to describe it's uniqueness, imagine if Falkirk bent Scarborough over the photocopier at the Christmas party and Knaresborough accidentally walked in on them, blushed and ran out, only to collide with Falmouth who's brandishing a tray of vol-au-vonts.  Yes, that's Laxey.

1255 / 2001.  Mines Tavern, Laxey

They say good things come to those who wait, and this was certainly true here.  A jewel of a pub with that heritage railway feel, the smell of the roaring wood fire in the corner, and another very impressive landlady.  She could feel the beginnings of the flu coming on, and as she was off to Portugal soon, she thought it was just bloody typical bad luck!  After my routine "bore them with BRAPA for 5 minutes", she chatted with the locals about a horrid man she used to work for who didn't like powerful women being in charge, before a crazy dude (Tony?) wandered in and everyone asked him how come he hadn't been barred yet, which would've been a world record if he'd been barred there and then.  He seemed a good fellow though, and asked the question I'd been expecting all week "what bike ya riding?" in reference to my very bikery leather jacket, which I thought was a nice IOM tribute but probably just confused everyone.  I had to admit I didn't understand motorbikes and sloped out, a beaten man.  Honestly superb pub this, almost worth the flight/ferry over on it's own. 

As the bus amazingly stopped in time (I wasn't taking anything for granted), I hopped back on knowing I'd best doing my remaining two Douglas pubs tonight so I had less to do before my flight tomorrow.  There were 4 pubs in total to do ..... things were getting exciting.

Would I manage them?  Stay tuned for part 7 (the final part, what a relief!) tomorrow.  

Si 

BRAPA - Thanx for the Manx (Part 5 of 7 - Wednesday Pubs)

I'd spent the first four hours of the day failing to visit ONE pub (see part 4 of this Isle of Man special).  But 3pm and finally I was in a pub that had been open since 11am, I'd just been looking at the wrong door!  Oops (I've only been doing this for nearly four years!)

The barmaid and Kyle, wait for the return of Bobby-Billy

1245 / 1991.  Falcon's Nest Hotel, Port Erin

Up a couple of steps, around the corner into a basic but cosy hotel bar with roaring fire in the corner I went, and a man at the bar said "'ello mate" without really turning around.  I said 'hi', assuming he was just one of these typically friendly Manx pub men, when he suddenly looked surprised and said I wasn't the Czech brewer he thought I was.  Apparently,  if I had blonde hair and an Eastern European accent, I'd have definitely been him!   Anyway, he introduced me to each person in the room individually in a kind of "he brews your beer", "he transports your beer", "she serves your beer" kind of way which made them all laugh.   The barmaid who's name I forget, Kyle, a young lad called James, and a lady called Ingrid who does a bit of duet singing with the Billy-Bobby character.   They gave me a sample.  Get them on Britain's Got Talent!  Or not.  They were very interested in BRAPA, and it was the most captive audience I had all holiday.  Back in 2014, a scene like this would have terrified me, but I revelled in it today.  Sadly, I had to drink quite quickly cos my bus was due and Billy-Bobby had gone out for a fag so I didn't get to say bye, but James was getting the same bus as me and I'd told them I had no idea where to press the bell in Port St Mary! 

"Dave!  No more coal or logs on fire after 9pm".

Kyle told me that James was off at the stop just before me, but being the young legend he was, he stayed on an extra stop to ensure I was off right outside the pub.  You don't get this type of service in Luton Town Centre.

1246 / 1992.  Albert Hotel, Port St Mary

It looked like a wonderfully traditional Isle of Man pub from the outside, and it had a superb mid afternoon hubbub within.  I entered to find the locals engaged in a good ole' slagging off of Jennings Snecklifter.  "It's all sweet, and dark, and liquorice .... urrrr" said one man.  I whispered to the barmaid that I actually was a fan of the beer, she looked at me with those "don't you dare say that any louder" eyes.  The conversation must have started because Jennings Cocker Hoop was the new guest ale on.  People treating it like some continental Pineapple Wheat Saison, so I had to pretend I'd never heard of it and was excited to try it (despite my Snecklifter admission).  This is what happens when you put English beers on in proper Isle of Man boozers.  "Cocker 'oop?  Who are you calling a Cocker 'oop?" said the man every time anyone went up to get a pint of it.  "Why are all these sticks, hats and coats all over the place?" asked one old gent, temporarily forgetting him and his friends inhabited 85% of the pub with their harbour view, and they almost certainly belonged to him and his mates.  "Never go drinking in Norway" the barmaid randomly warned some bloke.  A couple behind me chuckled, I sat at the bar throughout, undisturbed, they were enjoying it as much as me, a real "moment of contentment" in the week was this pub.  A man, to my horror, started piling £20 notes into the fruit machine.  The barmaid saw my surprise "oh, people put a lot more in than that!" she told me, just as he hit the jackpot.  Real feel of quality about this pub.  

Great pint of Cocker 'oop

Locals being incredible

Fruit machine, poised to have it's guts spilt

The other Port St Mary pub (I'd given up on the Railway Station Hotel for today, possibly a mistake, but was still an hour off it's supposed opening time) was a mile or so walk, around the corner along the shore line to Gansey.  I gave my Mum a ring to report on my progress as I'd rung at the height of my trauams earlier, and wanted her to know I was still alive!  The wind was blowing a gale.

1247 / 1993.  Shore Hotel, Port St Mary

I walked in to find a surprisingly upmarket foodie place, where a businesslike man in pristine white shirt (always a bad sign in my eyes, however jealous I am of someone who has the time to separate their whites and colours on a regular basis!) served me something dark and wholesome, very much the Snecklifter of this pub.   Take that locals in the Albert.  The three locals gathered by the bar, two blokes and a lass smiled politely, and I took the ale to a table to the right.  Easily the highlight of this pub was the toilets, possibly the only highlight.   An interesting picture of three gents, probably someone famous but no idea, above cut out beer kegs with handpumps just above them.  The fun bit was, when you finish weeing, give the pump a yank, and water squirts out into the urinal keg to clean it.  Ingenious, why more pubs don't do this, I don't know.  Meanwhile, the loudest of the three was a southern man, who kept bringing the conversation back around to his hygienist view on the unusual rain in the south of the island.  I'm seeing mine tomorrow, and will be asking her view on snowfall in Selby.  My rucksack toppled onto the floor.  Our white shirted friend laughed aloud.  That is how little happens in here.  To top it off, an average experience became below average when a Tesco delivery arrived, wine for the restaurant apparently.  The front door was propped open as crate after crate was brought in, whipping in a freezing wind.  So many crates stored in the narrow corridor, no way back to the loo.  The locals told me where the bus stopped.  It was warmer out there!

Brilliant toilets

Man in the mirror

Pristine white shirt probably ringing someone to say my bag has fallen down

The bus was a tiny bit late, as darkness descended and squally rain and wind hit me full in the face.  I jumped off at Castletown, where I had plans to just do one pub, and it wasn't the Sidings which everyone had told me was brilliant all throughout my holiday.  No, this one had barely had a mention .....

1248 / 1994.  Castle Arms, Castletown

Or the 'Gluepot' as it is also known, this is the only pub which features on a bank note, albeit an Isle of Man bank note, a fiver I think but correct me if I'm wrong.  I won't care though.  A young lass served me and a friendly greyhound came bounding up to me, but ran off as I tried to stroke it / balance my pint on it's head.  "He doesn't like being touched on the head, he got treated badly as a puppy", said a voice from the corner seat next to where I'd squeezed into, this was a full on cosy comfy traditional pub, just the tonic after the Shore Hotel, and the only time I felt happy all day along with the Albert in Port St Mary.   The voice belonged to a body (as they often do), the body of a cheery fellow from Wallasey who seemed impressed I knew it was "somewhere near Liverpool", we chatted and he showed me historic photos of the pub and I explained BRAPA, gave him and his more watchful wife a card, and feel bad I can't remember their names so sorry if you are reading!  Someone brought a baby into the pub and our previously restrained young barmaid was cooing over it like it was the second coming.  And Mrs Wallasey whispered EXACTLY what I'd just been thinking, along the lines of "Shame she can't put that much effort in with adults when she's behind the bar!"  Nice it isn't just me who has these thoughts.  The rest of the experience can be summed up in one conversation between young barmaid (YB) and an older lady, perhaps the baby's Grandma (BG)....

BG : "Where did you get your short legs from?"

YB :  "Urrrr, haha, well .... from my Mum, she's small too!"

BG : "Nooooo, I mean yer leggings!"

YB : "Ohhh, not sure, but Peacocks are very good".  

Really good pub this, but could have been even better. 

Pint and dog which had tough upbringing

Mr & Mrs Wallasey, nice couple to chat to and similar thoughts as me! 

The bus took me back to Douglas.   It was pitch black now, my bladder had just hung on, I relieved myself in a disused car park, but knowing I'd only done four pubs so far, I calculated I needed two tonight in Douglas to keep on track.

It'd been a hard unforgiving day, and it was about to hit a new mood low!  My sister had been messaging me, asking after my progress and joked she'd sent a 20 something young lady called Sheila to keep tabs on me, make sure I was behaving, so imagine my surprise when a 20 something young lady appeared out of the dark, waited for me to take the below pub photo, and then raced me to the bar! 

1249 / 1995.  Prospect Hotel, Douglas 

The pub seemed upmarket for Douglas, but still managing to retain a history and quality.  Sheila had been served first, and had ordered coffee.  As the machine was chugging away, squirting and spluttering, a bright young bar chap appeared from nowhere and served me a pint of beer.  Sheila was eyeing the welcoming leather armchair by the fire, so was I.  Pint finished being pulled way before coffee finished chugging, so I got the seat. Lesson - coffee pub drinkers never prosper.  But then I felt bad, poor Sheila.  Her eyes were boring into the back of my head.  It was a fake fire anyway.  The hottest fake fire ever.  I was beginning to sweat.  She can sit here if she wants.  Too late to ask now. Oh dear, just please stop staring Sheila.  And don't tell my sister I've done wrong.  And then in total tune with my rapidly descending mood, I received a private message - a rare 'unhappy with BRAPA' message from someone who didn't approve of my blog & twitter check ins due to the invasive and at times creepy nature of my photos.  Ouch!  It was a fair cop to be honest, and I made a mental note to be a better pub blogger in this regard in the future.  With Sheila's eyes still boring into my head, she was probably shivering from the lack of warmth,  I felt like the lowest specimen on earth, and only myself to blame.  Very much like all of today, master of my own downfall.  A shiny bald headed dude and his mates laughed loudly from the far room, why couldn't I be having fun?   Time to move on, write this one off, and no fault lies with the Prospect Hotel.

Warmest fake fire underneath 18th century Roy Hodgson

Shiny people from a distance having a nice time

Guilt and pain in my eyes, as background Sheila (in soft focus to obscure identity) plots my deserved demise

It had been a very enjoyable, quality pint.  That is something I should've added, as I walked to my last pub of the night.  Let's just say I felt like an anarchist at this stage, as I was brandishing renegade Bushys stickers en route to an evil empire! 

1250 / 1996.  Hooded Ram at Clinch's, Douglas

Nicknamed the 'Hooded Sham' by some of the locals I met earlier on my holiday, these upstart brewers apparently have this millionaire bankrolling them!  This was a new entry in the GBG, meaning not even legends like Duncan Mackay have visited, so an interesting 'tick' in many ways.  I followed four young people in, well-heeled posh speaking hooray Henry's of the highest order, though they held a door open for me and when I wished them a good evening, the blonde girl said "why helllooooo" which seemed a bit Ab Fab for my liking.  They sounded like just the sort of clientele the folk of Rovers Return told me I'd find here, very different from anything I'd encountered so far on this island!  As they took their champers and curry (winning combo) to a posing table and managed to get in a Harry Kane mention for about the 15th time this holiday "he's a footballing god darling, you must watch the documentary on how he reached 100 goals, it is inspiring" enthused one of the young men.  Pretty sure Manx folk are gonna bin off Mark Cavendish and adopt Harry Kane in his place by the end of 2018, well either him or Danny Graham.  True to my promise, I stuck a nice big Bushy's sticker on the wall of my booth seat.  Then the barman marched over, uh oh, was I rumbled?  "Would you like me to change your beer sir, it is the tail end of the barrel and can change it if you want?"  I said I was okay and moved my Bushy's sticker to a less prominent 'under table' position, guilty again!  I'd assumed the cloudiness was due to it being unfined or summat, it was called 'Mosaic' so you couldn't taste much over that anyway.  Credit too him.  An okay experience.

Ordering my Hooded Sham

The gang mind their horns and get ready for curry and H.Kane chat

Bushy's fight back

 Still feeling a bit forlorn, I thought this would be a good night to try out the hotel bar at Ellan Vannin, where I'd just been coming and going without seeing anyone.  As usual, some laughter and voices were coming from the bar so I strode in to find an old bloke trying to flirt with one of the hotel staff.  I asked her what was on (all beers were Hooded Ram bottle funnily enough) so I got an IPA, her favourite she says.  "I've just got something to do in the other room" she adds and disappears.   "What are you drinking?" I ask the bloke. "I'm just leaving actually!" he replies.  And for the next half an hour, I'm sat there alone, with my beer and a big jar of Fruity Pops to keep my quiet.  A fitting end to the harshest day of the holiday by far! 

Let's hope for better luck on Thursday.  At least I only had NINE pubs left to do in 1.5 days.

Si