BRAPA is ...... PUB CATCHER IN THE RUISLIP (Pt 2)

Excitement was mounting as I left one Wetherspoons at Rayners Lane for another at Ruislip Manor.  I say excited, and I'm not talking Neil Shipperley levels of excitement of course, but I was one pub away from completing North London for the first time, which would be my first fully greened 'county' of the 2020 Good Beer Guide. 

I used the short tube ride to order a new orange scarf on Amazon, having left my BRAPA stalwart one on a bench in the Queen's Head in Uxbridge.  At least it went out on a high. 

Ruislip Manor looked a bit edgier than Ruislip itself, which I did earlier this year when a pretty average micropub was in the Guide and a man shouted at me for not closing a toilet door.  Men lurked and smoked, someone swore at a pavement for having a steep curb, and someone asked me for the time like it was 1980. 

Still, I savoured the moment before entering the pub, doing a bit of hover-lurking myself just to build the anticipation, or was it just that I was waiting for a 90 year old bag lady to shuffle past the pub so I could get a clear photo opportunity? 

A bit more rugged roughhouse than its Rayners Lane counterpart, there was a real sense of 'life' at J J Moon's, Ruislip Manor (1654 / 2871) which reminded me a bit of the Wrong 'Un in Bexleyheath in terms of nobbly old dudes getting apoplectic at the prospect of horse racing.  The barman seemed a little bit too excited as I scanned the ale pumps and kept an earlier promise to myself, ordering a hard to pronounce Christmas beer which looked a bit less tacky than the Rockin' Rudolph, I'm disappointed to tell you.  "It's Welsh!" squeaks the barman.  "Oh good" I said, for I was unsure how I was supposed to respond to this.  With elaborate fruit machines flickering away in a epileptic-threatening way, the odd mini staircase and the occasional bit of flora and fauna dotted about, it was a bit like being in the posh bit of Coventry's Ricoh Arena before it went bust, with a nod to the Grand Electric Hall in Spennymoor.  Two Fosters ladies watched me with understandable superstition, a chunky Paul Daniels smiled, and the horse lovers kept using my table as a resting place for their Birra Moretti mid-race.  An amusing satisfying Spoons full of life, and North London complete!

Mum reads FILTH as bloke belts out an angry early 90's indie anthem

Contemplative on the Fosters

IT'S WELSH!

Ricoh Arena in disguise

One of the friendlier punters

Horse jumping causes a headache for one poor dude

If your 'London Underground' game is particularly strong, you might be thinking "Si, how come you did Rayners Lane BEFORE Ruislip Manor when it is closer to King's Cross?

Well, there was method in my madness.  I still had capacity for two pubs, didn't trust any of my remaining Central London trio this close to Christmas, so wanted to 'keep west', and worked out I could walk quite easily to Ruislip Gardens from here, where I could join up to the Central line going south.

After all, it seemed sort of wrong having a very 'green' North & West London, but a non-green Greenford .......

Yes, that needed rectifying!   

Fatigue was starting to hit earlier than I'd have liked, I suspect my Halifax evening was catching up with me, but there's always someone in a worse state than you .......

He probably ticked Stockport in its entirety last night

The light was fading now, and Dad was reporting that Hull City were snatching victory from the hands of defeat at home to Stoke so I strode towards pub five with a new found energy, vim, vigour and purpose ......

For all the solid, sturdy, neatness of this obviously well run Fullers house, I still felt there was something slightly flakey about Black Horse, Greenford (1655 / 2872) and I want to offer you a better explanation than "well, West London, innit?" but I'm not sure I can!  I'd already been peeved when trying to order one of those 'Coming Soon' beers, only to have my wings clipped by the 58 tartan-shirted barmaids presiding over a London Pride v ESB range.  Still, you cannot deny the Pride was drinking well, as us bitter experts say(!) and I should probably have never tried to go off-piste in the first place.  On-piste, or at least 'on the piss' were the three 'Sky Sports Ladz' watching the scores coming through courtesy of BRAPA regular, Jeff Stelling, but I'd already suspected they lacked the 'menace' of say an Atherton, Wigan or Stalybridge counterpart, when some food arrived, provoking a five minute discussion on the virtues of red cabbage.  Do these Londoners realise what stereotypes they can be?  I should have probably interjected that in Germany, they call it blaukraut in the south but rotkohl in the north (thanks Ludi!) but I didn't want to embarrass them.  With SSEB (Sky Sports Errol Brown) doing laps of the pub and muttering amusing football cliches nervously as the final whistles rang around the country, I left my right leg hanging out and a barmaid nearly tripped, called me 'darling', so I made a swift exit before I did any more damage. 

Bet it still isn't on .......

Drinkin' well

Red cabbage and white trainers - not Atherton

View to the bar

View through to the dangerous right hand portal

Chris Kamara en route to the Gents

One more pub to go then, and you could tell my mind was starting to get sozzled as I started to get my Ealing's mixed up! 

I'd been patting myself on the back for getting to Ealing Broadway via North Acton, but the pub I wanted was actually at WEST Ealing, which I couldn't see on the Tube, possibly because it isn't, a good 20 minute walk away.  Oh well, at least the chilly dark walk sobered me up a bit.  

And I'd actually been intrigued by what I'd read about this next pub.  The locals call it Dracula's Castle because of the gothic outlook, and you can see why, but you'll have to read Martin Taylor's recent blog to see a good photo cos (a) it was dark and (b) I accidentally entered through the tradesman's entrance, past the kitchens ........

Well I messed that one up didn't I? 

But fear not, for another strange quirk of Drayton Court Hotel, West Ealing (1656 / 2873) was that Ho Chi Minh used to work in the kitchens here!  That is probably a BRAPA style fact, but it presumably draws in a few more curious punters.  So, I can tell you are expecting quite an interesting 'tick' after all this, so I'm sad to tell you it was dull as dishwater.  The main bar was sparse, the few seats dotted around the sides were all taken, the other rooms all restaurants and the Ghost Ship was 'coming soon' (nearly fooled me again!) so I smashed down a pint of Tribute as I'd just had a Pride (the only other ale on).  'Twas decent stuff up to a point.    All I could do was perch at the bar, which at least allowed me to witness the sheer panic on an old Swansea man's face as his card was declined, which he manfully told the staff was all the fault of London prices!  Still, he wasn't eager to go back to his table and tell his wife she'd have to pay, so he lingered and we had a bit of chat about Swansea pubs No Sign Bar, Queen's Hotel and the Potters Wheel 'Spoons, and it was clear we were both delighted to be able to have this brief chat in these trying circumstances!  I realised I'd been here 33 minutes, long enough for any man. beast or twild.  Time to goooooo.  

More beer teasing!

Loos were my favourite bit.  I hear Adolf Hitler used to clean them.

He's not from Swansea

And neither are they

I left by the front in one vain last attempt to capture the Gothic Dracula's Castle .......

Oh I give up!

Presumably, the journey back was nice and straightforward.  I DID get a seat this time, and the Sunderland fans were in remarkable voice for a team who'd lost at the Gills, they must be getting used to it.

Six more good pubs ticked, 8 done, but still 20 more to do if I am to reach my target of 28 for the month, 449 for the year, beating my 2018 tally by 1.  Come on, we can do this!  

Join me tomorrow for tales from the Lancs/Scouse border.  

Si

 

BRAPA in ..... SCARF FEVER IN UXBRIDGE ...... ONE BRAP BEYOND!

Mirror in the Bathroom (Drayton Court Hotel, West Ealing)

Standing all the way from York to London Kings Cross wasn't exactly the ideal start to a Saturday BRAPA Special, especially after a moderately heavy night with Quosh and Chris Dyson in Halifax, but I didn't want to complain too much.  After all, I was on a Grand Central freebie thanks to the lovely Steve H of Twitter.  My last of the year.  And leaving it this close to Christmas, and when Sunderland were off to Gillingham, well I only had myself to blame!  

Standing alongside me, a young lad who was off down to Barnet F.C. for a trial!  Not the perfect preparation, but he bumped into some girls he knew and they chatted about an ex Hull City goalie mutual friend, so that was kinda interesting.  

Problem was, I was opposite the bogs, and with a stiff door and an uncertain 'vacant/engaged' slider, I spent the whole journey telling full bladdered Mackems whether they could go in or not.  Exhausting!  The things I didn't sign up for when I embarked on BRAPA are always the hardest. 

At least I was first off at KX.  "Enjoy yourself ..... it's later than you think" said Mr Barnet and the ladies.  Probably. 

By the time I'd crossed London to Uxbridge and taken a bus North to the surprisingly rural spot of Harefield, the clock was ticking and I needed a pint with a new found thirst.  

Down a muddy country lane I went, the pub tucked away in self-important posh grounds with some great views over the water, and a reminder that South Bucks was only spitting distance away. Would the pub make me want to spit, or errrrm, swallow my pride?  

Old Orchard, Harefield (1651 / 2868) was, if you were in any doubt, a Brunning & Price pub.  I associate the chain with rural Cheshire, so was surprised to see one this far south, but someone tells me there's even one near Wimbledon so how d'ya like them apples?  (Orchard, get it?  Sorry).  Still, it sort of managed to out Brunning & Price even the most Brunning & Price.  My B&P bingo card makes it clear what you are going to get - a grand country house style setting, shaggy rugs, stuffed animals, quirky Victorian prints, smart staff who don't understand the concept of "I just want a drink", an overpriced average house beer, table reservations galore.  I paint a depressing picture, but I don't mean to, they are pretty cosy classy places to sit and have a drink at times, I don't feel an Ember level of hatred, but I'd not CHOOSE to drink in one.  After battling through a huge dining room of zombie lurkers, I hit the bar and a workhorse who looked like a Leyton Orient midfielder from the 80's got me a pint of Redemption Trad Bitter for £4.65 - the beer quality never convinced but he smiled more sympathetically at me as my 27.5 mins inside this pub progressed.  The pub was 95% restaurant, and I had to perch a bit too close to a couple eating a casual ploughman's by the fire (a full apple seemed a bit too elaborate but perhaps was another orchard nod!), their hidden dog perfectly camouflaged in the rug.  They had deep theatrical discussions about 'relationship needs' and 'feelings' which really accentuated my feeling of 'sitting too close'.  But I had no option, EVERY other seat had knives, forks etc. all laid out.   The beer towels read 'Banter & Pints, Beer & Pies' which didn't really reflect the 'vibe' in here.  'Bullshit & Prosecco' would've been more accurate.  A Mum took her ungrateful toddler twild for a 'pub tour' that she'll never remember when she's older.  "CAN I HAVE AN EXTRA HIGH CHAIR?" wailed a young Mum who'd strode purposefully to the bar like a runner up in The Apprentice.  Had she given birth again whilst waiting for lunch to arrive?   I couldn't get out for the influx of diners queuing at the door, so I went for an angry pee and looked for an open upstairs window I could abseil out of. 

The ale seemed a bit tired to me

"Bullshit & Prosecco" 

I played 'chestnuts or truffles' for at least ten minutes

She won't remember this when she's older

Accurate representation of me ticking North & West London for the most part

As I took the bus back to Uxbridge, I could at least admire the 2020 Good Beer Guide knowing I now only had TWO North London ticks to do, and they were both Wetherspoons, which seemed kind of apt.  Could I get them done today?  

So typical then that West London temporarily distracted me because back in Uxbridge, and bear in mind, I'd never been here before I had a pub to do .......

Ah, this was more like it!  Queen's Head, Uxbridge (1652 / 2869) was the perfect tonic to a posh B&P, being a traditional creaky warped effort, full of creaky warped old men, with the smells and charged atmosphere of a pub which had stood on this site for centuries.  Rare for West London Good Beer Guide entries.  The barmaid of Eastern European flavour was in the upper echelons of 'BRAPA barstaff 2019' season, and I made the best of a Greene Kingie range and went for the 'Rockin' Rudolph' on the basis it had the most LED lights on the pump clip.  I sort of hate Christmas themed ales so much, I actually love the misery of ordering them.  Inevitably, she asks if I'm CAMRA so I flash my card for a discount.  I feel kind of insulted she picked me for a CAMRA member, but then I looked down and saw the words 'BRITISH REAL ALE PUB ADVENTURE' emblazoned across my chest in a beer font, so couldn't really complain.  "3 and 6" she charges me.  'Errrm what century is this?' I wonder,  but she means £3.60.  Decent.  And a much better pint than in Harefield.  Next I made the bold move of sharing a table with three old locals - well, there was a Scottish one (the most engaging), William (the cutest) and the other one (the rudest but funniest).  They'd actually just fallen out with their Yorkshire friend for making an offensive joke. "I know he's from the frozen North but I didn't know his humour was that chilly!" they complained.  Then, there was an obscure cockles & mussels joke, a 'Just William' quip that would've made Tim Vine or Milton Jones blush, so it was no surprise our barmaid heroine appeared at our table and pretended to stamp on 'the other one's' foot for being cheeky.  I slid out of the seat, the three blokes barely even noticing.

But I mean who wouldn't want to order this?  Don't answer that.

The Scottish one and pint in strangely shaped glass

Pleasing toilet scene

Well that was a lovely West London interlude but let us not get distracted from the job in hand, completing North London.  So it was back on the Tube as far as Rayners Lane, my penultimate NL pub tick!  

But a minor disaster had befallen me.  I'd left my (famous) orange scarf, which has appeared in so many classic BRAPA winter days out, in the Queen's Head.  I wonder which one out of the Scottish one, William, the Other One, the barmaid or Boris ended up nicking it?  

Sad but no time to dwell, because North London is where 'Spoons started life and because of that, they always seem to be a little bit better here than in most parts of the UK .......

But during my first five minutes in Village Inn, Rayners Lane (1653 / 2870) , I was barely considering it to be even in the top 50% of Wetherspoons I'd visited in my life.  I didn't open the door properly, and got a scowl from a smelly man in a booth.  The shallowness from front door to bar is a pub feature I never like, as I find myself embroiled in 'being served' before I've mentally reset myself to my new surroundings!  Does that make sense?  As a result, there was a weird dischord between the barman and me, I accidentally whispered my order, and a weird 50p request made the whole situation even more unsatisfactory.   It was then I noticed I'd lost my scarf, and it looked like I had to share a booth with the smelly bloke and his mate from earlier.  But everything changed on a chance trip down to the loos, where I realised the pub opened up into this immaculate multi-boothed, peacefully, shiny mirrored lower level.  Again, I suspect this was an early 'Spoons where they perhaps took a bit more care in the pub design.  Now I could enjoy my quality IPA in comfort, an old couple debating whether Solihull was pronounced Soley-hull, before leaving their fried eggs like they thought they were contaminated and doing a runner.  Despite the huge amount of seats and booths available, Smurf Donald Trump decided he'd invade my personal space.  Maybe Boris had sent him to return my orange scarf, but it complimented his complexion so he decided to hang on to it.   But what a great 'Spoons this was, top 10%er for sure.  

Let's make BRAPA great again

A man on Twitter saw this photo and bemoaned IPA's ruining beer choice but I didn't understand

Look how splendid it is

My booth, pre invasion from the Donald

Old people getting to grips with Solihull but not fried eggs

Join me in part two to see if I could finish North London trouble free, and what other pubs would I do to make up the magic 'six for the day'?  

Si

BRAPA and ..... the 'FAX MACHINE

7th April 2018, and I was careering around the Cambridgeshire countryside with this amusing chap called "Martin Taylor" and he says "Ya know what Soi?" and I say "What do I know Martin?" and he replies "Halifax is the most underrated pub town in the UK" and ya know what, in that moment amongst the windmills, dog walkers and six fingered villagers with zero manners and sticks up their arses, Martin was right. I replied "Martin, you are roight".   With the village of Ashley in sight, he asks "Is it a roight here?  I've absolutely no idea".  Neither did I.  Ask Google Maps.

And that sets the scene for a drizzly Friday night in West Yorkshire.  I've got pubs to do.  Crazy Twitter legends want to meet me, this could be fun but hopefully not the same kind of "fun" as Stalybridge/Greenfield/Mossley back in the summer.

Halifax is a ridiculous place for the 'ticker'.  So many options in the last three years, and the fact that neighbouring Sowerby Bridge has declined from approx SIX pubs in recent GBG's to just TWO shows how much the 'Fax is monopolising proceedings.

So to get a Sowbs tick in was a rare recent treat ...... if you can ignore how similar it is to the Pizza-centric Firehouse and how Puzzle Hall really really really needs to make the anticipated comeback they'll have you believe ........

Blind Pig, Sowerby Bridge (1649 / 2866) was better than I'd expected on at least three counts, so gotta take that as a 'win'.  Firstly, I'd been expecting some tiny chilly micro thing and it was actually a bar of former Bank proportions, which meant warmth and depth, and you've gotta like your pubs warm and deep.  Not only was the bank a 'Bank' but turns out it was a former Yorkshire Bank, the best type of former bank.  And then you had Twitter friend Quosh, you might know him as Alex, propping up the bar in his burglar's hat with lovely smile and cute white teeth.  An illuminated fluorescent green bar underneath the bar made me think 'BRAPA highlighter pen' and the barman was such a fucked up  ball of joy, i felt like he'd served me in several other BRAPA pubs from Par to Berwick, but Quosh asked him, and it seems not.  The ale, Sonnet Raven was a smooth stout of glorious proportions, it was a bit like having Cary Grant on your tongue (that is why Untappd banned me) and even though this pub will not live long in the memory, there'll just be enough in my brain to make me think "hmmm, Blind Pig, it was different to the Hog's Head".

Lovely barman does the honours

Here's a Blind Pig

Like a highlighter pen 

Time to take the short train ride from Sowerby Bridge to Halifax, but as we entered the station, Quosh decides he needs a wee.  What should he do? 

Well, observing the WWBD(IIN?) 'What Would BRAPA Do (If In Newark?)' rule seems to be the best course of action here ....... 

Squint and you can see 'someone' disappearing to the end of the platform .......

Here was my beer in the Blind Pig if you give a shit which you don't 

After a short train ride, Quosh uses the knowledge passed down to him by our forthcoming BRAPA visitor, Chris Dyson, to not only navigate us perfectly to the second and final 'tick' of the night, but also give me a lot of local knowledge on the way, though the 'not quite getting run down by on coming traffic' was the bit I most enjoyed.

Dean Clough is not just the untalented footballer relative that Brian and Nigel shoved in the East Midlands basement, but this huge quite awe-inspiring mill complex, and as someone who loved his Industrial Revolution GCSE's, I found the whole thing quite interesting.  

But what about the pub standing at the foot of the complex like a modest footnote to the past?   I told Quosh to pose but he's no Bernard Everitt or Tom Irvin, lacked an Allam Out poster, and fucked off inside to the bar like a 'normal' person...... 

Was a brilliant photo 'on paper' 

I caught up with Quosh at the overly bright bar of Stod Fold (1650 / 2867) and was expecting the 'golden' to taste like piss, but it was actually a really nice drop and the weird pump clips which looked like lumps of wood added a bit of class to a bar which really needed a bit more.  A cacophony of shrieking females and office dwellers in cheap suits didn't do much for the atmosphere.  It seemed vaguely ironic that Quosh had told me Dean Clough once produced the most carpet in the world, and how this place could have done with a carpet to soften the acoustics.  The atmos could only be saved by the arrival of Halifax pub legend Chris Dyson, who despite being gentle and calm, can still separate the weak from the chavs, with minimal effort.  I tried to like this place, but the bright lights, unisex loos and feeling that whether this place was quiet or loud, the atmosphere would still struggle, made me realise it wasn't likely to push Three Pigeons, Big Six, Grayston Unity or even the bloody Alexandra for 'Fax Pub of the Century, but you watch me be wrong now!   Bad news though, last time me and Chris Dyson were in a pub together (Donkeystone, Greenfield), it closed down despite being v.good, so watch this space!

Nice beers

A fire on a TV screen says it all

RESET FOR BASS 

Funny really, the BRAPA bit of the night was done.  And yet now, I could enjoy myself!

Chris Dyson had preemptives in mind, and if Chris didn't know, who would?  We walked back towards the centre, I saw a nice monument, where a Quosh girlfriend once caught a Pokemon just up the street from here ...... 

Our first of two preemptives, was my favourite pub of the night.  I'm not sure why, maybe the way the gents posed outside ........

Top posing

Blokes in window join in! 

Kobenhavn, Halifax must have a great GBG chance in the coming years, it had a class and an elegance you don't often find in these modern drinkers, and looking back, I suspect it was an attempt at some Scandinavian level of decor , which in my mind, I could only compare to L**ds BHS visits with my Mum and Grandma for a scone and a cup of coffee circa 1986 and then a dabble in the play area.  No play area here, but when I told Quosh I had concerns over any beer called 'Green Butt Skunk DIPA' he was less than sympathetic!  I won't tell you his reply, you can guess.   I realised we'd not highlighted the Stod Fold in green, so Chris got to do the honours, the Low & Behold by Vocation was a scintillating pint, and overall, you've gotta say this pub stands up really well, even in the strong competition which is the Halifax Machine of fantastic new real ale venues. 

Chris highlighting like a pro

Cracking pint

Great pic by Chris of me holding my head on before I go full Exorcist 

Artistic shot by Quosh of the 'state of play' mid Kobenhavn. 

Not far to our final pub, the guys stopped briefly to enjoy a bit of 'Fax culture .......

Last one then, and here we are following a big group of folk in ......

Meandering Bear, Halifax didn't quite do it for me in the same way Kobenhavn did, but not the pub's fault it was ridiculously popular on this Friday night and space was at such a premium, but then again, the pub shape and layout just wasn't as conducive to a golden preemptive experience.  A barmaid served us without really paying attention, and when Quosh and I started admiring the lovely flooring in the main bar, a strange young woman tried to make us stop blocking the bar area by directing us elsewhere, but then didn't stand at the bar herself.  In any case, I was taken off to the right where a local poet had written a brilliant piece on the legend of the Meandering Bear.  I won't spoil the bits I can actually remember, but it is definitely worth a visit to read this.  Being a local legend, Chris was bumping into his admirers left, right and centre though being modest, he'd never admit it!  He introduced us to the owner, who I warmed to, really nice chap and you've got to say, I bet this is a cracker of a pub on a nice peaceful Tuesday afternoon in Feb (IF it opens Tues afternoons of course!  Though I guess even more peaceful if it doesn't!) 

Amazing how often my final photo of the night is random, slightly blurred, and features a pink bald head.

We even had time for a BRAPA re-visit to the Square Chapel Cafe Bar thing, which I enjoyed a lot more this time around rather than the clamour of a Saturday afternoon, which is exactly why Meandering Bear deserves the benefit of the doubt.  

A really good night, and if you have doubts about meeting your Twitter heroes, Quosh and Chris are living, breathing proof of the kind of friends you can make.  Top chaps.  But no time to linger, I had to get back to York quicksticks cos I had an early appointment with North London the following morning.

Si