BRAPA in ...... Sawrey, I Haven't A Clue (Cumbrian Adventrues III, Pt 5)

Probable actual footage of a last BRAPA pub of the day which included an 8.5% ale

So just to recap. Coniston had been a fun three pub experience, particularly the Black Bull and the Sun, and I'd returned to the former for an 8.5% barley wine (which of course, being a martyr, I like to mention at regular paragraphly intervals).  

A swig of my juice might help (it didn't) as we took the bus to Hawkshead and I was still just about in control of my limbs as I waited for the connecting bus to Near Sawrey.  I was stood with a family who were on holiday from China.  "Wow, China!" I screeched at the Dad.  "I know lots of visitors come from Japan but not so many from China".  Not sure how factually accurate that was, but I was obviously trying to make them feel special and unique.  

When the bus arrived, it took on a slightly strange form .......

Is that it? 

..... and in the cramped confines of this minibus with a perky driver who handed us all a leaflet and tried to give us a potted history (or should that be a 'Potter' history?) of Beatrix, I squealed "I'm just off to the pub in Near Sawrey for this thing I'm doing so can I stop there?" hoping I didn't sound too ungrateful, still self conscious enough to note my Barley Wine breath infecting Chinese kids in the squashed environs.  

I hopped off in Near Sawrey, saying "see ya in an hour" to the driver which probably sounded more like a threat, before heckling a field full of black sheep with a rather sick joke about them become Riggwelter's which may have been too obscure for the assembled crowd ......

I left them to cogitate over what they'd just heard, or at least chew a bit more grass, and rounded the corner to see the pub staring back at me ........

It looked promising, and I was still holding it together just well enough to be able to report that the Tower Bank Arms, Near Sawrey (1582 / 2799) struck a nice balance which the Consiton trio had slightly struggle at, which was to be welcoming to the one-time only visitor, whilst maintaining something of the rural Cumbrian farmhouse pub charm.  I managed to take my wonderful light Hawkshead ale (just the type of beer I needed at this point) to a table over to the right, by a fire for the third time out of four today, though it was fizzling a bit in the grate and a bit like me, needed the odd prod of encouragement to keep it alive.  A young bunch of walkers, very much like a trendy 1st century version of the Famous Five came in, and perhaps unsurprisingly, found a few classics on the shelf ..... the Flopsy Bunnies was read with animated enthusiasm, but all were wavering by Jeremy Fisher.  Whether it was the atmosphere or the Barley Wine I like to mention, I found myself drifting off and had to remember I had a bus to catch back to Hawkshead.

Oh dear, someone's had too much!

Nice and early for the bus stop, I got talking to kind local couple, and when the woman told me which bus stop I needed for my forthcoming trip to Barngates, I was somehow able to remember it as it was different from both of the two I'd been contemplating.

For now though, Mountain Goat back to Hawkshead,  and who should reappear but the Chinese family?  "Hi again" they said nervously, and they were right to be so, for I screeched "hiiiiii!" and gave them all attempted hugs!  And it was then I realised the Barley Wine had properly kicked in.

It had been watery sunshine at the stop, but once the driver woke me up in Hawkshead and said 'we're here mate' (the Chinese had done a runner!), I found it absolutely bucketing down again.  What's more, I'd somehow turned my Mobile Data off accidentally and just thought phone signal in Hawkshead was particularly bad.

Result, walking around getting drenched in a circle of this pretty yet probably very small village seeing a few pubs, none of which had Kings Arms written on them!  There was even a Queens or something, grrrr!   I drank a bit more of my juice and did it logically, one street at a time.  A few locals looked at me curiously from behind net curtains, but I pretended I was enjoying a rainy exploration.  Finally, the pub came into view and hadn't been too hard to find after all .......

And I'm glad I have photographic evidence or I'm not sure I'd even be sure I'd been to Kings Arms, Hawkshead (1583 / 2800) and of course, totally unaware of the 2,800th gross GBG pub landmark.  I remember thinking it had quite a nice traditional feel, though not quite as rural feeling as Near Sawrey, rammed with tourists sheltering from the rain, and worse still, a gaggle of dogs smelling of wet dog.  Ugh!  "Even your pictures are blurry" said someone cruel/funny on Twitter - well, that ain't nothing new, as I nursed a pint of Hawkshead Bitter (it had to be done!) which was just as glorious as the pale one I'd had in Sawrey, and evidence if it were needed, what a cracking brewery this is as I was able to 'enjoy' their beers even at this stage of the day .... which in 'time' terms, was actually still quite early. 

Evidence of beer

Evidence of fire I cannot remember

Evidence of carved beam I remember thinking was an amazing photo to take

One of the most badly behaved twogs of the whole holiday, from vague memory

I still had a pain-staking wait back at the makeshift bus station, so walked around some more, dusk fell, and next thing I knew, a bus driver woke me up (again) to say we were at Ambleside and where was I going.  "Kendallllll" I breathed in a sort of drinkers death rattle, and he said I needed to hop on the bus just in front bound for Windermere which I did.  

A final swig of juice. and I came around a bit, noticed the local landmark pub the New Union in the gloom, got myself to Tesco Express for late night snacks, and plenty of healthy restorative fruit and water, for I had to do it all again tomorrow, hopefully minus the 8.5% Barley Wine I like to mention.

Si

BRAPA and ..... No. 9 and Feeling Fine on the Barley Wine (Cumbrian Adventures III Pt 4)

Sunday morning in Cumbria was a wet one, reminiscent of Ulverston two weeks ago today.  I was back in the heart of the Lakes, knowing that Sunday bus services prevented me from doing anything too adventurous.

Premier Inn breakfast chaos meant no tables were available (except it seemed to be more about a staff shortage when they were pressed on the issue!) , I didn't have time to wait, so had to go to MaccyD's and slum it like the commoners.......

Tucked away around the corner from Ambleside, where I'd finished Saturday, was the Bluebirdtastic tourist-friendly (aren't they all?) village of Coniston, which with THREE ticks, was  BRAPA friendly too.  The bus journey was a 'mare, I found myself breathing in constantly as we tried to negotiate bulky drivers, twampervans and other anti-social wide transport on these narrow lanes.

Such was the location that being in Coniston felt a bit like being a ball in a table fussball game which had got trapped in the corner, and needed the table lifting to 'bring it back into play'.

I squinted through the rain, over a bridge and what they call a babbling brook to see the first pub, behaving like all good tourist pubs, being open before 11am even on a wet Sunday in October.

Dog and cat probably not to scale, with cameo appearance from an Elder Wand

First customer of the day at the Black Bull Inn & Hotel (1579 / 2796), immediately throwing the staff into turmoil by ordering a stout and confirming I had not booked for lunch, nor would I had be planning on eating.  I was put on a mental watchlist, and they got their own back by charging a London-esque £4.60 for the 4.5% pint!  People told me I'd have to expect such prices in the Lakes, but this was the first time I'd baulked at the price, so far at least.  Good chirpy banter amongst the staff, and whether it was the potential floods or Brexit, they spent the next five minutes debating the need to stock up on toilet rolls in genuinely concerned tones.  This was a real 'pub of two halves' experience for me.  This first 15 minutes in near solitude, in front of a roaring fire in this cosy atmospheric pub with deep red carpets, low beams and a load of CAMRA awards on the walls speaking for itself.  Martin the Owl hadn't really featured too prominently on this holiday so far, but he was the owl equivalent of a pig in shit (an owl in pellets?) in here.  But as we moved into the second half, southern murmurings like "we've booked for lunch but we're a bit early, can we 'av a drink?" filled the room, followed by an onslaught of twild activity, Grannies wanting to know where the bogs were and bald speccy men with rucksacks making jokes about their tackle being out of control..  I was finishing my stout at just the right time.  Great pub though.

Don't get too close Martin!

All calm at the bar in the first half

Start of the second half, and things are livening up

I said farewell to the pub (above) crossing the bridge and uphill to a pub reassuringly off-centre which looked beautifully autumnal.

A low-key shout for my 'pub of the holiday' was here, at the Sun (1580 / 2797), and I had to fathom out a tricky latch which gave way to a pleasing farmhouse style pub, aloof and sneering down at touristy central Coniston from a high-up location.  No surprise then, that my arrival was greeted with a tired wariness, the only drinker was a farmer in his wellies and he glared at me as if to say "this is a local pub for local people".  I wondered if he was this 'Old Man of Coniston' I keep hearing about.....  But five and a half years of BRAPA and I've developed a thicker skin to slight hostility, providing the pub is good, and the smell of the coal fire in the corner, old warped beams and slate floors told me this was indeed the case.  The young square jawed barman wasn't much better, but I took my pint to the fireside and drank in the atmosphere, setting my expression to 'won't be phased by grumpy buggers'.  I had a slight feeling I was being watched, and looked up to see another grump looking at me through the staircase.  The pub cat!  On a holiday of far too many dogs, to see a solitary cat was music to my ears, cementing this pub in my eyes as one of the best I visited this week. 

Second consecutive pint of dark ale in front of fire - I could get used to this

Martin spreads himself out on the bench seating #PubOwl

Lots of Sam Smiths beermats were a surprise addition too!

Grumpy pub cat tells the dogs his manifesto

I carefully descended the hill back into central Coniston, trying not to slip on the wet leaves and just about staying upright.  With the rain still coming down, the babbling brook was babbling away like the office gossip.......

 The third and final Coniston tick was just across the road from the Black Bull ........

But the spell of Coniston gloriousness was broken here at the Yewdale Inn (1581 / 2798), easily the weakest of the trio.  There was no stout in front of the fire, but it was a lot worse than that.   To some extent, it can be blamed on a group of about eight multi-generational walkers, who had commandeered the main back room, draping their wet coats over tables and chairs which they were even sat at, their two wet dogs drying out on dirty wet towels they'd splayed across the floor.  It was the ultimate in selfish pub behaviour.  Furthermore, the two young ladies had just beaten me to the bar and were engaged in a food order so elaborate, the solitary local woman sat at the bar to my right was rolling her eyes and looking physically in pain as the order escalated!  I tried to make eye contact with her for unity's sake, but this was a miserable pub anyway, lacking the atmosphere of the Black Bull and the Sun.  When one of the ladies adds "can I have cheese on the top of that?" at the end of the order, my first instinct was that she was taking the piss out of herself, knowing how convoluted things had become, but not a bit of it, the cheese was a serious unemotional demand.  No wonder when it was finally my turn to order, I said "I JUST WANT A PINT OF TAG LAG AND THAT IS IT!" to try and prove a point, but no one cared.  Staff were robotic, here to serve the tourist.  I moved seats from back room to the raised area facing the bar.  Sad for my Mum and Dad that on their recent trip to Coniston, this was the pub they chose at random - they thought it was fucking bullshit too (not a direct quote).  

A trip or two to the loo did cheer me slightly!

So, without wanting to absolve myself of responsibility for my actions (well, maybe a bit), a combination of factors lead to my next decision.  It seemed like a great idea at the time, but with hindsight, probably wasn't.

Sunday bus services meant I still had the best part of an hour to wait for the bus.  My soul would die if I had to stay in the Yewdale for another hour.  And over on Twitter, Brad Wight was excited to hear that the 8.5% Coniston No 9 Barley Wine was available on draught over the road at the Black Bull.

Oh dear, so I returned to the Black Bull, the lunch crowd were just starting to disperse, the rain was easing off, and the staff were at their personable best as I asked for a pint of it.  The lovely bald beardo didn't really bat an eyelid, apart from confessing that although it seemed bad that he was charging me £8.10 for the privilege, it was "like ordering two pints in one" and that I should view it like that.  Hmmmm, easier said than done when you have a BRAPA agenda to complete!

Looks quite innocent doesn't it?

 

Well, even just a third of the way down I could feel my head spinning, but I powered on through, pausing occasionally to make a series of theatrical facial expressions and telling a group of oldies from Yorkshire what I was drinking, whether they cared or not, which they didn't.  Over on Twitter, Sir Quinno told me to stop acting like a martyr.  He had a point.

Then I walked around the pub for no apparent reason, leaving Martin the Owl to guard my drink, then the bus was due which took me to Hawkshead, wherever that is.  I staggered towards it, I think there were two of them, I hopped on both, and I'll tell you what I can remember about that in part 5. 

Si  

BRAPA in ...... CS-Si Ambleside (Cumbrian Adventures III Pt 3)

Halfway through my first day then and all pretty positive so far.  Greenodd had been great, accidental bus to Windermere where I'd very much enjoyed Crafty Baa, and then onto the Badger Bar in Rydal at the Glen Rothay Hotel, which despite a few reservations (excuse the pun, ho ho ho), had seen true quality shine through once the tourists had departed.

Next, I took a bus to one of those Lake District hotspots every man and beast has heard of, Grasmere.  I feel it'd work better with a second 's', grassmere looks so much nicer and greener.  It was crawling with visitors, and pedestrians seemed to take priority over vehicles on the narrow pavementless roads.

A long walk around the back, through the extensive beer garden with mountainous backdrop took me to the bar door of Tweedies (1576 / 2793) , arriving just at the right time to hold the door for a posh Southern middle ager who was carrying three pints.  "WELL PLAYED!" he guffawed through a Surrey jawline and I almost hated the place already!  Joking aside, sort of, this was much more of a vast beer bar than the Badger, and give me cosy quaint hotel and fewer bright shiny ales any day.  But I do love a good Hawkshead brew, and they had plenty.  I couldn't quite get comfortable sat against the wall, a place with tinny, screechy acoustics that even the York Tap on a Saturday night may find 'a bit too much'.  And when I surrender on my attempts to spy on the guy next to me, who was writing meticulous passages in a bound leather notebook (poet or beer ticker?) , I realised I was bored witless and spent my final 13/5 minutes in the vast garden.  Fresh air, nice views, and you could swing a cat, or perhaps more likely a sheep as I sat at one of the furthest tables.  Having personal space in Lakes pubs feels like a privilege you have to grasp on the rare occasions it occurs.  I reflected briefly on how Brunning & Price the pub exterior was, if not so much inside.

Happier outdoors

Look, a beer!

Struggling to spy or get comfy indoors

Long walk around the back from car park to bar, so don't give up and keep going.....

For my final two ticks of the day, I took the bus back to Ambleside, in many ways, the 'key' place of this holiday being alphabetically, the next in line.

Possible blue badge abusers

I walked around in a circle for a while, bought a ridiculously priced pork & 'cider' (apple?) cornish pasty from something local (oh Greggs, oh Pound Bakery, sorry I have forsaken you, please forgive me!) and with the rain starting to spit again, I was glad to see one of the pubs without need for my map.

Sadly for me, it felt like half of Ambleside had taken refuge in Royal Oak (1577 / 2794) and if Tweedies had been a slight downturn on the previous three pubs today, then this one left me seriously underwhelmed.  Need for my emergency beermat for the first time this week told its own story, this was for the most part a tourist diners pub and though it had some degree of atmosphere and hubbub, had a chainy feel about it.  I read now it is a Greene King Local Hero, which feels right, though I was unaware of it at the time, having to highlight the GBG on my knee on a tiny table in a gap between bar and back room, which of course meant I didn't get a seconds peace!  In my eyeline, a fat family ordered nachos which reminded me my pasty was annoyingly cooling down in my bag - the way they sucked up the guacamole, salsa and sour cream in a sort of globule strand in order to reach the nachos was one of the most upsetting things my eyes saw all week.   In fact, my highlight was probably as I left, able to offer my table to a father & son combo who were definitely Boyzone to my Cat Stevens in their heartfelt thanks.  If that makes sense.

Today's Emergency Beermat

My beer was radical, my glass had weird colourful patterns on

View to the bar (it was never this quiet, I'm sure, were they all vampires?) 

Next, I did something that felt very almost like I was bringing pretty Ambleside into disrepute.  Sheltering under an awning as there was little in the way of sunshine, shovelling a lukewarm pasty into my mouth, scanning a strange book selection.  This was my favourite ......

Meghan and Harry were perfectly happy until I opened this book.  Coincidence?  

I said a cheery hello to lots of passers by who seemed quite taken with the scene!  I think the beer was kicking in.  I set off up a slight hill partially off the beaten track, which was already promising, for my sixth and final pub of the day.......

The 'Robinsons' sign was the first thing that stood out and surprised me at the Golden Rule (1578 / 2795).  True, I saw a very intriguing one in Ulverston a fortnight back, but fair to say I'm still quite surprised when I see ones outside Stockport (or the Black Horse in Preston) but I'm sure tonnes exist.  True also, I'd let my guard down a bit.  In a slightly drunken, tired state, following a couple of pubs I'd not really enjoyed, I wasn't expecting a comfortable, homely, multi-roomed, 70's decorated pub like this, and within seconds, I perked up!  A few old boys muttered a bit of unintelligible but probably friendly Amble-speak as I squashed in to get a pint of something with 'Hop' in the title and some bearded bloke on the clip, served by a bald bloke with a sense of humour.  And very good it was too (the beer, and the bald head).  Getting a seat was an issue, but I was determined to make the most of this experience and a la my Boar's Head Stockport experience, I used the mantelpiece as a makeshift table, and sat between two chairs admiring the retro board games.  For a while, I was so at peace,  I didn't care about bus times and the like, "what is time anyway?" I wondered, but then reality told me to stop being a drunk weirdo and I ran back to find a bus to Kendal, via Windermere.  

Bad losers at chess

So there we go.  First full day complete and I'd be back on the 'Lakes' trail on the Sunday, in what'd turn out to be my drunkest day of the hols so stay tuned for that one on Thursday cos I'm doing actual pubs tomorrow.  

Si