BRAPA in ...... NEWBURY NEWBIES : 8th Birthday Special (Berks Day 5/5)

Waking up in Reading feeling well was a bit of a novelty for me after recent nut allergies and hangovers, but here we were, and it felt goood.  With 3 o's.

Today was going to be a good day.

I celebrated BRAPA's 8th birthday with a nice but weird breakfast involving eggs, ham and trifle.  We'd even got BRAPA a card ......

Note Alex the Apple refused to sign it cos he's evil

And what better way to celebrate then head out west to see our old #PubMan mate, Tim Thomas, the brains behind Ullage, possibly the greatest CAMRA magazine in the world.  And if Quinno is the font of all knowledge in Reading and out east, then Tim is your man in West Berks.

I arrived at Newbury station a little before noon, and was delighted to see the iconic yellow Fiat Panda was still very much in service.

Name me a better BRAPA-mobile.  I'll wait.  Up there with the Citra Mobile, the Taylor giant live in van monstrosity, the Daddy Dewhurst Dynamo and Ed Wray's rattling Woking Express.  

Tim had a plan, just as he did back in Feb 2017 when he helped me finish the county for the first time with trips to Wickham and Stockcross (we he later drove us past for old timessake, Stockcross sadly very shut).

Today he was really thinking outside the box and asked if I minded starting with a pre-emptive.  This was some crazy unprecedented BRAPPING but why not? 

We were soon out in the middle of nowhere, forests, dirt tracks, dead end roads.  This felt like Gussage All Saints or Cranborne or Sixpenny Handley to those of you familiar with awkward Dorset. 

Tim starts my tour with a little bit of history.  Hidden behind a pile of manure and a bloke up a ladder pretending to do some work, we had the original home of West Berkshire Brewery. 

And now I know why Good Old Boy has that deep, earthy taste

We trot around the corner, I can't even see a building never mind a pub but tucked away behind a tree, this unlikely attractive building .....

Pot Kiln, Frilsham was last in the GBG just before I started taking Berkshire seriously, I think 2015.  Tim thought it had 'every chance' of an inclusion in the coming years, and judging by the cracking half of Indigenous Chinwag Best Bitter, I'd have to agree.  And yes, I did say half cos pre-emptive rules, and I didn't know how hard Tim was planning on pushing me!  Plus I'd kind of made a Thatcham promise for later, and everyone knows a Thatcham promise isn't one you want to break.  One of those nice old pubs which has obviously been tarted up for food to some extent out left, it was massively into game birds for a while, but has retained a traditional farmhouse style atmosphere from the days of yore, where bearded locals would come in with dead rabbits swinging from their bicycle handle bars and they'd cooked 'em for supper.  An unseen voice from around the corner shouts to Tim, and I think it is a talking pillar, but it is a smartly dressed CAMRA man called Chris (I think) also in here for a pre-emptive recce.  Nice chap, as was his mate.  A solid start to BRAPA's birthday bonanza. 

A short drive took us to the first actual GBG tick of the day.  The new home of West Berkshire brewery no less, and quite different from their former Frilsham premises ...... 

Taproom & Kitchen at West Berkshire Brewery, Yattendon (2158 / 3721) is a ginormous place and if the name isn't long enough, you could probably add 'events, live music and other stuff too' to make it one the longest named places in the GBG.  We are greeted by a 'host' who sits us down but I don't think he's read the #PubMan vibes we are radiating and gives us a food menu.  Tim's expression reads 'WTF?' and he goes off to ask if this place does beer too.  We are given further drinks menus though I can't say it is very clear what is on, what is off, what is cask, what is keg.  So I mosey up to the little bar area in the corner, hoping for a bit of clarity and no telling off.  Well, as soon as I see the Coco Pops logo on a Delphic stout, I have to have it.  All my plans about 4% and under pale ales from West Berkshire (now defunct but reborn under the Yattendon Group) have gone out of the window.  Show me the Coco Pops monkey and it changes everything.  Barman is a top lad, thinks he has found a kindred dark beer loving spirit, and starts forcing all these stout n porter tasters down my gullet.  The sense of well being continues as Chris and his mate show up again for a quick chat, Tim produces a BRAPA birthday card with a snail on, and suggests I should alter my cross-ticking strategy so I use a different colour for previous entries, and just green for the new ones!  Renegade.  The place is too vast and echoey to be a 'lovely' place to enjoy a drink like Windsor & Eton and Thames Side taps were,  but credit where it is due, Yattendon has got it going on.  

I'm surprised how long the drive to Great Shefford is, my remaining awkward West Berks outlier, I think Frilsham to Yatt had spoiled me.  

Here it was in the early afternoon sun ......

Great Shefford, Great Shefford (2159 / 3722) left me a little bit flat, I've got to admit.  At least name your pub something different from the place (unless you are in the Northumbrian village of Once Brewed / Twice Brewed of course, then it works fine).  The staff were so nattily dressed and business-like, there were times I felt more like I'd invaded a banking conference and hoped I wasn't disturbing any financial goings on.  The Dark Star guest ale, served in exactly the type of glass you'd expect from a place of this ilk, drank tolerably at best.  There were glimmers of hope.  A lovely stream running around the back of the pub, the brick floor and a ghostly pub dog area did suggest a bit more warmth and humanity (or canine -anity if that's a word).  Time for Tim's latest 'surprise'.  His own mascots, Frog & Toad were unveiled!  Very talented work from Mrs T.  And their presence was enough to make Colin faint, or at least give him the Cauli-wobbles.  And they had the same voices as Terrance and Philip from South Park. #FunFact

Tim's next move was key.  He wanted a pint or two himself so we drop the car back off at his house, the plan then to do another pre-emptive and bus it back into Newbury.  'Can I come in and use the loo?' I ask like someone used to weeing, which I am.  Yes, no problem, says Tim.  In fact, the whole TT home experience uncannily mirrored my impromptu first visit to Martin Taylor's gaff in Waterbeach.

• Loo is downstairs
• Apologies for house being 'in a state' (I wouldn't have noticed, house is nice, bright and homely)
• Mrs T appears from nowhere and offers me something to eat before we carry on pubbing, I politely decline cos got my own snacks.
• Mrs T embarrasses Tim by showing his empty cans selection which make dusting difficult (with Martin, it was photos of him when he was younger looking like a dude)
• Only one thing left to do .... iconic downstairs loo selfies

After being impressed by a vintage telephone in the hallway which actually rings, we head off to today's second pre-emptive.   'I don't like cricket .... I love it, aaaahh!'

(I did actually love cricket in the 90's even more than football at times, especially Somerset, but I feel it lost its way somewhere and I've got very little interest now unless Ashes or something).

Bowler's Arms, Wash Common, Newbury is home to Falkland CC, recently moved to these bigger premises and has a very happy clean clubby feel, barmaid seemed particularly motivated despite the relative lack of folk, understandable this time on a Tuesday!  But I tell yer what, that Tim Taylor Landlord was pint of the day, kept in superb condition - I didn't think anywhere would top my Elm Tree, Beech Hill pint of the stuff on Sunday, but this did.   Glad I forgot my pre-emptive rule that allows me to have a half instead of a full pint!  Tim has one more surprise up his sleeve, another knitted pub character.  Baby Yoda!  Well, quite a giant Baby Yoda really, Col feels a bit intimidated by the sheer bulk now facing him.   But we couldn't tarry, as we had a bus to catch for my two remaining Newbury ticks.  Good place, imagine if it got in the GBG one day I'd be soooooo pleased!

The bus jiggery-pokery went well and we landed in the gentle town of Newbury in good time. Always been a big fan of Newbs, don't think I can recall a calmer centre / market place area.  I could definitely live here.  Makes York feel like Castleford.  

The first of our two ticks here took me very much by surprise ......

I had been expecting to Lock, Stock & Barrel, Newbury (2160 / 3723) to be a micropub.  I can only assume I'd seen the word 'Barrel' and because I'd not heard of the pub before, I drew that conclusion.  In truth, it was very much a Fuller's pub.   By a canal.  I'd have known that if I'd so much as glanced at the GBG description.  But I never read the GBG description ..... spoiler alert!  Like so many pubs that rely on a watery location to do the majority of its talking, it struggled to rise above mediocrity (see also Barn Owl Agden Wharf, Waterside Inn Leigh, Old Boathouse Astley, Crooke Hall Thing for similar examples - and sorry, I don't mean to pick on the north west, I'm just off to Wigan again soon so it is in my mind).  In fact, I could've just said Great Shefford.  And as in G.S., a questionable Dark Star beer didn't help.  This one was like chugging down a bottle of Dettol whilst Santa stuck your head in a Christmas tree and flossed your throat with pine needles whilst shouting 'who's the Daddy?'. Sorry Untappd, you don't deserve me.  Hard to know whether it was just the questionable Norwegian Spruce style, or whether the quality could've been better too.  Thankfully, mine and Tim's chat was fun and jovial and kept me in high spirits.  But with slow draining urinals and random piles of logs acting as partitions, it was time to move on.  

Prefer the ESB team personally

Note to self - shun the ESB and fate will come back to bite you

My final Newbury tick was situated on a quiet street corner looking all sort of welcoming .....

Lion, Newbury (2161 / 3724) is a Wadworth pub, that much I do remember.  It was my last pub with Tim until return to Berks a few years from now so I bit my bottom lip so the emotion didn't become overwhelming.  I've often though Tim had a kind of ecclesiastical air about him, and if he was a bishop, then the Oakham ale I ordered would've been a fitting send off.  A happy sort of place, I'd say old and reassuring but it was rebuilt in 1988.  We sat in a corner by the vintage Wadworth beer labels on a nice bench, chatted probably about all manner of exciting things, and errrm, that was that!

Deffo no six pint memory loss here

Tim saw me safely onto a bus that stopped in the centre of Thatcham, which had a pub both he and Quinno had been eager for me to visit before I left Berks, and well, I couldn't let them down could I? 

The reasons for their eagerness might not be the same as if you were being recommended a Bell at Aldworth or a Reading Nag's Head, but that just kind of intrigued me more.

First worry was would it actually be open?  I could not pin down any definitive hours from social media, best guess would've been 'open every day, but maybe more like 2-3pm than noon'.  And that proved pretty accurate (well once I'd remembered to press the button to get off the bus, having got wrapped up in trying to squint to learn more about instant fat loss) ......

About as expected

A B&B too?  This gets more interesting by the minute

Amidst tales of bad beer and peculiar folk, I teeter around the door of Wheatsheaf, Thatcham (2162 / 3725), and it is immediately apparent that this is one of those rare breed of GBG pubs which feels anything but GBG.  It left like a keg lager estate pub.  Sometimes, as my fellow ticker RetiredMartin will tell you, they can be the most joyous. Sometimes.  Here there was a slightly edgy atmosphere, not aggressive,  but just a bit needly like my Norwegian Spruce ale.  The guy who serves me is sporting a Newcastle Utd cap, he must be the least garrulous Geordie I've ever encountered!  And his locals seem to take his lead.  It was a case of 'speak up', 'speak deeply', say 'cheers pal' a lot, pay with cash, and bugger off away from the bar area ASAP.  Relieved and quite surprised to find the one ale on, a house beer from Delphic who gave us that Coco Pops wonder all those hours ago, was on really good form!  I'd not have fancied taking beer back in here.  The pub decor itself was quite at odds with the atmosphere, shiny marble floor, sauna style bar, nicely done book and music corner, yes I was quite relaxed once I sat down.  Maybe the build up had simply been too much for me?   Special shout out too for the vintage hand dryer.   Definitely a bit of an 'outlier' as GBG entries go, but you know, when all said n done, actually quite decent.  And Colin, who was wearing his SAFC Niall Quinn disco pants (hidden from view unless he opens his legs) felt safe enough to come up for air.

And there we have it, I bussed it back to Reading for food, water, bed, and travelled back to York the following morning.

I'd come so close to fully greening Berkshire, missing out by just ONE pub, which is becoming the story of my 2022 ticking.  

The pub in question is the Royal Oak, Knowl Hill, situated in an awkward location with very limited bus service between Maidenhead and Twyford.  I don't know if it is a classic.  But if it is in the GBG in 5 years time when I come back to fill in more Berkshire gaps, I'll make it my top priority.

See you on Tuesday, for tales of how two micropubs and a 'Spoons saved me from bad beer in north Kent.

Si 

 

BRAPA in ..... NUTS IN APRIL (Berkshire & Oxfordshire Part 4/5)

It is ALWAYS a fact in this BRAPA game that if I'm enjoying life a little too much, there'll always be something lurking around the next corner, ready to bite me in the bum.

And so it proved, 8:30pm, Reading Premier Inn, a second day's successful pub ticking of Berkshire was over.  I'm sitting down with a big bag of Tesco goodies strewn across my bed, waiting for the finale of Peaky Blinders.  The dulcet tones of D.Attenborough can be heard chatting gently about baby elephants.  This is the life!

I shovel a pile of Tesco's smoky paprika crunch into my mouth.  Before long, I feel my mouth swelling and my breathing struggling.  Uh oh, it has been a while but I know this feeling .... nut allergy!  

With no EpiPen, I quickly dress again just in case I need to rush down to reception and get an ambulance.  I check the ingredients.  No nuts listed.  May be a 'may contain traces', but everything says that.  Tesco, ya trying to kill me? 

I can't help thinking this would be a very BRAPA way to die.  If not hit by a car between road walks, then a nut allergy in a Reading Premier Inn with only a cauliflower for company would probably be the most likely way to go.  Perhaps even more tragic than Adam Faith.

I guzzle down a load of water, take deep breaths and just try to stay calm and ride it out, collapsing heavily on the bed with a massive 'KERPLUNK!'   Half way through Peaky, I realise I'm feeling less peaky but the whole episode felt a bit like a fever dream.  But doesn't it always?  

Well that had been scary!   I don't sleep much, throat feels awful and by 8:30am, I'm in Reading's Oracle (one of the few shopping centres which actually feels like they join up the town rather than being a massive eyesore / inconvenience).  I get some Piriteze from Boots, more water then back to bed for as long as I could.

Problem is, my first two Monday pubs have that annoying mid afternoon closure thing.  All the mouth swelling has subsided now, except for my tonsils which are like balloons and every time I speak, I feel them jumping forward into my mouth.  Yuck!  I can only talk in quick sentences before having to swallow deeply.  But the pub ticking must go on!

Henley-on-Thames is actually in Oxfordshire.  (You learn a lot reading BRAPA, I tell ya).  But it provided a nice base to walk to one of my rural Berkshire pubs so I thought I'd visit Bird in Hand (2155 / 3178) first before it closes at 2.  I feel rough as an owl's arse but maybe being in my natural habitat will sort me out.   The Henley folk had been much as I expected.  Healthy red faced 60 year old men in colourful trousers buying artisan bread and smiling at schoolkids before a spot of lazy afternoon punting.  The barmaid/landlady is very friendly, and if I hadn't decided on a 'no speaking because it is painful' policy, I'm sure I'd have got chatting with her.  Luckily, she is talking to a Daddy (not a BRAPA Daddy) with a chaotic young toddler who is actually quite likeable, and not too sold on the idea of having a baby brother.  I'm sure barmaid and daddy are not a couple, but I notice a certain 'frisson' between the two.  Siblings?  Second cousins who fancy each other without realising?  Possibly just old school chums who briefly dated?  Was interesting.  Also interesting, the pub has an aviary AND a pond out the back, and a less half-dead, totally mute BRAPA would've gone for exploring, but I had to make do with the sound of cheeping parakeets through the gents bogs window, which was fine as long as they didn't get in and nibble my delicates.  I'll never be this quiet in a BRAPA Oxfordshire pub tick ever again!  Nice pub, and the White Horse Bitter certainly was soothing.

It is a start at least!

It wasn't far up to the Berkshire village of Aston, a 40 minute walk or so is nothing, normally.  But having overdosed on Piriteze and now having had a pint, PLUS the fact that their own 2:30pm-3pm afternoon closure wasn't far off, well when I saw a taxi parked up, I jumped in.

"You from up North?" he asks excitedly.  (Oh please don't make me talk!)  "York", I croak.  "Skipton" he tells me.  We do that Yorkshire handshake that Yorkshire people do in the posh south east.  "Nice town, Skipton!" I reply, though what I'm secretly thinking is 'nice town full of mediocre fly-by-night GBG entries that never last the pace'.  Luckily, being a taxi man, he does most of the talking.  He moved down here when his marriage broke up, but he has now been 'gifted' by a 'loving' new wife and two 'beautiful' young children.  "..... and the same will happen to you, there is a lovely young lady out there for you!" he implores.  I want to tell him I'm happy with my GBG, Otter n Cauli, but it is too long a sentence in my current state.  

It looked a beauty, and it was.  The Flower Pot, Aston (2156 / 3179) not flawless by any means, but certainly one of my most memorable pubs of the holiday.  The taxidermy, especially the fish in cases on the wall most be one of the most extensive collections I've seen in any pub.  A pub photographers dream this place.  Service is brisk and efficient, some might say a bit impersonal.  The ale is good but not quite Henley standard.  A grand old fire in the main bar is billowing out a fair amount of smoke, not good in my current state.  The tables in this larger area are more of the dining ilk, but I've spied a quiet back bar through a hatch and am determined to explore.  'Gotta do the pub justice for the blog' is always in my mind.  I push the door as far as it will go, a (living) parrot is in a cage just behind it, and I also have to hurdle a dog on the floor.  I croak a nervous 'hello' to the locals and landlord.  Half way across the floor, a fire grate clipped to a piece of board block off the other half of the room, bod Stoke on Trent style (but better and more temporary).  "Anything to stop me sitting over here?" I ask, a bloke says no, just the dog isn't allowed in that half of the room!  Having successfully hurdled the obstacles, I can sit on the fine bench seating in this small atmospheric bar enjoying being in the 'best bit' of the pub.  But not before the landlady witnesses my hurdling, sticks her head around the door, and rolls her eyes at me!  Landlord briefly asks if I'm on a 'tour' but doesn't seem too intrigued by BRAPA to my relief due to talking constraints.   The door on the other side of the room is locked, so I have to retrace my steps on the way out.  "I'll do this without trying to break anything, or cause any fuss!" I tell the locals, but no one laughs so it is an awkward exit.  Back in the main room, the smoke is now engulfing the whole front part of the pub, you can hardly see!  How are people dining in these conditions?  And why is no one sorting it out?  Maybe someone was smoking a taxidermy kipper?

The 40-50 minute walk back into Henley is pleasant and picturesque and a quieter roadwalk you couldn't hope for.  1 on the Bransgore scale of difficulty.  Red Kites circle above and make similar noises to my throat, which was nice.

Back in Henley, with a bit of time to kill until the bus, I decide to pop into the 'Spoons opposite for a pre-emptive half and more importantly a wee. 

I was so impressed with the quality of my half of a guest Oakham 5%er,  I honestly feel that as 'Spoons go, the Catherine Wheel, Henley-on-Thames could be a better pre-emptive than I'd anticipated.  At least on a par with the Bird in Hand ale, and slightly better than the Flower Pot stuff.  I guess the biggest problem could be a Henley snobbery towards 'Spoons outlets, but that is pure speculation.  It was very vast, the folk were very watchful, and despite being blatantly at the bar before some old dude, he still huffed and puffed and gestured at me to go first as though it was highly unfair!  I only had 13 mins so no time to form much of an opinion of the place beyond that.  

The bus meanders slowly southwards, stopping eventually at the surprisingly difficult to reach village of Sonning, which looks on paper at least that it is highly reachable from Reading and Caversham.

There was a real 'well-to-do, snooty' sense in the air, as soon as I trotted up towards the pub.  

This doormat was my passive aggressive highlight ......

The Bull, Sonning (2157 / 3180) both had a fabulous centuries old 'raise your frothy silver tankards in the air' atmosphere, whilst at the same time managing to feel a touch twee.  I walked into a very peculiar pub atmosphere where teenage boys sat at a table babysitting / cajoling an amusing toddler.  A few tables away, teenage girls sat on their own.  One comes over to the boys and is told "boys only table, sorry!"  Through to the back, their parents are in a separate room downing much wine.  I grab a pint of Pride (excellent quality) from the stoic waistcoated guv'nor, a guy so still, unflinching and unfazed it was sort of impressive, but when you list T.May, G. & A, Clooney, U.Geller, G.Hoddle and J.Page amongst your regulars, I guess not much surprises you anymore.  I sit at the one remaining armchair, behind two ladies who lunch in pashminas discussing cod loins.  The Dad (surely he isn't father to all 12 kids?  there were at least 3 wives too) is perhaps a bit of a #PubMan because he seems to 'read the room' and gently encourages the gang into the covered outdoor area saying things like "it is actually very warm out there, you'll enjoy it more" but the teenage lads in particularly are loving their pub life.  The Mums wander through and one says something which suggests they were all in this one huge fan (I'm imagining Scooby Doo at this stage) when their tyre blew, and they had to come in here for refreshments and an unmasking.  But when they FINALLY do leave, and by god do they drag it out, they all seem to know the landlord's name.  So who knows?  And I might just be able to make this next bus against the odds if I hurry ........

But to my horror, the bus is chugging around the corner THREE minutes early and I miss it!  "You baaarstard!" I shout waving my first, then remember I'm in Sonning, not Keighley, and apologise to the gods.

63 minutes til the next bus.  Back to the Bull?  Only thing for it!  Definitely my last pub.  The Piriteze had knocked me out, my legs were jelly but I had noticed something great, my tonsils swelling had gone down and I could talk without pain.  Back at the bar, you'd expect the guv'nor Ray to make a comment but being the coolest dude ever, he still doesn't flinch as this time I order a Spring Sprinter.  He has a sea shanty for his ring tone.  He's almost definitely been in a band or two.

This time, I sit with my back to the action and a young dude who works 'in the pub industry' and looks like a failed Apprentice candidate eventually starts chatting to me, we get onto BRAPA, and he says people like me who 'save the pubs' should be commended.  I'm half expecting him to say 'hashtag pubman'.  I'm wondering if Ray is going to agree but he remains unmoved.  Love his style.  Loving my ale now, feeling better, and aware that there's not really anymore pubs I can get to after this, I want a third so I put it to Twitter - HSB or Hophead?  A chap called Ian Harvey replies first and says HSB.  Good call, so much so I accidentally make my first ever GIF - a throbbing pint of HSB!  Ian says it looks a good pint, so my work here is done.

This time, I made sure I was at the bus stop early.

Back in Reading, I need a wee so time for my second trip to the Ale House of the holiday.

It might've been the Piriteze combined with the booze, or the 18th century lively (well, quite bonkers) dimly lit stuffy atmosphere, or a combination of everything, but as I wait to be served, I fall into a kind of trance reminiscing on my first ever trip here in 2005 with Daddy BRAPA.  The barman snaps me out of it by asking what I want, but instead of ordering the ale I'm looking at, I ask for a pint of Hobgoblin by mistake, the previous name of the pub!

Luckily, he realises what has happened and says "been a while since you were last in 'ere mate LOL?" and I laugh and say 'apart from last night, yes', conscious that the other barman who looks a bit like David Mitchell playing William Shakespeare in Upstart Crow is knocking around here somewhere.  Then I feel obliged to explain to a bunch of locals that I'd been in a 2005 reverie.

I sit in the main bar area this evening, atmosphere and ale are cracking!  Like the absolute best.  I know everyone goes on about the Nag's Head and it is great but surely on this showing, Ale House is the best 'pub pub' in town?  A lady even stumbles over a stool trying to tell me she likes my jacket.  That wouldn't happen in Sonning.   Not bad for 8pm on a Tuesday eh? 

After a tricky start, a great end to the day, and I am ultra careful to avoid nuts as I pick up my Tesco supplies, ready for an early night.  Big day tomorrow with Tim Thomas in West Berkshire for BRAPA's eighth birthday.   I'll tell you about that maybe on Friday , maybe on Sunday. 

Si