BRAPA - The Revenge of the Sith-port

"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."

I dusted mi' sen down from the exertions of the previous night's Derby debacle for an early morning NFFD trip to Southport, a place that me, Dad and Tom had particularly enjoyed on our first visit and were determined to come back and 'finish the job'.

I felt a bit fragile first thing, but my staged photo backfired when most people just thought I was trying to blend in with the folk of Merseyside (or Lancs, as non dedicated followers of the GBG would have you believe) ......

Tom, his beard and heavy coat were lurking at Southport station on arrival, and any hangover I'd been feeling was soon cured as he walked us the wrong way (my fault too for not checking Google Maps) in torrential rain to the first pub on Lord Street, the only Southport street that really exists.  Dad borrowed my hat but wore it in such a way that he managed to look like all the blokes from "New Tricks" in one go.   By the time we got to the pub, the sun was out and the seagulls were singing happy tunes about Tim Martin.

Sir Henry Segrave, Southport

First thing's first, this felt like a cleaner, better kept 'Spoons than it's town counterpart, the Willow Grove, which was just more scroatly all round.  Staff were friendly, jolly, if maybe a bit mad as we'll see later, the guy who served me had such a thick scouse accent, I thought a phlegmmy layer was going to end up in my pint, acting as the head.  In any case, this was a supreme quality pint, Dad couldn't even do his "Pint of Wetherspoons" joke which is never not funny, if he's reading.  A blackcurrant cordial shortage was dire news for Tom, but was soon rectified.  The only downer was a miserable old codger staring at me from along the bar, so I reacted in the only way BRAPA knows how and photographed the grumpy bugger and gave him a winning smile.  I was tasked with finding the quietest darkest corner of the pub, away from the many feasting twild-led families.  I thought I'd done well, til I realised it was on a walkway between kitchen and rest of pub!  But as Tom said, there is no such thing as a prime location to sit in Wetherspoons so I felt a bit better for that.  We discussed the Wetherspoons App, where you can order without going to the bar, as covered by proper bloggers.  The chat was occasionally punctuated by an absolute racket of crashing pans, loud music, and wailing voices coming from the kitchen - I swear the staff enjoy themselves far too much here!  One young Mum told her twild it was like a nightclub was next door, but twild didn't understand.  A bubbly little brunette barmaid fell over a step next to me cos it was disguised under carpet - "you wouldn't think I'd worked here for years hahaha" she screeched, and before you could chant "there's only one Donald Campbell" or "what's it like to see a land-speed record?", it was time to move on.

Grumpy old bugger

Some ales - but I forgot my vouchers today

A pre-11am 'Spoons scene, anything more beautiful?

Lord Street is quite long for a street, this was number 90 something, our next pub was five hundred and fifty something but we found it soon enough, and I was quite interested in this one.....

Peaky blinded by the sun.

Peaky Blinders, Southport

I'm a big fan of the TV show Peaky Blinders, and so must the owners of this place be, if my sources are correct, they paid a fair bit of cash to get the rights to use the name for their bar.  But that's the problem, it is a 'bar', light airy and modern, and whilst I've been to some delightful outer Birmingham pubs with backrooms, frosted glass and snob screens where you can imagine the Shelby gang doing some betting related deal, you can't really see it here, and but for one token photograph in the corridor near the gents, they've not really embraced the spirit of Peaky B, unless you count the use of the word "Beer Mongers" maybe, which I like, or the fact that Tom is like a slightly less derranged Arthur.  Not even a mobile Stella Artois bar outside really does it!  Despite the total lack of customers when we went inside, it took a painfully long time to be served, and it was done without a smile, just an instruction for someone to "put some music on, I hate this silence".  I tried to agree, but just got scowled at.   We sat outside but coming back from the loo, I noticed a guy in Paisley shirt who I recongised, yes Matthew 'SeetheLizards' Lawrenson had jetted in from Preston to join us on his first official BRAPA outing (we'd seen him at Glebe and White Star in Stoke, but this were just re-visits).  Back outside, a weird smell in the Southport air, perhaps paint, it lasted all day.  I'd just thought it was Wetherspoons earlier!  Weakest pub of the day in my opinion.

Capturing the true spirit of 1920's Birmingham

So just across the road and down the next street, was the next pub, and it would be memorable!

Guest House, Southport

"This has been in every GBG for as long as I can remember" said Matthew as we walked in (not that we can confirm or deny it is in 2018 edition), that is the kind of pub I need to be focussing on in the coming year, those long standing entries like Delph and Tandle thing and Littleborough, not yer flimsy fly by night Pie, Soup and Wank Kitchen Craft Houses.  This was a beautiful old pub, multi roomed, wood panelling, stained glass and a nice 50/50 split of clientele engrossed in Man City v Liverpool.  "Anything said against Manchester City will be met with violence" said the stony faced barmaid, and no one was arguing.  Two Everton fans seemed to agree, and a deathly hush descended on the pub as a Liverpool player was (perhaps harshly) sent off for a raised boot, which upset a load of old blokes near us.  A cockney Liverpool fan was even brave enough to have rant, he disappeared after that,   pretty sure the barmaid disposed of him.   I was so in amongst it cos I'd had to take my pint of vinegar back.  It was returned with good grace from the young bar lad holding the fort "That one was due to go anyway!" he cheerfully declared and turned the pump clip around.  Hold that thought.  Back at the table, a friendly but slightly strange old couple overheard me talking BRAPA, and joined in.  In a very "local bloke in Bollington" move, he declared this one of the 3 best pubs in the UK.  The other two also in Southport.  "And let me tell you something" he said staring into my soul "....this pub won 'best pub on Merseyside ..... AND I'M EVEN INCLUDING ST HELENS!"  He dramatically paused for effect, which was just the most hilarious moment of the day.  Yes, I'm aware St Helens has great pubs, but for a visitor, it sounded utterly ridiculous.  He then changed the subject "free chip butties on the bar lads, go and help yourselves!"  Dad was hesitant, the bloke confirmed "yes, even outsiders like you are allowed them."  And what wonderful chips they were.  I loved this place.  Sadly, it ended on something of a negative.  Dad had gone back up for half an ale, asked for one at the far end, but for some reason, our Man City murderess decided she wanted to give him the ale I'd taken back, pump clip turned back round!  So she did.  Dad later told me, half way into his half, that it was vinegar, which it was.  I told him to return it, he said 'too late'. So what happened?  Did they change barrel but still some 'bad beer residue?' Was it a misunderstand with bar-lad where she came back from disposing of cockney scouser body, and just turned it back round without realising it was off?  Or something more sinister(!)  Who knows but it was a sour note to end such a wonderful pub experience.

Matthew and Tom, being amazing probably.

Next up, we got to the station, sorted out some tickets for next leg of journey at what appeared to be a newsagents, and headed for 'Hillside' which seems to be Southport suburb.  I was looking for one of the two pubs, when I spied the other .....

"In the pines, in the pines, in the pines!" 

The Pines, Hillside

I marched in after the others and gave the barmaid a cheerful "hello!" and wave, helped by the fact that she had the whitest teeth this side of Liverpool.  We weren't inside long, the interior didn't exactly scream "stay in and love me" so we headed to one of these tables you can see on the left in the sun.  I had plenty troubling my mind though.  Firstly and most importantly, was this a micropub?  On the surface, it might look it, but the following things convinced me it wasn't.  Our beer came in Worthington's glasses, there were TWO toilets, and they found blackcurrant cordial with no effort.  Now I don't have a Micropub Bingo Card like I do with Ember Inns, but Matthew suggested it might be useful.   A table of twilds were crawling behind me, but out of sight out of mind.  Was this a former furniture shop?  If it wasn't, I'm seriously disappointed.  Batley has a Pine Studio, so am sure there has to be a good bet (just checked, it was a hairdressers - what?)  And why did I have a song in my head which went "the Pines, the Pines, the Pines".  Luckily whilst Tom and Dad looked vacant, Matthew knew what I was on about, an old American folk song that Kurt Cobain and Leadbelly did (not together, in Southport, that'd be just weird).

Oh well, the next pub was a matter of metres away and I'd like to take a moment to recognise the poor cyclist sat outside in the photo with a dog coming out of his head - without realising at the time, he was a kindred spirit ......

Grasshopper, Hillside

The scene was dominated by an enthusiastic five month old pup, who especially loved Dad despite the fact he'd kept his summertime Miami Vice glasses on which would be sinister to any cat who caught a glance of him.  Tom got some dog-love too (if that doesn't sound wrong), but when the attention seeking Twup spied my red BRAPA shirt, it visible cowered.  YES!  Matthew hung back a bit, obviously a #Catman.  The barmaid was a lovely lass, and in the early stages, the locals were a great bunch too.  She told me the cyclist outside had been traumatised by the Twup .... #Catman.  Only one toilet, yet Blackcurrant cordial was in evidence, I think this place definitely did enough to get micropub status.  (Like I make the rules!)   The beer I drank was "Faith, Hope and Charity",  I remember a song called this where the next line went "love is the greatest of the three" but no one was particularly amused with my recollection of this, and the ale wasn't a fave of mine.  We'd done well to go this long without a "pub character" coming along to irritate, especially this close to the west coast, and surprisingly perhaps, it took on the form of an American woman from Florida.  Whilst Dad slept behind his dark glasses and Tom analysed the 2018 GBG which doesn't actually exist, me and Matthew were left to witness the full horror.  In a normal pub, you could escape, or at least expect a few locals to roll eyes and mutter under their breath, but in a micropub, such fuckwittery is actively encouraged no matter how empty the vessel.   Her constant (and I apologise to my American readers for this accent) "Wellllll, gee-whizz, isn't he the most adorable puppy,  ahhhhm from Miami, isn't this swell, would you like to see a picture of my puppy you guys?" before showing pup pics to the pub on her phone was nauseating.  When I said I liked cats, she scowled at me.  Like proper daggers.  To take the edge off, Matthew noted Tom and Plato were practically the same person.  Then we left.  Amusing place.

Great barmaid, decent twup.

Plato knows he'll never quite be Tom.

There was one pub left, to complete the wholly trinity (or however many six is) and we decided that walking from Hillside to Birkdale was a better idea than getting a train one stop.

Birkdale, only famous to me for a golf course, seemed very well heeled with some posh houses and a trendy little shopping arcade.  Blink and you'd miss the pub, because it looked like an extension of the next door cheese shop, and the only sign was on the awning outside the arcade, and not on the building itself ......

Matthew's shirt upstages front of pub.

Barrel House, Birkdale

After a few pints, it was quite hard to follow the whole "this pub only exists because of Sainsbury's forcing the newsagents to shut down" tale, but they seemed to believe it, as one of the pubs big features was a newspaper rack which included the Sun which I believe wouldn't be allowed much closer to Liverpool.  A little fluffy dog was blocking EXACTLY the same space the one in the last pub did, between bar and loo.   This felt less of a micropub, and more of a cafe bar.  Only 2 ales on, seemed a bit of a token gesture.  Having said that, it was my favourite ever pint of anything by Lancaster, superb quality too.  Dad was on the coffees, plenty of it ("are you reading Mother BRAP?"), suggesting if there was a good coffee guide, this pub would be in it.  In an emotional moment, I got the creamcake that I'd been craving since King's Stores in London when Dad and Tom stole my piece between them, and again we had to/wanted to sit outside.  What can you say?  If these last three pubs are all still open and serving ale by 2030, I will buy anyone reading this a pint in the first month of the year providing I see you in a Norfolk pub after 10pm.

"Chance in here would be a fine thing!"

A nod to the newsagents of our past

Tom considers a boutique haircut in Birkdale

Oh dear!

 We marched back up the hill (if there was one) to Birkdale station, said cheerio to our mates Tom and Matthew, and were soon back in Manc Victoria, via Southport.  Time for more coffee, at the end of a lovely lovely day.  Good company, really like Southport and this part of the world.  

I'm back in West Yorkshire on Tuesday, doing two of the last eleven pubs on that secret list.  And Thursday sees the end of this bloody embargo,  phew.  How tight lipped I've had to be ;)

Si

BRAPA - Leeds Wapentake, Hull City Pisstake

"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."

Our tiny "Static Data" team at work had been suggesting some casual after work drinks for a few weeks, when I innocently flicked my hair over my ears and said "how about this place I've heard about called Wapentake on Kirkgate?"  Cue confused expressions, of course I couldn't tell them this pub was on a list given to me by a ghostly Dick Turpin in my local Sainsburys.

It was something of a "leaving do" for me (in the loosest sense of the word) in that I'm going back to my old team soon, all of one row of desks away, and it was a chance to give BRAPA debuts to some really ace work friends.

These were, in no particular order, Dave (Rotherham Utd fan, Oasis tribute act superstar, proper good no nonsense South Yorkshire lager drinker),  Rocio (feisty jolly Spanish Saltaire lass who used to work for Real Madrid TV pre-Yorkshire Bank when she swapped Gareth Bale for Si & ale), Deborah (caring sensitive cautious 'mother of the group' with outer Wakefield leanings), Alistair (the new young lad, agency staff and my trainee with links to Crowle and Pembroke - makes him sound like a Crimewatch photofit)   and last but not least, Katie B (think Marilyn Monroe with less organisation but totally amusing and heart of gold).  Katie was late as she was going to a wedding in Majorca next day and was flapping like a flapper, doing last minute shopping.

Rocio, Al, Deborah and Dave ready for their BRAPA debuts

Wapentake, Leeds

So we wandered in to this cosy, intimate, some might say tiny, bar with that modern L**ds whiff to it.  Me and Al immediately spotted the 'pub character' of note, and we weren't fans as he, sat at the left edge of the bar doing the crossword with his suit, t-shirt- jeans, and ruddy complexion, decided to stare us all up and down in a less than impressed way.  He was either the owner, or the local alki, or both, but he made us uncomfortable.  His eyes particularly bored into my back when Deborah asked me to run through the real ale selection and I said it was amusing how a pub which prides itself so much on 'local produce' should have Sharp's Atlantic as it's regular ale.  Not sure how we got onto the ale subject anyway, she was always gonna be on the gin, Dave banged in 4 pints of Carling which surprised no one present, and Al was on the Blue Moon with a bit of orange needlessly floating in it.  Rocio was on the ale with me, and Katie seemed to order a fishbowl of Pinot Grigio for herself when she arrived.  I asked how you pronounce "Wapentake" but even the staff didn't know, given me 4 alternatives, the final was my own pronunciation "Wappen-takkie".  The bloke who served me was very familiar, having served me in every pub in L**ds over the last 10 years, and the barmaid Tiger-Lily, pretty upsetting name but both of them had first class staff attitude.   I was invited to "open a tab", good news as I was about to pay for the round (!) though we then spent next 10 mins explaining "opening a tab" concept to Rocio.  We sat upstairs (some very steep steps) where the only free table was, supposedly a bit of a sports bar but even a blind man could see that this was the least appropriate pub to have cricket on a giant screen that you could hope to see.  You mention a 'googly' or 'silly mid off' to the clientele here, they'd probably think it was social media slang.  Dave was originally sat on a high stool at our low table, but the staff showed more class by immediately rectifying the situation.  It was a nice couple of hours chat and letting off steam, good one to add to the 'work night out' list but perhaps at quieter times.  I went down to pay the bill, the rest walked past me and left, citing the need for trains and buses as a matter of urgency.  So I paid and went back upstairs to finish my pint - normal BRAPA service resumed.  Two excitable blokes with drawn on beards sat opposite me, and wanted to talk football - they were Liverpool fans, I told them about Slutsky and Hull City  With hindsight, am surprised the table number wasn't 5-0.  Burton fans probably showed up later.

A bloke sorts out the Dave chair situation.

How they dispose of Twilds in Wapentake

Ze bill - not too unreasonable.

When I set off to work the following morning, I honestly wasn't planning on going to Derby to watch Hull City, I only just found out it'd be moved to Fri Night for TV.  But the more I looked into it, the more it made sense.  I could get there and back comfortably on the night, £17 pay on the gate match ticket, Derby down to two reserve midfielders.  It was too good an opportunity to pass up, wasn't it?!

I thought it was Stones Bitter

After a couple of train beers, I decided walking to my 2 remaining BRAPA pubs at 6pm was just a bit too much, so took the opportunity to do celebrated Derby pub of the year The Brunswick properly, having only sat in the upstairs function room before with more limited ale, to avoid men from Goole.

You could see the appeal straight away, with multi roomed layout hidden behind glass doors.  Sadly, the staff didn't look like they had it in them to cope with an increasingly busy football crowd and the locals were 'typically East Midlands' i.e. stand offish and a bit insular (from my experience, particularly Derby and Leicester).  I did get a fantastic seat to observe the locals, particularly some CAMRA woodland folk including Ram Gandalf and a couple of hobbits who'd escaped from 1971 Glastonbury.

I was impressed with the ales, they had their own brewery I think and I had this railway porter.  Not sure if familiarity breeds contempt but the group opposite me insisted on making a show of how, as far as they were concerned, it was a toss up between Everards Tiger and Tim Taylor Landlord.  Almost like they refused to acknowledge the existence of Brunswick Ales.  Inverted snobbery?  I'd seen enough anyway and I had a back up plan.

A great pint, but the locals might not agree.

 Ah yes, on my previous visit here (a Tuesday night in April '16), me and Dad popped into the Alexandra for post match pint to lick our wounds after a 4-0 defeat.  It was a cracking atmosphere (course it was, they'd bloody thumped us!) and despite wearing the only Hull City shirt in the pub, we got chatting with loads of great locals about Derbyshire pubbing and the pain of defeat soon passed.

Today was no exception, more limited in terms of space and I was being served by a lovely young lass on her first shift here, very apologetic for everything, for no reason, great ales, 'filled cheese n onion rolls' behind the bar - much needed as I'd had no tea, and soon I was perched in a corner chatting to two random Rams - why can't every Derby pub be so welcoming?  Only the Rowditch and the Horse & Groom have come anywhere near close.  Well, I laughed as we all agreed "at least it won't be 4-0 again tonight!"  and by gum weren't we right?

After 45 minutes of some of most appalling football I've ever seen from City (I know I say this every time but it seemed more true), I took the advice from the likes of Dad, Ben, Mark, Christine and even a couple of work people, to abscond early and head back to the Alex.  After all, we weren't gonna win 5-4 as some teenage lads excitably told me at the burger van, and what with an early start to Southport, such a move would mean I could get home midnight instead of 2am.  Every cloud n all that!

A pint of "Calypso"?? But that's a system we use at work!

"Have you heard there's a corpse with a DNR on it found down at Pride Park ... it's called Hull City"

An old local channels Hull City fans feelings.

Diamante Lil had come on as a second half substitute, I was told.

It was a swift but very enjoyable pint, despite my lack of black n amber, my contorted face told the whole pub that I was a Hull City fan who'd left at half time, I didn't need to say anything.

My phone died at Sheffield, I had a 15 minute delay in Leeds, but was home for 00:10.  Asleep by 00:20, and up for 06:50 for Southport ..... which I'll write up in a minute.  

Si 

BRAPA - Revenge of the Four-Headed Yorkshire Beast

"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."

If you believe the above paragraph, I'd also implore you to believe this next one.

I was in my local supermarket, Sainsburys (of course, darling) eyeing up the heft of some over ripe lemons (it was 10pm and stocks were low, York likes its lemons).  Suddenly, a masked man reminiscent of Dick Turpin approached, touched my chest, thrust four pieces of paper into my hands, whispered "I wasn't here" before disappearing into the ether, but not before tumbling over a few shopping baskets hastily stacked by the door.  The pieces of paper are marked "North", "East" "South" and "West", each sealed with candle wax and a White Rose.  Inside, names of Yorkshire pubs and Yorkshire places, some familiar to me, some less so.  They are scrawled in an old fashioned font, a kind of 18th century Comic Sans.  A voice on the wind wails "Honour these pubs, as soon as possible, you must be more BRAPA, Siiiiii ...." and fades into the York night sky.

Don't reveal the contents of the new GBG or this might happen to you.....

I awoke the next morning, 6am,  to swirling rainstorms, where I'd booked a 'half-day' at work to give me more scope than your average Tuesday night.  Grave schoolboy error on my part though, few pubs open before mid afternoon on a weekday (how did I not remember/check this?), so I stayed on an extra hour to shift some very stubborn "Static Data".  It's the work we do.

I needn't have worried about being 'early for t'pubs'.  "The line is flooded" came the train announcement on the infamous but BRAPA friendly Manchester Victoria stopper.  29 mins and some lemon based lunch later, we were moving.  But by Bradford Interchange, even worse delays as a train had broken down near Walsden.  Would I ever get to my first planned destination, Mytholmroyd?

The wait went on, the guard told me he wasn't feeling confident.  I jumped off, bought a can of San Pellegrino with a tenner so I had bus change, and legged it around the corner for the bus to Thackley.  En route, I dropped the fiver.  Bugger!  Not a lucky day so far.  It was 2:30pm by now, just about enough change for the bus.

I finally got to Thackley, a place I'd only heard of from listening to non-league football results on Radio Humberside in the early nineties, you know the type, Gwilym Lloyd reading them out, "Hall Road Rangers 3, Armthorpe 1 .... Skirlaugh 7, Thackley 2.  Goole Town v Stocksbridge Park Steelers postponed due to the town being hit by zombie plague."

So it was nice to pass Thackley F.C., and a bunch of smiling Mum's setting off to pick their kids up from school, as pub one approached .....

Commercial Inn, Thackley

I entered the near deserted pub to find 'Mamma' and 'Nanna' sat to the left hand side, both gave me a cheery hello as I entered.  It felt like the kind of pub which strangers didn't go.  Take that Soho!  I'm no beer blogger as you know, but was interested to see that WhatPub mentioned this pub did "AutoVac" which I've never seen advertised as a thing before, and Mamma pulled my pint of Bingley something with such gusto, it overflowed about 10 times over, her hands etc. delightful(!)  Beer tasted ok but had that taste I associate with York's Hop Pizzeria, and took a long time to clear.  Still, worse problems lay ahead.  'George' the pub child was rapidly descending into legendary twild status, having a tantrum cos Dadda had gone through a door.  Nanna shouted across "this weather doesn't know what it wants to do does it?", she was wonderful with more than a hint of the Les Dawson about her, thickest green eyeshadow ever witnessed in a BRAPA pub to date.  After much forced weather chat, George appeared and Nanna gave him some chocolate drops, probably designed for dogs.  Bad mistake!   George was wired on a sugar rush running around like a bat out of hell, with Mamma and Dadda arguing and doing pub things (probably) behind the bar.  So George exited the pub.  "Oh well, probably for the best" I thought, but Nanna didn't agree and looked concerned.  "Do you want me to get him back?" I half-heartedly offered.  "Ooooh yes luv, mi legs don't move as fast as they used to!" she says, so I find George hovering in the porch, and lead him back to pub 'safety'.  Dadda, quite a hapless individual, didn't say thanks, so I glared at him like "that's how to review your pub and do YOUR parenting all in one go!"  Nanna said thanks, and it should be noted that "Dedicated Follower of Fashion" played, possibly a nod to the debut of my red and white BRAPA shirt and Adidas Gazelles combo.  Not the kind of pub that I'd expect to appreciate this, I'd have been far better off debuting them in say, Manchester's "Pie, Soup and Wank Kitchen" or Bristol's "Pretentious Mechanical Goat Beaver" but there you go.

I WAS trying to get a good pic of Nanna/George but too impossible!

The bus back was delayed a bit due to school chucking out and some roadworks, but as I headed back towards Bradford, Wibsey (where there's a micropub, so fake Dick Turpin reckons) was an option, yet the lack of cash and need to not waste my Mytholmroyd train ticket meant I hopped off in Bradford and got back on the train line, with the first batch of commuters finishing work.

It was my second BRAPA trip here, unless you count walking to Cragg Vale, so I turned right out of the station and found this on a junction near yet more roadworks ....... crossing was fun .... I had exactly 27 mins to get this done!

Finally in sight, just a few hours late!

Dusty Miller, Mytholmroyd

It looked like a pub, it had a pub name, and it felt (pretty much) like a pub, but something was missing it was hard to put your finger on, leaving the experience all a little sterile after the whitewater ride of Thackley.  Perhaps that was it, "water".  All this flooding talk might have set Mytholmroyd on edge as they were near obliterated Boxing Day 2015.  It might explain why it took 4 attempts smiling at the barmaid to get the corners of her mouth to slightly upturn.  I'd walked in to the line "Can you go to church for me this week?" where barman was trying to get barmaid to, what, cover for him?  Strange.  I paid £3.10 for a pint of something West Yorkshire with a fiver (not the lost one) and gave him the extra 10p.  Nearly didn't get my change!  £5.10, 5p more than Red Lion in St James's on Saturday, and all those bad memories came flooding (excuse the pun) back.  The pubbiest room was taken over by Walking-Branson and his walker-wife, they didn't like me exploring the pub, but for what looked like a traditional pub on the surface, there was an amazing lack of decent pub seating and tables.  Two locals watched that ITV gameshow based on a Bridlington amusement arcade, and their well-behaved dog got lots of love and even a treat (probably one of George's chocolate drops) from sour faced barmaid.  We need a pub rule where BRAPA gets the same love and fuss made.  Lost on the way to the loos on the way out, I went into the pub garden / car park to find a fish n chip van sitting there, doing a better trade than the pub.  A nice way to end an otherwise limp experience.

Keep your eyes on the fries luv, this is just a BRAPA photo.

Visiting dog bored of ITV

After a quick sprint back to the station, the train was a few mins delayed anyway (obviously!) but it was only a matter of minutes before I hopped off again at Sowerby Bridge.

Now I was going to rant about how many different pronunciations they are of "Sowerby" but later on, #pubman extraordinaire Quosh told me it is "Sawby", and if you can't trust a man who effortlessly straddles the boundaries of Stalybridge and Ashton-under-Lyne, then who can you trust?

It was also reassuring to note that Mytholmroyd had appreciated my visit more than I'd realised at the time .....

ABOUT TIME! (With thanks to Matthew "seethelizards" Lawrenson)

Despite this being my FOURTH BRAPA trip to Sowerby Bridge, I still managed to walk the wrong way out of the station and do a circular tour up this steep hill for no reason, only worth it if you are going to Shepherd's Rest, which I wasn't.  People-wise, I've always found SB a bit of a mixed bag.  Puzzle Hall was one of the most amazing friendly pubs ever, yet on the same road, the Works (just 3 months later) had one of the most idiotic clientele I've ever witnessed on a BRAPA day out.

I wasn't expecting too much from the next pub, 'Brew House' never has positive connotations for me these days (you'd think it would, but no), maybe I'd be surprised .....

Hog's Head Brew House & Bar, Sowerby Bridge

And I was! Despite being huge and some of the newness smell still lingering, it's wooden benched dimly lit atmosphere and smiley locals made for a really great atmosphere.  At the bar, two scrawny small blokes with an equally scrawny twog had decided to make this their domain, certainly not the target audience, and why, in my mind at least, Sowerby Bridge is slightly more in touch with the real world than it's Hebden neighbour.  A chirpy barmaid with rounded bottom and sunny personality watched amused as I tried to pick between the masses of onsite brewed ales, I went for 6-8 weeks "because I like the name" so she told me when the main guy was building it, people kept saying "how long til you open?" and he always said "6-8 weeks".  Haha!  That's the kind of top bantz that Dele Ali and Kyle Walker could only dream of.  And I noticed the scrawny twog was censoring his master's sentences, when he told an improbable tale "Once, at Manchester Airport, I had to get a guy by the scruff of the neck and give the "WOOF!" a thick ear".  I sat on a bench in the centre of the room, and noted the pub was somehow a cross between York's House of Trembling Madness and Louth's Gas Lamp Lounge, but set in a cosy Pret a Manger doubling as an aircraft hanger.  Sure you know what I mean now!  A Barcelona shirted man came in and smiled at me a bit too much, unnerving, but amusingly, a suited post-work couple swaggered in - you could tell no-one liked them straight away, the girl screeching "WE'LL NEED A BIGGER TABLE FOR ALL THE FRIENDS WE'VE GOT WHO ARE DEFINITELY JOINING US LATER, HONEST!" so the pub could hear, before sitting on a sad bastards table in the corner.  Music was terrible, some of the worst cover versions ever like you were in a TV programme where they weren't licensed to use proper original tracks.  But all in all, a great success.

View from the bar.

Piss off bloke, you are in the way of my photo, not the other way around!

Barca couple friendly but a bit starey - I did say bye though and they said bye back aaah.

I sauntered back, the correct way, to the station where I had plenty of time to wait annoyingly til the next train.

On the way, I spied what I thought was a micropub open for 3 hours a week (3am-6am Thursdays) under a railway arch selling only Fosters and one mystery ale, it had no front door but lots of characterful moss and rust - it'll be in the GBG soon I'm sure so I will be back to visit it then ......

 I was VERY tempted to go to Halifax on the way back but time was ticking on.  The angel in my head said "don't do it Si, you have a busy day with meetings and visitors from Scotland tomorrow and you want to feel ill" but the devil said "Pah, 3 pubs, is that all you managed for a half day?  No wonder your numbers drop.  You are an embarrassment to pub ticking.  Alan Winfield is laughing at you now.  He'd have done 28 in Sowerby Bridge alone this afternoon.  Pathetic.  You''ll never finish it!  You see Duncan Mackay and Martin Taylor?  You are the poo on their shoe!"

I don't like the devil, he's a bit mean.  But I went angel and glad I did, the 'Fax can wait, it always does.

And on that note, see you for a bonus pub write up on Friday!

Si