BRAPA is in ........ ALTERNATIVE ALCESTER (Stratford Hallowe'en Special Pt 2/2)

I'd left the aptly named village of Broom on my Three Witches inspired Hallowe'en pub trip, and was now Alcester bound.  I'd rushed to make the 247 bus from a stop simply called 'Turn'.  Of course it was late to arrive, of course it was raining again.  At least there was a shelter this time. 

I held my arm out well in advance (I even threw my left leg onto the road), aware visibility was poor and the road was a fast one.  He still saw me far too late and screeched to a stop a few yards further on, leaving me to gallop along the grass verge to reach him. 

"Sorry mate, I only stop there about once every six months, so I wasn't expecting ya!"  he explained.

Talking of 'not expecting things', I wasn't expecting the bus to fail to turn into Alcester, but instead career north through the town.  I was wedged between a lame looking pub called the Roebuck, and the village of King's Coughton before I realised! 

So after a brisk 15 minute walk back, I was finally in the town.  Why is BRAPA always so complicated, as Avril Lavigne once observed. 

The two GBG pubs were on the same road, I went to the one without the 'award winning' symbol first, thinking I'll save the best til last.   But turns out this one was the real classic .......

The clues were there from the word go in Three Tuns, Alcester (1613 / 2830), ales like Hobsons and Bathams being sold by staff who seemed to actually enjoy being here, stone flagged floors, boisterous old men on one side, nervous students on the other, and warped beams in what was actually a smaller one roomer than I'd first realised.   I sat at the one spare table in the pub and looked for the loo - of course they were outside, just to emphasise that classic pub feel.  Outdoor loos and great pubs seem to go hand in hand with unerring regularity on my pub trips.  I returned from my wee to the surprise sight of an old bloke sat opposite me on my spare table.  He did what he could to avoid eye contact for a good ten minutes, but I wasn't letting him get away with it that easily, and using BRAPA black magic (no i didn't bribe him with chocolates), I discover he's called Jim and I compliment him on the silver pewter he's drinking out of.  He's not the best socially, but indicates the blokes to my right by the window.  These are the 'Old Gits' group, he tells me, bemoaning the fact he has thrice tried to join the group but has been rejected, hence why he is sitting with me!  Now it becomes clear, some of the Old Gits are more talkative and are soon quizzing me on BRAPA, particularly the most superbly dressed one with a weird lid on his tankard - they all have interesting drinking vessels!  Perfect time to ask if they remember the Three Witches pub.  "It was never much loved ..... not many tears shed when it closed and got knocked down!" I'm told, thus ending my romantic mystery beermat story once and for all.  After a bit of BRAPA chat (I didn't trust any of them to do the highlighting), I soon shook a few hands and said farewell.  Pub of the day, and by quite a margin!

Jim sharing my table

Cheers friend

The lads point at the GBG's as instructed

Climb through toilet wall to desert island, but why would you want to?

A few yards down the High Street, the local pub of the year was next up .........

Turk's Head, Alcester (1614 / 2831) was a good pub and make no mistake, historic atmosphere, my main problem with it was it felt a little bit like a manicured wannabee Three Tuns, bit more of an upper class Prosecco foodie pub, but still good enough to be my second favourite pub of the day making Alcester a pretty good town to come for a pint or seven.   Being fifth pub of the day, I had the usual memory blanks, which meant I had to concentrate hard on the quirky chatter of the group in the window.  I perhaps overdid it as they noticed me chuckling along and noting down their words as they waxed lyrical on the Tiny Rebel blackboard next to me.  Why you might ask?  Well, they were Welsh daytrippers from Newport and what a fun bunch of folk, and to think the younger lad's jacket made him look like a very smart Nazi guard!  His blonde partner, once a successful magician I'm sure she said, moulded on Ali Bongo, known as Sally Pongo I think she said.  Part of me thinks my memory is playing tricks, but then again, Alcester was proving to be BRAPA gold.  I ended up going over as the pub acoustics weren't great with Welsh accents, and the older dude was a record appearance holder for Newport - can't remember whether it was football, rugby or pub visits.  A bit bewildered and unsure what was reality (did they really tell me Alcester had more pubs on the High Street than York did in total?), I decided a bus back to Stratford was the only way forward!

Welsh heroes about to engage me in chat

T U R K S - exciting corridor to loo

Tiny Rebel being amusing

Lesser spotted random pile of logs (not doing anything)

Back in Stratford, it was still raining of course but spirits were briefly lifted as the fair was in town, following me around from Shirland in Derbyshire.  This one had even fewer customers ......

Even better news followed as I realised the sole Stratford GBG entry was only about 5 mins walk from the station, meaning I never stepped foot into the town 'proper' all day.  Will would've been ashamed of me, if he wasn't dead.   Oh well, last pub of the day, best get it knocked off in 27 minutes .....

'We were good three years ago'

'Twas veritably wall-to-wall with micropubbers at Stratford Alehouse (1615 / 2832) (AKA people between the ages of 30-55 lacking enough facial muscles to smile at strangers but enough to make their thoughts on a third of the new 9% DIPA clear).  I fought my way through the steamy throng, where mine host, wearing the same grey fleece that my taxi driver had earlier, served me a day-glo pint of something New Zealish, offering a few words of encouragement to allow me to ask one of the days burning questions "How come Stratford only has one GBG entry when it is a decent sized famous town?"  He blamed Greene King for everything, as you do.  Then he saw a man he knew and it was obvious he'd rather chat to him, but I wanted to be the centre of attention by now, so I sat by the bloke on a piles-inducing bench supported by barrels and tried to make him understand the importance of BRAPA.  It didn't really work, but he did tell me plenty of things, all of which I've forgotten but he seemed a decent chap.

Day Glo ale, and look, Flowers!

Tom Irvin as a fisherman in the bogs

The scene of typically Micro

So there we go, I journeyed back via Birmingham, can't remember a second of it, but that was probably good news.  Now we could finally sat farewell to October and get our November pub-ticking game on.

Si 

BRAPA and .... the Three Witches of Stratford : Hallowe'en Beermat Special (Pt 1/2)

I've had this mysterious old beermat on my bedroom wall for years now.  Not sure where it came from, but it is ancient, stained with beer and smoke of yesteryear, and realising that The Three Witches was a pub, I decided to do a bit of research into where it might be and take the beermat for a 'homecoming'.

After discounting the only existing Three Witches, a modern build dining keg only Marstons pub near Inverness, I realised it must no longer exist or at least have had a name change.

I then looked into Flowers brewery (I vaguely remember seeing their ale occasionally in the south west when I first got into real ale in 2002) and saw that they were once based at Stratford.  Of course ....  Shakespeare, Macbeth, Three Witches, it all made sense!

And although there were very few online anecdotes and absolutely no photos of the pub, I managed to pinpoint the location on the Alcester Road going out of Stratford.  It had been demolished in the early 90's.  This was handy as you know how much I love doing BRAPA alphabetically, and Alcester was the first place listed under Warwickshire.  Serenbrapity.

So back in July, I decided this could form the basis of a Hallowe'en Special BRAPA crawl. 

'Eye of Newt, Toe of Frog, Wool of Bat, Tongue of Dog.  Adder's Fork.  Blind Worm's Sting.  Lizard's Leg, and Owlet's Wing ....... 

...... and they are the names of just eight of the new micropubs which have opened in Kendal or Skipton since you started reading this blog. 

Birmingham Snow Hill Station on the Saturday morning of 26th October, the weather was foul and my train to Stratford had just been cancelled.   Time to think on the hoof and improve my chances of getting six pubs done ..... one of my Birmingham newbies was a 10am opener.  Time for a pint before the next train ......

I stood under the awning next to Cherry Reds, Birmingham (1610 / 2827) like a drowned rat praying they'd open sharpish.  A group of 'LADS' had the same idea a couple of minutes later, and I glared at them like "I'm first to the bar so you better observe proper pub etiquette LADS".  10:02am and we all realised at once that the door was now open.  I burst in first, glad to see the LADS heading to a table.  I hastily got a pint of a new spicy Salopian and the fragile but friendly looking staff eyed me with the suspicion of the 10am liquid breakfast person I was.  I couldn't relax though as water had seeped into my phone, and I couldn't get any sound out of it re ringtone, Mum's voice, music, YouTube clips, anything, so spent my whole time here in an agitated state of discomfort, ringing home, doing experiments to fix it!  Sad really, as this was a cute, trendy breakfast bar with a strong live music bent, I know I've liked some bands on the Cherry Reds music label before, like The Meteors..  The LADS were told by a concerned mousy barmaid that it wasn't table service and they'd need to go up to the bar, to which they replied "we know, we're just choosing what we'd like to eat" which I'd totally not be expecting, and it was unreal banter from a group who I thought would be straight in on a diet of craft lager, accumulators and animated discussions about Raheem Sterling's crib and how peng the talent was.  My phone recovered, and I had to drink quickly to get back to Snow Hill for the next train.  I took my glass back to the bar, coughed, harrumphed, pulled my hat down over my face and said 'FANKS!' which seemed to scare the staff all over again.

Neewollah, nee bother!

Some of the LADS and background Brewdog which I bet they went to next.  Banter.

Elvis and a Duffle Lamp

Second time lucky, and I was on a train, but what a shit station Stratford-Upon-Avon is eh?  I'd been expecting something bright, shiny, touristy, Shakespearean, not this grim half baked concrete arse splodge.  Bring back Birmingham New Street, all is forgiven!  (not really of course, it is the biggest most confusing monstrosity in the entire UK).  

No taxis, no discernible bus heading in the right direction, not central for the town centre, utter bilbo babbins as they probably say in these parts.  

There was only one thing for it, march on the old Alcester Road to see if any remnants of the Three Witches pub still existed (maybe it'd have a blue plaque?), a stone's throw from Anne Hathaway's cottage, the rain coming down heavier than ever now.  At least there was a bus stop called Hathaway Green Lane right next to the old site.......

Hmmm, is that it?  (On the right hand side I think just beyond the junction of East Green Drive)

If the pub location was an anti-climax, the lack of a bus shelter and suitably leafy tree, plus a 24 minute delay meant I was seriously fed up as I aimed to get out to my second pub at Studley, just north of Alcester.  

Meanwhile, Dad, safely tucked up and dry in Hull's Whalebone sent me the kind of message that might've been amusing and poetic under different circumstances .......

Luckily, the bus eventually arrived and Dad was forgiven, the roads were in a bit of a sorry state by now but we ploughed on through the river ......

And in Studley, my next pub was a pink tinged Micro thing ........

Weatheroak Tap House, Studley (1611 / 2828) was not really the ideal pub in my current circumstances, offering as it did a slightly chilly welcome as locals and staff didn't exactly greet me with a warm smile, though the bar blockers did at least make a play of shuffling to one side so I could get in to these 'yummy' Weatheroak ales, I got a Queen Victoria one.  Tasted vaguely like beer.  Still, probably good I didn't vocalise my mentally rehearsed 'the weather is a joke, but I'm on the Weatheroak' line.  Perched at the front of the pub with a sliver of cold air seeping through did little to improve my mood, but as time went on, things improved when I realised there was plenty of 'quirk' in the local's character.  The stodgiest bloke asked the female business owner's daughter, who was playing, I think, with some lego figures "What is this chap called?"  He and I were surprised when she replied "Barbara".   Exeter City were then slagged off for having too much money, and people then ranted about Leagues One and Two in general, softening only when the subject of their much loved Rugby Union came up.  An angry looking man darted for the door, turning, bewildered on his haunches, and asks me "Where's he fackin' gawn?"  It was the first time I'd been engaged in conversation in 20 mins, and I was at a loss.  Turns out his son was supposed to pick him up, but had driven through a puddle and broken down.   I'd just rung for a taxi so was keeping an eye on the door anyway, and with the likelihood of further customers at a low ebb, the owner dashes off to the neighbouring chippy. She returns, complains she'll not be able to eat 'em all, so the Blockers tell her to put them on the bar.  When I return my glass, they are all like "go on lad, take as many as ya want!"  I took 3 chips, and I can tell you, they are the best 3 chips I've eaten in 2019.  Then I had a nice chat about taxis with 'flooded angry man' before my taxi showed.  Strong end to my time in this pub, shame it hadn't started like this! 

Decent GBG selection

View of the back room no one went in

It's all action down in Studley

Yes, it felt a bit of a 'cheat' but after the bad start, I really needed a boost if I was to get my six pub quota done before the train home, and with the bus a good hour off, I taxied it to a village just south of Alcester courtesy of Tony and his grey fleece.

Broom was its name, after all, the Three Witches all need a broom so it seemed fitting.  The pub looked like something two dimensional built for a stage play ..... 

Obviously a pretty old building, but it was soon evident that the Broom Tavern, Broom (1612 / 2829) was the extreme posh end of outer Stratford dining pubs.  A friendly bald man with a healthy tanned complexion held the door open for me from afar, I branded him #PubMan, and that was about as 'real' as this place got, though creaky beams evoked memories of an older 'pub' pub.  A wiry motivated youth with an air of Scrappy Doo served me with wide eyes, the result was an unchallenging North Cotswold ale, which would prove to be good news for me.  A crazed South African in bright shirt barked aggressively to our bald hero about forthcoming Rugby World Cup joy,  'twas 'three witches presentiment-esque'.  I sat, a shambling rose between two thorny dining areas, at the most neutral table I could find, full of newspapers, probably not even designed for customers to sit at, but I know my place in such establishments.  Baldie and our Saffer sat at the bar, everyone else was a posh diner.  'Some were thin, most were called Carolynne, some had pearls and rubies.  We had men in tweed, pudgy children in need, and old girls with buxom boobies'.   After gliding over beautifully carpetted stairs to the cleanest loos imaginable, I noted a bus was 20 minutes away if I could neck this pint in ten and get to the bus stop, a ten minute walk from the centre of Broom (7 or 8 for a quick walker).   I didn't wanna stay here for two hours, so I had to go for it.  'Chug, chug, chug' (I was perhaps first person in the history of this pub to chug). 

Bar heroes in Broom

A nice neckable pint

IF I miss the bus, I'm coming back for a Pink G&T

Evidence in the beams of when the pub was a pub

Back onto the flooded lanes of Broom, I had a bus to catch.  Could I make it?  How would Alcester fare?  Could I squeeze in the Stratford tick?    Join me for #PubMen like this in part two .......

Si

   

BRAPA is ...... Jotting 'em Forest : Kimberley & Nottingham

Any Hull City fan would be mad to miss the annual trip to Nottingham Forest, as we win there every year - or at least we do when I go.  This makes the VAT & Fiddle the luckiest pub in the UK, and one I enjoy as well which is a bonus, innit? 

With three new ticks to do in the 2020 GBG, the trip was even more appealing, though being on a Wednesday night meant I needed to book a day and half off work so I could properly 'enjoy' it (i.e. drink what I like and stay up til 3am singing Eye of the Tiger, Tiger Feet and the chart topping 'Yer getting mauled by The Tigers'. (maul, maul, maul). 

Being the BRAPA legend he is, Father BRAPA suggested we stop off at a pub on the way to Nottingham too to bolster the numbers to four.  What a gent! 

Problem is, that corridor east of Derbys, west of Notts must have the highest concentration of micropubs in the UK, a veritable conveyor belt of new openers designed at dispiriting the pub ticker, none of which open by noon on a Wednesday, if at all.  We'd have to go old skool.   Here it was .....

Up a narrow lane on a very tight angle, Cricketers Rest, Kimberley (1606 / 2823) was the kind of gem you hope for when you come ticking in counties like Notts, Derbys and Staffs.  It smelt like a pub, something I said just a bit too loudly and our livewire, brilliant barmaid replies "I don't know if that is a good thing!" so I reassured her it was.  You know that smell I mean, that heady mixture of beer, sweat, smoke like 1/7/2007 never happened, and aftershaves which haven't been on sale since the 60's.  A Castle Rock pub, you can always rely on them, and the Harvest Pale was on song even if my Shiny beer was so hoppy, it stripped the lining off my inner chest!  Painful.  We sat in a back snug surrounded by cricket themed photos, board games, and a mysterious outdoor area.  There was one extra reason to celebrate.  My original GBG had arrived back from Denby Dale on Monday, and to get 'first tick' since the Dunkirk under my belt was a satisfying moment!  Kimberley, a place I'd always wanted to go to since ticking begun, and now I know I'll remember it like a trip to a Pizza Express in Woking.  A great start to the day. 

Historic moment as Original GBG returns

Lovely blue tiled bar

The kind of blokes you want to see in a pub

Mysterious outdoor area 

Was a bit of a pain getting into Nottingham and parking up as Dad wrestled with a Pay & Display before we hopped off to pub two with full bladders.  

'Hurry up and take the photo, I need a wee!' 

One of those where the bored looking young barman looked surprised to see any customers, and we were the only ones at Fox & Grapes (1607 / 2824) for more Castle Rock fun fun fun.  The landlord in 1963 was murdered here, so maybe that's why he looked a bit on edge!   We were in the Sneinton area of Nottingham where I'd been immensely impressed with King William IV a few years back.  This was nowhere near as characterful or charming, but you could appreciate you were in a decent refurb of a much older pub, the heating was generous, and the ale was good.  Liked the Banks's old pub sign indoors.  What more can you ask?  As one of our former strikers might say, 'you can't always be a greedy bastard like me can you?'  Anyway, a few shady characters finally strolled in for a pint, guilty expressions one and all, whether it was businessman on laptop or hi-vis milkman, they didn't look like they were supposed to be here.  

Peggers was pub's previous name

Pub was also called Pretty Windows and people sold veg, but windows less pretty today

Longest walk of the day was next, across the city in rush hour and a reminder what a vast, sprawling place Nottingham is.

We were in the Canning Circus area now, where on a previous trip with Tom, we'd been able to fit THREE GBG ticks into one photo - Organ Grinder, Sir John Borlase Warren and the Plough.  All excellent, and incredibly, they'd now squashed a fourth in between them! 

I was pleasantly surprised with OverDraught (1608 / 2825), because I knew it was a new pub in a former bank, I thought it might feel like a cross between a large Micropub and a small Wetherspoons!  Besides, capitalised letter midway through a word also sets warning signs flashing in the BRAPA brain.  But to be fair, it had a nice bustling post-work atmosphere, sweeping staircase, nice curves, and mine host had such a trustworthy reassuring haircut, I returned to the bar to ask him if he'd mind us eating our sandwiches in here.  He asked 'is it veal?' but when I reassured him it was just egg sandwiches with homemade bread, I just knew he'd say yes, even if on the surface, OverDraught wasn't the most obvious 'eat your own food here' style of pub.  I threw Dad under the bus a bit by letting him order the 'Slap in the Face' by Totally Brewed, for when I'd had it in Walthamstow, it tasted no better than fizzy piss.  But he didn't complain, so maybe it just is a beer that doesn't travel well to E17.  After all, it is a difficult place to go and keep yourself in top condition.   Not sure if it was my Hull City colours, but two men started frantically waving at me and on the way out, they told us to have a great evening and made some vague Nottingham Forest related joke that was simply too bad to recall.  

We were making such good time, we decided a preemptive situated about half way between here and the station was a good idea.  After a bit of debate, we settled on something called Royal Children because it had a funny name and Whatpub said it was a beautiful old pub with a whalebone on display and some cave cellars.  Excitement!  

But an army of bouncers and beer served in plastic with some vague 'home fans only' signs were perhaps an indication that this hadn't been my finest preemptive decision!  I'd already been served my Castle Rock before a guy slowly cottons on to my black & amber sleeves and tells me I shouldn't be in here, so I tell him we'll stay for just this one and then go, which seems to satisfy the onlooking crowds.  Luckily, vintage playoff football finals were showing on the screen next to us so at least we could focus on something for the slightly uncomfortable 25 mins we were here!  

A photo to sum up the Royal Children experience better than any words can!

Decent Harvest Pale though.

Back at the station, our final 'tick' took a bit of locating, but once we did, the light was fading and the football crowds were building ......

Dad looking like some cheeky Dickensian pick pocket

Been to a couple of Beerheadz (1609 / 2826) bars now in towns like Retford and Grantham (not Melton or Lincoln yet), but this was third time lucky, my favourite yet, and we were both impressed with the refurb  (was an Edwardian cabman's shelter).  At first, as sometimes happens on visits to Nottingham (or more commonly Leicester), those folk waiting / blocking the bar were surly, rude and lacked a basic human warmth.  But once we got settled, it all turned on its head and we got chatting to one guy (though he may have been a figment of my imagination), and then a father and son duo (the 2004 Hull Hole in the Wall version of Dad and I) , lovely Forest fans, whatever next!  "Anyone can beat anyone in this division ......" said the Dad, tailing off, leaving an unsaid ".... but you aren't going to beat us tonight!"   On that note, I remembered we had a lucky pub to get to!

Yes, VAT & Fiddle it had to be, and less busy than recent seasons probably people discouraged by the Wednesday night late October kick off.  What was weird though, people (mainly women who were about 5 foot 2) kept coming up to me, saying things like "I remember you", hugging me, shaking my hand and whether it had been from my frequent walks to the toilet, getting served, or previous seasons (or perhaps they were just BRAPA devotees), it was all a bit bewildering! 

Then, we went to the City Ground.  I've been quite a lucky omen for us this season on the few occasions I've been to a match, we've played well.  So that combined with my Forest away record, no surprise we won!  They were bad losers too, you think they'd be used to it by now.

Post-match, I even vaguely flirted with a celebratory 'tick' at a place called Lower Bagthorpe (Dixies Arms) but it would've been risky with last orders getting close so we decided against it, no doubt we'll be back next year.  Excellent stuff as always from Notts.

Si