BRAPA in ..... CHOOSING TUESDAY : SHEFFIELD COMPLETE AT LAST

If you read my blog about my Sheffield trip last week, you will know how frustrated I was to find the Ale House closed, hidden deep within the southern 'burbs of the city in an area called Millhouses, that even tonight's bus driver hadn't heard of.

So, not open on a Thursday, but open on a Tuesday?  So said Whatpub.  Time to perform what we know in the trade as 'the ole' switcharoo' and change 'Thirsty Thursday' (thanks Eddie) to 'Chewy Tuesday' for one week only. 

Google didn't exactly say 'closed' on a Thursday

But a note I'd scribbled in the GBG back in Apr suggests maybe I should've known Thurs was a no-go

The excellent Draughtsman, Doncaster station is rapidly become my midweek Parcel Yard.  I found it on fine form yet again, with its usual combination of gin drinking racegoers in flamboyant hats, boring blokes in Hull KR shirts, and beer enthusiasts sending Untappd into a spin.  The pub even has its own merchandise, which I think is quite a station tappy thing to do.  The Fast Fuse was no ESB, but easier to drink.

Colin's annual wash courtesy of Mummy BRAPA is complete, but tonight came too soon for his return, what with the parents on holiday in Grange-over-Sands (where they didn't enjoy the GBG pub Keg & Kitchen as kitchen was closed).  

I dropped Keane Lewis Otter to the subs bench for failing to impress Twitter, though the official line I spun the media was he'd picked up a knock in Morpeth. 

Good man / otter management

Once in Sheffield, catching the bus was far from straightforward.  The cut through to the stops was cordoned off so I missed one, the drizzly grey sky unforgiving as none of the right numbered buses showed up, as I waited by the Odeon.  Ten minutes it took me to realise the buses weren't stopping at the stop advertised.  Typical.

After quizzing the hapless bus driver who didn't really know Sheffield (a bit of a drawback I'd say), we got stuck in a bit of traffic and I was the last man standing when we finally reached the Archer/Fraser Road stop.

Pre-emptive perhaps for later if I missed a bus, I do like a Tetley's? 

I turn up the surprisingly leafy and hilly Fraser Road, expect not at all surprisingly because Martin had driven me here last week so I knew exactly what the flora and fauna situation was.  I was relieved and almost surprised to see the pub door open .....

Well well well, I think we can say it was worth the wait.  Just when you think Sheffield can't surprise you any more with absolute peaches after this year's Crow Inn, and to a lesser extent, the Ecclesall Ale Club, we have this Ale House, Sheffield South (1955 / 3384) which is bound to impress any lover of bygone estatey pubs with an easy and warm old fashioned welcome from the guv'nor and his wife/sister.  Another first time visitor with big rucksack is holding court at the bar, so my arrival kind of plays second fiddle which is fine by me.  I still get to chat BRAPA.  The local lads dotted about the perimeter seem interested, especially the West Ham fan who's been living up here 17 years having fallen in love with the place, possibly on an away day, and never caught the train home!  In the politest way I can muster, I ask "What the dickens is going on with yer opening hours?" and the bloke, says "we cannot control what other people put on social media .... it's not us who put up the hours".  I'd have thought the pub would want to have the ultimate say themselves.  He tells me the only way to know the truth is to look at the blackboard INSIDE the pub.  Wednesday has now been added to the list of opening days, who knew?   But let's not dwell, there is a certain correlation between 'brilliant pubs' and 'vague opening hours'.    Royal Marine in Lyne has the vaguest hours in Surrey, and yet is one of the best in the county.   Any pub discouraging devil dogs and twilds is a winner in my book.  My North Riding ale is a cracker as ever, in a Thornbridge glass on a Sam Smith's beermat, that's pretty good isn't it?  £2.50 a pint too, wow, though I'm told I've come on their cheap night.  I deserved that bit of luck!    I eventually go and sit with the two gentler codgers at the far end, but they leave soon after, leaving me a bit isolated from Rucksack/West Ham action as chat turns to Championship football which just makes me feel awkward.   There's eventually a mass exodus where everyone leaves via the back door/loo, and even now, they are stopping me to ask what my plans are next, joking I should avoid a trip to Brinsworth cos it is a rough place!  Too late for tonight anyway.  Amazing pub this.  And only two South Yorkshire ticks left to go.

Safe to say I think I was unlucky re Thursday non-opening

Getting back into town is a helluva lot easier, and tempted as I am to pop into the Rutland Arms like last week, there is a train imminent, so I make my way back again via Donny, sadly Draughtsman must close really early, so I just keep refreshing my phone to see if Hull City have lost at Blackburn yet, which of course, is a yes.  

I'll be back tomorrow at the slightly later time of 10:30pm (I'm in York Dice Night Action) to tell you about my latest Hertfordshire leg, we are getting to the business end of the season now as autumn approaches ......

Bye for now, Si 

BRAPA in ..... HANDPULL IN AMBLE : ANOTHER COCK & BULL STORY

The wheels on the bus went round and round, as is their prerogative, and before we could blink, we'd left Alnwick and were in Alnmouth, and isn't it interesting how the 'l' in Alnwick is silent, but in Alnmouth, you have to make the effort to shoehorn it in?  

Coastal tourist town.  The pretty and narrow main street sloped uphill, every other building seemed to be a pub, just as nature intended.   Well done Alnmouth for keeping it olden days.

The first 'sign' that all might not be sweetness and light at the one GBG entry in town, was indeed, the 'sign'.  Now I don't know about you but any pub called the Red Lion, should surely have a lion logo, or at least a semblance of redness.  Instead, an insipid pale green was about to sum up the pub.

It's just plan wrong!  A bit like Dad's footwear/shorts combo we deliberately can't see

Red Lion Inn, Alnmouth (1952 / 3381) and my main gripe is not with the pub, which is a nicely appointed dark atmospheric residential thing, or the ale quality, a second excellent Rigg & Furrow of the day, but the staff.  Three barmaids, we are the only customer's indoors, and they don't even acknowledge us.  Simply talk amongst themselves.  This for me, is when poor service actually crosses the line into out and out rudeness.  Yes, I know in these tourist hotspots, there are so many customers who are probably off-hand, and more concerned about their pinot grigio being chilled, and their sea bream being griddled to perfection, but there are still a minority of us who expect at least a pretence at good service.  That killed whatever atmosphere the pub had, and within five minutes, we are restless and decide to sit outside on this wonky old bench in the glorious September sun, putting us both in mind of our (superior) trip to Firkin Alley in Barnard Castle.  I can see beyond us a huge garden area, full of lunchers.  I like to think in the window behind us, a 90 year old woman is living in a cottage, wondering who these interlopers are, though I think that it just my mind trying to make the experience more interesting. 

 

Another short bus ride took us to Amble, or Amble-by-the-Sea as they sometimes call it to distinguish it from Amble-incredibly-well-Inland, and that is a BRAPA fact.  Not a real fact.  But a 100% pukka, bona fide honest guv BRAPA fact.

My enthusiasm was justified, and it was the return to form that the critics (me and Dad) had been demanding with truly canny North Eastern hospitality at the Cock & Bull, Amble (1953 / 3382).  "Me and yer mother just parked over the road, and I never even saw this place" exhales Dad in a breathy way.  True, it does look a bit like a health centre, think Pepper Saint Ontiod in Crossharbour, East London.  But once you are in, quite the homely little micro.  A little tablet is propped up on the side of the bar, and barmaid and assembled locals are peering at the football.  I catch a glimpse of the score.  "Oh dear, not poor Newcastle losing again?" I say in the most sarcastic way ever.  A lady leans across, proper egging me on and loving it, definitely a Mackem.  Seems rest of them are all scowling Loony Toonies.  Ooops.  Time to backtrack.  "I can't talk, I'm a Hull City fan" I say.  "Yeahhhh, you can't talk mon!" they chirp as one.  ALRIGHT AMBLE, NO NEED TO AGREE!  I take our pints outside, a very nice backdrop, Dad still remembering his past visit here.  A trip to the loo proves equally fruitful.  "Is this the queue?" I ask a lady loitering.  "Aye, a bloke's been in a while" she says.  "Might be having a poo!" I reply cheerfully.  She turns to face me head on with all the outrage of Spuggie off Byker Grove.  "HADDAWAY MAN!" she exclaims.  At that moment, 'Fraser' comes out of the one unisex loo, worst thing about micros?  No sign he's done anything other than an innocent widdle.  Back with Dad, time to look up bus times.  

The final bus ride of the day is the longest too, but essential to get us back on the train line south.  What a time then to lose my day bus ticket, and absolutely typical of me after 5 pints.  I found it on Sunday morning of course, scrunched up at the bottom of a pocket I never use.  

For now though, I have to shell out an extra £6 (ugh!) and Dad alerts Mummy BRAPA to the fact that he's going to be home later than expected, no supper for you Bernard!  

Time for the final BRAPA pub of the day ......

And it is absolutely heaving here at Office, Morpeth (1954 / 3383) and even with a group of blokes leaving at the moment I arrive (one of them even says 'plenty of room mate!' to me), it is standing room only, and a quick recce of the upstairs area shows it is also full up there.  No option but to sit outside again, on that table you can see right outside.  Very friendly place though, and as I shout through the crowds "Black Hag please" everyone at least does turn around and take note!  Because I'm kind, I return two minutes later to find where the loos are for Dad, bumping into a garrulous young Peter Beardsley in the process who talks me through what is expected of someone visiting their pub toilets.   Fair to say Keane Lewis Otter isn't really being accepted as a replacement mascot for Colin by the Twitterati, sad but understandable, I break the news to him he's unlikely to ever return, for which I get bitten.  It's all a bit like on South Park when Mr Garrison tried to replace Mr Hat with Mr Twig.  Great analogy.  To reinforce the sheer volume of folk, a trio of women make their way outside, seeing no seats, lean against the far wall, but the landlady comes out to tell them off for standing there, as the pub doesn't own that space!  With a chill wind blowing, Dad is getting restless, so he goes off in search of a coffee shop.  It is a fruitless exercise (he didn't find a coffee either, haha, sorry), but even with time to spare before the train, he feels it might be nicer if we moved somewhere a bit warmer!  I totally agree it isn't so comfy here.  So I drink up and we move on.

Smiling through the pain barrier, but Keano ain't smiling

So we 'amble' in the direction of the station, happening upon a very vibrant Saturday night "boom boom boom let me hear you say wayyyo" kinda place.  It is called the Black Bull, I guess we're all pre-emptive ain't we, and we actually do quite well out of this.  A nice polite barman gets Dad the coffee he's been craving, more importantly I get a very well kept pint of Anarchy, I think Doom Bar was on too but it wasn't the time for heroics.  And we perch on a side ledge and it is not at all intimidating, too much space for that, just a pleasant note on which to end. 

Luckily, the Morpeth - Newcastle - York part of the day went very speedily, David Speedilie, you could say, it had been a really top notch day, and it whets my appetite for a potential 2021/22 completion of Northumberland, and reminds me, I really should get back to Cumbria too.  But let's not get carried away. 

Join me same time tomorrow night, for tales of THAT Sheffield pub that got away.  

Si 

BRAPA in ..... DON'T ALNWICK CAPTAIN BRAPPERING! (NORTHUMBERLAND PART 1 OF 2)

Daddy BRAPA had got us on the early train up to Newcastle on my instructions.  Kip Hill was the original aim (one of my two remaining Durham ticks and probable 11am opener).  But then what?  Another gaggle of Tyne & Wear micros and farmhouses that might be shut by 2025?  

No, I thought much more potentially satisfying to go to a part of the world I'd never been before.  

Northumberland is a county I've not done a lot of, apart from a bit of outer Hexham, some of Berwick, and the bit near Blyth.   Not too many pubs, so it looks quite achievable, apart from the odd impossibly situated outlier.  And people tell me the scenery up on the coast is stunning.

Problem was, it all meant a lot of last minute planning over our morning coffee and lemon muffins in Newcastle station.

Oh, and don't mention Daddy BRAPA's 'new shoes' / shorts combo.  Cooking Lager did, and he then spent the rest of the day telling me not to include his feet in various photos.  Poor man was scarred!  I told him it was nice to see his wardrobe malfunction taking the heat of me for once.

We had a controversial new mascot too.  With Colin the Cauliflower finally back at Mum's for his annual wash due to my broken washing machine, and Alex the Apple failing to impress in Hertford, it was left to Keane Lewis Otter (really a Hull City mascot) to fill Col's size 3's.

Looks a bit pensive for the annual wash doesn't he?

KLO and Col watching Hull City getting promoted last May (Col may've fallen asleep, hates football)

The train took us to Alnmouth, a bit of a useless station being a 24 minute walk from Alnmouth itself, but a bus from Curly Lane took us to Alnwick.  You did have to worry about some of the local place names though and what it might be telling us about forthcoming beer quality.

With half an hour to kill before 12 noon opening, we decided to wander towards the famous castle.  Now we would've been gushing over how 'fairytale' and impressive it was, and it is, but when they couldn't be bothered to let pedestrians down this narrow road and make people walk the long way round , we decided instead to be all huffy.  "If a castle can't be bothered with the general public, why should we be bothered with it?" as the famous phrase goes.

Who needs castles when you've got quality pubs anyway?  This one, lurking on a narrow sidestreet like your dodgy Uncle Geoff, wasn't quite open, Dad nearly colliding with a lad in a tracksuit careering around the corner.  "Bit in a rush for his pint of Stella isn't he?" I says ...... 

Before realising he's jangling keys in the lock, he's the hero come to open up!

After giving the 'respectful' three minutes fifteen seconds for him to get the pub open and the ale flowing, we enter the John Bull Inn, Alnwick (1949 / 3378) and that fabulous fusty old pub smell hits you, a sure-fire sign you are in a fabulous pub.  In fact, had Dad used his classic line "we won't find a better pub than this all day" he'd have been fully justified, but I could seem him fighting against himself not to do the obvious for fear of sparking those Q.I. alarms.  Our barman sees my Bass top and says "great beer", I ask if they sometimes have it on in here, and he's like "no chance!"  So just a lad who loves Bass full stop, making my earlier stereotyping well wide of the mark.  We settle down along the ample bench seating, thinning a bit like an old bloke's hair, what a pub for Keane Lewis Otter to make his debut in.  The Five Towns pale was sessionable and a nice unthreatening way to start.  Only thing that was missing were a few more customers.  It must have a community following, for it has an annual leek festival, though none in 2020, damn you Covid!   We even stayed for another half, and that hardly ever happens, but we did have to hang around for a 2pm opener. 

Bass loving legend pulls through a couple of Indian Summers

Daddy BRAPA in his element

Will G Davies retain his crown in 2021/22 is the big question?

A stunning debut for KLO, enjoy it while you can mate, you're about to be dropped!

A short trot around the corner took us to pub two ...... 

If I was expecting another traditional old boozer (which I was), it was time to be surprised by the Tanners Arms, Alnwick (1950 / 3379) where we found a fake tree plonked in the centre of the pub, with lots of autumnal leaves peppering the ceiling.  The benches purple.  It was quite unique, yet managed to retain credibility.  Probably somewhere half way between the John Bull, and the West Road Tap in Westlciff-on-Sea (I'd love to think you are nodding your heads right now!)  We've arrived at the wrong time, behind a group of overly inquisitive first timers getting the lowdown on the origin of the drinks.  Luckily it ends prematurely when one of the ladies in the group asks "is your cider local too?", the guv'nor replies "we don't have many orchards in Alnwick" and she shuffles off foolishly like the foolish fool she is.  The landlord is an impressively switched on bloke, starts confidently telling us at length about the beer we've ordered, Space is the Place from 'Out There'.  Shame then that he is pulling us a totally different beer, a best bitter from Rigg & Furrow!  I can tell Dad has noticed too as we give each other the side-eye, but neither of us have the heart to say anything, and thoroughly enjoy the bitter.  He keeps looking over and I'm sure he's going to notice, but never does, just shouts over 'are we enjoying it?' every few minutes.  Unless it was a deliberate social experiment he was conducting.   All that remains is to avoid two yapping dogs dominating the floor space, and smile lovingly at the various customers dotted around the purple benches.  Decent place.

The Orchard Gang, and if anyone knows the top the bloke is wearing, let me know

Twist on the traditional pub

Nice lacings on our 'wrong' beers

Well, so much for having a long painstaking wait for the 2pm pub to open like I'd imagined, it was already gone 2pm by now which shows how long we'd nursed our 2.5 pints.

Still, annoying when pubs open later than noon on Saturday's, it'd need to be a jolly good debutant micro to pull this out of the bag .....

And I'm delighted to report, contrary to what I was expecting, Ale Gate, Alnwick (1951 / 3380) was a cracker, and definitely a strong contender for second best pub in this six pub day.  The landlady made it, offering a hugely warm welcome.  I'm excited to see so many classic old Vaux beers on (I remember the brewery lying in rubble when I had my University coach tour of Sunderland in 1997) though Google seems to suggest 1999 so not sure what I was looking at, Roker Park?  Oh yeah, probably.  Ward's Best Bitter eh?  Never thought I'd see that again.  So what did it taste like after all these years?  Well.  It tasted like David Holdsworth wearing a garish Sheffield Utd away kit (yellow and purple) lunging in carelessly on Kevin Phillips.  That's what it tasted like.  Shove that on your bastard Untappd.  Daddy BRAPA meanwhile had never looked happier, enjoying this Three Brothers Stout not caught up in all my nostalgia.  The place itself is comfy, bright, and surprisingly roomy.  Exactly how I want my micropubs - to be bold with their decor, plush with their furniture, couldn't care less if stuff is 'mismatched', as long as it is warm in winter, cool in the summer, that'll do me.  Gosh, I am getting old aren't I?  Great place, a local points out the bus stop across the road, and it is on to Alnmouth proper. 

And I will tell you about that, Amble and Morpeth on Sunday night.  Early night for me, I've got a big BRAPA day on tomorrow.

Sweet dreams, Si