BRAPA - Brillo Pads, Roof Kittens, Zizzi and Arron.

"Any pubs visited in this blog should be viewed as merely 'pre-emptive', and any similarity to pubs listed in the forthcoming 2018 Good Beer Guide is purely co-incidental."

There was no weekend bus service to Brill, which wasn't very brill, but I found a Portakabin full of stern Asian men and one put me in his Mercedes and sped off down country lanes, so I was relieved when we arrived and I was dropped at some temporary traffic lights, disturbing an otherwise tranquil rural village.  I sat on the village green and waited for 12 noon, but the grammar on the bench was a poor tribute to one pair of deadoes, unless it was a deliberate gag I was missing:

Anyway, it was 11:59am and as a sycophantic family Dad set up a market stall behind the pub with his family (nice carrots), I turned the door handle and it was already open ....

Pointer, Brill

I walked in to the unusual scene of smart bearded barmen in grey patterned shirts trying to kill flies with those electric shock tennis rackets, and were doing it perilously close to the spirit bottles behind the bar.  "Are you open?" I asked, out of common courtesy - "We are now!" said chief fly murderer, as though I'd triggered the opening by asking.  The most imposing guy (he had the fullest beard and strangest walk and a European accent) looked at me curiously, like "what's his game?" as I took my pint of something from Vale (based in the village even though the house beer is from XT 5 miles away) to a low table and chair on the right.  This place was unashamedly upmarket gastro, and apart from incredibly low beams and some creakiness, it had serious issues with "accepting it's a pub".  As "Tracks of my Tears" played, a crying Twild entered and asked where Mummy was?  Me and a beardo looked at each other like "this is outside our remit" when thankfully, Daddy and sister appeared and explained a blonde lady should've come in and booked a table.  She was hiding in the back drinking gin, I didn't tell him this of course.  She appeared and asked if the kids could have non breakable cups - suspect they might've been for her.  Next, a posh rugby man appeared from the back, he was being taken for a walk by his huge dog, and hit his head on the beams in process of trying to control it.  My pint had finally cleared (15 mins in) and a woman picked up a folder and asked if it was the menu.  "No it is a guest list!" barked a beardo, "do I order drinks here?", she reasonably asked at the bar "No, you go outside and we'll come and find you!" was the strange reply.    Another Dad/Daughter combo had arrived, she was whining so Dad gave her a bite of a sausage roll in a paper bag that looked suspiciously Greggs (surely not in Brill?) and the staff looked horrified.  She then asked Dad if she could carry the drinks tray outside.  "No, it will be a little bit too heavy for little girls like you" said Daddy the patronising twat.  No wonder she sulked, so did I.

The pubbiest part of the pub!

I was still sulking as my second (and final) taxi driver of the day managed to charge me £14 just to go to Long Crendon (I'd paid £15 to get from Haddenham to Brill, this was half way back, he'd admitted Long Crendon to Haddenham would be £7, so surely this should've been £8?).  Still, he didn't like that I worked in a bank.   And he'd got into BRAPA and told me I should do the other Long Crendon pub as a pre-emptive cos how would I feel if it got in the GBG next year?  I ignored his advice. But knowing how much luck I've had with this year's pub ticking, it probably will!  Not that I'm bitter.

Eight Bells, Long Crendon

I liked this pub from the moment the friendly bar-lad told me "Mioung" was 'probably German for miaow'.  Not as random a fact as you think, it was the beer I was ordering.  Despite this pub having that rural Bucks 'commitment to dining' ethos, it felt like a pub, had plenty of areas for drinkers, beermats, and you can't ask any more than that from Buckinghamshire!  At least the Micro revolution hasn't hit yet, maybe I could become all nostalgic and teary eyed about gastro pubs by 2020?  In the loo, a man who'd stupidly blocked my entrance on the pavement and had to apologise profusely, had to apologise again for blocking me off at the sink.  This time, he was teaching his toddler son that kelp was seaweed.  That doesn't happen in Castleford.  A full-kit Chelsea twild asked for a bottle of ketchup, but I thought I was in for a peaceful yet not very blog-friendly next 20 minutes.  But I was handed a gift when a family of 4 sat at the next table.  Mum seemed nice n smiley, Dad was lovely but a bit of a try hard, young daughter Zizzi (presumably named after the Italian restaurant she was conceived in) was more mature than her older brother, "Kevin the Teenager" actually called Arron, eyes constantly glued to a game on his phone.  Dad asked what they all wanted to drink.  Arron: "OH MY GOD DAD, YOU ARE SOOOO ANNOYING.  DIET COKE!"  Zizzi commented rather randomly, "it's not a snake, it's a dead worm" before Dad asked me if he could close the window cos the draught was chilly.  I was like 'don't mind me, I'm just making notes on your dreadful family for my blog'.  (I didn't say that).   Zizzi ordered an adults scampi and chips, and went up for crisps whilst they were waiting - legend #PubGirl, Arron had a kids meal.  I left to glares from previously friendly Mum, was she on to me?

Settling down for quiet drink?

The family are here to save my blog!

Once a year, Google Maps is kind to me and works me out an adventurous "off road" way of getting to the next pub, so I was quite chuffed to find it telling me Haddenham was only 2.3 miles through some fields (though I must confess, I'm still scarred by 2015's Eversholt to Toddington walk).

Despite hurdling a few stiles (and sheep), an electric fence alongside a river, a bit of crazy pavement-free roadwalking, I was only semi knackered and sweaty when I reached pub three.

Walking in Bucks

Pub is here

Worst Pub Sign in the UK?

Green Dragon, Haddenham

If I'd thought the Pointer in Brill was a bit posh gastro, this took it to a whole new level, so light and airy, it was in effect a restaurant with a bar serving two real ales.  Oh, and no staff.  I waited, and waited.  Eventually, I went in search of one, by which time, a man had got in front of me and was leaning on the bar.  A barmaid arrived, but stopped to take photos of Chinese tourists, even though she could see she had two people waiting at the bar.  Irritating.  Finally I got a drink, by which time I'd changed my mind to the "Hullaballoo" which had Hull in the name, and was a fresh barrel.  It was, pint of the day, and if this were to get in the GBG, I guess you'd begrudgingly say it deserved it on this basis.  I took my pint into the sun, and hadn't even had a sip when an old lady said "Are you on some kind of giant pub crawl then?", the BRAPA top giving the game away.  She was from Scarborough, her male companion ran a pub in Thame called the Swan but I found him a bit charmless and disinterested.  He softened a bit when I told the woman off for suggesting beer range was more important than quality - his pub had recently gone down from 5 to 3, and he wants to go down to 2, so at least we bonded over that.  A smug local, who looked like he could be friendly if he wasn't looking down his nose at me, sat opposite taking it all in.  The barmaid came out to chat to him, she tried to be friendly to me but I was still peed off by photography-gate so stared upwards.  That is when I saw a kitten (Coco) in an upstairs window - who came out onto the roof, got to the drainpipes, changed her mind, went back inside, poor little thing ..... living here I mean.  The toilet had a wicker basket full of clean flannels, yet there was no soap - that sums up the pub in a microcosm.

Stop taking photos and serve your customers!

Mrs Scarb and Doctor Swan enjoying the sun

"Nice day for a wander out onto the roof"

"Hmmm, it's a long way down when you're a small kitten".

"Oooh, this wasn't such a good idea!" 

A bit closer to Haddenham & Thame parkway was another pub I'd had my eye on for a while..... and was glad to finally get here as it intrigued me .....

Here we go for pub 4 

Rising Sun, Haddenham

The reason for my intrigue is the GBG 2017 description - the most brilliantly passive aggressive piece of writing in that edition of the Guide.  If you have a copy, read it now.  If not, I'll paraphrase "We've got rid of a lot of old pubby stuff and modernised it, and if the miserable locals don't like it, too bad because they've not got anywhere better to go to".    I needn't have worried though, the main bar was dark, full of moody old men (one burped approvingly as I ordered my ale in the murk), the pub's own branded snacks were at the bar, so it's either been re-curmudgeonised since the GBG 2017 went to press, or they were simply meaning the back bit had been made lighter and foodier, but this was easy to ignore.   Time for a bag of my own BRAPA snack of choice, Mini Cheddars to celebrate being in a proper pub.  Okay, so the loo signs were little bit OTT (Bonnies and Clydes?) but even a headless twild and a dog that could hear mini cheddars a mile off couldn't dampen a very solid pub.

Pub Snacks

Strange signs

The legs of a twild

The dog that knew too much

Having a wee

After a 20 minute walk back to the station, I was soon at Marylebone a little bit unsure which London pubs would be "nice" to visit but as I had plenty of options and wanted to do two in a desperate attempt to claw my terrible BRAPA numbers back (if indeed, these pubs do get in the 2018 GBG) so I hopped on the first one I saw and ended up at Piccadilly Circus.  It was like Piccadilly Circus.

I instinctively tried to walk the opposite way to the crowds which actually took me to a pub listed under "duh duh duh ..... SOUTH London"  but it looked nice and I'd tried to go last Sept but found it closed on a Sunday so always that bit more satisfying to get such pubs ticked off ....

Red Lion, St James's

So not only was the outside flowery and ornate, but I was greeted by a smiling brunette barmaid of some note, in amongst all the dark wood panelling and shiny mirrors, truly beautiful and no surprise to later see it was in my Heritage Guide.  Still, there's always a 'but', and though I'd already decided to pay using a fiver, I was not prepared for 'my' brunette to say £5.05.  I still dumbly handed her the fiver, I knew what she was saying - IT WASN'T ENOUGH, but my brain couldn't quite register .... she looked at me like "you poor simple northern fool".  Suddenly, she wasn't attractive, she was a penny pinching harridan, and no longer was I describing the pub interior in glowing terms, "opulent London idiocy" to quote my notes at the time.  The pretty hanging baskets outside were "shit party wigs like a Doncaster man-clown would wear at a kids party". Tourists did what they normally do in London pubs, fail to realise they can move around and fill the 'few' empty spaces.  I went around to the back of the bar, where a Canadian who looked Australian wore a hat very well, and told a New Zealand ex-pat back on holiday, that the Brits were more laid back than Canadians.  Brits laid back?  Jeez, remind me never to go to Canada.  They talked about pain killers and gin in San Francisco, trying to outdo each other, my beer was superb quality, but I still couldn't get past the £5.05.

It's Canada v New Zealand in the Red Lion

Queen's Head, Soho

Back towards the busy central area, this was the nearest next pub on my GBG App (which incidentally, I'm really hoping they don't ruin when it is "re-launched" on 14th Sept as it is perfect as it is).  I was unimpressed from the outset with this pub as Tom Huddlestone disguised as a bin-man blocked my entrance, didn't say, and then it turned out he worked here cos he served me this piss weak vegan ale for a 'reasonable' £4.50 (or something).  Despite not giving me the time of day, he was soon chatting to his bar fly mates at the bar.  Everyone in here when I entered was both under the age of 30 and a dickhead, not a winning combination.  A barman with a man-bun who managed to out-irritate even Huddlestone stripped down to a vest, and moved some stools around aggressively, whilsy the barflies, most of whom had ginger hair (the offensive deeper shade) did 'head-laughs'.  God, maybe £5.05 in the last place was worth it.  "What Do I Get?" by the Buzzcocks played, the answer was 'not very much'.

Pub looks lovely, but looks can be deceiving

Head in hands time for one poor twenty something dickhead

Bring back 1855 Canine Meetings in this pub, I say.

The 1855 me would just be complaining about Twogs though.

So there we go, time was of the essence but still got back to King's Cross comfortably enough, delighted I'd done six pubs that didn't include Parcel Yard, Scottish Stores or York Tap - no, those days must come to an end!  New pubs all the way.  The journey back was straightforward enough, the scariest bit happening on the tube so I'll leave you with that, and see you tomorrow for the "Tuesday Trio" as I return to West Yorkshire for the first time since 21st March.

Sweet dreams, Si

BRAPA - A Master in my Own Shields

"Any pubs visited in this blog should be viewed as merely 'pre-emptive', and any similarity to pubs listed in the forthcoming 2018 Good Beer Guide is purely co-incidental."

South Shields.  Let's take a moment to contemplate.  Horrible isn't it?  Not helped by an incident almost 3 years ago to the day, where I took my brand new 2015 GBG for it's first ever outing here.  I accidentally bought the wrong Metro ticket, was fined, made to disclose my height, hair, eye colour etc. and even worse, the local methadone scroats outside the station looked at me like "haddaway Si lad, get yerself a proper ticket in the future."

So it was a moment of pure relief, a real 'monkey off the back moment' when I walked effortlessly through South Shields station barriers onto the main street in town at 11am on Bank Holiday Monday.

I'm aware this is a long intro but let's for a second talk about the perils of "pub-ticking" on a Bank Holiday.  Of course, you cannot rely on bus services even if trains are just about good enough.  The real problem is 'pub opening times', always the bane of any 'pub tickers' life.

The naive 2014 me thought you could simply treat it as Sunday opening hours, and that was that.  But I soon learned that publicans like to enjoy their rare rest days just like anyone else, so if say, Sunday hours are listed 12-11 but Monday hours are listed 5-11, you can bet 60% won't open til after 5pm on a Bank Holiday.  Then they'll stick half a head around a latched door and say "ho ho, well it is Monday strictly speaking!" which is no consolation.

Time to put it to the test in 'Shields.  One of the many reasons I love the North East is the dedication to long pub opening hours, for when the folk of 'Shields aren't shooting up or dancing on the sand (that's how Phil Brown really got his tan, it is golden sand stains), they like a good pint.  The two pubs I needed, 'Marine' and 'Alum Ale House' (which sounds strangely like a Hull City owners dream pub duo), both apparently open 12 noon Sunday but 11am on Mondays (rare itself).  It was just gone 11.

I walked to the river and ferry landing where the Alum was situated, but closed.  (Last time I came to Shields, it was closed for a refurb).  Observing their Sunday hours then, conveniently,  as a man in lycra hopped out of a car and carried boxes into the pub, signs of life at least.

I hot-footed it across town, past 5 consecutive Indian restaurants on a street teeming with food outlets, it was just gone 11:30am but hey presto, Marine was open!  Observing Monday hours.  Proof you just can't call it......

Marine. South Shields

Spacious and loungey, carpets, bench seating, this pub was a relaxing haven from the hustle and bustle of the outside.  A barman who looked like a friendly Viking warlord looked so surprised when I eyed up the ales, he thrust a loyalty card in my direction, and too intimidated of his full ginger beard to tell him I was the least loyal pub goer in the U.K., that I politely listened to him explain how it worked (you get a stamp for each pint you buy, and at the next full moon, you get a free one - or something).   A freaky song came on called 'Boris the Spider' which sent the pub into a frenzy, and with recent BRAPA insect related trauma (the bitey thing in York Tap, the fusebox spider on AGM day), this felt a bit too close to the bone.  Luckily, a local complained so I didn't have to.  As the music gave way to the more conventional 'Waterloo Sunset', an old John Smith's drinker and his wine loving wife sat just a little bit too close considering the amount of room available, as Martin Taylor asked for South Yorkshire info in the new GBG which hadn't reached Cambridge due to the new warehouse being in Goole, so we believe.  My pint was called 'Strawberries and Cream', I thought it'd be sweet and dreadful, Tyne Bank are funny like that, but it went down a treat.

I wandered back through town, past the Metro, told some Jehovah's Witnesses I had an urgent pub to get to, it was now gone 12 noon and the pub was suddenly a mass of high energy......

Alum Ale House, South Shields

Just out of shot to the right, a chirpy busy barmaid was cleaning tables but being distracted by a man with a grey ponytail, which blew wildly in the coastal air.  He kept making a groaning noise, and when I accidentally made eye contact, I felt scared so wandered in.   ELEVEN ales were on, nearly all Marston's standards but you have to say, as Marston's pubs go, this was one of the ultimate best with beautiful old shiny wood, nods to local history on the walls, low ceilings and some delightful dark rooms to the right.  My instinct was to sit in one of these, but a character at the bar with a big grin and a t-shirt that read "I'm not an alcoholic but.... <insert funny slogan here>" looked like he might be GBV (Good BRAPA Value).  Annoyingly, he necked his pint in one, belying his t-shirt, and headed off after saying bye to the whole pub.  The soundtrack here was 'The Sea' by Morcheeba (something about seagulls stealing ice-cream), which seemed fitting as I could just about see it over my left shoulder.  My beer (61 Deep) was poor, just tasted like hoppy water, seemed a bit hazy but smelt ok, and with the lack of anything remotely interesting happening, I started to resent being here so got out the ole' Green Highlighter and coloured in as much of Tyne & Wear as one man can in a 27.5 minute spell!

As I walked back to the Metro, I realised how hungry I was and with the fish & chips queue snaking outside the door, I had the choice of the following two quality eateries:

Guess which one I chose?  Anyway, a Steak & Cheese bake sorted me out.  Back on the Metro, a student girl pronounced Jarrow as 'Jarrow' like 'Harrow' but even I know it's 'Jarra', so I downloaded the Jarrow Song by Crashed Out onto my phone to get me psyched up for the next pub.  Altogether now "My name is little Chrissy Wright, I know what's wrong and I know what's right...." (quality, you don't get Leonard Cohen writing lyrics like that!)

Sadly for Jarra, it was a bit of a ghost town even on a Bank Holiday, with a slightly better breed of addicts than in South Shields......

My pub was in the kind of location you'd never expect to see a pub, as though you were walking into a housing estate ......

McConnell's Gin & Ale House, Jarrow

It was one of those 'pub turns to stare' as I walked in, so I smiled nervously as a couple of the old blokes nodded and half said "alright lad" out of the corner of their collective mouth,  A spindly blonde bar girl greeted me, and a moment of high tension as I scanned the beers and ordered a 'Jarrow Golden' as "Jarra Gawldern" and the pub breathed and carried on.  And when I say carried on, they seemed to be rattling some mini dominoes or something that could be played on a bar counter rather than at a table.  The pub was wonderful, the outside had nice tiling and inside was all wood panels, deep red carpets, with a ridiculously close atmosphere, the kind which'd make my Dad go for one his legendary 5 minute walks outside.  It felt like no new oxygen had entered this pub in the past century, and I loved it, even though it was the most sleep inducing pub atmos ever.  If this wasn't enough, the floor was the spongiest EVER, I felt stoned.  The loos had a snooker theme and the kind of pub smell you've not smelt since the 1990's.    The beer needlessly to say was of the very highest quality, and a bit of Everything but the Girl and Natalie Imbruglia topped it off nicely(!)

Buoyed by such a great pub, I decided to run the risk of seeing whether or not the pub at Felling, a couple of stops further on, was open.  It was back to the old Bank Holiday conundrum.  This had Sunday opening hours of 12 noon, but 5pm on a Monday.  It was approaching 3pm.

Looked nice enough, but a dead as a doornail!  Observing Monday hours then, well of course, it means they get the daytime off don't they?  I'll be back, as I want to finish Tyne & Wear in my 2017/18 'season'.

All was not yet lost, back in the 'Toon,  a pub just across the road from Newcastle station ....

Victoria Comet, Newcastle

So, the furthest north Nicholson's in the country (by default someone told me cos the Edinburgh one shut down), not my favourite chain by any means (the 4 in York are 'reasonable' on a good day), but no Ember Inns.  Wonder if I'm the only one to call it 'the Vomit', I was impressed by the cheery barstaff but lurking outside and in the doorway, all smiles and hellos when I ordered my fairly limp Hadrian and Border ale.  Barman was particularly good, a Scotsman with those piercing slightly desperate blue eyes which were uncannily David Moyes, probably a hero in Newcastle if you see what I mean.  "Alright pal, can you fill in for Khazri" he seemed to say, no wonder I dropped my change on the floor.  The pub seemed to be a series of grand partitioned raised leather benches, sounds quite a nice layout if you are in a group or want some privacy, but I just felt so closed off from everything, not good for a pub observer.  Especially as I'd identified a highly excitable bunch of Geordies across from me, who all said hi when they went to the loo, perhaps wondering why I was photographing them!   Otherwise, all I could do was observe Newcy Brown Ale and football memorabilia behind a glass case, which was interesting for 5 seconds.

Memorabilia

Dudes on the move

The train back was amusing because a young guy excitably pulled the cellophane wrapping off some women's mag called 'Reveal' and got properly engrossed in it.  I was back in York just in time for 17:30pm Neighbours, phew!

Tomorrow, I'll release my blog of Saturday's latest trip to Bucks so stay focussed, we can't let this huge loss in GBG numbers get us down.  Plenty to do until 14th Sept to try and bring it back up to something approaching respectability.

Si

BRAPA - August Review / September Preview

Me ticking off a pub in the 1200's - that won't happen again for a few months!

Well, well, well - who'd have thought the 2018 GBG would have been dropping through my letterbox as early as 26th August?  Not me, but nice to see the good people of CAMRA books getting back to their 2015 Glory Days.

Sad Times

Not that cross-ticking has been at all kind.  Of course, I am under embargo until the official release date of 14th September so cannot reveal specific details, but my hopes to only lose approximately 130 pubs were extremely wishful thinking!  30 down in North Yorkshire and 21 in Greater Manchester alone, I'll be doing what I can between now and 14th to claw back some of these numbers to respectability, before my "New GBG" blog on that date.

Pub ticking is for mugs, and is soul destroying.  I wouldn't recommend it!  I might feel different in a few weeks, let's hope so anyway.  I hope ungrateful Cornwall and East East Yorkshire fall into the sea, I hope Northern Ireland leaves the UK for Ireland, I hope the Channel Islands turn French, I hope Shetland gets closed down due to too many murders, and I hope Kent's micropubs float miserably off to France.   Then I might have a fighting chance.

On a happier note, 25 new pubs and 4 extremely pre-emptive ticks made for a productive August.  There were some crackers and I've gone with the following 4 to put forward into the end of year reckoning ......

1. Chiverton Tap, Cheadle Hulme
2. Poachers Inn, Bollington
3. Grocers, Cadishead
4. McConnell's Gin & Ale House, Jarrow

Moment of the month in Bollington

Coming Soon

I still have to write up my Bank Holiday trip to the North East, but must go to bed soon as I have an early start for Buckinghamshire tomorrow, where the September pub ticking begins "out west".   Bucks hasn't been too bad in the old 'cross ticking' and I think we could see a definite conclusion by November / December time.

I have a bonus trip out on Tuesday cos I've booked half a day off at work, and I'm even managing to get the 'West Yorkshire' midweek's started again in sly controversial fashion as I've arranged a 'work night out' at a potential new BRAPA pub!  I'll be really pushing at West Yorks as we move into Autumn, a few easy North Yorkshire's in the winter, then a mop up of South Yorkshire before moving back to (evil) Greater Manchester by spring!  Just so you know the midweek agenda.

The following Saturday (9th) is an NFFD day in the Southport area as Derby away wasn't enticing enough.

On the 16th, BRAPA could be scuppered by a home Hull City game against Sunderland, though in the current climate, I think I'd have to add some bonus Sunday BRAPPING in to compensate if this was the case!  A lot depends on whether my Mackem buddy can get a ticket.

On the 23rd, it is Tom's birthday celebrations so we'll be heading off to the East Lancs railway for a second time.  Let's hope there are plenty of pubs in that area to be had!

And the month ends with a second trip to Bucks.  To make up for no August trip I assume.  Don't remember booking it.  I think this will be more southern based trip of the county.

Remember, all pubs visited before 14th should be treated as pre-emptive ticks, and any resemblance with pubs which end up in the 2018 GBG is merely co-incidental.  Right, I'm off to cry into my pillow.

Under embargo.

Sweet dreams, Si