BRAPA - Chuckle Time with Chantry (A Rotherham Tale of Hope)

Despite having polished off all South Yorkshire Good Beer Guide entries for the 2017/18 BRAPA season many months ago, a Tuesday night after work trip to watch my hapless Hull City visit those Miserable Merry Millers of Rotherham provided too enticing to miss.

I took an hours 'flexi' time at work, met Father BRAPA on the 15:15 train, and we arrived in the second best major place in South Yorkshire (after Barnsley), surprised to see that by dint of a huge coincidence, Rugby League scumbadgers Hull F.C. were also in town (probably):

One for later perhaps?

For now, we headed to Cutlers Arms.  I always call it Chantrys by mistake, as these are the brewery who make their ales.  I did so this afternoon and confused Tom Irvin, who was joining us shortly.  The reason for the revisit to Cutlers is that last time I did it was post-match, depths of winter, rushed and chaotic.  I was aware I was in a beautiful pub, but just couldn't appreciate it. 

Plus, the pre-emtpive Micropubs Tom had identified were all a bus ride out in places like Broom.

Cutler's Arms, Rotherham

Oh yes, in these more mellow late afternoon surroundings, you could appreciate the full beauty of the pub with the green tiling, mosaic floors, curved woody bits, stunning old windows.  Grade II listed of course, a must visit for any pub lover.  But of course, being BRAPA, something less than satisfactory would have to interfere with all this.  Dad went to get a seat and I squeezed between the throngy old codgers to get us to pints of Chantry something (tried 5, all gorgeous).  What could go wrong, I appeared to be the next person waiting for a drink.  But to my right, some cod-eyed interloper (we can guess where he's from) started asking questions about non-alcoholic beer.  Not the time or the place!  The barmaid, all alone, had to depart the bar to go to the back of a dusty old cellar, bringing back three cans of non alcoholic Bud.  Then he ordered snacks, and some proper beer for his friends.  Took ages!  Dad must've been ready to send out a search party.  And when I did get served, she twice clarified "do you mean TWO pints, or one TWO pint glass?"  Was I going mad?  2 pints, I told her.  Admitted I hadn't heard of the two pint glass phenomenon before. "Oh yeh" she says "saves you queuing at the bar".  Strange.  Is this a common pub thing?  I'm guessing not, 2,220 overall pubs into my challenge, I've heard about pitchers, fishbowls and other novelty drinking things in party lagery sports bar places, but this seemed a bit different.  Dad, to his immense credit, had got a superb seat in a backroom that remained quiet even when the hoards came in, we could even get served from here.  Tom arrived of course.  And we had a reet good session, 2 lots of pukka pies, mushy peas, gravy and 2 pints for £10. I even put some Henderson's Relish on my peas in the absence of mint sauce.  Probably a 'bar-able ' offence, but I did it on the sly.  And however busy it got, service was wonderful after that early hiccup, even if the barmaid's voices were the loudest in BRAPA history since Ribs of Beef, Norwich, 2007.   Classic pub this, friendly folk too the Rotherham fans, don't believe the lies, it's jealous Sheff folk brainwashing you, get yourself down here.

Empties before kick off

And the sense of well-being only increased as Hull City won 3-2, enjoy it while you can, victories will be few and far between unless we snare someone amazing before the Friday loan transfer window closes like Victor Anichebe, that kid from Fleetwood or Jon French. 

Time for a post-match celebratory pint before the train back to L**ds?  Well, there nearly wasn't as we walked into the usually superb Bridge to find absolutely zero members of staff and an impatient queue of football fans just not budging.  Then, the Gooligans arrived and I knew our hopes of being served were even slimmer, so one bright spark (can't remember who) suggested The Trades (designated away pub for 'Hull F.C') and we gave this purple lighted empty (except for one cod-eyed bloke) WMC style place a try. 

No queuing at the bar here, as Tom & Dad investigate (a bit like Saint & Greavesie)

The Trades, Rotherham

You couldn't really call this a pre-emptive due to the zero cask beer on offer, but who knows in the future?  Probably will be knocked into ten different craft 'units', each serving their own branded murk from under a nearby railway arch, each getting in the 2030 GBG (my fave will be called 'Feed the Goat', worst will be the 'Fortune-West Canteen Hole').  So, Stones keg it was, and by jove, I'm not being contrary or saying it for comedy value when I say it slipped down beautifully, and me and Dad both felt like it'd been some health restorative.  Like drinking a glass of freshly squeezed orange, by the time we got the train, we felt clearer headed, rehydrated, it was really quite bizarre!  The room was large, you could imagine it being brilliant for functions and events on a busy Sunday afternoon.  With tribute acts like "Reyt Against T'Machine", I can only imagine how joyous it can be.  Tom rightly felt this was the perfect time to have our BRAPA toast to the late great Alan Winfield, pub ticker extraordinaire not bound by GBG restrictions.  We imagine he'd have been a fan of such a place anyway from his various often hilarious extensive pub trips to 'real' towns such as Rotherham.  As Whitney blasted out "I Wanna Dance with Somebody", it was time to sup up and leave but this had been a surprisingly positive experience.

Perfection (an' I aren't joking pal)

I wonder if the Carling was beautiful too?

Alreet Jimi lad

So, that was a quite wonderful night for zero pub ticks!  I'm not going to the Derby home fixture in the next round of the Carabao by the way, I'm all Hull City Tuesday nighted out for now.

Join me later tonight for tales of Newcastle-under-Lyme.  For now, time to watch Neighbours and have lunch, don't ya love Bank Holidays? 

Si

BRAPA - Don't Miss Marple Bridge

So to re-cap the first part of Saturday 18^th Aug, we’d finished Glossop, and we’d done the two entries in Hayfield.  The ‘main event’ was almost upon us.

The reason for my later start to the day than usual was that one of my pubs was a 4:30pm opener, even on a Saturday!  Madness.   I left the George Hotel in Hayfield at 4:05pm, and a 29 minute walk took west out of the village, through Birch Vale and onto the edge of Thornsett, where the pub was situated.

1465 / 2211.  Printers Arms, Birch Vale

Walking in at 4:34pm to find the pub occupied by two middle aged ale blokes with tiny boutique dogs should have been notable enough, but it was the fact they were three quarters of the way down their pints that most piqued my curiosity.  Fast drinkers indeed if this pub HAD opened at 4:30pm (it obviously hadn’t).  I said a brief hello, but was disappointed to note the incredibly bored barmaid was of the P.I.S.S. variety, with an element of an early porcelain Hermione Grainger.   The pub had something of that ‘rural farmers village pub of old’ with wood burner and all the usual muck, but when “We’re Going to Ibiza” blasted out at a fair volume, it was even harder to feel nostalgic for a time I never knew, instead reminiscing on a twildhood trip to Ibiza.  The bigger of the two mini dogs, Ricky, danced on two hind legs.  A big fan obviously.  The second dog (perhaps called Stumpy) was so small it sat in his owners lap the entire time and slept.  These dogs weren’t suited to these men, or this pub scenario, it was a bit out of kilter.  When customer no.4, a man in a purple polo top arrived, I was determined to take him to my heart so we exchanged friendly ‘hellos’.  He knew the others, perked up the whole atmosphere, and rescued the barmaid’s lame attempts to swat flies with some dramatic swooshes and swipes, killing the little blighters dead.  She finally smiled, I knew she had it in her!   Hull City had lost at home to Blackburn though, so my mood wasn’t great anyway……

Spot the dog

Blurry live coverage of dancing dog

Fly swatted in pink, and there's the smile we've been waiting for!

 But on a more positive note, I’d had a late ‘Eureka!’ moment in here.  Desperate to get my six pubs in today, I noted only the Godley Hall (listed under Hyde) was handy for the train line back.  Otherwise, I’d need another 1.5 mile walk to the other outer Hyde pub (Cheshire Cheese), OR get off at Guide Bridge and have a similar walk to the two Denton pubs.  I didn’t fancy it.

But then I noticed New Mills station was now closer to me than Hayfield, and the next stop on that line was at Marple where I had at least two pubs still to do.  Hurrah!

So on a different train line, I hoped not to get ‘gripped’ by the guard for that one stop.  But I bloody did!  My train ticket no longer valid you see now I’d changed route.

Once in Marple though, I realised the two closest pubs were listed under Marple Bridge, with the two Marple pubs closer to ‘Rose Hill’ whatever that is.  Hope you are keeping up!

Typically mean and moody low clouds of South Manc

A 10-15 minute trek through Marple Bridge found me at the furthest of the two listed pubs:

1466 / 2112.  Spring Gardens, Marple Bridge

A dirty old building with the kind of comedy sign, font and words like ‘emporium’ and ‘eatery’ came into view as I approached, and I wondered what the ‘eckie thump lay within.   Nowhere near as quirky or micropubby as I was imagining, in fact a heart shaped sign for ‘Gluten Free Peroni’ was the first thing I saw as a series of attractive blonde ladies whizzed around, and eyed my pub photo taking with a healthy suspicion (at one point I crumbled and made a show of photographing my pint, just to create the illusion I was only interested in beer).  The ale I ordered from friendly ‘luv’ calling barmaid was a ‘Shooting Stars’ but only cos the pump clip seemed to show Ant & Dec rather than Vic & Bob.  It was one of the better pints of the day I must add.  Oh yes, I was in that South Manchester belt where anything other than well above average beer quality does not seem to be tolerated, so one consolation at least when the places themselves fail to thrill you.   The scene was dominated by a group of 4, a Mum, short skirted daughter, a quieter bloke, and the loud tall one who blocked out all the light and had a humourous anecdote for every occasion.   He wore the kind of crocs that you only expect to see in a Tiverton micropub.   He must’ve done 80% of the talking, highlight for me was when he did an impression of a fly buzzing around.  Good job he wasn’t in Birch Vale, he might’ve been swatted. 

Definitely Ant and Dec

I only took this photo out of guilt

Another well received anecdote delivered by the tallest man in Marple Bridge

During my time in the Spring Gardens staring into space wondering why the toilets insisted on calling everyone Foolish (something to do with a brewery), local twitter ledge Andrew McWilliam told me about a great pre-emptive shout across the road *IF* I could fit it in. 

Well, I’d had my morning banana so my ability to consume an extra pint of beer was not in question as I headed in to what I’d probably rate as my favourite pub of the day …..

Northumberland Arms, Marple Bridge

A timely reminder of what I love about pubs in that Greater Manchester section of the GBG (even if it isn’t one ….. YET!) I wandered in, all tight and multi roomed and dimly lit, the carpet seemed to kind of hug you as you stepped through like it was reassuring you to come inside, but that could’ve just been the amount of beer I’d drunk by now!  I wanted to get served through this little hatch, but a man I recognised from Spring Gardens (now wife-less) was not letting me past, so I had no choice but to apologetically duck my way past the blokes lining the main bar, eyes glued to the tail-end some Premier League nonsense, and whisper my order through to the friendly barmaid, one of those who I’m sure has served me in at least 25% of the GBG pubs I’ve done to date.   Then I saw another bloke from Spring Gardens, and then, and I’m sure it was him, Mr Anecdote who’d blocked all the light out.  He  was far too tall for this pub, but like the hatch-blocker, he’d ditched the lady folk and the other bloke to come in here.  He didn’t do his fly impression which was sad.  As the game finished, a visiting man left and the locals patronised him with a “keep on supporting United” comment, slagging him off no doubt as soon as he left.  I’d perched low down near the bar, desperate to be right in the hub of this little gem, and soon got talking to a bloke and the barmaid about BRAPA, showing them my GBG.  They were semi-amused, but for the first time today, I was with folk approachable enough to show my true colours!  And that is surely the sign of a classic.

I’d not even mentioned the dog getting strangled, the rubbish Arsenal fan with the slow mind and obscure quote “oooooh, oreo thins are an omen!”

A Man Utd fan about to be patronised

Downloading the Oreo Thins app

Dog strangling incident, our third of 2018

As I remembered I still had another pub to do here in Marple Bridge back towards the station (ugh, I was starting to feel it by now).  I remembered when I’d said “the best thing any independent pub ticker can do is find the Stockport CAMRA pub of the year, take a shit on the middle of the carpet, if it has one, which it perhaps doesn’t, and if you can still be respected, you’ve made it”.  I had no idea what I meant then, and I still don’t know what it means now.  But I had a point, whatever that was.

This next pub seemed to be receiving mixed reviews on my twitter, so I was determined to refocus, feeling like David Attenborough as I peered through the hedge at the outdoor drinkers…..

1467 / 2113.  Norfolk Arms, Marple Bridge

From Northumberland to Norfolk then in record time, and the blackboard by the front door screaming “Artisan Food, Coffee, Cocktails” was perhaps a warning not to expect more Northumberlandy unfiltered pub heaven.  Each word, like stab through my pubby heart.  The outdoor drinkers had already had that vaguely annoying middle class ‘I’m sitting out here to be seen’ whiff of Ember about them.  Inside, the pub was one of those saunas with beermats, all wood and furniture cluttered around at weird angles making you feel that wherever you’d choose to sit would still be unsatisfactory.  Staff were efficient, beer was good and plenty of ale was being pulled considering the prosecco looking crowds.  People seemed to be wandering around the pub randomly, with no direction to or from the bar.  Atmosphere-wise, it didn’t feel too different to Bakers Vaults in Stockport, yet it didn’t quite have the same order and organisation.  In the end, I too decided sitting outside was best,  sadly having to have my back to everyone.  A wendy house looked bigger than some micropubs I’ve visited this year, and twild life played hide and seek around my table, parents too wasted to try and keep them under control.  But I honestly didn’t resent it!  Hope I’m not getting soft in my old age.  A strange place, all a bit of a mish mash.

CAMRA pub of the year, 2032

Back in Manchester, I had 40 mins til the next York train.  Ugh, but one of my favourite station pubs of all, and one of the most underrated I may add, was calling my name.  It’d been a while.

Bull’s Head, Manchester – CLASSIC REVISIT

Yes, much better to go down the escalator and out of the less obvious exit at Piccadilly then pay £6 a pint in the metallic ‘Tap’ or chaotic ‘Spoons.  Despite being a Marston’s pub which isn’t a GBG regular and being just over the road from one of the busiest stations in the UK, there is something ridiculously traditional, quirky and homely about the Bull’s Head, and I’ve been 5 or 6 times now and always something is going on.  Today, a bloke across the bar tells the barmaid I’m CID.  She asks me if it is true.  When I say I’m not, she says we’ll pretend you are anyway, so I do but can’t keep a straight face when he starts looking worried.  I sit on my favourite side of the pub near the stairs up to the loo “Jamie’s Snug” but the 50 year old couple next to me are snogging so much, I can hear their tongues squelching and nearly puke into my Pedigree, which was drinking well to this point.  It’s a good job I’m as tight as an owl by now!  And I can’t sneak out either, as 4 blokes are singing Sweet Caroline really loudly and dancing around the front door, blocking it.  I chance it and one tries to take my hand and spin me around, so I pat his arm gingerly and say “ha, have a good one!” and squeeze myself into the chilly night air.  Phew!  What a whirlwind. 

CID accuser in suit at the end

Bag and drinks of the smoochers

 And that was that.   Wrecked!  August goes on, the 2019 GBG draws ever closer.  I'll be back tomorrow for a quick Rotherham update and a full Newcastle-under-Lyme and Scarborough review.

Si 

BRAPA - Lip Up Gloss-Op & Hayfield Hotels (Part 1 of 2)

Saturday 18th Auguest saw another opportunity to mop-up some of those North Derbyshire pubs (and a few south of Manchester), what with Hull City having a home game against Blackburn which sounded about as appealing as a 4 night stay in an Aylesbury Ember Lodge (if such a thing exists). 

A German lady on the train, who'd tried to sit on my shoulder at least three times (just call me Long Si Silver) had already worried me, as had a Twild-led family who kept threatening to get off at places like Dinting and Broadbottom before following me all the way to Glossop. 

This was my second ever visit to Glossop, having visited 2 GBG entries back in 2012, both very good - the Star Inn and a rare Sam Smith entry, the beautiful Crown Inn.  The football team lost at home to Runcorn that day but everyone was too sloshed in the clubhouse to notice, or even care. 

Today's pub took me up to 'Old' Glossop, so a 15 minute walk beside a park and a lovely old church, where bells chimed out and wedding crashers sat outside the pub pretending they had been invited, I was feeling optimistic ......

1462 / 2207.  Queen's Arms, Glossop

I think that because this pub had won a local pub of the year award ahead of the Crown and Star, and due to the nice out of town location, I was expecting big things.  Yet it never really materialised, being as it was, decorated in that rather bland, neutral style which makes you think the people in charge either have never been in a pub before, or aren't fans of the traditional concept.  And the recent theme of 'struggles to get served in first pub of the day' (see Bamford and Salwick) continued as an American pair of ditherers staggered in front of me to look at a food menu as I waited at an empty bar.  "Dunno where she's gone, she won't be long" one of the three old stagers told me at the bar, but by the time she finally returned, probably from the wedding, she served the Americans first who didn't know British bar etiquette.  They had halves of Corrs and Smiths Keg.  Boo USA, boo.   When she finally came to me and I asked for the Thornbridge pale ale, she asked with unexpected urgency "do you want a taster if you've not tried it before?"  For heaven's sake lass, just gimme a pint, it's a Thornbridge pale, not a Toffee Crisp and Guacamole Sourz, it'll probably taste like a Thornbridge pale.  I actually said "I'll be brave and go straight a pint of it", the three old stagers smiled, and I sat down opposite Cardiff v the Mags and enjoyed my cool drinkable beer, which tasted like a Thornbridge pale, hurrah!    My fave person who came in was a sort of young Graham Taylor.  His three excitable boys (I couldn't possibly call them twild life of the highest order) wanted to sit in my corner to watch the football, but YGT quickly surveyed the scene, smiled at me in a "do I not like that" kind of way, and took them to the opposite corner of the pub, making some vague "not enough room" excuse which wasn't actually true.  A couple did sit there, but apart from some vague tale about someone running off with their friends car, they didn't capture my attention, much like this pub as a whole.

On the way back to the bus station (road where buses stop), I saw one of my previous pubs the Star Inn (see top picture), was tempted to go in but didn't.  The bus turned up a good 15 mins late, but before long, I was in the lovely village of Hayfield where Arthur Lowe of Dad's Army was born.

I crossed a little river and tried to use the rubbish GBG app to locate my first pub, when I was actually stood right outside it.  "You stupid boy!" cried a distant voice on the wind .....

1463 / 2208.  Royal Hotel, Hayfield

But I wasn't doomed and there was certainly no need to panic (sorry, I'll stop this now) as I stepped across the threshold of this peaceful, dark wood panelled hotel bar, exuding the kind of calm that only those olde worlde triede & testede GBG entries seem to be capable of.  'You can't fake it', as Fiona Bruce once told Philip Mould.  The landlady was a factor in this, seeming fully at one with her surroundings, like she belonged rather than just worked there.  Had that impressive stillness.  Following on from my Banksies bitter success in Milnrow a few weeks back, I went for the Mild, not sure I needed a jam jar to tell me what shade of dark brown it was supposed to be, but it felt like the right thing to drink here, and was enjoyable.  The pub may well have been Marstons.  I sat in the even quieter back room, sitting at a posing table doesn't really work when you are the only person in the room, I regretted not being in with the 'bar action' even if most people just snoozed on the bar counter, including a serious check shirted guy who only relaxed when a randy wobbly old lady he knew tickled him from behind and softened his mood.   I seemed a bit short on the ole' 'BRAPA weirdness' quota ('oh well, can't happen everywhere', I mused) but then I went to the loo (highest, blackest piss trough EVER btw) when a Dad and his son came in with the sole purpose of washing their hands and leaving!  "So are you only allowed in here if you drink beer Daddy?"  "YES!"  It was like they'd been paid a BRAPA fee to perform this moment of joy!  Oh, and I think the lad meant the pub as a whole, and not the urinals.  This opened the portal.  Back at my seat, two young men checked in for the night.  One had a BLUE LEFT KNEE SUPPORT.  Kindred spirit.  Don't know if I've mentioned my knee.  Then, the barman (possibly husband of our female heroine) returned from the kitchen all a fluster.  "I've just tried to dip a chip in gravy, but it was toffee sauce!"  This pub was far more amusing than I'd first realised.  Great effort.

Shunning the house beer for the mild, yes!

Note the 'lost' walking equipment hanging from the beams

Knee Support Goals!

The other pub was also a hotel, and with my guard now down, I was expecting a  hotelly hotel, not a pubby hotel.  But this would be a mistake on my part.....

1464 / 2209.  George Hotel, Hayfield

For I wasn't prepared for the scene that greeted me.  A small intimate low roofed bar, chock a block with about 7 old blokes moaning that at least one of the beers had gone off, possibly two, in what was definitely a Marstons pub this time, like so many GBG entries in North Derbyshire.  I edged my way in gradually, and tentatively asked the most vocal bloke which beer was definitely off.  "IT'S YOUR FUCKING FAULT, THEY WEREN'T OFF TIL YOU ARRIVED!" he roared and his mates laughed.  If this had been my first ever BRAPA pub, I'd have run out crying and would never have visited another pub in my life.  But the 2018 me chuckled falsely through gritted teeth, for I could now see the Boondoggle being errrrm 'mended' or whatever the word was so I asked for a Sunbeam.  "Aye, this'll be interesting, see if this one settles" said another bloke as if he was commentating on some sporting event and everyone went "aye!"   Three painful minutes later, the beer smelt fine but didn't clear, and I've had enough Sunbeam to know it ain't 'evil murk'.  "Aye, ya can't give 'im that!" said original bloke, and the poor barmaid, who'd been worked to the grindstone since I arrived, had to change this too.  Five minutes later, after much chat from rival Man City and Huddersfield Town fans about whether the Terriers could avoid humiliation (they couldn't), it was with both a sense of relief and reluctance that I took my pint to the modern leathery right hand side of the pub.  The only customers were a nice hen-pecked old bloke (he told a joke about a duck which went down well but I can't remember), and his trout faced wife who I smiled at twice but got nothing back in return.  Twout.   Time to go. It was 16:05, I was five minutes behind schedule.  Find out why in part two!

Hard working barmaid pulls the Sunbeam that needed changing

Legendary bloke characters and yappy dog thing

First out of the barrel, glorious and clear!

These two cokes were never claimed, very Mary Celeste

The stained glass makes more sense (but only just!) from the inside.

What with York dice night Thursday, a possible GMR trip on Fri and Newcastle under Lyme on Sat, it might be a long wait for part deux but I'll try my best.

Good night,

Si