BRAPA - Conquering Cornwall - Part 1 - From Mousehole with Love

So, here I was, back in Cornwall for year two of pub ticking, this time staying near Hayle because Newquay was never well situated, and certainly not an ale haven.

The aim was to finish ticking off all the GBG listed pubs west of an imaginary line I'd drawn from Newquay down to Truro down to Falmouth.

Last year, I did 25 pubs but EIGHT of them got de-guided so I was down to 17.  Harsh, I hadn't had one poor quality pint all holiday!

I'd done my research, and without sounding too much like a geek (or is that a gweek, haha, first of many Cornish jokes so get bloody used to it), I'd been through each Good Beer Guide (apart from 1975 and 1979 which I don't own) working out which pubs most regularly appear, so expect some 'fascinating' stats along the way as I recall my last week of crazy adventures.

My GBG with its own seat on the plane, just like on the way to Isle of Man

Monday late afternoon, and after checking in at my Premier Inn and getting myself to Penzance (I'd done the crazy Crown last year so no new ticks here), I got the M6 bus out to Mousehole, which might be pronounced 'Muzzle', or Mozzle or Mizzle depending who you speak to, but my bus driver made me repeat it three times just for the shits and giggles.  Oh, and charged me a fortune.

Dad text me whilst I'm on the bus "I trust you've made it to at least one pub so far!" - jeez, gimme a chance father darling, these BRAPA legends can be so demanding.

Outside the pub, the bus broke down and he couldn't move it causing chaos.  Karma mate, Kernow Karma.  My turn to chuckle, as I stepped inside the first pub of my holiday.

Silly bus

Better view of the pub

1379 / 2125.  Old Coastgard, Mousehole

This was a GBG debutant, so it was on my 'approach with caution' list, especially as I saw it was part of a chain called 'Eat Sleep Drink' or something similarly sinister.  I wound my way through various staircases, dining tables and reception areas, until I found to my relief, something resembling a bar (well, an actual bar) and not for the last time this holiday, a bit of confusion as I ordered just a pint and paid with cash.  A snoozing dog was dreaming strange dreams and angrily thwacking its tail on the wooden floor.  A very tall American man in oversized coat and hat asked aggressively if he could pay by card. "Yes of course, hang on oh no, but NOT American Express"  replied our bearded host, a sort of Poundland Ross Poldark.  American looked unimpressed.  But this American looked suspicious to me.  I'd heard the Southworth brothers had flown home from their beery holiday of the UK, but surely this was them playing a prank on me.  I sat at a low chair and admired the views of the sea and beautiful gardens which seem to be the main selling point of this place.  My ale was poor quality, the second poorest of my holiday.  It was from a Penzance micro called Badger's Arsehole (I think), 'limited edition', very limp and when I spilled a bit on the table, it formed this horrid crusty thing like a pus filled scab.  Ugh.  There were some fantastic old books hidden next to me,  though I read the first page of this horror book and it was a bit racist about the devil!  "Have some glasses been handed in?" squeaked a mousey mousehole resident.  Poundland Ross just yawned and went to scythe some stuff out the back.  A nice old bloke said hiiiiiiiii in a very smooth voice, but he was the exception rather than the norm, his Debbie McGee-esque wife couldn't match his efforts, it was time to leave anyway.

View down to the sea

Emergency beermat came into play already - not the best pint of holiday!

Book probably about the pub folk of Cornwall

Luckily, an old local lady saw me waiting for the bus and told me it was actually parked up the road because, today, it was too big to get down this street!  Too big?  It was a minibus for heaven's sake.  

Back at Penzance, I got a nice sausage bap and then the bus back towards Hayle, but what was good is it passed another pub I needed ......

1380 / 2126.  Star Inn, Crowlas

And even better, this was a GBG regular (though so is the Crown in Penzance so that doesn't always mean brilliance!)  Happily, I could feel the quality from the second I stepped inside.  It had a lively early evening hubbub, probably the closest to a traditional pub atmosphere I found all holiday, proper old style boozer.  A friendly place on the whole, especially the old bloke with one tooth sat against the wall with his face permanently in a plume of vapey smoke.  Being a locals local, bar blockers were an issue and although the nice brunette barmaid spied me early on and looked as though she was going to serve me, a Cornish version of Sinbad from Brookside managed to keep his body firmly between me and the bar, glanced back at me, and even though I smiled and he still had at least half a pint left, asked for another!  She momentarily hesitated, glanced at me, but served him first.  Gotta keep your locals happy first, I guess, don't blame her, but was this a deliberate move to 'mark his territory'?  Interesting!  I'd rather he'd just weed on the floor.  Still, I sat down in the window, happily enjoying my Potion No 9 (not 9% as I'd half hoped, half dreaded!), until a 'friendly' dog ran over to me and started fussing, but then I realised, it was cos I had the remnants of my sausage bap in my bag and I had to virtually extract the hungry mutt's face from my bag as it nearly took a bite out of my Good Beer Guide, and that could've been disastrous!  Then a load of Spar workers came into the Star, which seemed nicely poetic, and one beersplained all the Penzance beers to his less beery colleagues, who didn't seem too interested, as long as they were drinking the stuff!  Great pub this, felt like the holiday really started here.  But I had a bus to catch.

Locals loving life in the Star

Spot the dog, about to wake up in search of sausage sarnie

Spar workers and a Tetley mirror

Back at the bus stop, I noticed it went to Camborne where I had a pub tick so plan was to stay on if my bladder behaved itself, which it did!  Sadly, my phone wasn't behaving itself and I had lurk in the street waiting for ages to take the below picture cos the button wouldn't press.  Agh.

1381 / 2127.  John Francis Basset, Camborne

It was a very grand Wetherspoons this one, at first I thought it just seemed grand because I'd gone into the 'hotel' by mistake but when a silent-ish bloke pointed me in the direction of the bar, I was equally impressed.  Normally, you feel 'I know what I'm getting' when I go into a 'Spoons, but this was a cut above and easily the best Cornish one of the four I've been to.  It had the added twist of having been mentioned on 'Have I Got News for You' three days before, as a man had complained cos he wanted 10 bits of chicken but only got 5.  Not sure how that's newsworthy, but it was!  Maybe he was the slightly drunken bloke at the bar asking a timid bearded baldie "are you the manager of this whole place?" and he looked so proud to be asked (he wasn't!) it was quite a touching scene!  I crossed the plush red carpets, circumnavigated a raised middle area where a local was acting like a Geordie (don't ask how, I can't remember, I just wrote it down!) and needed his antlers trimming.  I sat in a far corner seat on a lovely green armchair with my gorgeous quality £1.49 Oakham Citra.  A couple of chav girls were dining, one had the same mustard coloured top as me which was slightly unnerving, though her tan was better and pink sparkly phone case was blingy, I wondered if I got a sparkly pink phone case, maybe my phone would work properly again. Sob.  I got lost going to the loos, which in a 'Spoons of this size, meant I'd walked about a mile before I got back to my seat.  Quality place this, make no mistake.

But if I was getting all misty eyed about this wonderful 'Spoons experience, reality bit when I realised how few ways there actually were of getting back to Hayle from Camborne - and it wasn't even 8pm!

After a momentary panic, I realised a taxi rank was just around the corner, so why not squeeze in a 4th and final pub of the night?  Not bad for day one, considering I didn't check in til almost 3pm.
After some nice jolly chats about Cornish pubs, my lovely driver told me NOT to give him a tip as I needed all the help I could get(!)

1382 / 2128.  Red River Inn, Gwithian

If you want the stats (which I know you don't but tough), it has appeared in each of the last 8 GBG's so seemed a good one to tick off.  It looked photogenic, and walked in to find a very surf orientated pub, with a young vibrant atmosphere dominated by surfers / hippies eating food out of polystyrene boxes whilst probably saying "the plastic problem is killing the environment duuuuuude" as they rolled rizzlas and drank prosecco, so I'm not sure my irrational dislike of them was entirely unwarranted.  A barmaid peered over the top, I nodded as if to say "you serving me then luv?" (but without the 'luv' obviously, BRAPA is very feminist at the core). She told me she'd go and find someone who 'could' serve me, what was this, the Carrion Crow in Oldham all over again?  And I bet these two pubs have never been compared before.   I took my beer with a surfer on the clip to a table under a surfboard, and sat by two men who kept trying to secretly beckon a dog over to sit with them instead, it was all very sly.  I then got lost finding the gents for the second pub in a row,  FOUR doors I'd seen to the right of the pub but one said "Ladies", one said "Disabled", one said "Private" and one said "Kitchen"!    Our friendly 'non serving' barmaid pointed me right (which was left), the loos having photos of sharks about to eat surfers, which felt a bit painful as I unzipped.  At least I learnt Gents is 'Gwer', my first Cornish word.  The Twog loving bloke then mentioned 'the Northwich Embassy' in more hushed tones, my beer was great quality, the pub perhaps a tiny bit aloof and sure of itself, but you can't deny it had felt like a place with eight consecutive GBG appearances.

Lady says "hands off Northwich embassy, this dog is mine" 

I was conscious not to linger, as I had a 3 mile walk along narrow country lanes to take me back to my hotel, and didn't want to do it after dark.  Luckily, despite the occasional boy racer at the start of the journey, it wasn't too hair raising and I was back at the Premier Inn as dusk fell, all set for Day Two which would prove the trickiest day of the holiday.   Not sure when I'll write that up as I'm in Cambridgeshire for 3 days from tomorrow.  Phew, never stops this BRAPA nonsense does it?

Si

 

  

BRAPA - Cambs Pt III : The Strides of March (Part 2/2)

It could've been the extra pint in Ramsey.  It could've been the weirdness of Chatteris.  It could've been my phone deciding to get stuck and stop working for long periods of time.  But whatever it was, March was a place that bored me to death.

I thought I would enjoy it, what with it having two GBG ticks that both sound lovely from the descriptions, but it just didn't leave an imprint on my conscience at all.  It was a bit like a baby mouse, taking its first tentative steps in the Sahara Desert.  That is how much of an imprint it made on me.  If that makes sense.

I think this might be because it is still 'Fenlandy' enough to be inbred and standoffish, but it is trying to be some continental relaxed riverside haven, so it ends up diluting what makes Chatteris 'special' without ever managing to come close to being the Ely it craves.  End result, a middly-twiddly place devoid of charm, charisma and character.

I stepped off the 33 bus from Chatteris and despite my annoying phone freezing, found the first pub looking old and thatched in a nice location along the river.  A few seats outside had outdoor drinkers and I was thinking 'oh gosh how lovely' or something fairly positive at least ......

1376 / 2122.  Ship Inn, March

The first warning signs I guess, were the outdoor drinkers properly giving me the evils as I walked in.  I tried to say 'hello' but they didn't respond.  Inside, it felt like a pretty calming wooden floored relaxed modern style bar, quite dull, I certainly wasn't getting any of the 'Grade II listed, built in 1680, carved beam' vibe that the GBG witters on about.  It felt more to me like it was built in 1985 and opened as a Wham Tribute Funhouse (Pat Sharp cutting the ribbon with George Michael and Margaret Thatcher) before realising since about 2015 that this isn't what people want anymore and trying to be a bit more demure, relaunching as 'the Ship' (excuse the pun) with Jeremy Corbyn and the ghost of Oliver Cromwell cutting the new ribbon .  The folk inside were joyless, never outside Central London pubbisphere have I seen a more miserable looking bunch of crones.  If you can't be happy in a pub, then you can't be happy anywhere.  My favourite bit was the corridor to the toilets, so delightfully thin and winding that I spent much of my time down here, seeing if I could propel myself to the loo without my feet touching the floor, Ninja Warrior style, but pumpclips got in the way, as has never happened on Ninja Warrior UK to my knowledge.  One of those where I wonder if I'd enjoy it more if I returned, but then I think to myself, don't be silly.

Best bit of the pub by far

Someone's lovely green jacket still doesn't improve the mood

Drinking a weird strong beer with a wading bird on didn't help

On the upside, my next pub was going out of town towards the backstreets, and nothing beats a backstreet pub.  Problem is my phone didn't want me to go, so I walked in totally the wrong direction, in the baking heat, not improving my mood.  

When I did get my bearings, March became like that scene near the beginning of Shaun of the Dead where he goes out for his morning milk and paper, totally oblivious to the fact people have already become zombies cos the difference from their normal behaviour is hard to distinguish.  

Cos my phone froze, I didn't get an outdoor photo.  But it looked like you are imagining in your mind right now, and here's a view of what it might  look like approaching it on a misty winter's morn if you were in somewhere nicer than March.

1377 / 2123.  Rose & Crown, March

I remember walking in, thinking 'ahhhh backstreet boozer fun' this is more like it, beer a lot better quality and I walked down some steps to the left, nodded at the only other customer in the pub (this was mid afternoon on a Saturday in June for heaven's sake!) and he actually acknowledged me with a curt nod so I debated whether to kiss him (in a manly way) out of pure joy but thought better of it, sat in the corner, stared at the magnificent carpet til I drifted into a trance, and that was it.  

Focus on the carpet and everything will be okay

The man I didn't kiss (not saying there was one I did)

Good news, March has a train station or a railway station of you want to be pedantic, and I'm sure you are, but thanks for reading and sorry for this ongoing horrific assault on your mind.  

"I was glad to be in Peterborough" (said no one, ever) but today, after March, it was true, and there was time to squeeze in one more pub before the train home to York.  I'd done the majority, so had to venture away from town, past that over-rated Barge contraption, feeling a little bit happier with life now, when I came to one of the two pubs I still had to do in this area ......

1378 / 2124.  Palmerston Arms, Peterborough

From the moment I opened the door, stepped inside, and was greeted by a series of curious but friendly looking baldies, I knew normal service was resumed and I was back in a proper pub in a proper place.  Having said that, this was a SERIOUS ale drinkers pub, amusing but with it comes a pressure, and that is when you go to the bar, all eyes are on you as you know you are going to be judged for eternity for what beer you are about to select as a hush descended and I pondered.  "What style of beer do you like?" came the inevitable question from mine friendly host who impressed throughout, bald of course so his regulars didn't feel out of place.   He explained the beers went along the bar , the lighter ones on the left and the dark ones on the right.  When I admitted "I like them all, it depends on my mood", someone asked 'what's your mood?' but I decided even this ale emporium didn't have a "glad to be outta March" style of beer, so I got something by Batemans because of the sign outside the pub.  Two men were discussing whether the hop profile of Oakham had changed (I nodded wisely, frowned and laughed to cover all bases, no idea what it all meant) and two other men were having an in-joke with the barman about the amount of Dukeries drunk on a previous visit, so I chuckled like someone who's been in that situation (I hadn't).  It was all very beery, bit geeky, but a really nice pub and I stayed for another (unwise move) cos I have to have Green Devil if I see it, oooops, very much the Spingo Special of North Cambs.

Landlord probably saying something wise about beer

Bald men wondering why I'm chuckling about Oakham's hop profile

Oh dear! 

It was time to stagger off back to York, six more Cambridgeshire pubs done.  Seems to be a bit of hit & miss county for pubs so far, but I'm here from Mon 11th-Thu 14th June and early days and all that, so it might become the new West Yorkshire by the time I'm finished with any luck.

Si

BRAPA - Cambs Part III : For What is Chatteris? (Part 1 of 2)

It was time to be brave and go it alone, sans-Taylor, for the third instalment of my Cambridgeshire leg of GBG ticking.  I was in Ramsey for just after 11am, the hour long bus journey from Peterborough had been a whitewater ride, I've never hung on so tight since I was on a bus in Ibiza (probably the Vengabus)  in the early nineties.

It was muggy, grey and damp as I saw the pub door ajar and walked in to that familiar 11am pub scene of a woman trying to balance the books using a giant ledger that's been used since 1722.  Oh hang on, pub photo ......

1373 / 2119.  Jolly Sailor, Ramsey

She looks up at me and says "how can I help you?" as if she was expecting me to say absolutely anything in the world, apart from perhaps "I'm after a pint of beer".  As the first customer, I couldn't test out my new 'Martin-way' of ordering by asking what has most recently been pulled through, so I went for a pint of Tribute, firstly because it had its own lamp, and secondly, because I am Cornwall bound soon.  A baggy man in baggy trousers (not Suggs) walked in with a stick and a limp and ordered something in an ethereal voice, and tried to talk to me through in the other room about what, the weather?  I couldn't tell so leaned forward into an ancient beam so I couldn't see him.   The piped music was doing nothing for this beautiful old building, especially when Ed Sheeran stopped me from hearing what the chef was saying to the barmaid.  I was also a bit too near the Saharas nuts dispenser, something as a nut allergy sufferer, I cannot abide in pubs!  A barmaid dropped a packet on the floor (looked like blood you have in a hospital) and got freaked out by the buzzing of the extractor fan, but that was as exciting as it got, and I was left to contemplate that when they hang jugs off the ceiling, do they ever fall down and injure people. 

And that was that for Ramsey, or so I thought, because the plan now was to get a taxi from the company next door to the village of Broughton.  But the taxi company, strangely called Chaucreme, which sounds more like a boutique in Knutsford, was applying micropub laws of opening hours with a sign saying"OPEN" but being locked and totally deserted.

Ramsey is a total phone signal blackspot (but you get one bar if you're with Vodafone apparently) so all I could do was return to the pub and ask for them to book me a taxi.  Luckily, our erstwhile landlady branded Chaucreme a 'total waste of space' and rang this woman she knew.

But the woman was picking someone up from Worboys (as if that was supposed to mean something to be) and couldn't get here til 12:30pm.  "Well, this goes against the grain, but I'll just have to have another pint!"  I moaned, and baggy man looked at me like 'hashtag firstworldproblems'. 

I propped in the main bar and explained BRAPA to a burgeoning crowd of old man, and baggy man, who was just as softly spoken close up as he was from a different room.   My ale (from Tydd Steam which I believe is Wisbechie, I have no brewery section so can't check!) was much better, the locals were great, landlady loved York, and I was just getting into my stride when Mrs Taxi rang back to say Worboys booking was cancelled and she was coming over now!

"Ho ho.  You'll have to neck that pint now!" said an old bloke who'd practically sat on my knee cos I was in HIS SEAT.  And I was just gulping down the last third when Mrs Taxi appeared, I said bye, shook hands with all, and left.  Well done Jolly Sailor.

Taxi lady was a redoubtable character who'd moved down here to get away from her annoying family, so assumed that's why I was doing BRAPA.  We wistfully drove through Wistow and spied the deleted GBG entry Three Horseshoes, closed but locals trying to take it over, an evil property developer blocked cos it's a listed building, and a beautiful thatched thing it looked.

Taxi lady waxed lyrical on my next pub, she seemed a bit in love with the owner Mark and said they did a great beer festival recently, and went the extra mile, by which she meant they give dogs extra chilled water from an old cask in the summer.  Hmmm, hope she wasn't building this place up too much, for as picturesque as the location was, the pub sign didn't scream "ONE TO ENJOY!"

Fun for dogs, but would it be fun for Si? 

Was hoping this was the pub

1374 / 2120.  Crown Inn, Broughton

There was no sign of Mark (as I had to pass the 'love' on from my taxi driver) but I got served by a PISS redhead with impressively framed specs, and said hi to a couple with young child who managed to just avoid slipping over into twild territory by behaving impeccably for the most part.  The 'pub' was as I'd feared, a restaurant in pub clothing.  "....And are you eating with us today?" is not what I want to hear when you've walked into a pub and eagerly ordered a pint.  I paid with exact change, she blinked like she'd not seen a coin since 2005.   I turned to find a suitable seat. A random pile of logs was mocking me under a chalkboard menu, and the emergency beer mat needed to come out for the first time in quite a while.   A couple arrived, "you got any drinks with elderflower in it?"  The request was dealt with a lot more sympathetically than it would be in Oldham.  Soon, they were having tasters galore of various ciders, wines and gins with elderflower hints.  But something was amiss, some heated whispered tensions coming from the barmaids, and eventually, a young airbrushed chap who wasn't Mark.  The cause seemed to be a group of shifty looking old blokes in the other room (who belonged here even less than me!), I'm not sure what the issue was but smiley blonde barmaid and evil ginger were getting a bit stressed with each other.  I was on blonde's side, for she hadn't been PISSY with me.  Some men with denim shorts came in and started guffawing so now was my time to make a break for it.  12:58 and I had an appointment to keep.  PISS wished me a good afternoon, blonde said a cheery goodbye, not at all my kinda place but by no means useless.

Emergency beermat looking rather out of place in rural Gastro Cambs

Yes, I'd asked Mrs Taxi to hang around for 27.5 mins and take me onto pub 3 at 1pm, for the two hourly bus service which still required a mile walk just didn't appeal.  She was happy to do so, and in true Taylor-esque tradition, I was there at 12:59 wondering where the heck she was, and was relieved when she swang back into the carpark at 13:00 on the dot.

I'd actually offered her chance to join me in the pub, and I'd buy a drink for her, seeing as she loved this 'Mark' so much.  But this was no Allgreave, and she declined.  Besides, she told me she now knew Mark wasn't working today, as she'd bumped into a member of staff outside and told them what I was up to.  Could this have been the smiley blonde?  We'll never know.  

Onwards to Chatteris.  "Ooooh you're in proper fenland area now, the locals might be a bit weird" she told me.  Everyone I'd spoken to in the Ramsey pub laughed like mad when I said I was going to Chatteris.  Martin had told me a similar thing, and so had someone in Ely.  

The pub looked closed.  "Nooooo, can't be!" but Mrs Taxi saw a man walking to the door, he turned it, and it opened, against all the odds!  Hurrah.  

Can you see why I thought it was shut? 

1375 / 2121.  Ship, Chatteris

As I turned the door handle, I actually thought it'd be an anti-climax ...... and I don't so much mean the pub as the weirdness of the locals.  Probably everyone would be totally normal.  Wrong!  The barman however, did give me a friendly welcome and I ordered the same as the tall grey guy as it 'had just been pulled through' (see, I'm learning!)  But the way the four customers regarded me was more Royston Vasey than Royston Vasey.  Especially the old woman, like she'd never seen anyone from outside Chatteris in her life.  Maybe she hadn't.  I sat behind everyone so as not to be in the glare, where I noticed the most dreadful 'beermats' ever, these huge wooden blocks.  I spilt my pint about three times trying to get to grips with them!  The beer was good, but the pub was so drab, like they'd started decorating and then forgotten about it.  It just made the place feel sparse, chilly and dull.  I went for a well deserved wee to relieve any tension(!) but my Mum rang mid flow, I still answered cos I'm a good son like that.  I did have to put her on speaker whilst I sorted myself out, but back in the room, the locals were blatantly listening to my conversation.  Rude.  The woman was even turning round and mouthing something to me, I wasn't even being loud.  So I decided to do something a bit cheeky, and when Mum asked where I was, I recounted what the Ramsey locals had told me about Chatteris.  This was "they'll probably make you take your shoes and socks off on arrival, and if you haven't got six webbed toes, they'll turn you away!"  And it had the desired effect, for when I said bye to Mum, grey haired bloke marched over and asked me about it, saying he'd heard what I was saying to my 'mate' and how they aren't all like that, but of course some are, and of course, he isn't really one of THEM cos he lived in Cambridge for five years.  This sparked something else in his brain, because he then turned around and started talking transport chaos at Cambridge Strawberry Fair.  Before long, he started doing an impression of a Scottish midge biting an Englishman's neck.  "Tek that ya wee sassanach!" he said, before then doing an impression of the Englishman replying "stop biting my neck and getting all erotic with me."  So, believe the hype, Chatteris is barking mad.

I took this during Scottish Midge chat

Worst beermats ever

I had a bus to catch to March.  And although I did three more pubs today, I can't really remember much so expect a vaguer and happily shorter blog in part 2.

Si

BRAPA - Month End Review (May 2018), Preview (June 2018)

Albion Ale House, Standish - where May 2018 pub ticking commenced

May Review

We have just witnessed the best May in BRAPA history, with 34 new pubs visited easily beating the 26 I did in 2015.  The average now stands at 25.4, proof it is still one of the trickier months of the year.

With no time off work, it was a case of 'creative double bank holiday planning' to allow me achieve this.  With an overall year end target of 400 nicely on track, keeping above 30 a month on average is imperative.

So what have been the highlights then?  Three pubs I'd like to put forward into the 'year end mix' are as follows:

1. Raven Hotel, Wigan
2. Stag's Head, Fitzrovia
3. Royal Oak ('Th Heights), Delph

The famous 'head' incident at the Stag's Head in London was very bizarre

Plenty more enjoyable ones, but I have to admit there's been a fair amount of dross this month (not one of those where I was 'spoilt for choice' picking the best ones), but there was only one really dreadful one and that was the Waterside in Leigh , and considering it was up against 'pubs' like Powderkeg near Clapham Junction, that is almost an achievement in itself!

Waterside in Leigh .... how on earth did this get in the GBG?

Some great days & nights out though that'll live long in the mind.  My birthday at Brentford was a wonderful day.  Part 2 of my Cambs travels alongside Martin Taylor was even more enjoyable than the first one, and once again am so grateful to him for taxiing me around, pet crematoriums or not.

Smoke & Fluff - a rare highlight in the Green Man, Thriplow

Finishing Cheshire was a great feeling, my two evening Stockport pubs as good as any 'fifth' / 'sixth' pub of the day duo I've done all year as I was strangely sober.  Meeting the Southworth brothers (over from the U.S of A.) in some quality L**ds establishments (and the Angel) was a great evening too, I even took my GBG along for a show & tell!

Three pints of OBB - me & the Southworth bros at the Angel, L**ds

But the overall monthly highlight was my evening in Oldham & Delph, a bizarre maniacal mix of joy, despair, heavy rain and brass bands from start to finish. 

June Preview

I hope you have your seatbelts on because tomorrow marks the start of the BRAPA Summer Festival.  Two weeks of pubbing holiday mayhem! 

We kick off with Cambs III (a bit further north this time) before heading down to Cornwall for some of those 'hard to reach' pubs stuck around the toilet bowl like picturesque limescale in amazing sounding places like Gweek, Trevaunance Cove, Mousehole ('Muzzle') and Gwithian.  I am VERY excited.

And after completing South Yorkshire with Daddy BRAPA, we'll be back down in Cambs for Part IV including the fair city of Cambridge itself. 

Phew!  Back for the start of the World Cup, I was so Cambridgeshire focused I entered the opening fixture incorrectly into my phone calendar, but it amused me so I've kept it.....

And then we have a nice slice of West Midlands pie to complete the holiday.  If you see me on Sunday 17th or Monday 18th June, send for a new liver, or just inject me with turmeric. 

All this means I am wondering whether I can break my all time record of 56 pubs in a month, for whilst I'll be taking it a lot steadier 17th-30th, a smattering more will be had in northern towns beginning with S.

Progress Strategy Report

And now for the science (boring) bit.

Three months and counting until the new GBG comes out, and inevitably I have about one eighth of my right eye (the bad one) on the end figure, and my progression towards the completion of key counties.  I feel like Jon Snow on election night, only more fun.

With Cheshire fallen in the west (sounds like I performed a military style coup), Isle of Man as good as done, Rutland completed back in March, and West Yorkshire re-mopped up some time ago, not forgetting Buckinghamshire of course, things are fitting into place nicely for 2017/18 ticking season. 

Cambs is key now, Cornwall soldiers on once a year, I have one left in South Yorks, one left in Central London, and six in Tyne and Wear.  I want these latter three to go by end August.

I'm making really good progress with Greater Manchester and Merseyside but still too much to do to be finished before end of August.  Derbyshire will come into focus as Cheshire's replacement probably as the summer draws to a close and the football season begins.

I can't be arsed with East Yorkshire's remaining quarter for now (two will fall into the sea before 2020 anyway), North Yorkshire similar but have some vague summery plans to get to the likes of Whitby before the next GBG comes out.

Essex will be the natural successor to Cambs but let us not worry about that any time soon!  Looks like the Cumbria or Devon of the South East from what I can make out.  Ugh.  I'll just focus on my 'emotional' return to Saffron Walden and pretends places like Andrewsfield Airfield and Steeple Bumhole don't exist.

In terms of numbers, I opened the BRAPA year at 1236, and despite losing 170, I've clawed back and beyond up to 1372 at the time of writing so really looking to get in that 1475-1500 region when the next cross ticking takes place.   Key is to put as much distance between 1236 and myself as possible!

Imagine if I say, I reach 1450 only, lose 214 pubs in the 2019 GBG, and am back at 1236.  It could happen.  I seriously think I'd go insane and move to a mud hut in Shetland!  Oh well, let's focus on the fact I presumably do it 'for the love' of pubs and blogging shall we?

Happy pubbing, Si