BRAPA - Taking Shelter in Belper on my Drunken Helter Skelter

"When you take the 'beer' out of Belper, what are you left with?  An L.P., that's what" as the famous phrase goes across Mid-Derbyshire (which I've probably just made up).

But before we get on to that, I was still in Matlock where I'd done the Thorn Tree (wowwww) and the MoCa (yehhh, okayyyy) but there was still one more to do, as I escaped the clutches of a friendly train driver brandishing a nit-comb, and I'm not even joking.

The rain was still coming down as I crossed the road for another modern style bar with a rubbish frontage and a vintage name that pre-dated the micropub boom by, oh, at least one year ......

1546 / 2515.  Twenty Ten, Matlock

I squeezed past the three doorway ladies you can see above to allow me to get inside, where I was immediately confronted by a friendly bar blocker who seemed happy I'd selected the 4.9% local porter (why did I keep choosing stronger ales today?) so I explained I was craving one after the MoCa / Mocha Choc/Coffee mix up and that was it then, he reminded me to get my 10% CAMRA discount and then pulled me up stool so I could sit with him.  In doing so, his walking stick went crashing to the floor and I apologised and went to grab it.  "Don't mind him, he's a right nuisance!" he says.  ''He?'  Fancy humanising your own walking stick!' I thought to myself, and then wondered if Martin the Owl was crying on my kitchen window sill for not being included today.  Weird bunch these pubbers!  Well, you can't deny Phil was a font of all local pub knowledge, nice chap too, passing the ultimate BRAPA customer test of being allowed to highlight the GBG entry in green, which he did tentatively but accurately (8/10).  Under the circs, it was hard to gauge the bar as a whole, but had an eclectic mix of clientele, most noticeable when two ladies from a hen-do came over and asked him if he'd pose topless with them they needed to tick it off as part of their hen-do challenge.  Felt a bit sorry for them when he declined, as ticking things off a list of a challenge really speaks to me!  I hid behind him all the time this was going on.  They were sat in a raised area where a pool table and the gents were.  Had I been sat alone to observe, would I have liked it more or less than MoCa?  I suspect perhaps less, but very hard to sat when you are in the midst of the action!

Time to hop on the train a few stops down to Belper.  I seriously needed some sustenance but I suspect that ship had sailed and it was too little too late as I was very unclear in mind as to exactly which station was which, and when I'd actually get to Belper.

Scotch Egg sustenance 

Still, I remembered Phil's directions and realised both of the GBG 'pubs' were quite central.

It had actually been quite a late decision to do Belper today.  I'd flirted with Cromford and Birchover as options, but the weather made them a bit unappealing.  Hell, I'd even researched getting aboard the steam railway at Ecclesbourne Valley and doing Wirksworth and Duffield, but again, it just didn't seem right.  And with Belper being 'early alphabet' and having two ticks, it was a no brainer in the end.  

Anyway, the first of two modern efforts came into view .......

1547 / 2516.  Arkwright's Real Ale Bar, Belper

Okay, so my increasingly hazy state didn't help, at least my Brampton Terminus was my least strong pint of the day at 4.2% but that was one of few positives I took from the experience.  Beer was great, barmaid fine, but it was oh so dull.  Just a modern drinking space full of blokes on their own staring up at the football scores filtering through on Gillette Soccer Saturday.   One bloke did try and make conversation with a stranger, expressing surprise at a 4th minute sending off for Harry Maguire, but that was as animated as anything got.  I nursed my drink towards full time, safe in the knowledge Hull City were still 2-0 up, but the other team (can't even remember who, someone wholly unremarkable) unbeknownst to me must've pulled one back when I was in the bogs, for when it flashed up 2-2 with a late equaliser, it was my turn to be at my most animated and I knocked a Punk IPA beermat gently onto the floor and said 'oops'.  And that about summed things up!

Back out into the rain, around a corner, time for my last pub then, and says a lot about my current slowness that I initially thought the below sign meant this pub opened at 12:10pm. 

Which reminds me, I've still not done the Rat Race in Hartlepool (hope you understand what I mean!)

Weird mini tree suffers from erectile dysfunction

1548 / 2517.  Angels Micro Pub, Belper

So, I calculated that this was the most drunk I'd been in a BRAPA pub since the Old Sun in St Neots, and that had an amusing twist at least when I found myself suddenly stood in the middle of the floor looking for the loos I'd visited 20 minutes before.  I walked in, immediately aware this place had more character than Arkwrights.  It felt a bit like a sixth form common room crossed with a vegan cafe in Hebden Bridge, but had a nice mural and some happy smiling patrons.  You got served through a hatch like you were buying a toffee crisp.  It is a simple micropub concept here - fail to open Mon - Wed, bang on 6 ales and 6 ciders on the Thursday, and watch them dwindle slowly towards Sunday evening and start again the following Thursday.  I ordered a Titanic Plum Porter.  It had to be done.  I took one glorious sip of this gloriously kept drink, and then I can't remember anything apart from hearing myself humming the 'Green, Green Grass of Home' (the superior Uke-Hunt cover version) on a train back towards Derby!  I have a vague memory of chatting to a friendly middle aged couple, she had dark hair, but this might've not happened.  Picture evidence shows there could be a couple fitting that description, a bloke in baggy trackie bottoms must've amused me, and I was quite taken with the corridor to the bogs.  But who can really say?  

Looks like I've even 'missed' the beer mat.  Uh oh!

Straight lines on the carpet but did I stick to them?  Probably not.

Note to self : you are not a young whippersnapper anymore Si, stick to the boring sessionable 3.8%ers if you are out for the long haul.   I changed at Derby but was clever enough to remember my Sheffield train went all the way through to York, and I was back for about 8:30pm which wasn't too bad.  

Not decided if I'm going for a rare Derbyshire Friday night tick yet, but football-wise, its a international weekend for top European clubs like Hull City, so Father BRAPA will be with me on Sat to help me get around some of the northerly Derbys pubs.   

See you then, Si

BRAPA - Matlock, Taking Stock and Two Smoking Beer Barrels

(Adopts Gary Lineker voice ....) "Derbyshire started the day in 14th place in the BRAPA league table, but a six pub victory could see it climb as high as 10th by the end of the day.  Your commentary team for this one is Si Everitt and no-one else...."

"Thanks Gary.  Martin the Owl serves the last of a three game suspension following his poor conduct in the Standing Order Wetherspoons in Derby a fortnight ago, but the Green Highlighter starts for a 542nd consecutive game....."

Sorry, I can't keep this up.  It was back to Derbyshire then for my final "A" tick having done Apperknowle and Ashbourne already.  I based myself in Matlock, a nice friendly town I'd never been to before, which had three ticks to 'enjoy'.  I had a few options for where I could go for my remaining two ticks, but was undecided at this stage.

Derbyshire at the start of play

Despite another Derbyshire Wayfarer ticket purchase, train and bus times were unkind so I taxied it up the hill out of Matlock into the surprisingly (to me) rural village of Ashover where my jolly driver suddenly, and totally of context, started talking about this crazy old lady who'd fallen out with her best mate.

Making a good start here would set me up for the rest of the day, so when we arrived at 11:50am, I fully expected to have a ten minute wait, but to my surprise the door on the left was very open.  Dare I try going in?  Is the Pope a Spirite?  I mean, 'yes'.

1543 / 2511.  Old Poets' Corner, Ashover

Of course, I half expected to be confronted by a Henry Hoover and some stern looking staff screaming "WE'RE NOT OPEN YET!" despite the evidence to the contrary.  But to my amazement, the pub was throbbing with Derbyshire's old folk, walkers and potential diners.  It was in full swing.  I'd been told this pub did its own Ashover beers, but despite about 10 ales being on, none were Ashover ones.  Thank goodness for bar blockers eh, as the delay getting served at the main bar allowed me to spot a kind of 'side bar' with all the Ashover clips on.  So I got a 'Zoo', 5.5% for starters, the first of several unwise beer decisions today which'd lead me to have little recollection of Belper's micropubs!  A great pint though, and I found a smoky wood fire to perch by.  But it soon became obvious I'd chosen my seat badly (just as I did in Thorpe and Ockbrook on my last Derbys outing) as it was on a walkway to an outdoor smokers patio area, and near a couple of dining tables soon to be inhabited by families.  Worse still, a boilerman was Skype calling a lady and getting quite irate with her.  "YOU NEED TO LISTEN TO ME, THIS IS IMPORTANT!" he bellows.  Finally, she listens.  "NOW, PRESS THE NOB TWICE, YES, TURN IT CLOCKWISE .... YES .... YES .... EUURGGGGGH! YESSSSSSS!" he concludes, and puts the phone down.  I think he was a boilerman anyway.  But it was too much for me, I moved to a quiet dark side room.  Piped Six Nations was also coming through by now, it haunts mi BRAPA days that competition, I tell ya.  At least now, I could admire the beauty of the dark woods and stained glass.  Not long after, two yahoo types sit down.  His first line .... "Probably my favourite matches to watch are the varsity matches ..... wall to wall army n navy, yessss!"  What was it with this pub and weird sexytime talk?         I was just about to bemoan the lack of Titanic Stout beermats in this section of the pub, when a bloke plops some Barrowhill Beer Fest ones on my table.  I went once, wasn't impressed, cold, expensive and busy, but my friends loved it and said I was harsh.  Oh, and it was now time for t'bus. 

Encouraging entrance

Good chatty staff at the Ashover bar

Nice fire, poor location

I thought I was pretty bloody clever getting off the bus at the top of the hill, near a GK pub called the Duke of Wellington.  Well, that was until I saw the bus turn right down the road I needed to be on anyway.  Oh well, only a ten minute walk or so ......

Yes, pub two was high atop Matlock centre, looking down with an aloofness at the more modern offerings in the town. 

As is so often the case in recent BRAPA outings, I thought "I'll do well to top that first pub all day", only to find the second one even better!  The erroneously named 'Storm Hannah' was whipping up a reet gale, and I was glad to get through the door, where the Red Dwarf crew were enjoying a cigarette outside .......

1544 / 2512.  Thorn Tree Inn, Matlock

This is the kind of reason why I'm enjoying 'ticking' Derbyshire more than your average U.K. county.  A small two roomed pub, I squashed in at the bar where a slightly harassed and little bit manic barmaid who seemed to be in the midst of some mini-crisis serves me a Bass, the only time I saw this famous ale today.  I didn't get a glass with a red triangle on it like the locals did.  It's hard being an outsider sometimes.  I took my pint into the quieter right side, where three old men barely batted an eyelid at my arrival.  They just sat stock still, drinking Bass, and staring glumly into the centre of the room.  But I think they were smiling inside.  Six Nations was on a small TV above my head, it made no impression on anyone.  The only noise came from two other men perched on the side, laughing and rattling their dominoes, which lasted the entire time I was here.  One had Bass but one had something orange in a Bass glass.  Orange juice?  Or Craft Bass Mango DIPA?  I could see through into the kitchen.  Two microwaves that looked like original 80's models.  If this was an Antic pub, they'd be on some fucking wall display like "Ooh look how funny technology was in the olden days?" , but here they were fully functional probably serving slightly warm Rustlers burgers.  Where were the gents loos?  I offend a woman walker with short hair by asking her.  "I HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA!" Jeez, I was only asking, like if you'd SEEN them!  Of course, they were outside, as is the case in so many great pubs.  No sign of Rimmer or Kryton now, but Chubbier Dave Lister (how's that possible?) and Alfreton Cat were sheltering from the wind having an intense conversation.      Top pub, a MUST visit. 

Craft Bass

A hairy downhill walk through the wind and rain into the centre of town followed for my other two Matlock ticks.  I came to the first, but my phone started going on a bit of a weird 'stop start go slow' then crashed totally so I was a bit discombobulated when I entered.

Amazed this photo even took!

1545 / 2513.  MoCa Bar, Matlock

It was always going to be something of a come down (in more ways than one) coming into a knowingly more modern real ale bar ..... well, I couldn't really call it a pub.  The name had me craving a chocolate or coffee stout or porter (Mocha) but I was told it is pronounced Moe-car and is a combination of the names of the people who opened it.  Possibly Moe from the Simpsons, it wasn't clear.  But a BRAPA rule is always be suspicious of a GBG entry with a capitalised letter in the middle.  Entries such as the PieBald Inn in Hunmanby, the Round RobINN in East Leake, and of course, the TwatFace Tavern in Maidenhead are good examples of this.  But the longer I spent here, the longer I felt myself nodding and going "this is decent actually".  Barman was a good geezer, and I got some weird high percentaged New Zealand hopped monstrosity, enjoyable, and I could do a sombre tribute to Christchurch (the one near Bournemouth for having two peculiar pubs, I mean).  I sat near a load of faceless musicians at a high table and got my phone back working again, but weirdest moment of the day was upon me, in some style.  It started when I saw three middle aged blokes peering into a buggy (never a good sign) imploring this green beaker wielding youngster to look at this phone screen, where an Asian lady (possibly called Giff Gaff) was waving back saying 'miss you darling'.  He was more interested in getting back to Peppa Pig on his tablet.  Then, a lady who'd vaguely been hanging around them started combing said toddlers hair.  Perhaps she saw my curious expression, for she walks over.  "Nit comb!" she says, brandishing it far too near my left lug 'ole.  "He's had them on and off for ages now!" Lovely lady, but incredibly random, she's an East Midlands train driver if that explains it, bemoans the fact he won't even have a bite of her cheese sandwich (neither would I), and soon we are chatting BRAPA and local pubs!  A bit bewildered, I said goodbye and with an itchy scalp, made my way to pub number four.  

Well, this had been an enjoyable start to the day it must be said.  Three pubs to go.  I can't remember much so here's to a vaguer blog tomorrow!  Cheers.

Si

BRAPA - Norwich Without a Glitch* (Part 2 of 2)

Slow news day in Norwich?  BRAPA feature?  Yes!

Welcome back friends.

It was Wednesday night in Norwich and Hull City had just lost 3-2* to the league leaders, no great disgrace, just a shame we can't defend as well as we can attack.  Some of our fans took solace in the fact it'd knocked L**ds off their perch, but that was no consolation to myself, Dad or Tom as trudged through the Norwich backstreets in search of post-match BRAPA refreshment.   Also, Goal Music.  Seriously, what kind of team in 2019 has Goal Music when they score?  Ugh!

We stayed east of the river, where Carrow Road is, and despite the relative closeness to ground, station and river, this one felt like a bit of a hidden gem, tucked away amongst the terraced houses down a series of streets named after women like Florence, Beatrice and Marion. 

Dad (scary monster pose) and Tom at the Jubilee

1540 / 2409.  Jubilee, Norwich

'Lovely Jubilee', as Del Boy once kinda said, for this was my pub of the night, even nicer than the White Lion and as Dad pointed out, the perfect post-match pub, offering as it did a low peaceful aftermatch thrum of yokels who knew in their heart of hearts that a home win had never been in doubt.  As famous a pub and ale city is Norwich is, I've often wondered if it quite warrants such a big allocation of GBG entries.  Venues like the Leopard, Plough, Vine, Cottage, Ribs of Beef and Wig & Pen (the second incarnation) have left me a little cold, when compared to things like this, the Alexandra, Murderers and Plasterers.  Still plenty to do, and most a bit off centre so the jury is still out.  I might even get to the famous Fat Cat one day!  It didn't feel at all like a 'coffee' pub, but that is what Dad wanted, so fair play to him for asking for it  (I thought he might get slapped in the face with a wet canary) and actually receiving one (coffee, not damp canary slap).  Friendly atmosphere, my Summer Lightning was on top form, and apart from the first two minutes when I removed my jacket to reveal my 'colours', and apparently (my back was turned)  received some funny looks akin to Jack Grealish walking into a Birmingham City stronghold, all was relaxed and well with the world.  

Queen Victoria looks longingly at the Pukka Pies sign.

Thursday morning dawned a lot sunnier and calmer, and after a quick shower, breakfast scotch egg and cup of Nescafe, I checked my Twitter notifications to see a lady called Louisa from the Eastern Daily Press wanted to do a little BRAPA article so that was a nice boost! 

But down to the proper business of pub ticking first, for we were on the 11:57am train back towards Peterborough, and I was determined to squeeze in two morning ticks.  

Luckily, I'd spied a 10am opener which wasn't even a chain pub so I knocked on Dad's door 9:40am sharpish and we headed on down for 9:55am.  There were some people in the window 'setting up' and an Adnams Ghost Ship lorry doing a delivery ......

1541 / 2410.  Playhouse Bar, Norwich

10:01am and Dad pushed the door and we were in!  In what we now call 'the Dorset Complex', we weren't even the first customers as this local nutcase had somehow got in and was blinking into the sun at us with his black coffee and blacker stout.  Although it couldn't have been much different from last night's Jubilee, it was glorious in a very different way.  I associate these artsy real ale bars with the North East, places like North Shields and Washington spring to mind, but this was an even better example of the 'type'.  Everything seemed to be done to an immaculate standard, quirky without being irritating, the Cityscape ceiling was a joy to behold, it was warm and comfortable which wasn't a given, and when the ales were pulled (I had a Cloudwater mild, great to see them back on the cask) a kind of series of wires and pulleys stretching up to the ceiling whirred into motion, which I think opened and closed a skulls mouth or something though we weren't really paying attention at that point!  Tom shambled in 5 minutes later for a restorative blackcurrant, time to assess last night's performance with a clear mind.  The Alpro soya milk had me wondering just how vegan the two barmaids were, who I felt could've been a bit smilier, but early morning and all that, probably used to working in such a great environment by now, I wish Yorkshire Bank had a cityscape ceiling, maybe Richard Branson can help change all that (appropriate as Virgin Money are quite big in Norwich, maybe I can get a work transfer down to Norfolk?!)  Sorry, I'm getting carried away now.  

No Circus Skills?  Shame!

10:45am then, and we had to make hay as these farmery Norfolk types say if we were gonna be on course for another tick before the 11:57am train.  

It seemed a better location for the station at the time, though not sure it was, back south in that Carrow Road style direction.  In fact, when I ticked off the Kings Head a few years back, our football friends Mark and Ben came here instead and weren't too impressed so expectations were low ......

Tom sulking cos I told him not to hold up his 'Allam Out' sign in case its not what Norwich wants to see

1542 / 2511.  King's Arms, Norwich

But I'm not sure what Ben & Mark had been smoking for this was a third consecutive excellent pub, making it 4 really good ones out of 6 for the trip.  It was about 11:05am when we arrived, very much open, first customers in but a very personable young barman in this traditional bar boarded gem serves Dad a second coffee, Tom a second Blackcurrant and me a cracking pint of Greene King Mild, a rare find and a rare example of me getting excited to see a specific ale, making it two milds out of two for the morning. Also makes me wonder how their IPA can be so utterly dreadful!  Now, a pub dog has never won 'BRAPA Pub Pet of the Year' because they simple aren't 'cat' enough, but the one here was brilliant, and for once, seemed to like me!  Maybe a bit too much at one point, nestling into my crotch, which Dad said was not a photo he was willing to take with the Eastern Daily Press article forthcoming!  I guessed the cute creature was really after my two remaining scotch eggs (that's not a euphemism).  We sat in a sunny window seat, fairly silent focused on my ale as I was under instructions to drink at a pace which allowed us to leave between 11:30-11:35 for Dad was quite anxious about making the train back.  Another glorious pub, though I suspect quite busy on matchdays, perhaps the reason our friends didn't enjoy it as much as we did this morning.  

Greene King Mild and note the 'Tap Room' etched window

Lesser spotted Bass mirror

A rare dog contender for Pub Pet of the Year

The bar being gorgeous 

We made our train easily of course, I answered the questions for my article, and by the time I was back in York catching up on Neighbours and eating beans on toast with a glass of water (I know how to live), the article was published.  Hurrah!   Then it was off out to York's Crystal Palace to meet my friends for a glorious pint of OBB - phew, what a day.

Tom got equal billingin the article amusingly, but to be fair, as we approach the 5th year anniversary of BRAPA, he has been the one person who has supported me from the very start before even my own family got on board with the concept, so he deserves that recognition!  Well played Tom, well played Dad, nearly well played Hull City.  Goodnight Sooty.  Good night everybody.   

I'd be back in Derbyshire on Saturday, which I was thoroughly looking forward to.  

Si