BRAPA in ..... You, Me and the GBG : The Privilege Years

Scottish legends highlighting my 2019 GBG

The pub ticker equivalent of Christmas Day is almost upon us ..... yes, that day when the Good Beer Guide is pushed through the tight letterbox, a bit like the birth of baby Jesus with less beard and afterbirth, and the three wise men whoop and holler, brandishing the scalpel (stanley knife) to cut away the umbilical cord (brewery section) and give it that first mother's milk (green highlighter ink).

But unlike Christmas Day, which falls with an alarming regularity on 25th December, we just don't quite know when the GBG will hit.  And that puts me on edge.  I feel like I can't make any plans!  So I thought I'd try and use 'history' to work out the day it'll arrive this year.

So join me, on this, perhaps my most pointless blog of the year as we look back on what has happened in past BRAPA years, to help extrapolate the data that'll give us the date (or something incredibly scientific). 

2014 - Teething Problems

In the debut year of BRAPA, it wasn't until June til I thought "hmmm, may as well become a CAMRA member I s'pose if it'll help me get into clubs and get me money off 'Spoons visits".   And by July, I stumbled across this 'Good Beer Guide Privilege Club' where you could receive it ahead of the official release date.  "Yes!  I need that extra advantage, I want in!" I declared.  Nobody was listening.

But I'd missed the cut off point with regards setting up the direct debit so couldn't join the scheme til the following year.  Nooooo.  I'd just have to wait for official release date like all the norms. 

It didn't stop me being highly motivated in my efforts to pick up a copy ASAP.  On Sat 13th Sept, I careered around Oxford Waterstones all wide-eyed and blotchy faced,  practically shaking the staff and asking what the hell is wrong with them.  Thankfully, a local news article told me what was in  the new GBG for Oxford to help me out a bit.

It was the following Thursday (18th), on day two of York Beer Festival, when a bleary eyed hungover me picked up a copy early afternoon whilst trying to drink a beer beginning with every letter of the alphabet (I was looking for a Q at this stage).  I sat outside to read it but a weird couple in a travelling band from Wath on Dearne decided they wanted to read it with me!

Conclusion - I learned bugger all from this debut year.

Early 2014 GBG ticking at Chequers, Ledsham.  Note, yellow none Stabilo highlighter.  I'm ashamed now.

Ticking with the new 2015 GBG at White Hart Country Inn, Hawes 27/9/14

2015 - More Bad Luck 

So my first year officially in the 'Privilege Scheme' then, or so I thought......

For on the evening of Friday 28th August, two local CAMRA friends (John and Christine) texted me almost simultaneously to say they'd got their copies, and had I?  I hadn't, and was midway through planning the following day's pubs in villages north of York. 

Noooo, where was my copy?  I messaged CAMRA like 'Wot da fuq iz wrong wiv you bitchees?' (I didn't quite word it like that) and I got a very quick response, explaining that due to some direct debit hacking incident over the past year, my details had been removed and not reset so they'd send me a copy post-haste!  Which they did to their credit. 

In the meantime, in what remains one of the most selfless acts in BRAPA history, Christine passed her copy to Dad at the Hull City game the following day (we beat Preston 2-0 if you care) to give to me at a family barbecue on the Sunday so I could still make something of a head start!  Bless 'er.

Conclusion - Glimpses that an August arrival is possible.

Visiting my 900th pub, in Chorlton cum Hardy (I mean 900th altogether, not 900th in Chorlton, though it does feel like it)

2016 - Patience is a Virtue 

"This time, I can't fail!"  I felt a bit like Dick Dastardly talking to Mutley before a big race, in the build up to the 2017 GBG arrival.

I'd met fellow ticker Martin Taylor by now, and we were both in the same boat, and what a frustrating boat it was to be in!

By the late 20's of August, Londoners were all over social media like pissing puppies with big gobs, despite the disclaimer slip of paper contained within the GBG stating "please don't reveal contents until the mid Sept official release date".  They'd got their copies but cared not a jot for confidentiality clauses.

Elly Conway reads the GBG confidentiality clause

But if the Guides hadn't reached the Fens, they certainly hadn't reached York and I was moaning on my blog on 31st August about it, yet had it with me for my trip to West Berkshire on Sat 3rd Sept.

Conclusion - It must've arrived either Thu 1st or Fri 2nd Sept.  But after what should have happened in 2015, this felt a bit of a disappointing effort from the CAMRA gang.

My quite new 2017 GBG chillin' at Barnsley bus station before a trip to Hoylandswaine (Sept '16)

2017 - Best Yet

On the morning of Saturday 26th August, I arrived in Chester for a day of Cheshire pub ticking not really expecting the GBG to rock up this early, when the BRAP phone started glowing red with calls and messages and rumour galore. 

Martin had no idea what was happening as usual, but Christine in NE Lincs again had hers, and most significantly, up in Poppleton near York, my friend John had received his copy!  "Can you send me the pubs listed in and around Chester?" I pleaded.  "I'm on a coffee break mid gardening, so I'll have to be quick, but I'll give it a go" he replied.  Good man.  Now I knew I had to go to weird places like the Goat & Munch and the Mill Hotel.   What drama, I was already halfway down a country lane to Childer Thornton, which luckily, had kept its place.  Phew.

In one of the more fantastical rumours, a bloke called Mackay I was now aware of was ticking in Glamorgan, but somehow seemed to have summoned a copy of the GBG to his inner self (#PubMan)  Yet, he was just departing for Reading Festival as all this was going on, so did he take the GBG as part of his camping equipment and tick whilst watching Bjork and Enya?

Later that night, at the end of a long day's ticking, I sat in York Tap nursing something overly hopped from Bristol, hoping the GBG would be on my doorstep.  I saw a strange insect which would certainly have been squashed by idiot Twork drunkards, so I took it outside to freedom.  And as Karma, the GBG was indeed waiting for me!

Conclusion - Sat 26th Aug, best yet and I'd say a good effort from the CAMRA here.

Breakfast time for my newish GBG, Oct 2017 en route to Buxton

2018 - Caxton is Ashamed

We can't learn anything from last year's debacle.  A printing press disaster meant just as in 2014, I had to receive my GBG on official release date which I believe was Fri 14th Sept.  I was doing some 'after work' ticking in Hyde so didn't see a copy til I got home in the early hours of Saturday, but at least the crummy GBG App had updated, so for once, it came in handy, telling me I should ignore Godley but go to some weird dining thing called Joshua Bradley, so it wasn't all bad!

Conclusion - Will this mean CAMRA are ultra 'on the ball' in 2019 to compensate for the '18 disaster?  I can only hope.

Pretending I had my 2019 GBG, in Hyde (14/9/18)

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2019 - Prediction Time!

So history tells us a late August arrival is not beyond the realms of possibility if 2017 and 2015 (sort of) are anything to go by.  2016 was a bit of heel dragging, and we can't really learn anything from 2018 or 2014.

I therefore think Fri 30th Aug is a decent shout, cautiously optimistic perhaps, but certainly Sat 31st Aug is perhaps the most likely.

Anything later would be a bit disappointing, Mon 2nd Sept or Tue 3rd Sept I could both envisage, I'd only be vaguely miffed.  And anything later, would be getting silly but who really knows! 

If you read all this, thanks, sorry if a bit dull!

Si

BRAPA in ..... Epic Fail at the 'Sworth / Side Burnage

There were various reasons to be 'beerful' on a rare BRAPA Tuesday outing.  It was pay day.  Dad having 'fun' at Hull City v Blackburn without me.  I was feeling well again after my back pains last week.  Only three ticks in the whole of last week had been a bit lame. 

It was time to go for one final push before the new GBG arrives on my doorstep (I'm hoping end of this week, which may be hopelessly optimistic).

I asked my friend who lives locally if she wanted to join me for this one.  Alas, she was watching West Didsbury & Chorlton FC v Cheadle.  Very much the South Manc/Cheshire 2019 equivalent of "I'm washing my hair". 

I'd never been to Burnage before and I'm not sure my life was lacking as a result.  Oasis are from here (the band, not the soft drink as Dad thought when I messaged him).  And if you want to make Burnage more romantic, well Quosh told me he knew a French guy who pronounced it in a very French way, you know, like you were saying 'fromage'. Burnaaaaarrrge.

Having consulted work friend and Rotherham's answer to Liam Gallagher, Dave B, about how to conduct myself, I decided to try and swagger into pub one in a 'madferit' type of way (not to be confused with a mad ferret Barnsley folk put down their trousers). 

"We do not identify as a micropub .... we prefer the term Modern Beer Cafe" said Reasons to be Cheerful, Burnage (1732 / 2705) via Whatpub, so let us just say, I was raising a skeptical eyebrow from the off.  'Twas a pointless half-arsed Gallagher swagger too, blonde lady barmaid and a few bar blockers looked at me curiously and expectantly as I scanned taps, blackboards etc. wondering how on earth I order a beer in here!  Had I looked a bit more closely, there were three handpumps at the end.  I ordered a pint of Squawk, always a reliable brewery and it was kept superbly too.  "You are paying BY CASH?" she asks astonished like I crawled out from some giant Yorkshire rock. Which I sort of had.  Yes, my first five minutes in here were not too happy.  I wasn't enjoying the chilly blue n grey colour scheme, open door, modern rather thin furniture, and couldn't work out a discernible link between Ian Dury and Burnage.  As often in micropubs (ooops, 'modern beer cafes'), it was the 'strength of folk' who turned the experience on its head.  A nice man called Simon (good name, good name) announced he was moving to South Devon and having a few celebratory drinks, and the modern beer cafe rejoiced as one, wishing him well and offering vague advice.  They smiled at me as they did it, encouraging me to feel 'part of things'.  So perfect time to pull out the GBG and give him his South Devon options!  Well, turns out like me, he's a big fan of the Crown & Sceptre in Torquay so we bonded over that, he showed me a video of the locals and I felt cheerful again.  His 'real' friends arrived so I edged away up the bench and was on my own again.  A nice lady with a stripey jumper and red wine smiled at me sympathetically from the bar, and having missed my train, I went up for a Summer Wine Teleporter (again good, but not the same beer I remember it being a few years back in York's Harkers) and did the ticking.

From my initial uncomfy misery seat!

Where I'd end up sitting.  Say hi to Iggy.

Doin' the book work

View to bar when red wine sympathy lady had gone for a wee

Manchester seems a long way to come just for the sake of one pub / bar, so I cracked on from Piccadilly to one of my other easier remaining ones, a bit out east towards another new place on me, Failsworth. 

I hadn't realised it was going out as far as Oldham/Rochdale way, so suspect it might be part of Tandle territory, and therefore, a kind of sneak preview towards Friday night. 

It was a big chunky roadside 'family friendly carvery pub', so 'now for something completely different' as someone probably once said.  Some teenagers on bikes sneered as I took the photos.

And yes, Millgate, Failsworth (1733 / 2706) was a grand sweeping lounge with a chequered carpet, very few people, an old man on a fruit machine and three JW Lees ales hidden away at the end of the bar, possibly the only comparable feature to Reasons to be Cheerful.  As I ordered an 'Ever Fallen in Love' (I'm a sucker for a punk themed beer), I got a vague whiff of vinegar in the air, and it was taking ages to settle, but I had bigger fish to fry (so to speak) in terms of being desperate for a wee.  Disaster as a sign said the Gents was out of order and I was told to 'use the one in the Vault'.  I went to address this situation with the barman, and a very guilty wide smile spread across his face like he was solely responsible for any blocked toilet situations.  When I asked where the Vault was, he said 'just use the disabled loo next door' and thus I never did find out about this legendary vault, which I spent the whole time imagining as some sort of underground proper boozers bar full of cobwebs, stale smoke, Mudgingtons and 17th century settles with sleeping goats on them.  Instead, I took my ale to a raised area, just out of earshot of a group of women, two of whom were nurses, a twild with a detachable hand like a baby Thing from Addams Family.  Of the ale situation, it was a real 'game of three thirds'.  The first third allaying any fears on my part, tasting like a nice modern pale.  The second third a bit sharper, leading me to think "hmmm, is it supposed to be like this?" and the third third, descending into the vinegar I'd feared.  Where's the M.Taylor sponsored plant pot when you need it?  Perhaps I was just unlucky as ale over East Lancs way usually some of the best.

The ale of contention

The pub at large

Women, nurses and mini The Thing

Highlight probably completing a double page in GMR.

The misery wasn't quite complete.  It had started raining.  Hull City were being shit.  Trams were delayed due to an incident.  And then a Scouse Twild (the worst type) started being raucous, and attached to every good raucous Scouse Twild is a raucous Scouse Dad who should know better.

Seemed a long journey back to York, but nice to get two more chalked off this seemingly never-ending list!

Si

BRAPA and ...... the Buzzy Bees of Brentford (Twickenham / St Margarets)

Back in the early 19th century, there was this town west of London called Wickenham.  Not much happened.  Men drank bitter.  People kicked around a pig's bladder. 

But then one day, a man picked up the bladder and ran with it!  Then his wife ordered a prosecco.  Then she gave birth to twin twilds, Toby and Jocasta.  The man grew a beard, took his socks off, tanned his ankles and wore skinny jeans.  And the little family all went to a gastro pub and ordered whitebait.  Their friends all copied them.

The local councillors of Wickenham were left with no option upon realising everyone in their town was now a twat.   They added a 'T' to the front of the word.  And Twickenham was founded.  You might not find this factual tale in the history books, or on Twikipedia.  But rest assured, it is a 100% BRAPA fact. 

And that set the scene for Saturday 17th August, my first chance to see my 'beloved' Hull City this season and the excitement was palpable.  Well, half palpable.  Call it 'palp'.  I was joined by O.G. squad Bernard 'Daddy BRAPA' Everitt, Thomas 'Tom' Irvin and Benjamin 'Ben' Andrew. 

We started not in Twickenham, but in neighbouring St Margarets which I'm going to describe as 'far superior', but only because the barmaid from the first pub might be reading. 

"Look at St Margarets tryin' to be all posh" I sneered, as we walked down the high street, passing dog boutiques, estate agents with gold retinas and cafes serving fry-ups which appeared absolutely grease free.  "Yeah, and I think it is succeeding" replied Ben.   Bury seemed a distant memory.  But then again, it often does.

We were at the pub about ten minutes before 11am opening.  It was managing to do a very good job of looking very 'not ready' despite having two open doors. 

I was a bit suspicious on first glance, Crown, St Margarets (1729 / 2702)  looked more like a town house than a pub, and the crown on the pub sign made me think I was ordering some bank documents from archives whilst having a carvery.  A strange sense, I'm sure you'll agree.  Tom strode up and down the street swigging a huge carton of tomato juice.  "Do I get a bonus point for this?" he asked hopefully.  "No" barked Dad, breaking the painful truth to Grimsby's favourite blackcurrant drinker.  Finally, the door grills slid to one side and we were in, and bugger me it were proper posh.  Quality, but posh!  If you were an alien and given some time and space altering drugs (pretend you are in Stalybridge) and plonked in a pub in any area of the UK, you would immediately cry "WEST LONDON".  What made the pub was our barmaid.  She told me off for ordering Oakham Citra ahead of this award winning Shere Drop from Surrey Hills.  Considering I'd gone a week without ale, I thought I'd devour the Citra, but it was like my tastebuds had forgotten how to enjoy beer!  A comment from Ben led to me explaining the pub ticking concept, and as a feisty lady who likes ticking stuff off a list, she said that this was a hobby/lifestyle that she could totally get into.  Even when I explained the pitfalls of cross-ticking, travelling, blogging and photos, she seemed enthusiastic.  "This is my 1729th pub!" I told her.  "You could say any number and I'd be none the wiser" she replied honestly.  Fair enough.  Even when we sat down, she was over asking how our beer was and volunteering to take a photo.  What a gem, she made what could've been a 'slightly twee but pretty West London pub into a very good one. 

She hasn't started ticking already has she? (Local man reads her the 2020 GBG pubs from a giant plasma)

Remember these two?  I don't.

Bog decor

Natural smiles?  (And Tom's expression)

Look how 'nice' it is!

We decided it made sense to walk into (T)Wickenham rather than walk back to the railway station, as it'd be just as quick. 

Our next pub reminded me of last season's Brentford trip, when we did the beautiful Dove at Hammersmith.  Thames-side, the outdoor seating all on the opposite side of the road to the pub itself, the bogs in an underground dungeon, the pub a bit higher up some steps.  Quirky.

More fantastic female staff greeted us at White Swan, Twickenham (1730 / 2703), especially this redoubtable Scottish lady, can't remember what she was talking about, but it wasn't offal, Irn-Bru and heroin from memory.  We took our ales across the road, noting all of the "beware of oncoming traffic and pedestrians and cyclist" signs, where I noted the pub wasn't very optimistic weather wise as despite the bright sunshine, all the umbrellas were open.  Kids were learning to row on the river, so as in the Dove, Tom heckled them from afar for no apparent reason.  A Red Admiral perched itself on the Swan on the pub sign, and stayed there for ages - that probably was my highlight, as it wasn't too long before the place filled up with Toby and Jocasta's ordering Whitebait.  The smell of fish and lemon with a hint of pea puree hung in the air, and Twildlife was 'instructed' to sit down amidst some pretty half-arsed parenting it must be said.  My ale was a 3.5% local thing, pretty bland but I joined Dad in a Naked Ladies round so to speak, and that was an improvement, and the fact we stayed for another suggests early doors, we found it quite pleasant out here.  I got lost on the way to the loos, a barmaid directed me to this special singular pub tickers VIP toilet with washing machine and tumble dryer and lots of space.  Had she heard about Newark?  Whatever, it was time to move on.

My private loo

Spot the Red Admiral

Quite nice inside too but not lots of space

The lads get sat down

A very Twickenham scene

We carried on along the river bank to our third and final 'tick' pre-match, and I remember how fresh and sweet the air seemed and wondering what the life expectancy is here compared with in Yorkshire.

The fact our next pub was a Wetherpoons made no discernible difference to the inhabitants of the once Wickenham, as at the crucial photo moment, a bloke with no socks and a disobedient twog decided to bend down ..........

So here we were, rugby's own William Webb Ellis, Twickenham (1731 / 2704) or the WWE as probably nobody on the planet apart from me calls it.  Wrestle-mania!  An early 'Rascal' Shopmobility scooter sighting was encouraging, even though it looked like it needed a good clean.  It probably belonged to Mr Barnsley, an old man with flat cap and squashy face who recognised our Hull City shirts and was pleased to see fellow northern comrades though shouting across the room to him proved tricky.  Instead, Dad told us how when we moved to Barnsley in 1983, the first newspaper headline he saw was "Man Beats World Record for Ferret Down Trousers" and swears this is the truth, and I for one believe him.  Classic Barnsley.  I didn't really get on with my Binghams ale, good quality but weird flavour, nothing like the 'Viennese Whirl' biscuits I used to get as a twild!  And the time honoured Hull City quiz plus bonus 'quandry' posed by Ben helped to while away that precious 'Spoons half hour before the train to Brentford.

Dad talks ferrets, probably

After a big bottle of juice to keep my kidneys ticking over, we had made better time than we'd expected and Ben had his own pub mission ......

Brentford, as you might know, was once famous for having a pub on each corner of their ground.   In 1999, I did three of them with Dad as a strapling 20 year old.  I think one was called Queen Elizabeth, but can't remember the other names.

And I think it is down to three pubs now, we were on a mission to get to the Griffin but I get easily distracted by Aussie Soap humour ......

So I took this photo whilst telling a Hull City supporting woman with more emotion in my voice than was really necessary that I still actually LOVE Neighbours.  (Home & Away can do one, Sam Frost or not!) 

This was outside 'The Brook' pub.  But when I turned around, Tom, Dad and Ben had vanished so I thought they'd stuck to the original plan and gone to The Griffin which looked a cracker ....

I got served so efficiently, pint of Oliver's Island in plastic, that I had no choice to crack on but I couldn't find the lads, then Dad texts to say they are in the Brook and he has a Plum Porter for me on the table.  Noooooo!  So I downed my pint of OI (in about 4 mins, good for me that!) and ran back up to the Brook ......

 

.... by which time Ben had started my Plum Porter, but not to worry, I'd found them and was a decent pub, not too busy either by now.

The game was good, 1-1 draw was fair, shame we conceded the lead though, and always nice to stand on a terrace.  "Oooohhh, last year at Griffin Park on the terracing!" warned the locals, for about the 14th season on the trot.  

Post match, we felt it was risky to get a pub in around Clapham Junction if we were on the 7pm.  I suggested an old classic I'd not done in the City, so had planned for Cheshire Cheese on Fleet Street, but to mine and Ben and Dad's astonishment, Tom (usually the master of quick train manoeuvres and risk) suggested even this might be a bit of a stretch!

So Parcel Yard in King's Cross it was, one of my most visited pubs in the past 10 years, but not for quite some time!  Pint of Dark Star was amazing (best today!), even if American parents let their kids wipe their asses all over the tables.  And then Tom revealed HE was on the 6:30pm train out of 'The Cross' and quickly buzzed off.  And suddenly all the caution made sense!

Had been a real cracker of a day anyway, and the lower back pains which had blighted me since the previous Sunday finally vanished, and remained vanished into Sunday and Monday.  Did it really just need a good pub session?  Does my body only understand being in a beery state?  And UP TO DATE on my blogs too, by Monday night.  What the 'ell is going on?  

See you soon, Si

BRAPA and ..... the Dungeon Master of Tottington

I'd seen off the threat of Bury, and was mid way through the afternoon of Saturday 10th August, I left all the Manchester City VAR insanity behind me in the excellent Lamb in Woolford.  

I worked out I could walk to my fourth pub in about 20 minutes or so, just carrying on north up the main road.  My note taking had dried up by now, sadly the same couldn't be said for my bladder and I was walking quickly to get to that loo ASAP! 

About a minute from the entrance, the heavens opened again, just as a lady dressed as Martin Taylor's highlighter pen rounded the corner with a busy little dog.  I told her to go ahead of me as I was hanging back to take a photo of the pub.  She looked at me like I was mad ......

I think we'd better go in and investigate and get out of this rain .......

That belt that sort of runs across the north of Manchester from Wigan to Bolton to Bury to Rochdale for me, is one of the most rewarding in UK pub ticking, offering top quality ale, some amazing old pubs and friendly staff and punters.  And my pub of the day, Dungeon Inn, Tottington (1726 / 2699) was a fine example of 'when everything comes together'.  The locals parted (including the big guy with wide stance and magic eye tee shirt who gave a headache throughout.  I was served this IPA which might or might not have been Thwaites and from bench seating to dark wood to side rooms to carpets to fruit machines, the whole place glistened with a north western goodness you just wouldn't find in York.  'Twas a lucky pub too, 20 minutes into my visit, Jeff Stelling was put on opposite me and before I knew it, Hull City had raced into a two goal lead v Reading.  Poor Duncan Mackay, at least he'd got to meet my Dad! 

Not that I tend to tag pubs on Twitter when I visit unless they ask, I thought I'd found this one but seems it wasn't and could've led to a very awkward misunderstanding ........

Hi Mistress, amazing bench seating! (what was the safe word again?)

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A happy scene

Plastic straws?  You can tell we aren't in London now.

Floor was surprsingly non-slippy

Detail

Come on City!

Meanwhile in Hull......

A short bus ride DIDN'T take me to Holcombe Brook, not that the bus driver was going to tell me that.  An old lady getting off at the corner made me realise the bus was going to speed off the wrong way, leaving me with a little 5-10 minute walk to the pub .....

The curse of the '5th pub of the day' struck again at the Hare & Hounds, Holcombe Brook (1727 / 2700) , and whilst I usually blame my own 'state' at this stage of the day, I think it was more a case of a quite underwhelming pub following the wonderful Dungeon.  It felt very much an 'events' pub, verging on a sports bar, strange as it looked pretty traditional from the outside plus it had far too many ales on (counted about 8, I think!), and my Pictish 'Bravo' was decent but nothing to write home about (and I managed to say 'bravo' in a weird way like I'd never said that word in my life before, so that was fun!)  In the absence of much in the way of comfy seating, I perched by a pool table looking up at a bit more Sky Sports scores coming in.  So underwhelmed, I didn't really take notes, photos or even check-in on Twitter, so I consoled myself in two landmarks.  Firstly, my gross 2,700th pub, and my 134th current Greater Manchester tick means I've done more 2019 GBG pubs in this part of the world than any other, overtaking West Yorkshire.  Nothing wrong with the pub as such, just felt a little bit boring.  

A bus took me onwards towards Bolton, where I could hop off at this place called Harwood which had a pub I'd been planning on getting to for ages now, so must be a GBG regular.  Despite not having a name at all, I somehow managed to locate it .......

Ah yes, now THIS is a pub.  Always nice to end on a high, and House Without a Name, Harwood (1729 / 2701) delivered the eleventh hour goods.  As I peered over a mass of characterful friendly faces to order my pint of Holt's or whatever it was, in time honoured Bolton tradition, people were ordering hot pies from this glowing cabinet at a rate of knots.  It was nearly full time in the football, and nervous folk craned their necks to this tiny screen behind me where Bolton were making their brave return to football at home to Coventry after their recent problems (still blighting Bury).  As I squinted to see they were hanging on for 0-0, the dodgy camera angle looked like a pub local had scaled a piece of scaffolding after 6 pints of Bank Top, and was filming it on a camcorder in the wind.  Was loads of fun.  Full time whistle sounded, and everyone let out a collective sigh of relief and there was some clapping and back-patting.  I sat in the corner eventually and an amusing old lady and some lovely warm people dressed as bees who all sounded like Philomena Cunk made jokes.  I laughed as heartily as I could muster, but no idea what they said.  The Hare & Hounds is a self-styled community local, but for me, this place had as pure a community feel as you could hope to witness.  

 

It had been a great end to another 'six pub day', and back in Bolton, it was almost tempting to carry on as I've still got at least 4 pubs to do in that neck of the woods.  But I did the disciplined thing and got myself back home as quickly as possible via Manchester Victoria, for what would've been an early night had I not watched classic hits from 1989 on YouTube for about three hours!  

I ended up waking up to terrible stomach and back pains which lasted all week, so I gave myself a prolonged break from the beer on the (extreme) off chance it was linked!  So I'd 'bee' all raring to go at Brentford on Saturday, which I'll tell you about Mon or Tue.  

Take care, have a good week. 

Si