BRAPA stars in ...... Alston Towers b/w Yessie Wallace

Oh well, it is a start ......

The GBG 2020 had officially been released Thursday last, the damage was 201, down from 1743 to 1542, so it was time for my #CONE (Campaign of Northern England) to be unleashed.

The weak lemon drink was flasked, the budget Cheese & Onion replacement pasties foiled, mini cheddars grabbed, yoghurt and mint club bagged.  Newcastle was negotiated, and soon I was standing in a chilly wind at a bus stop in a one-horse town called Haltwhistle (Northumberland) waiting for a rare bus to Alston (Cumbria).  A man from Manchester and his elderly Mum gurgled at me, and a student put her elongated face between myself and the map of Haltwhistle.

We're ready for Cumbria, but are you dear reader?

"You do realise you've only got 40 minutes in Alston before the bus back?" says the driver of the 681.  "Just enough time to visit a pub and have a pint then!" I replied.  He laughed.  But I'm deadly serious.  Should I explain?  No, we were all ready dwindling it down towards 39 minutes. Tick tock, went the stop clock in my mind.

A bumpy ride followed, through amusingly unwoke named places like Slaggyford amongst some beautiful but increasingly rural scenery, it reminded me a bit of my trip from Ayr to Kirkmichael three years back.

Forty or so minutes later, we reached Alston, the end of the line.  "See you in a bit then!" quipped the driver, and I hopped down the road, with an added skip and a jump, like a kid at Christmas, such is the anticipation of a pub-ticker about to begin a new county.  

Time you got yer 2020 sticker up!  And what ya gonna do in 3 years, stop selling cask?

Or Cumberland Inn (1543 / 2759) as the GBG says it is now called, perhaps because 'Hotel' makes people think 'cliquey grubby bars not welcoming to the general public'  I don't know, that'd be my guess.  This place did feel like a hotel bar, but an incredibly good one with a classic pub atmosphere.  Our lady incumbent was 'stand out' bar staff material, and despite an agonising wait to get my pint to me (I'm against the clock here!) she kept me fully abreast like a parcel tracking delivery service.  "I'm serving this gent, then I have to set a table, then I'll be with you" followed by "I'll let it settle while I give some mustard to this table, then I'll top it up".  I was almost happy to wait, despite a doggie not twoggie with long claws jumping up at my groin and demanding attention, even if owner was the most unresponsive newspaper reader ever.   "Beware of this one, it is Vulcan mustard from a volcano!" she said to a group of bewildered bikers from Gloucestershire, before a vague Spock reference.  I suspect she was a bit crazy.  "I'm going to call your Allendale GFPH 'GuffPah'  It's easier that way" she warned me, and told me just because tables were marked as reserved, they weren't for hours.  I'd normally find this an annoying pub trait too, but not here, not from her.  I sat in a corner, sad I couldn't see the amazing views due to three lunching ladies, whilst the Glos bikers saw a sign for Much Marcle which tickled them pink.  Weston's Cider or Fred West, it didn't seem to matter.   If this place is a sign of Cumbrian ticks to come, it'll be a most rewarding county.

Doggie not Twoggie

Glos fam waiting for mustard

A happy view

As an additional Cumbrian ticking thing, I thought I might try n get a beer from each brewery!

I made sure I was in plenty of time for the 'so-called' last bus of the day but trouble lay ahead as the couple in front of me and no coins, and the driver had no notes.  I tried to assist, but only had 90p left, they needed £4.50 or something.  "Shall I nip down to the village shop?" asks Mrs Coin.  'How much time do you think we have?' I'm thinking, but driver agrees to wait.

She returns five minutes later, much to the chagrin of me (losing valuable pub time) and a mardy old bugger from Lambley who'd gone to the shops in Alston and was on the same 40 minute thing as me.  She redeems herself, offering me one of the 4 pack of Crunchies she's been forced to buy.  I hesitate, so she shoves one in my hand, I've eaten it in seconds, and I reward her with a quick BRAPsplain session.

Amazingly, there is another pub on the 681 route back to Haltwhistle in my GBG, I know jumping off will leave me stranded public transport wise but can't afford to pass up such an opportunity.  "I think yer pub is around here somewhere HAHA" says my bus driver a painful 35 minutes later with bladder full to bursting.  

And I turn the corner, locate it, and am just delighted to see it open as it is one of those 'ring ahead in winter' pubs but what type of monster does that anyway?  Not me or Martin Taylor, that's fo' sho'.

I liked the no-frills cottagey outlook of Wallace Arms, Rowfoot, Featherstone (1544 / 2760) and inside, it lives up to expectations.  A landlord chatting away with five seated old locals, a roaring fire in the grate, and Rivet Catcher on the bar.  Enough to make myself forget for the next half an hour I'd cut myself off from the outside world! Perfect.  Well, it was until I dumped my bag and jacket, and purposefully strode off in search of the gents, only for the assembled group to roar with laughter as it is right beside the seat I'd left my stuff on.  Typical.  "You've done an entire lap of the pub!" says one bloke, as if my non-local accent hadn't already singled me out as the 'outsider'.  "You on a walk?" asks the friendly lady next to me.  That allows me to BRAPsplain, and they love the idea.  It also allows me to fish for ideas of how to get back to Haltwhistle.  I could walk along this disused railway, but the taxi option seems sensible being on a fixed ticket home from Newcastle, and after minimal signal and a couple of declines, someone agrees to come for me!  Another half is required, Consett Red Dust, another NE classic, tasting strangely like cider on this showing though.  Taxi arrives sooner than expected, I neck my ale, the group who have now extended to about ten folk who all seem to have known each other for decades, wish me all the best with my trip.  I make a comment like "I'd love to come back here one day but of course I never will!" which sounded harsher than intended, grrr, stupid BRAPA, but no time to dwell, onwards and upwards, literally in the case of the next pub! 

You don't need a jam jar to tell you this is one of the best beers in the world

Lovely fire

Rare opportunity to photograph a pub without looking like I was papping all the folk, though doesn't normally stop me!

So that was two really good pubs to start the day.  My first Cumbrian tick since a 2013 trip to Ulverston, and my first in Northumberland since a 2009 trip to Berwick! Let us get our #CONE on.

The later pubs in the day didn't quite live up to this start, but I'll try and tell you about them either tomorrow or Sunday.

Si

BRAPA in .... Sleepy Hollow-ay / Random Camden

Typical pub ticker looking for a GBG 2020 opener on a Sunday in London

Two pubs down on my London Sunday, but time stops for no pub ticker as I chugged rapidly back down the High Barnet branch line, minesweeping the GBG pubs en route back to King's Cross.

Archway was my next port of call, where I'd jumped off 4.5 years ago to visit the Charlotte Despard and that wonderful three legged cat, Legz.  Nowadays, the local GBG entry is listed under Upper Holloway but nothing of a walk.  I found it acting all London-like, practically leaning on the a giant lampost (well, lamp anyway) on the corner of a street, in case that certain little pub ticker walks by ......

"....oh me, oh my...." (more on that story later)

A sleepy, much more genteel air greeted me than the one I'd left in the Bohemia, here at St John's Tavern, and granted, food-led certainly but like the GBG says, the high ceilings and open space around the curved bar make you feel a more welcome drinker than in many London pubs of this ilk.  'Sitting at the bar' is one of the last places I choose to position myself, and yet here, in the lull of mid Sunday afternoon, it felt the natural place to be.  Okay, so the hanging, sweating bits of pig behind the bar might not be for everyone, and a good five minute wait whilst a man-bunned bloke getting fresh lemons chopped with a knife blunter than my Stanley Knife post GBG extraction which were then plopped into a Bloody Mary, 'oooooh, don't forget the black pepper!', might not be what I really come to pubs for, but five and a half years into my challenge, and you come to embrace the vagaries of the London pub ticking experience.  Staff were hard working and 'on it like a car bonnet' throughout (which I tend to appreciate on those rare occasions I sit at the bar)  and my London Tap from New River tasted better than Thames Water, so you got to give the devil his due on this one, very good for what it is.

Decent pint, better potential business owner

Lost looking blokes with rucksacks should unite, I nearly told him.

Hams, wines and other things you don't see in Rochdale

Room to swing a cat .... not Legz (or I'll be accused of cat-ableism)

Another required North London tick was also listed under Upper Holloway, so that saved getting back on the Tube for now.  A little bit hidden away, behind a tree in fact so I had to crane my neck to make sure it was the correct one, almost residential you might say, location-wise reminding me a bit of the Anglesea Arms at South Kensington.

Can someone cut that bloody thing down so I can see which pub it is?!

And the London-ness (the most annoying member of the Family Ness) was ramped up yet another notch here at Landseer Arms, making me wish I'd brought my London Pub Bingo Card, especially as responsible jugs of water to keep you hydrated was the first thing I witnessed.  Landseer was this Victorian bloke who did Monarch of the Glen, I used to adore Lexie, and I nicked the box set off my dead Grandma, so good on him.  He did some art too and men in neckerchiefs trying to be contemporary Philip Mould's drank wine and twild-life sneered sulkily through bay windows.  Unlike St John's, the pub layout was a bit of a higgledy-piggledy mess with tables, chairs strewn about like an earthquake had just hit, I was boxed in between bar, pillar, and old man looming above on a stool.  Like so many, I had no hesitation of taking my drink outdoors, where a couple on a motorbike just grabbed the last spot in the sun.  I'd done well to get a bench at all to be honest, and soon a Dad and Twild perched at my arm, the latter brandishing an impressive bag of conkers.  'If you need a wee, we'll go indoors' said the Dad.  First I thought he was talking to me!  But then young twildo ran off the wrong way towards a grassy area across from the pub.  "Not that way!" screamed Dad, but I had serious sympathy with the youth.  Amusing place this, get yourself down here and observe life.  

The most London pub photo I've ever taken?

Back on the Tube, time really was of the essence now but I worked out I could do a fifth fairly comfortably, providing I abandon all hopes of a sixth.  And once I'd got my head around that, I was okay joining the heaving throng outside Camden Road tube, fighting my way to stride purposefully towards this GBG debutant  .......

I hesitated just a little bit too long with this photo for Camden Road Draft House, for the trio you see in the above photo just had time to stand up and get to the bar ahead of me.  It happens.  Usually when Dad is there, leading to a comment like "you and your bluddy BRAPA photos!" The barmaid had green hair like the guy who's round it was so they subconsciously bonded.  Not only did he want these colourful looking craft cans, but he explained that in the bar he works, they only cost £3.50.  "Wowwwwwww" said the staff, which made my mind boggle as to how much they cost here.  Thankfully, my pint of 'So L.A' a pretty decent pale in a hazy way, received no reaction and cost about £4.20 or something London standard.   I sat near the door, not expecting much, but a trip to the loo surprised me as I realised the deeper you got into this pub, it actually had an 'atmosphere' I'd simply not been expecting.  Impressed.  I didn't move though, as my beer-addled mind was engrossed in this wavy musical Camden Rock Map, impossible to follow five pints in, especially as punk was at the far end - marginalised as ever, but we won't be beaten, OI OI OI!  (or something .... 'settle down Grandad')  Anyway, on that note, time to get myself back to Kings X for t'train back t'North.  

So there we have it, five London ticks to salvage something from a tricky weekend in addition to the six in Tyne & Wear meant we could go into Thursday's official release date 'ONLY' 201 pubs down.  

Much work to be done in the 2019/20 season, join me later this week as I tell you about my brave Cumbrian beginnings!

Si 

BRAPA and .... Good Olde-Fashioned Monken Holt / Bohemian Brhapsody

I must admit I awoke on the Saturday morning still a bit frazzled from my Tyne & Wear exploits the previous day, though watching vintage episode of The Sooty Show on YouTube til 2am probably hadn't helped.

Onwards and upwards, I was meeting Dad for a car day round some pubs quite close to York so I hopped in the shower, contemplating Selby feeling past my 'sell by', considering Goole as I washed my goolies, cogitations on Drax as I scrubbed my back etc (you don't need to know).

But as I dried myself in the methodical manner of a pub ticker and went for a bowl of Sainsbury's own brand weetabix and a mint tea, I noticed FOUR missed calls.  What was all this?  It was Father BRAPA.  He'd been up all night, poorly from both ends, and couldn't make today's trip.  I rang him, he sounded all weak and guilty for 'spoiling my weekend'.  I told him not to be silly, he does so much for me, these things can't be helped, get back to bed and rest.  #PrayForBernard

I decided to cancel today and do something on Sunday instead.  Of course, short notice train tickets can be expensive, rural buses don't run, so luckily I had a free London ticket, which I'd been saving for an emergency like this.

And it was to be North London the focus of my attentions, only 14 pubs remaining after cross-ticking.  I got on the High Barnet branch line that Tom and I had done back in March 2014 as a 'BRAPA trial run'.  'Twas a fruitful day back then, pubs like Pineapple at Kentish Town, Old Mitre in Barnet, Elephant in North Finchley, Bald Faced Stag in East Finchley all GBG regulars to this day.  Only the one at Archway where we met a three legged kitten called Legz who liked ping pong balls isn't in, and that was a fave!

My first stop was right up at the end of the line at Barnet, and after a brisk 15 minute walk in the lunchtime sun, came to my first pub .......

Always nice particularly in London that pubs like Olde Monken Holt are still being included in the GBG, full of jolly rounded old blokes with capillaries bursting from their cheeks and many noses, a whining dog blocking half the floor, a few Sunday lunchers, and a reassuring ale range of Landlord, Tribute, GK IPA or Abbot.  I went for the Landlord, as when it is good it is very good, and the pub just had that aura where I knew I'd be able to rely on the beer quality.  Finding a seat was the biggest challenge, sunny front outdoors was full, the lively front bar standing room only (anyone could've belted out 'Gertcha' at any given moment), so I ventured to the back.  The patio area seemed a bit dull, so I perched at a high table indoors, and it is testament to the history and old wood panelling that I could still sense the atmosphere, despite being cut off from the front bar drinkers.  Old blokes kept carrying outdoor chairs indoors, or bar stools outside, like no one could quite settle, but as I looked up at the female Manchester football derby, and later relaxed into the calming lounge style music which resonated perfectly with a Sunday post-lunch pub hubbub, I was content.  A really good start this, I kind of doubted it'd get better!

The next pub was a couple of stops down the line at Woodside Park.  And I remembered it was in the physical GBG copy of 2014 when Tom & I did that day, but I couldn't quite locate it on the App, perhaps cos West Finchley wasn't strictly the closest Tube stop.

No such problems today, five years of practice since, pubs don't escape me for long! (are you watching Slocken?)

Like the equivalent of going from a freezing day outside to a piping hot shower, Bohemia was a massive culture shock after Olde Monken Holt which I wasn't really prepared for.  A London brewpub in fact, all exposed pipework, big air ducts, weird furniture and of course, plenty of folk who acted like they had no idea what a pub was.  And for once, we can't even blame Antic!  Getting served took so long thanks to a hesitant tourist group that I was able to reassess my beer choice several times, the 100 Oysters Stout and London Lush eventually being pushed out by ESB punk themed "Never Mind the Kent Hops".  It really did taste like Johnny Rotten's arse, probably, and a reminder if it were needed what a good drop Fullers ESB is!  For a building with so much space, finding an appropriate seat to get comfy at seemed needlessly difficult, in the end I was sat at an antique desk with opening drawers and a strange spotlight.  I had to sit side on along a long leather bench, so not only was the ale hard to drink, my body felt contorted throughout as well!   AND I had to try not to make eye contact with the three ladies dining just across from me.  At least a trip to the loo gave a nod to reality, as there was a dirty old tube of Fixodent atop the grotty urinal - a scene so incongruous with the other surroundings, it was like I'd been transported to the Anchor Anchor in Shropshire briefly!  Oh well, a tick is a tick, and quite a GBG regular, a good one to get done.

Nearly half way through the trip then, and time was of the essence cos the last train I was valid on back to York was about 18:30 so to get five or six in, I had to keep moving and not relax too much, not that there was much chance of that in Bohemia!

I'll tell you about those other pubs tomorrow,

Si

BRAPA and .... Book Shields : Return of the Sand Dancers & Rugby Toonian : Tyne & Wear 2

Halfway through last Friday's bonus trip to Tyne & Wear then, I'd booked the day off work having expected to need it for cross-ticking the new GBG, but I'd finished it in record time so could treat myself to a day of pubbing instead.

With Whickham, Swalwell and Felling all safely under my belt, I made a snap decision to catch the Metro the other way which took me to South Shields.  Fitting, for in 2014 and 2017, it was the first place I visited after receiving the new GBG.

I'm still scarred by the 2014 visit, when I was fined £40 for having bought a Metro ticket which didn't cover all zones.  "An honest mistake guv" didn't work as my defence, and soon I was having to give details like the colour of my eyes to a stern officer! I wouldn't care, I was the most respectable member of society in Shields in a town of dossers, Greggs addicts and smackheads.  Today, the station staff joked and smiled as they helped everyone through the barriers, I couldn't help but scowl.

Oh well, let's get to the pub!

The Cask Lounge, South Shields is the most un-Shieldsie GBG outlet you could imagine, which is perhaps the point.  'Offering something different' and all that, but gimme a Steamboat, Marine, Alum Out House or Stag's Head  Bass any day!  Didn't help that I wandered into the adjoining record shop, but his reaction suggested I wasn't the first (or indeed will be the last) to do this.  And when I told the friendly Cask Lounge owner, he says I'm free to take my pint through and browse the vinyl.  Which was decent of him, for the record shop had a pubbier atmosphere than this gentle cushioned fluffy lounge.  You could sit on a dead Persian cat and you'd never know.  Two pairs of people here represented the first time today I'd been in the presence of fellow customers. A record for fourth pub in?  The ale was on form, and with likes of Kylie, Jason, Gary Glitter and an 80's compilation I used to dance around the kitchen to in Saffron Walden whilst recreating Falkirk v Dundee Utd 88/89 with a sponge football (my childhood!) this experience grew into something approaching enjoyment, ultimately falling short like The Bairns survival attempts.

Back in the Toon, I should probably have changed for Haymarket, but gave myself a 15 minute walk from Central which wasn't a great idea as I was now against the clock to get two more ticks done before the train back to York - I was on a fixed ticket.

In addition to the growing 'weekend is here' celebratory feel in the City Centre, a few O2 sponsored shirts, non Geordie accents, programme and scarf sellers made me realise something else was afoot.  I assumed Newcastle Utd had an evening Premier League game at home to Arsenal - 'just my BRAPA luck, pubs'll probably be packed now' I thought ......

Looking a bit like a beach side hut in Eastbourne combined with a fairground gypsy fortune tellers, Mean-Eyed Cat hadn't quite been what I was expecting!   The Mean-Eyed Cat in L**ds is an unusual, very dark, supposedly Johnny Cash themed (though heard every other artists music apart from his) keg only bar, where you roll a dice when you order your drink, and if you do well, you get free slice of pizza!  But I'm pretty sure this wasn't linked in anyway.  Heaving with people, I shouted across a group of blokes who looked like Perry Groves for a pint of 'The Cramps' themed ale, a delicious pale like a young Poison Ivy.  I made a quick getaway to the benches out the front, and asked two young beardos (not men in Peter Beardsley masks, probably more Craft Phillipe Albert and a vasectomied Brian Kilcline) if I could share their table.  Soon, all eyes weren't on my new GBG, but on my ale.  'Cooo, which one is that?'  people kept asking, like I was some beer expert who instinctively knew the best hoppy pale to choose.  Got chatting to a couple pinned against the pub, and the guy tells me I'm not the first person to think he's an Arsenal fan here for football!  In fact, he is here for a rugby union match, and is from Leicestershire.  Well, well, well, I never knew Leics folk had markedly more southern accents than their Notts n Derbys counterparts, but then again, it is a county I've not really been to.  Nice chat anyway, ale went down well, even if wind was a bit chilly, and with the folk dispersing for Sid James Park, I headed back towards the station ......

Another march back so I could squeeze in my 6th and final pub of the day, and being one of the many railway themed arch pubs, it confused Google Maps a bit which in turn confused me, but here it was, pretty much next door to Box Social I'd done earlier this year ......

Beer Street remember, sister pub of Old Fox in Felling, and they couldn't be more different.  But whilst service was with a smile, the masses of murk guzzling twenty and thirty somethings were loving life and disappointingly unthreatening, and ale quality spot on, I couldn't help feeling I'd been here before.  I hadn't.  But it felt so much like Box Social, but with a more atmospheric graffitied curved upstairs area, it was a bit hard in my six pint state to feel anything other than 'what is the point of this existing?'  True, maybe I wasn't sober enough to pick up subtle nuances of the place (if they exist), but after the success of the wonderful Split Chimp, it just feels so many places are eager to jump on the bandwagon, but not doing it quite as well.  Station East in Gateshead a similarly unconvincing railway arch attempt.  Still, everyone here was having a good time, and if it celebrates 30 consecutive GBG editions in 2050, I'm willing to eat my words!

So there we have it!  Six pubs to the good.  Had to look after myself, get a coffee, bottle of water, swerve York Tap and get to bed quite early as Father BRAPA was driving me around some east/south Yorkshire the following day.

Except best laid plans and all that ..... well, I'll tell you all about that tomorrow!

Si