BRAPA - Disleyland

Welcome back to Cheshire, say the local CAMRA committee

At work on Friday, people kept asking where I was going tonight.  "Disley" I told them.  Every single one of them misheard it as "Disney".

"Oh well, at least I can make a joke out of it for my blog" I eventually said to Cath (not to be confused with Cathie of recent BRAPA fame).

Sadly, it wouldn't even be an original joke, as I walked from station to pub, I spied a lively looking beer place called 'Malt Disley'.  'Haha' I laughed hollowly to myself, making a mental note that this could be a decent pre-emptive shout, brilliant name anyway.

According to my new (inferior) GBG App, my intended pub was a 0.95 mile walk from the station, but it really didn't feel that far, perhaps it was lying.

As a pub blogger in Greater Manchester, Lancashire, Merseyside and Cheshire, I'm at my most nervous.  It seems EVERYONE has an opinion or experience on what I'm doing and saying.  In rural Bedfordshire, you can write any old shit (I normally do) but in the North West, someone sees you checking in on Twitter and before you know it, it's "you mean you didn't spot the special low gravity oak cask of Holt's Mild hiding under the bar, you loser?!" or "that bloke you describe as a ginger bearded Twamra is actually my brother Geoff."

The air was getting increasingly colder and as I crossed Redhouse Lane, I was nearly run over by a gritter.  What a way to go that would've been!

1279 / 2025.  White Lion, Disley

I walked into this large square pub (with, as M.Lawrenson pointed out, a zebra logo rather than a white lion, quite confusingly) and was greeted by a smooth faced, polished young lad with pearly white teeth - he seemed new but may have seen my pained 'cold' expression as he asked if it was getting colder out there.  This was my time to shine, so I dramatically declared that the air was getting colder and I'd just seen a gritter going around the corner. "OOOOOH!" went the assembled company in perfect unison, which was basically two blokes at the bar and a small bearded grey oldster (probably the landlord) who waddled back in from somewhere unseen just at that moment.  And as per my earlier comment, one of the two bar blokes was identified on my twitter as Phil 55494 (hopefully not a robot).  I had to ask our young host for a top up, well not so much a top up but an extra half pulling in my pint.  He seemed surprised!  I was surprised he was surprised.  I sat in the corner and soon Phil 55494 and his fellow droid Dave 88188 left, meaning apart from two dining harridans, the pub was mine.  All I could do was admire some 'humourous' pub sketches from Christmas 2010 and the extreme array of pump clips.  But in BRAPA, things don't stay quiet for long and soon a 'life & soul of the party' character called Allie strode in.  "WHERE IS EVERYONE?" she boomed.  "I'm here" says bearded landlord in soft tones.  She's introduced to smooth face.  She may well have worked here too.  "WHY IS THE JUKEBOX BROKEN?" she boomed.  She didn't seem to like silence, perhaps that is when the demons start knocking?  She gave it a punch and a few angry words, and soon the Smashing Pumpkins started belting out, good work Allie.   She continued singing the chorus long after the song ceased.  "LOVE IS SUICIDE, LOVE IS SUICIDE, LOVE IS SUUUIIIICIIIIDDE!" she boomed.  I pride myself on exiting BRAPA pubs "swiftly and with style".  So my next move, getting my foot wedged between chair and table and almost tumbling over wasn't good in an empty pub.  The landlord pretended not to notice, smooth-face looked embarrassed for me, Allie, silent for once, looked at me like you'd look at a dying puppy.  Thank goodness I'll never return.  Good pub nonetheless.

Phil 55494 and friend, post 'oooooh' moment

Consecutive GBG entries mean I'll be annoyed if it ain't in next year!

So, plenty of time left before the train and as I thought, not really much more than 5 mins back into the heart of Disley.  Time to pop in this Malt Disley place and see if it does real ale and can be classed as a pre-emptive?  

Malt Disley, Disley

At least I could answer Allie's 'where is everyone?' question from earlier, as they all seemed to be in here!  And one lengthways table between entrance and bar required everyone to temporarily move off it to allow any newcomers to get to the bar, such was the tight squeeze!  This place had the friendly Friday evening atmosphere you'd hope to find west of the Pennines, and helpful barmaids presided over me and my fellow bar blockers very effectively (well, there was nowhere to go).  Plenty of handpumps meant this looked like a good decision, and after recommending a stout to one guy, we got chatting on the time he slipped in the snow and banged his head - one of those tales I wanted to laugh at but had to be polite.  Another chap complained he couldn't read the alcohol percentages under the 'low lights' (it was proper bright spotlights!)  I told him the strongest one as he wanted a half to finish with, it was named after a local 'Elvis' tribute act but he didn't seem to believe me when I told him the name of it (which I've now forgotten).  I told him I promised to back him up when he ordered it so he didn't feel like a fool!  So he summonsed a barmaid over and asked "do you have a beer called blah blah blah?", she looked confused so I interjected and said "yes you do", so she turned the pump around and said "oh, you mean the ELVIS?"  "THAT'S NOT WHAT IT'S CALLED!" I exclaimed, exasperated.  The old bloke really distrusted me by now, and she didn't appreciate the outburst, meaning my plans to order 'Ploughmans in a Bag' (only the best quality UK pubs sell these, see Big Six in Halifax) were put on hold.  It was time to catch the train anyway, great little place this. 

My stout which would become a conversation starter

Man falls into standby mode and has to be switched back on

Men loving it, even if they are at the 'have to move for newcomers' table

Hanging with my new mates at the bar

 I took the train back via Manchester and L**ds, but serious delays due to some incident between Stalybridge and Huddersfield made me an hour late home, as we had to link up with another train at Stalybridge, and make an unscheduled stop at Dewsbury which no one approved of.  I was joined by a crazy gang of drag queen loving 19 year old party girls which was as terrifying as it sounds, and not long to recover before my Brummie trip on the Saturday.

Still, a great tick to get done as it comes under Cheshire, a county I'm determined to finish by late summer and progress this year has been very slow so far, not yet managing ONE Saturday there in 2018 but it's not through want of trying I can tell you.  

Si  

    

BRAPA - Piccadilly Calypso Special

When my workplace (the good old Yorkshire Bank) kindly decided they'd be sending me down to the Piccadilly Circus branch to learn a new system (which we already use) called Calypso, I made sure they put on a later train back to allow for some evening BRAPA time.  After all, five of my remaining six Central London pubs were all very walkable from there.

I travelled down with Rotherham's favourite stylish mod, Dave Beckett, making his second BRAPA appearance, whilst I handed a debut to Project Leader Cathie West.

Being Northerners, we were seated in a dusty corner of the second floor office, next to a stationery cupboard featuring a rat trap and a bike:

After a series of visitors made cameo appearances, showing us various parts of the system, it was soon 4pm and we said goodbye to the main man Luis Sierra and headed for the pubs.

I was still getting used to the slightly less good new style GBG App so told them to bear with me, our first pub was a mere 0.2 mile walk though it felt longer.  I'd tried coming here 10am on a Sunday last year, but it was closed, despite the GBG claims to the contrary.   It was open this time:

Cathie, me and three BRAPA photobombers

1276 / 2022.  Crown, Soho

I'm quite liking my Nicholson's pubs (when the ale is well kept), and this one had a nice sleepy midweek afternoon feel, and it's true you could feel the history, something I struggle with when London is heaving on a Saturday.  Cathie, making her BRAPA debut, decided to buy the first round and Dave got his customary Carling, something that sets him aside from most BRAPA visitors.  Cathie made the cardinal error of ordering a bag of peanuts.  I told her about my allergy, and she felt so guilty, she didn't eat them.  She hadn't eaten all day I don't think, so I would've felt guilty had I been a bit softer in the head.  When me and Dave headed out earlier to try and find a lunchtime pie, she should've joined us, but didn't, and as it was, all we found was goat curry, falafels and vegan muck.  You wouldn't get that in Rotherham.  Dave had been squinting at the guy along the bench from me in the corner, and he messaged me on the sly to say it was a Klaxon.  I turned slyly, expected to see a giant pink mouse sat next to me. But I was confused, I'd been thinking of the Clangers.  The Klaxons are in fact a band, and this beardo was the lead singer.  Solid pub, good beer, can't complain.

Cathie looks appalled as I consider the Doom Bar

Cathie does the honours on her BRAPA debut

 It looked like I'd planned the route, as pub two was just up the road ......

1277 / 2023.  Old Coffee House, Soho

This one looked promising from the outside, and it was even better in, with the roaring fire at the far end, lots of great decor mainly war themed, mirrors, dark brown wood, shiny brassy things and Brodies beers, namely a bit of a 'best of' when it comes to the London pub.  Oh, and the loudest hand dryer in the world which ripped the skin off Dave's hands and made the whole pub shake when used.  Barmaid was friendly in a mouse-like way (but not a Clanger), we admired an old 'clocking in/clocking off' device which somehow led to rants about how the bank handled last weeks Beast from the East situation, and generally it was such an impressive pub hubbub, I don't have any more to add, for once.  Just be grateful!

As a 'treat', I let Dave walk up Carnaby Street as made it to our next pub.  I thought he'd enjoy it, but seeing all these shops selling the sort of stuff he likes that I wouldn't let him go in (no shopping allowed mid BRAPA*) proved a bit tortuous for the poor lad.

Our next pub was to prove our last, but I was interested to get it done, as perhaps the only GBG description that's included the words 'escort agency' and 'stilton' in the description!

Dave poses to the right of the ghosts of the Kray brothers

1278 / 2024.  Windmill, Mayfair

The beer pump spluttered, a bit hit me in the eye, and the jolly young barman cheerfully told us it'd gone off which I'd kind of guessed.  Reminds me, my first choice in the Crown had gone off too, meaning only my Brodie's Stout was the one I really wanted!  Dave was paying for this round, and before he knew what was happening, he was handed a card machine.  "Errrm, I'm paying in cash!" says Dave.  "Woah, old school!" replies our friendly host, which especially made me chuckle after recent conversation with Sir Quinno regarding cash vs card pub payments on Saturday.  Dave just thought the bloke was barking mad.  Again, we took our 1.5 ales a 1.0 lager towards the back of the pub, where the pubs obsession with pies became apparent, with adverts and pictures everywhere.  I felt this pub lacked the charm of the other two somewhat, not rubbish, just couldn't quite get that same sense of atmosphere and history.  Remember, I'm a 'pub whisperer' and the walls weren't talking to me on this occasion.

Time had slipped on alarming quickly, as it tends to do when you are in pubs, so with the next closest a good 10-15 min walk, we called it a day and headed back to Kings Cross for our respective York/L**ds trains but not before Dave had found his fave off license for some train cans (I got 2 cans of Pride).

It was a good three pub boost, as I'm really trying to keep my 'pub a day' run going this month.  13 pubs in 13 days at close of play.  Still on course.  

Si

* Exceptions to this rule include historic law that says when doing BRAPA in Windsor, a purchase in Boots is mandatory.  Also, in Brighton, the purchasing of fruit teas is acceptable but slightly frowned upon.  In Oxford, extortionately priced olives or cheese may be bought from a market, but only in summer.  Rules do not apply once final pub of day is done.  Does not include pies, pasties,  similar snacks and beer.

BRAPA - West London Boosters (Part 2/2)

When you're a fledgling twild, having your booster jabs is a necessary evil you just have to deal with.  In adulthood, if you have grown into a Good Beer Guide ticker, the equivalent is West London.

I left you in part 1 hot-footing it back across the M4 from Harlington into Hayes for my third pub of the day.

This was my second trip to a Hayes pub in my life, the first being a random Irish pub before an FA Cup tie on 20th November 1999, and I was a Guinness drinker at the time.  The slowest walking frailest old pub man ever was in, the landlord helped him to his table and warned him "... and no foighting ya bugger!"  It's something me and Dad remember to this day, I described the experience as "BallyK : Late" showing the pub blogging gene was already there 15 years before BRAPA! 

Surely this unimpressive looking 'Spoons on the High Street wasn't going to be so memorable?

Looking a bit moody and gloomy

1273 / 2019.  Botwell Inn, Hayes

Of course it was going to be memorable, what was I thinking?!  This is BRAPA, where weird shit happens.  (That could be my slogan).  I entered to find a semi-circle of people, with camera phones out, laughing anxiously.  "What's going on?" I said to the nearest person, a bearded man who replied in a reassuringly thick Irish accent something about 'head shaving for charity'.  A lady who obviously worked there and claimed "I don't like being the centre of attention" was about 40% of the way through the procedure.  I skirted around the bar and used a Mudgie voucher to get a 5.1% Black IPA for £1.75, and gorgeous it was too, though I note my Mudgie vouchers are scrutinised a lot more closely than my own batch - like they have a strange Stockport infrared dye on them that only Wetherspoons staff can see.  I took my pint to a table as far away from the head shaving gang as possible, though I was roped into the raffle draw.  "But I live in York!" I exclaimed, remembering those Scousers in Newport Pagnall who won a cow-load of meat a few months back.  "It's okay luv, check our facebook page later for the results".  I did.  They didn't appear.  I obviously won.  Nice cosy community 'Spoons atmosphere here, I may have been seeing it at its best but the lowish roof helped, ale was top quality, and apart from my ridiculous sneezing fit (I've never produced so much snot in one pub sitting), this was another good Hayes pub experience, over 17 years later! 

The aim now was to get back on the train and head towards Paddington, hopping off where needed for various pubs.  So I jumped off at West Ealing, but then disaster struck as the old style Good Beer Guide App finally stopped working, and had to be replaced by the new one.

It was a day I knew had been coming for months, that dreaded 'upgrade' to something that looked more complicated.  If it ain't broke, don't fix it.  App developers have never been taught that valuable lesson.

Suffering a crisis of confidence, I cut short my attempted walk to the Grosvenor at Hanwell (something the pub's twitter account picked up on and told me off about in a jokey way!), recovered in the loos of Waitrose, and hopped back on to Ealing Broadway where the North Star was at least, virtually unmissable.

1274 / 2020.  North Star, Ealing

I must confess my initial thought was 'oh no, I've been here before' when I entered this bare boarded cavernous loud vibrant youth hole, with bar through to the right, but no, I was thinking of the Ealing Park Tavern at South Ealing.  Am sure an Ealing regular could tell me they are nothing alike, but for a hazy (or is that Hayesy?  hahaha, sorry) one-off visitor, they seemed to have many similarities.  At the bar, more confusion as the ultra popular Doom Bar had been turned around leaving a gorgeous Kirkstall ale on, but the southerners were treating it with the disdain anything from Yorkshire deserves.  Speaking of which, wherever I went, a large clearing seemed to form around me.  At 38 years old, I was the oldest, most haggard, snotty creature in the building.  The plus side of this was a huge table for about twelve was available just for me, but not before I'd seen the surprising sight of glamorous young ladies dressed up to the nines, playing cards.  It made me look twice (at the cards of course), jeez, I wonder when they got their dominoes out (don't say it Russtovich, just don't!)   Some Welshmen seemed to be challenging each other to drink as much as possible but I'm not sure that's particularly note-worthy.  Anyway, the majority of the pub did what I could never do and got excited by the Six Nations egg-chasing, only when I went to the bogs did I realise there was a quiet room free from the clamour of the front two rooms.  It was all a bit too much mid-afternoon!

Onwards and upwards then, or North Acton to be precise.  I've been to an interesting pub in Acton once before, but I won't bore you with that story today having already done the Hayes one.  

Not far from the station down a slope, as I was still getting to grips with this silly new App, was what would turn out to be my fifth and final pub of the day.

1275 / 2020.  Castle, North Acton

A bit like the White Hart in Harlington, the second impressively sturdy Fullers house of the day and again I walked in to see a choice of either London Pride or the 'Spring Sprinter' which I had in Harlington.  With it being an island bar, and a thankfully quiet calm one after the trials of Ealing, I decided to have a wander, see if anything else was on.  It was no Falcon at Clapham Junction, but after a short trek, I found a line of three pumps, this time including 'Under Current' by Siren Craft.  "Oooh that sounds different, I've try that!" I say to the barman who has walked over with a nervous look on his face.  "Sorry, it's just gawn orf" he replies rather too quickly with a hint of the Dot Cotton.  Now for all you 'Curb Your Enthusiasm' fans, this was where I channelled my inner Larry David and stared all around his face, finally convincing myself he wasn't being entirely truthful.  He should really have said "it's not on yet", I mean why else would the handpump not be turned around?  Don't get me wrong, my Pride was "drinking well" as the experts say, and from my raised seat, a 'punk wall' offered some comfort but everything was soured as I constantly glared at the bar, waiting for the local Twamra woodland folk to waltz in with their Morris dancing garb and sci-fi t-shirts and get free pints of the Under Current and look all bloody superior.  Am sure I've been in this situation before, just not sure where or when.  But it ruined an otherwise okay West London pub experience.

"It's just not on, is it?"

Punk wall offers solace

Raised area allows me to peer down and be judgey like jesus

I then made a total mess of trying to get back to Kings Cross, and I don't know how.  I knew I had to jump off at Oxford Circus to change, which I did quite comfortably, but then all I could see was 'Central' Line, where the heck was the Victoria line?  Eventually, a member off staff told me "go up to street level and come back down again".  Well, that's not going to work is it?  But it did.  And I don't know how.  

I got the train to York with minutes to spare, so I had a quick half a Plum Porter in York Tap to celebrate with a chap called Leon who is called 'Sloppy' by everyone else!  

He told me he was quite new to real ale but was getting a taste for it, but couldn't really handle it like he could all other alcohol.  His gf worked at the GBG listed Falcon Tap so he told her what I did BRAPA-wise over phone, she said CAMRA was 'all old men', I said 'oh well', he said 'do you want a pint?', I said "oh you don't have to .... oh go on then!" he left, nice chap, I drank it and reflected on a good day, shame I didn't get my six quota, but I'd be back in London sooner than you think so join me for Tuesday fun! 

Oh, and what I forgot to tell you, at beginning of the day, 11am, I tried to go to this GBG entry:

It wasn't open when it was supposed to be, I wasn't too sad as I'd only have 19 mins to enjoy its charms, bonus points if you can identify it.  

Si

 

BRAPA - Farewell to Bucks & a West London Boost

I'd been making a bit of a meal out of getting to the end of my Buckinghamshire pub ticking challenge, but on Saturday 10th March at 12:10, it was finally over!

Relief the overriding emotion, it hasn't been a thrilling county to complete, a bit like Bedfordshire with less Greene King.  Of course, I will remember the pubs I really enjoyed.  The Stratton Arms in Turweston for example, the Black Boy at Oving, the George & Dragon at Quainton, the Wheel at Naphill.  I could go on,  but there were still more Olde Swan's at Woughton on the Green, Eight Bells in Long Crendon and Pointers in Brill for my liking. 

And this final pub sadly fell into the latter category.  It was like everything I disliked about Bucks pubs had come together to 'see me off' for one final time.  I was behind schedule too, having booked today's tickets thinking I was going to Cambridge, so hopped in a taxi to make up some ground from Marlow just north of town to Burroughs Hill, past the Rebellion brewery.  I'd have been killed trying to walk it. 

My taxi driver told me he liked this pub, so when we arrived, I lied and said it looked 'lovely' (all the while thinking what Matthew Lawrenson would say about the pub font) in the hope he let me off the fare - he didn't:

1271 / 2017.  Three Horseshoes, Marlow

Once inside, I had to wait to be served as two women with a huge buggy asked after their reserved table in the name of 'Lizzie'.  "Oh, a table for six?"  "No, a table for two".  Confused looks followed.  Was the buggy so big, it was really the equivalent of four people?  Probably.  The beer range was healthy and very Rebellion as you might expect, and very good quality, thus (somehow) justifying it's inclusion in the Good Beer Guide(!)  The lad who served me seemed shocked when I said "no I'm not paying by card, I'm paying by cash".  He looked at me with contempt, and as I used a tenner, he delightedly gave me a fist full of change with no apology.  Those coins have probably been in that till untouched for the last decade.  Orkney's favourite adopted son Sir Quinno tells me they'll be a 'card only' pub in the GBG next year, what is the world coming to?  I turned to sit near the door so I could make a quick getaway.  In the room next to me, fake bookcase wallpaper.  In front of me, random piles of logs serving no purpose.  Ember Inn style patterned cushions blocked every seat.  There was a plaque beyond with the inscription "Reg's Corner", probably a tribute to some old local regular character who's now carked it.  Sure he'd be horrified to learn his corner is no longer a corner, just a seat in the dining area.  A twild called Rhys came in with his grandparents.  He spied the dog bowl next to me, and decided he wanted it to be his new paddling pool.  He was told to behave.  A couple sat opposite me and almost smiled, the lady with good skin told her bald Greg Wallace style companion about her Mum's nervous condition, causing her to freak out over some lambs lettuce earlier that morning.  I had a bus to catch.  Bucks complete.

My final Bucks pint til at least 2035

Random piles of logs 

How ghastly darling

Bucks is all greened out

After a jolly little bus ride, a change at evil Maidenhead (which I could talk about at greater length but won't), I arrived at a stop called "Hayes & Harlington" which I'd been vaguely thinking about for a while because there's a required pub in each place.

Harlington looked furthest away, and a good 25 minute walk crossing the intimidating M4 followed, but thankfully the pub was at the 'north end' of the town saving my legs further punishment (my ankle which I don't like to talk about is almost 100% again now I'm glad to report).  

The pub was standing there, larger than life being all Grade II listed and Fullersy with some quality evening entertainment coming Harlington's way:

1272 / 2018.  White Hart, Harlington

"One step behind" could also go to the staff, as I had the longest wait in a BRAPA pub this year, and yes that does include any Wetherspoons.  But that's unfair of me.  I did myself no favours, standing behind a particularly chunky wooden pillar.  The barmaid, the only member of staff on a busy bar, was doing her level best, but didn't have x-ray vision, and even if she did, this pillar would surely still get the better of her.  When a twild wailed from beyond out to the left of the pub, I thought nothing of it but a miserable old git at the bar told the barmaid to 'get something done about THAT' which she promptly did, the child wasn't heard again!  Would love to know what she did, but she returned to the bar to be told "good girl" by the MOG which am sure was a great boost to her confidence(!)  By now, I had that pleading "please please pour me a pint, anything, Pride'll do it!" look in my eyes, I ended up with some guest thing, and walked over to the right hand side where everyone was European and had big bags - perhaps waiting for a flight from nearby Heathrow?  I quite liked this pub, it straddled 'foodie and proper local' as well as anywhere probably could in West London, and I was impressed.  As two smiley men from Spain and Poland called Jerry Vasquez-Grabowski (I made that up) admired each others footwear, I necked my beer as I had an even longer walk back to Hayes and the clock was already ticking, and I needed to!

A pint of something Fuller's

He's got lime green on the soles of his shoes (and I'm jealous)

Another landmark had been achieved in all the chaos, my 2018th pub that had ever been in the Good Beer Guide, one for every year since Jesus carked it. Cheers JC!  Back to Hayes then, which I'll tell you about with the other pubs I visited, tomorrow at the slightly earlier time of 6pmish.

Si

  

BRAPA - Si's Kitchen Nightmares Day 4 - Shipton

It seemed very strange getting a bus from outside York station to a BRAPA pub, just a few miles away.  This was the GBG pub closest to my house I'd still to visit, having of course done all the York ones, Bishopthorpe and Acaster Malbis. 

A crazy morning snowstorm had threatened to call the whole thing off, but it was melted by 2pm and the sun was still out as I waited for the delayed X31 to arrive. 

Proving what a small world it is, iconic 'outer York' legends got on the same bus in the shape of a mother & daughter duo, once dubbed "the saddest bitches in York", I believe by an Australian woman.  They seem like they should have their own cosy crime drama on ITV, and today they said that their day had been so hilarious, that if they were stand-comics, they'd have a lifetimes worth of material  But they aren't comedians, and the bus rolled their eyes and gritted teeth as the guffawing carried on interminably until an old man pressed a bell which stopped right outside the pub.

1270 / 2016.  Dawnay Arms, Shipton-by-Beningbrough

This pub has remarkably limited opening hours for a pub on the busy main A19 north of York, and had only just opened at 17:30 when I walked in.  This was a real "monkey off my back pub tick", closed on both of the two previous occasions I'd tried getting in.  And on the evening of Friday 28th August 2015, I was all set to go the following day, only for a GBG privilege club member to get the new Guide before me and tell me it was no longer in, so I changed my mind last minute.  There was already an old local with an air of Roy Orbison about him (if Roy had amazing taste in jumpers), asking the friendly landlady for a second pint of Budweiser, I'd forgotten how pissy that beer looks.  He must've drank his first in about six minutes.  The ale choice was either John Smith's Cask or a local Treboom, so I went latter.  To the landlady's credit, she came over 5 minutes later to check if it was okay, as was bottom of the barrel, but it seemed fine (you could be cruel and say 'hard to tell with Treboom ales').  Where to sit was a toss up between a dark chilly looking raised area to the left (complete with that most horrific pub feature, 'fake bookcase wallpaper'), or the more dining right hand side, with a fire, so I went for the latter though the fire wasn't as roaring as it initially looked.   I suddenly thought I smelt vinegar, uh oh, but it was actual vinegar on the table rather than my pint.  Suddenly the peace was shattered as four young lads came in, with their Peaky Blinders hairstyles and Millennial Premier League Bantz culture.  You'd think pubs would suit them, but it took them all of 5 minutes to decide how to order a round of drinks.  "Shall we all order steaks?" said the small one excitedly.  "I think we should 'go through' first" said the cautious burly one.  By 'going through', they meant three side steps from bar to ''dining area' where they sat opposite me and bitched about a work colleague called Liam who'd apparently been skiving work saying he had a bad cold, but he'd had a window open next to him all day.  Damning stuff I'm sure you'll all agree(!)   They all left, just before me, not one steak was harmed in the ticking of this pub, and personally if you must go to a Dawnay Arms, pick the Newton-on-Ouse version ahead of this. 

The pub seems to have turned me into a Zombie

A fire emitting a small amount of heat

The bus turned up like a well-behaved little bus should, and back in York, I walked to one of my faves the Swan, to meet my friends for a swift half or two.  I sat in the heritage room which is less good than the non-Heritage room!  As always, the pub was blighted by bar blockers of the highest order, but the 'West Riding layout' makes it a bit of a classic.

I left them early to go home and check on the kitchen progress, and was amazed to see it finished!

So no need for a 5th BRAPA evening in a row on the Friday, just chance to get settled back in and rest up for my Bucks/London day on the Saturday which I'll write about soon.

Si