BRAPA - Hebden, Brig and Tod Too (Doing the Hard Yards in West Yorks)

In Good Beer Guide ticking life-cycle terms, I remain a mere twild.  Snotty, snivelling and entitled, I sort of still expect every pub outing to be brilliant, and failing that, at least mildly amusing.  After all, I still haven't been to so many of the 'classics'.  The Nursery in Heaton Norris, the Tandle Hill Tavern, Bag O' Nails in Bristol, Owd Nell's Canalside Tavern in Bilsborrow.  The stuff of legends.  Errrm, the Maidenhead Conservative Club.  I've still never ticked a pub in Slough for heaven's sake! 

But for my longer in the tooth (I'm not calling them old, kind of) contemporaries, the yearly process of 'mopping up the new entries in counties they have completed several times over' must sometimes feel like a chore.  All the classics are gone.  You are left with a dangerous combination of new micropubs, improving Wetherspoons, dining holes with pretty staff selling good beer and pubs that have been open so bloody long, the local TWAMRA committee have finally cracked and given them a one-off place in the Guide based on length of service.  A sympathy vote if you will.

For me, it is only on these icy winter evenings as I complete West Yorkshire for the third time that I get a glimpse of the flip side of  that glamorous life of the pub ticker!  If I thought the new entries at Ackworth and Alverthorpe had been dull a few weeks back, I was in for more of the same tonight.  Even the journey was boring, the highlight when a stripey dude pulled a can of Camden Hells out of his sock at Halifax .....

Todmorden is a place which has filled me joy over the years.  Some of the friendliest folk you could hope to meet in the street, a UFO abduction at Eagles Crag, the wonderful Staff of Life staff, Sunday arvo karaoke in a pub called the Polished Knob, something called Barearts, and plenty more.

But it was in mean, miserly mood tonight as soon as I stepped off the train, straddling the Yorkshire / Lancashire border hungrily like Rose West on one of her West Indian gentlemen.  Our first pub was called The Pub, surely nothing good can come of calling your pub The Pub .......

1417 / 2390.  Pub, Todmorden

Actually, I was expecting great things having recently read two reviews from local pub legend Chris Dyson and also that cheerful bloke from the Fens who likes Bass (not Ian Huntly).  I walked in to a rather chilly scene, it smelt like a summer beer festival in a tent - that heady mix of stale ale, old man arse crack and soil.  Everyone was munching on crisps, and the sound of that many people munching on crisps in a confined space in stereo is quite irritating.  Luckily I spied my 'beer of the moment', that chocolate milkshake mild I got in Vintage in Hull recently, it was amazing again.  I perched on a side seat by the bar, a lady with a bad knee she didn't like to talk about  that had seized up in the cold briefly smiled (bad knee unity!) but the scene was dominated by three locals chatting with the barmaid, all quite insular and League of Gentleman.  I kept smiling and blinking around the room, even put my GBG on the table, but nothing doing, and throughout, I felt like I was in a waiting room about to be taken through to view the corpse of a dead loved one.  One of the blokes drank three thirds, another revealed how he accepted his wife's marriage proposal because "I thought, well you ARE really nice", talked about his hand lump,  and another one revealed Tiki Fire Gin and Lemsips are a good cure for the common cold.  The humour was stilted, a bit like an episode of Friends, you could smile to yourself but it all felt a bit forced.  I'm sure there's a 'micropub banter' script that Hiller flogs to them all for a fiver and a glass of Whitstable Bay.  As the blokes left, three old men who'd been on a hike came in and they seemed lovely chaps, so perhaps I just caught it at the wrong time.  I lingered for barmaid to finish serving nice bad knee lady so I could say thanks for a great pint on the way out, but even then, barely a nice goodbye either!  I've now been to two pubs called Pub, and disliked both equally!

Tod secretly wishes it were in Lancs, I'm convinced!

But if I felt a bit guilty about slagging off a town I'd previously had nothing but love for, at least I was consoled to see there was a Twitter account called 'Todmorden is Shit' on my side:

Next up was Hebden Bridge, and unlike Tod, not a town I've had any problems disliking over the years, pushing the locals to the edge of town to drink Buckfast and do heroin whilst art students, ghosts, patchwork quilt enthusiasts and vegans take over. 

Pub-wise, the GBG always gives you something new to go at and whilst I quite enjoyed Calan's micropub the other year, Old Gate was a little bit crummy.  And it was across the road from the latter where I found this year's debutant, and there was a question mark hanging over it before I even entered!

1418 / 2391. Drink?  Hebden Bridge

I said the same last year about pubs with a capital letter halfway through their name, and I'll say it here, no pub needs a question mark.  It looks pretentious, it screams of uncertainty too.  It should be Drink! Drink! Drink! if anything with a nice picture of Father Jack on the pub sign.  Drink? makes you think 'doesn't really matter if I don't bother'.  Imagine your favourite pub with a ? on the end.  I bet it makes it 5% more rubbish doesn't it?  Yet, to confound me, I entered to a table of check shirted 30 somethings welcoming me in!   So bewildered I was, I went through to the bar where a lady was saying to the barmaid "can I get this on tick, you know I'm good for it?" like she thought she was Jack Ford in When the Boat Comes In.   Not what I'd expected.   The place itself wasn't too cosy, my coat didn't come off for a second pub in a row, though my gloves were at least removed here unlike in Tod.  It was a bottle shop in truth, baskets full of cans and bottles reminded me of those heady summer days when me and Martin Taylor went to Willingham.  A bloke called Dario appeared, (not Dario Gradi) he seemed to be known to all.  There was a secluded warmer upstairs area but with no folk on it, no good to BRAPA really!  Just as I was relaxing and thinking "this isn't too bad I s'pose" a bloke didn't close the front door properly and one of the bearded blokes from earlier span round and shouts at me "YOU BORN IN A BARN OR SOMETHING??"  Well, it wasn't even me.  I could've cried, I suspect Streatham had turned me into what we call a 'snowflake'.  Two blokes admired each others Andrea Pirlo shirts, surely an in-joke and not a coincidence but still a bit weird.   Then a young lady got incensed when her friends suggested the first single she bought wasn't Killing me Softly by the Fugees "It was even on a cassette tape so there,  waaaaah!" she concluded. 

GBG and the friendly gang, tick lady and 'born in a barn' shouter.

Dog, bottles, cans, murder enquiry.  Hebden Bridge microcosm of life/death

Bike parked at escalator up to the Tube Station

Rochdale pub crawl sounded nice!

In the bogs

Killing me Softly

Back into the freezing night air, and a bit of a painful long wait for the next train towards L**ds, so I sat in the waiting room and munch crisps loudly a la The Pub to upset an old lady trying to keep warm. 

The great news was that this train stopped at Brighouse, where I had a new tick to do.  Three in one night would be a consolation for the poor standard of pub. 

Over four years since my one other visit to the town, where I quite enjoyed both the Red Rooster and the Richard Oastler 'Spoons.  Luckily, it was a short walk to tonight's effort ......

1419 / 2392.  Millers Bar, Brighouse

There were two ways that this place could've been excellent.  It could've been full of clones of my work friend Joanna Miller, or it could've been Rotherham Utd themed with old blokes in string vests clutching hand me down toothbrushes swilling six packs of Stones at the bar.  But there was to be nothing of this level of amusement.  It somehow managed to out-bland the previous two places tonight with it's bare boarded dining feel, felt like being in South Bucks and I can't be any harsher than that.  Quite a large place, very much empty with all the folk concentrated around the bar area.  Luckily, two identikit barmen were on the ball and saw me from over top of a crowd of people to serve me.  I only saw one of them first, so when his colleague asked if I'd been served 5 seconds later, I thought it was the first guy with severe short term memory loss!  In fact, one was bearded and one wasn't but I didn't notice this at the time.  On the plus side, the pub was warm and I sat at a distant table and was finally able to remove jacket and gloves!  A barmaid came out and gave a back massage to one of the blokes, and a local lady said "you alright there?" which was the nicest thing anyone said to me all night.  I nearly cried again.  A young woman who seemed to be drinking outside to avoid the crush (possibly had read Garden Hermit's suggestion on my blog for Christmas time pub drinking) had a rather spectacular penguin top on so I nodded at her, but a touchy feelie Dad with an air of the guy who played Brian Clough in Damned Utd stroked and kissed his son from behind.  The food menu looked good, the real Joanna Miller (not one of her imaginary clones) tells me there is a restaurant upstairs which is rather good, but we'll just have to take her word for it. 

Not the same bloke, but I wasn't to know!

To pass time on the boring journey back to York via L**ds, I started a new career of New Star Soccer and the club I got offered to play for were Bradford Park Avenue, who came up like this ......

BRADPA - spooky!

So there we go, three more ticks is about the best you can say after that mini-shambles.  5 left, the plan to finish them before the end of Jan is still on, though I doubt I'll get one in next week cos am out Tue, Wed and Thu, need Mon to recover from weekend, and "Mad Friday" is a day I'd encourage anyone who loves the Great British Pub to stay the hell away from them!

Si

BRAPA - Auntie Maggie's Blackcurrant Remedy : Tales from Streatham & Beyond

Plum Porter Grand Reserve, Stormbird (closest I'd get to pint of Blackcurrant today)

My good friend Tom isn't phased by much.  That much should be clear to those of you who read my blog regularly (you poor scarred individuals) or have met the chap in real life (you poor scarred individuals).  

But since the BRAPA inception (5th April 2014), there's always been one word that you can see immediately strikes fear into his young/old heart.  "Streatham".  The home of his Auntie Maggie, who very much sounds like your archetypal Aunt Agatha from Jeeves & Wooster.  For years now, I've teased Tom at his reluctance to bring us anywhere near Streatham on BRAPA days, but this time he finally cracked and arranged our pre-Millwall drinks in the area.

How I imagine Tom's Auntie to look

Early on, myself and father BRAPA were due to meet Tom, who was lurking about the railways as per usual, at the Great North Wood near West Norwood, but with us ahead of schedule, cold and impatient, instead of waiting for the 10:30am opener, we stayed on til Sutton where there was 'Spoons joy to be found.

I've always wondered what Sutton was like since, as a twild, I remember them being my first memory of football 'giant killing' when they beat Coventry in the FA Cup.  And now I know,  it is like a South London suburb, some said Surrey, my GBG disagreed, it likes to be awkward like that.

1412 / 2385.  Moon on the Hill, Sutton

First thing that struck me was how heavy and awkward the entrance doors were, meaning anyone of brittle frame or work shy nature might simply give up trying and slope off to 'All Bar One' across the road, hence the clientele were the cream of the crop, a 'Spoons crowd of character and fortitude you might say, and how often can you say that?  I often point to mine and Dad's less than satisfactory Wetherspoons experiences, and I think the reason is clear, 11am ish on a Saturday is NOT a good time to visit them.  Midweek daytime, even late evening Mon-Thu, but not now, when breakfast crumbs, buggies and coffee refills dominate.  But here was different.  A barmaid of some quality served us quickly, smile of her face, even engaged with us in a friendly manner as Dad had read out the beer description rather than the wordy official name.  She set the standard for what would prove a great day on the staff front.  An old bloke who was off to All Bar One gave us his table, and most people were just drinking stoically, chuntering and grunting.  I read about HG Wells, he didn't sound a very nice man.  One man had an ice bucket for his wine, I kept expected a wife or 'other' to come in and share it with him, but he was quite happy enjoying it alone, he'd drained it by 10:45am and then he left with a spring in his step to do his morning chores.  A sign showed the pub's pride at being listed in the last four consecutive GBG's, but it showed 6 GBG covers, what could it all mean?  But on the whole, an above average 'Spoons this, good start.

Barmaid being a legend

The sign that confused me (nice carpet btw)

"Will you let us know when the wine has chilled to an acceptable temperature mate?"

"No problemo Bernard, I'm all over it!"

Canadian jeans and beer bellied vest wearing Savile ghost at bar.

There wasn't really time to go back towards Tulse Hill and walk to West Norwood with 12 noon approaching, so we arranged to meet Tom in Streatham.

Predictably under the circs, he was in disguise, a bright 'Animal' rain coat he'd got for a fiver.  It wasn't at all the type of thing you'd expect him to be wearing (mainly cos it wasn't from Monkey World).  He had his hood up the whole time, not due to the rain, but fear that Auntie Maggie was on the prowl......

We popped into a giant Tesco so I could use the facilities and Dad could get excited by the shower gel offers.  But soon Tom was hiding in dark corners and muttering "this is the kind of place she could be" and out of compassion, I tore Dad away from the Zesty Lime Original Source and towards the first of two pubs we were planning on doing here.

  

1413 / 2386.  Bull, Streatham

Tough luck on BRAPA, some pubs (usually in London) seem to exist almost to get me into trouble.  They are so London, so 2018 and oh so 'Woke' that I'd have to invent a term for them, 'Twoke'.  It all started in the echoey huge one room dining mess as staff zipped about setting up for lunch and we had to dodge them to get to the bar.  Once there, a barmaid of extreme cleavage served me, but of course it is important we note I only had eyes for the pumps (hand pumps I should clarify).  After all, she is entitled to wear what she wants without mediocre young gammon like me ogling her.  "A pint of Young's Bitter, a Winter Warmer and a pint of blackcurrant squash, tap water, no ice" was my order but as I handed over the tenner, she says £11.25.  Well I never, I could've got 11 and a quarter bottles of shower gel with this!  I rummaged around for the extra £1.25, but she'd put ice in Tom's blackcurrant so I made her fish it out, AND it was seriously weak in strength (I am now an expert in blackcurrant strength).  We sat in a 'later to be reserved' low flung settee by the glorious pub fire, easily the highlight of the place.  I spied a bloke outside tapping on the window and singing, he was taller than Kevin Francis, wore a leopard skin coat, and did a weird moonwalk style dance.  We didn't know whether to shriek in terror or laugh hysterically.  But what if he had mental health issues?  So I did neither.  #WokeSi2018  Next up, a gay couple sat next to us, married, said Dad, being more of an expert than me on these things.  Perhaps he could see their rings?  They were expertly groomed and had a pet sausage dog which they passed around like a pass the parcel, so it got equal love from both fathers.  Nothing to see here.  #WokeSi2018.  Then an almighty crash, a huge buggy parked in the middle of the floor previously carrying about six twild folk and toppled over, seems the under carriage was full of bottles which rolled out, I can only assume they were some 11.5% gooseberry saison.   I tried to look over as though they'd disturbed the calm, but then remembered how hard it must be juggling kids and craft ale in the modern day and smiled politely. #WokeSi2018.  My ale was warm and flat but that probably serves me right for drinking boring old fashioned hand pulled beer in 2018 and paying by cash.  It was time to leave.  

Ales, no barmaid in sight

The highlight

Tom contemplates hiding place options if Maggie walks in

It isn't Royal Oak (Th' Heights) in Delph is it?

Woke Sausage Dog doesn't trust me at all

Well this is turning into an epic blog already isn't it?  Sorry about that, perhaps if I call it a 'long read' like the experts do, you will feel obliged to 'stick with it' til our painful conclusion in 3 pubs time.

Back towards one of Streatham's many dull stations, the one that was good for the ride up to South Bermondsey, was our next stop ......

First evidence of a growing problem today - Dad failing to get pub sign in

1414 / 2387.  Railway, Streatham

I like my 'Railway' pubs to be nice and grotty, a bit stained with centuries worth of smoke and diesel, brickwork that has not seen light since the second world war, a bit dark inside and struggling to get more than two handpulls on as some wheezy old bugger pulls 'em through.  I don't know why, it just feels 'right' that way.  So this was a bit of a let down from the get go.  A lazier pub blogger might just say 'more of the same' after the Bull, but something about the busy street corner location, and a more controlled professional feel from the staff meant that despite the aesthetic deficiencies, and there were plenty, you could respect this pub more.   Dad hit the nail on the head when he said "just a bit more attached to the real world", the service and beer were better, but soon he bemoaned the clientele "they're a bit normal in here aren't they?"  He certainly wasn't meaning the attractive American girl in the corner, eating chips, sorry fries, smiling manically around the room with her backless dress and cleavage to give our previous barmaid a run for her money.  What's with Streatham, does Auntie Maggie do this too?  I forgot to ask Tom on the day but he can reply in the comments section below.  But all good, friendly feel despite more buggy action, everyone eating thrice cooked chips and what the heck is a "kids and adult lucky dip"?  Sounds sinister.  But no time to dwell, Tom noticed a train was 3 mins away so we necked our drinks and made a run for it......

Time for a pub stop half way to the ground, and this was one I'd been looking forward to, considering the rave reviews I'd heard and the fact they follow me on Twitter and once said "when you're in, tell us you're here and we'll get you a pint!"  and sound like lovely folk ......

Problem was, we could see a busy pub across the road but no pub name.  Was this it?  The foliage had grown over the sign, so you had to peer closely through the shrubbery like some acceptable David Bellamy to reveal that yes, this was in fact the right place .....

Scary!  As close to pub sign photo as Dad could get, a good effort.

1415 / 2388.  East Dulwich Tavern, East Dulwich

The EDT, as it is known to the cool kids (like me), presumably because it isn't just a pub, "it is an institution", or one of those things, seems loved by all and was very busy with 20 and 30 somethings milling around the large high roofed building, heads in the nosebags, mouths in the troughs.   I needed a pee desperately and it wasn't my round but no way I was gonna go saying "cough, cough, I am BRAPA give me free beer my twitter friends" cos I ain't a nob in that way and no doubt the already hassled staff would've correctly told me to piss off.   We managed to secrete ourselves into a seat which at 3pm was going to be reserved by someone called "John" who had the tables next to us too, and whenever a bloke hovered anywhere near us, we looked at him like "if you are John, you can bloody well wait til 3pm chum".  One thing was troubling me, I'd see 3 Volden ales which immediately makes me think 'Antic', but when you look at the Antic bingo card, the EDT didn't really display the hallmarks.  No exposed piping, no knowingly shite quirky decor, no glowing modern canteen, this was actually more like being in a 'pub', can you believe, and in that respect, it put me in mind of that Royal Albert at New Cross.  I thought it was a good time to get out the BRAPA Quiz* I'd prepared, but Dad was deducted 3 points for being obstrocalous (Yorkshire for obstreperous), then they told me I had to concentrate on drinking up, so the quiz was shelved and Tom won by default.  They left me to drink up, and Dad came back in to tell me to hurry up, so obstrocalous, but I knew the train was delayed, and did it really matter if we missed kick off?  

"On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me ....."

The over hanging sharp stars had me on edge throughout

Half a sausage left by girl next to me .... her boyfriend snaffled it seconds after in this photo of the day contender

But we didn't miss the match, sadly.  In fact, when we got to South Bermondsey, we were the only ones walking through the cage (for our own safety) to the away end but I've been to the New Den a few times now and never found it in the least bit intimidating, partly cos they have hardly any fans of their own and play goal music when they score like a tinpot South Yorkshire club.

The game finished 2-2, and was like watching a League Two fixture for the most part.  We were poor, so were they, after going 1-0 up, we should've been better, but at 2-1 down, looked a certain defeat, and we scored from our only two efforts so cannot complain. 

Time for post match refreshment then, after all, loadsa time.  We were booked on the 8pm.  Weren't we?  

Despite BRAPA being my thing, I allowed Tom to dictate strategy here, which meant changing for a place called Denmark Hill, which allowed us to reminisce on Jan Molby's reign as Hull City manager, which wasn't much fun let me tell you.   Like when we beat Carlisle 4-0 and he still said if he had a bus, he'd drive the whole team off a cliff! 

After a longish walk down a main road, we came to a place called Camberwell where there was a GBG pub,  FIVE on a match day, a pretty good return ....... again, our close proximity to the pub meant a difficult one to photo well, and my jaw has done something weird, Tom looks like he's seen his Auntie Maggie floating in the background.

1416 / 2389.  Stormbird, Camberwell

Although this place carried on today's pub theme of wooden floored, echoey, modern, young and quite trendy, there was something very pleasing about this pub from the off which put it in the higher echelons of 'pub of the day' contender.  What helped early on was seeing what I thought was Titanic Plum Porter through a crowded penalty area, but once we'd ordered, I realised it was the stronger Grand Reserve.  Ooooof, well, kind of needed it after that match!  Our barmaid was an absolute gem, engaging with an element of Villanelle from Killing Eve without the brutal murdering bit which is always worthy of a staff point, especially when Dad tried to hand over £10.30 only for her to charge us £7.30, which seemed incredibly reasonable considering what I'd paid earlier for a much less impressive trio of drinks.  We managed to funnel our way into a seat in the corner,  and apart from a fleet of police cars responding to some probably crazy incident, it was top drinking.  Over the road, I'd spied sister pub the Hermit's Cave which looked nice and apparently has a calmer feel an older clientele so we were just about to do it as a pre-emptive, when Dad noticed we were actually on the 7:30 back to York, so we had to leg it back across London post-haste.  

Dad and Tom as we wait for our drinks

Diff piccie of me from the top one

View of the pub and I want a grey tracksuit now

Hermit's Cave - so near, yet so far!

So that was the end of a good day, nice to get 5 more South London ticks and I've now done 51 pubs in the region, putting it 7th in the BRAPA league table but still loads to do down there.  

* The BRAPA quiz centred around 8th December being the day in the year I've had most BRAPA outings.  Pubs 'on that day' included Gardeners Rest in Sheffield (2004), Brittania in Plymouth (2006), Guide Dog in Southampton (2007), Cleveland Arms Paddington (2012), Fanny's in Saltaire (2013) and Arcade in Barnsley (2017).  So now you know!

Si

BRAPA - Everybody's BRAPPY Nowadays (Christmas in Cas)

My second visit to Castleford for BRAPA pubbing, the first time in over four years, so I was well overdue an outing to this iconic town which will provoke a reaction (usually nervous laughter and a wincing expression) whenever you mention it to anyone else in the rest of Yorkshire. 

It is home to one of my best overheard conversation snippets, when a young bloke said to his Dad "you either love him or hate him .... just like marmalade!"  in the wonderful Junction pub. 

It is true that Cas Vegas is more Mary Shelley than Pete Shelley, but some rather OTT neon Christmas decorations livened up a windswept rain soaked walk through the dark town centre.

"Really Useful Products"

It's like the Northern Lights, cos it kind of is.

I then walked over the River Aire (which lacks the quality of the Ouse), past the meanest looking Shell garage you'll see, crossed the road, and the pub soon came into view.

Yellow 'Tour De Yorkshire' bicycle advertising Blue Moon

Got to wipe my feet on this pair of dickheads

1411 / 2384.  Griffin Inn, Castleford

So I walked into this traditional two roomer, aware I was only the second customer, asked what ales were on, and after about 5 minutes of much effort trying to pull through whatever dark pint of Roosters it was, I finally had a pint.  But the staff were more concerned with organising and laying tables for a big Christmas dinner coming up in an hour or two (I asked so I didn't get stuck with any of that sort of nonsense).  We had our hero of the hour, landlord Kevin with his cheeky gap in his front teeth and slight limp, Mrs Griffin (not Lois), and Daughter Griffin (not Meg) who was doing all the table organising.  "Who'd have thought setting up for Christmas dinner could be so stressful?" she wailed having had to move a side table for the 15th time.   "Where do you want me to sit, I don't wanna get in the way?!" I asked, because under the circumstances, I just felt like I was an unwelcome complication in the grand scheme of their evening, so Mrs Griffin found me a table in the 'drinkers' area (two tables), said "there ya go luv" and handed me eight beermats, though I only needed one in truth.  The bloke with dog (top picture) was nice, making jokey comments about the forthcoming meal, though the most animated he got was when the video for 'Handbags and Gladrags' (Stereophonics version) and he acted like he'd never heard something so wonderful.  A few local wastrels started to appear, then staff and locals alike got their Xmas jumpers out for the lads, so that was my cue to leave!

So here we are, back in York, and a rare "blog on same day I visit the pub" experience.  Pub left me feel happy, smiling when I left, and I think it was great how difficult it was for them organise a big Christmas dinner, sign of a proper family pub not used to such craziness!

Bit of drama at the cashpoint when the Lloyds one didn't give out any cash, so two drunken men gargled at me (do I look like a banker?  DON'T ANSWER THAT!) and I directed them to the Yorkshire one next door which spewed out tonnes of cash with Branson's face on, probably.  I need paying more for being an ambassador. 

Then, I saw some mysterious kind of bar/cafe/micropub belting out 'Ever Fallen in Love' by Buzzcocks with a woman singing along at the door (may have been the Tap n Tackle on doing a quick Google Search) which was a nice touch.

And you know when pub signs have a letter or two missing and it can be amusing, well I found this one ......

Ahhh, the L.A. Plighters, my fave baseball team.

And that was that.  They must've improved the Cas - L**ds train service, seem to remember it taking about 1.5 hours and trains were like every 4 hours back in 2014, so rare rail network improvement? 

Back in York nice and early, good, and bed now cos early start for Meewaww tomorrow morning.

Si