BRAPA - 'Twerp in Tottenham, Smug Newington & ImpPreston (Part 1)

'Twas getting dark on Saturday 22nd December as I fought my way from Ponders End (Southbury) three stops down to White Hart Lane, like a stubborn piece of KFC Mighty Bucket stuck in an old man's intestine. 

Annoying really, when Hull City in their golden pomp of 2008 first came here, real ale was ridiculously scare (according to the then GBG) and I had to resort to drinking Guinness, or cloudy Badger Tanglefoot in an unidentified Gospel Oak dive.  Once I even took 4 cans of Mackesons Stout on the Tube.  And now, in these Wembley days, BRAPA pubs suddenly exist!

Ooooh don't it look Christmassy?

1436 / 2407.  Antwerp Arms, Tottenham

I ran inside, as my bladder was by now leakier than Man City's defence, a seamless link as they were being spanked at home by Palarse, and the locals were LOVING it, glued to the screen, doing weird dances like Rigadon from the Adventures of Willy Fog whilst singing Ossie's Dream out of their nostrils.  Probably.  The beers were all Redemption, I couldn't quite bring myself to go for the Hopspur cos too many Arsenal fans read my blog in comparison to their lager drinking pub hating rivals (probably x2) so got something else,  Eric DIPA or Delle Aley I think (you're welcome!), and made a couple of 'ho ho ho' comments as I joined in the Crystal Palace love in.   From nowhere, an ancient bloke shaking with rage appears at the bar from the back of the pub, complaining people shouldn't be playing pool whilst he's enjoying his evening meal!  "We're trying to cater for different tastes" the landlord tries to explain to him apologetically, but the man is having none of it.  "I'M GONNA PUT THIS ALL OVER FACEBOOK!" he shouts and storms out.  I found it genuinely amusing, as if this bloke is on Facebook(!) but the poor landlord looks genuinely put out so a couple of locals placate him with words like "well you can't please everyone mate" and "don't listen to the silly old bugger".  It was a bizarre moment, just as my observational skills were waning.  And apart from a local trying to be funny by putting a low seat at the bar cos he couldn't find a barstool, nothing happened til the match finished and a dude came over with about 10 football accumulator betting slips and starts ticking them off like one of those losers with a Good Beer Guide.  After many exasperated groans, I ask how he's done.  "Won nothing today mate, but you gotta be philosophical ain't ya in this game, some you win, some you lose, mugs game innit, dunno why I bother, I'll probably be luckier next week!" 

There was one more pub for tonight, a few more stops south on the same orange and white tube line (I call it the Blackpool line cos I can't remember the real name) to this quite trendy lively area called Stoke Newington (not to be confused with North Bucks fun-hole Stoke Goldington) where there's a pub I'd almost gone to a few times but had just evaded me.  Tonight was the night, but how do I get in? 

Who's the hooded bloke with the bag?  I think it is significant.

1437 / 2408.  Jolly Butchers, Stoke Newington

I know I'd had a bit to drink but I'm sure you'd normally be expected to open an actual physical door to get into a pub, so when I seemed to find myself behind a damp velvet curtain (don't Russ!) and 'announce' myself into the pub like Mother Goose in Panto, I knew I was somewhere a little bit different.  It was peak London this place, not many people older than 39 I can tell you as I stride to the bar, order a quality pint of Titanic Plum Porter, try to pass over a fiver, only to be told proudly by the bar bloke that they're a card only pub nowadays.  "Ahhhhhh, realllllllly?" I said, with far too much intrigue in my voice, for let's face it, this day has been coming for a good few months now hasn't it?   "Yup, last 3 months, and it's been a real success" he declares with a smug satisfaction, so I decide to tell him I'm from the north so we don't have that kind of thing in pubs ..... yet!  He smiles with a mixture of contempt and wonder, and this northern monkey trudges off to a table in the centre of the room.  But I can't settle.  Where's the bogs?  I'm looking everywhere, end up asking this brilliantly friendly tattooed bar wench who tells it's down some hidden steps right in the corner.  Funny pub this, it's kind of beautiful despite the one roomed trendy hustle and bustle, and what I thought was cat wallpaper is 'people at the theatre' wallpaper.  Oh, and I wasn't alone, a drunk little fly stumbled towards the light of my candle, I tried to squash him but he wriggled back to life so I straightened him out and talked to him.  Take that popular 20 somethings of Stoke Newington, I'm one of the cool kids now!  

So my first 'card only' pint is a Plum Porter, in a jug of course!

Me and my new friend, Freddie the Fly

The bar, inc barmaid who showed me where bogs are hidden

Cool dudes and NOT cat wallpaper 

So that was a fantastic day then, six more London ticks, and as I travel home, I'm reminded Hull City are playing and have somehow won 3-2 despite being 0-1 down most of game, bonus!  Our form really is improving. 

This is what happens if you engage with Martin Taylor

Fast forward 4 days and Christmas is over ....... here's Father BRAPA channelling his inner Bob Marley:

And before we knew it, we were driving over top of the murky Peninnes to Prestonia, for the Boxing Day match and hopefully FOUR pre-match ticks if things went well ......

Saddleworth Moor, or something sinister

Thankfully, the weather was a lot better by the time we met BRAPA guest legend, Preston's finest pub tour guide Matthew 'SeeTheLizards' Lawrenson not far from pub number one, and it had 'Spoooooooons written all over it.  Well, 'Savings Bank' but you get the idea.

Matthew highly anticipating pub one

1438 / 2409.  Twelve Tellers, Preston

Not a brilliant former bank like Yorkshire, or even Clydesdale, or even National Australia, I have to tell you, but something lame like TSB from what I remember Matthew saying, or was it Bank of Scotland?  Well, one of the two.  Anyway, at least it was a grand enough 'Spoons to get a sense of the former bank set up, twelve tellers positions were still visible, but all eyes were on the stereotypically farcical scene at the bar.  10:59am, and about 15 people jostled for position, as one poor barman tries to serve everyone all at once.  At least he had a photographic memory enough to remember who was next in line, but you could feel the impatient breath of the bulbous nosed Prestonians on the back of your neck as you prayed he'd make eye contact.  Soon, we were in, for a life-giving pint of 'Twelve Days' by Hook Norton, which confused Dad as a 'Twelve Days' in the 'Twelve Tellers' wasn't something I'd done knowingly.  Matthew led us to a semi-booth (not the local supermarket) at the far end, meaning we had to walk through twild life who'd much rather be playing with their new prezzies at home than watching Mummy and Daddy (the latter wearing shorts because he can) munch their way through full English breakfasts despite the fact they'd been up til 2am on the port and prosecco, I imagine.  I'd say Stilton, but dunno if Preston folk do cheese other than cheesestrings, laughing cow and dairylea triangles.  Yeh, and that's about it.  Nice beer, good feel, decent 'Spoons, much better than the Grey Friar or whatever it is called in town.

Dad not having a nap and another fine carpet

A big brekkie family

Shorts cos he can

Preston amazes me pub-wise in that I've been visiting for the purpose of pub ticking since 2003 when my sister came to the Uni of Central Lancs and I discovered the brilliant Black Horse, a pub that shaped my whole love of pubs.  And Hull City have generally been in the same division as them, so to be still discovering pubs that aren't micros or brewery bars all these trips on surprises me.  

This next one was a good/bad example of that as we walked down a side street, still very central, but it kind of felt like an area with its own community and life.

1439 / 2410.  Wellington, Preston

It looked like crummy blandness from the outside, and it was crummy blandness on the inside too, Marstons crummy blandness, the worst kind of crummy blandness.  It hadn't always been this crummy and bland, you could tell by the shape of the building, nice tiled floor, ace Preston window mirror thing with that weird lamb on it, and faint historic atmosphere that it had once been no doubt a cosy multi roomed community hive of life and laughter.  Not the chilly uncaring distant loveless hole we find in 2018/19.  It even had a pool room in the back room sat alone that seemed to be sobbing gently to itself, dangling like a carrot before pub visitors noses as if to say "we could be a good pub if we'd chosen to be, but it was easier to be crummy blandness".  After being served by a young dude who struggled to raise a smile, we sat in a back room and a procession of locals peered in at us as if to say "Who are you?  Why do I not recognise you?" as I supped my perfectly serviceable pint of Pedigree.  Weird Boxing Day TV like Penguins and Disney reflected in the mirrors, and the board game selection of old classics and weird modern shite seemed to sum up this pub's struggles quite well. 

So it hadn't been the most amazing start to GBG ticking in Preston, but there were still two pubs to do before the match.  Things had to improve, things would improve!  Join me for tales of that in part two, plus a little bit of last Saturday's epic trip to Lincoln.

Si

BRAPA - END OF YEAR AWARDS CEREMONY 2018

Greetings!  Happy New Year, and all that guff.  Welcome to BRAPA towers for our fourth end of year awards ceremony when I look back and wonder, what has been great in the world of Good Beer Guide pub ticking, and what has been terrible. 

So sit back, pour yourself a cask Cloudwater or Mango Milkshake DIPA (unless you are reading this on NYD morning, in which case I apologise but not really), grab the cocktail sausages and the spam twild fritters and pineapple on sticks, and enjoy.

I can picture you all here with me sat at circular tables making origami swans out of napkins  .....  look, there's the Stockport gang, they've even employed their own beer wench to pour them OBB from the jug, Mudgie has a cat on his knee and is stroking it studiously, and what is John Clarke doing?  Weighing beer guides I think.  One of my fave Twitter posts of the year that.  Hang on, who's that bloke and how did he smuggle Carling in?

I could go on like this all night, talking about my North American friends joining us via a video link, Martin Taylor hiding in a shadowy corner, Protz chanting 'where were you at St Albans?' John Depeche Modem showing off his septic leg, but you'd rather hear about the awards.  Wouldn't you?

Cat pic to try and encourage you to keep concentrating

BRAPA 'BEST TRIP' OF THE YEAR

There's been some classic trips this year.  In June, a liver-shattering double header took me to Cornwall and then Cambridgeshire in a two week stint I've been recovering from ever since.  A day in Burton on Trent made me appreciate why people bang on about it as a great pub town.  Dorset in October is the runner up.  Places like Bridport, Weymouth and Portland - so weird and wonderful.  But the overall winner is the Isle of Man back in Feb.   What a place that was!  The pace of life is gentle and slow, the folk are friendly or just plain mad, the pubs are so old school and fabulous, and the scenery even in snowy freezing Feb was wonderful, not forgetting the great hospitality of David Halliwell who drove me round some of the tougher pubs and was great company.  I was ONE pub away from doing the whole island, so cruel that the Railway Station Hotel in Port St Mary wasn't open Friday lunchtime. And the GBG still thinks it is.  But that couldn't sour an all time BRAPA great.

Sidings, Castletown.  Last pub of great IOM adventure

BRAPA MIDWEEK MOMENT OF THE YEAR

When I say midweek, I kind of mean Friday too as in 2018, I started preferring Friday to Tuesday as it gave me a bit more freedom to travel further afield, and didn't prolong the working week like Tuesday's had.  And it was one of my more outlandish trips which wins the award, when I went to Oldham via Delph where a brass band festival was on, I broke my phone due to water damage from the heavy rain, and even though none of my ales in Oldham were that cracking, the pubs were full of the craziest lovely Lancs folk you could hope to hide from in a corner.  I even booked an impromptu Travelodge at 10pm from Wetherspoons and stayed overnight as I was off to Cheshire the following day anyway.  Great experience.

Hi-vis bloke in Carrion Crow and me were great mates for 27.5 mins, our bladders in perfect sync.

BRAPA FOOTBALL DAY OF THE YEAR

Some of you might know, I support Hull City AFC and this year has been another tough one with the evil Allams still at the helm though at least we end on a high with six straight wins and beating filthy dirty L**ds at their place, amazing when you think they are the basically Champions of Europe.  Of course, we'll sell all our best players in Jan and not replace them and slide back towards relegation, so let's enjoy it while we can!

I guess Hull City are BRAPA crappers in a way, taking out a chunk of Saturday afternoon when I could be visiting all manner of weird and wonderful pubs so I plan my away days sporadically around pub ticking.  

My favourite day this year was 6th May, my birthday (thanks for remembering!) when we went to Brentford on the last day of the season with Father BRAPA, Ben and the legend himself Thomas J. Irvin.  Not saying the pubs or the football were that good, the Powderkeg was ridiculous, but my Waterloo Tap, I felt so happy, I was almost emotional, and that's basically in a metal under the railway arch high stooled monstrosity.  But there was something beautiful about it in that moment, trust me! (unless I was drunk but I doubt that).

Powderkeg, Clapham Junction.  Scaring me with highest prices and lack of cask beer.

BRAPA COMEDY MOMENT OF THE YEAR

Isn't going into a pub just one constant comedy sketch?  I mean, it is if you keep your eyes and ears open, a chance to see people at their most vulnerable, ooops, I mean relaxed, being themselves as much as they are in their own homes in many cases, yet in a 'public house',  and there is nothing more fascinating than people.  

Too many moments to choose from, many forgotten without re-reading all my blogs and I wouldn't wish that on anyone.  Walking into the Botwell Inn, Hayes, a Wetherspoons, to find the staff having their heads shaved for charity was amusing in the extreme.  Watching a lady having a date with a mannequins head in the Stag's Head, Fitzrovia, was another example of London not being boring.  The whole of my time in the Regal Moon in Rochdale, another 'Spoons, was comedy gold, but the overall winner is the Steamer in Fleetwood where I knew Syd Little worked, but didn't know he was going to be there and the pub were going to settle down to watch him on the Real Marigold Hotel on the BBC.  Perfect timing.  And then a couple drove me to my next pub, bonus! 

Monkey documentary in the Steamer about to pave the way for greater things

PRE-EMPTIVE PUB OF THE YEAR

There's been some fine pubs I've visited that haven't been in the Good Beer Guide .... can you believe it?!  I'm joking of course, the selection process doesn't always seem to be spot on.  Especially when you go down to say, West Cornwall, and you think the local TWAMRA's might as well be playing pin the tail on the donkey with a map of the county and the pubs.  Sometimes East Yorkshire seem as bizarre, but who am I to say, I visit once and wham, bam, thankyou pub, that's it.  Love 'em n leave 'em.  Whereas some poor folk return to pubs time after time after time.  I don't get it man!  

Of course, some pubs are brand new so haven't had chance to get in the GBG yet and are great hopes for the future, and there are some that were in many years ago but haven't been back since.  Possibly because the fact they sell 'old man's' beers isn't approved of, however well kept.  Maybe the landlady told the local TWAMRA to fuck off and they are now punishing everyone by not putting it in the Guide.  Some may have fallen on hard times but a refurb has breathed fresh life into the pubby corpse.

I had a great year in terms of pubs I did Jan-Aug being in the new 2019 GBG.  Cardigan Arms in Kirkstall stands out as an absolute classic.  The Angarrack Arms near Hayle in Cornwall where I stayed in the summer was unfashionably brilliant, friendliest pub I stepped in all week.  And tips for the future, Albert's Ale Thing in Blackpool and Vintage in Hull are going to thrill you all in years to come.  

But my overall winner was a late recommendation from Mr McWilliam whilst pub ticking in Marple Bridge, the Northumberland Arms, so glad I squeezed it in even it didn't make the 2019 GBG, surely a shoo in for 2020?  

The kind of blokes you'd love to press and hold to compare, Northumberland Arms.

BRAPA PUB PET OF THE YEAR

Not sure if it is just me but the humble pub pet is feeling like a bit of a throwback now, not something you see nearly enough.  Even pub dogs (not to be confused with visiting twogs) were a bit scarce in 2018.  And I don't know why, they certainly add something. 

I think Tim Martin should employ 'Spoons hounds in each of his outlets, they could have a book like their carpets do.  They should be plucked from charities and ancient, the type no family would adopt.  Wheezy, patchy fur, struggling as they reach to lick their arseholes ..... and that's just the regulars.

And imagine how much more delightful your chilly unfeeling micropub could be if it had a kitten shitting in the corner?  I'd review it that little bit more kindly.

And I'm positively amazed that Antic pubs don't have some Retro-difficult-to-keep-scorpion or similar reptilian thing in a warm tank as standard.

No, I had a good run on Saturday's in Sept-Oct where pub cats started appearing regularly, the best of which was Matey, the pub cat in the excellent Plume of Feathers in Greenwich.  Scratching the staff who didn't know cat boundaries, a real characterful moody gem of a kitty.

BRAPA NIGHTMARE TRIP OF THE YEAR

A harder category to judge than previous years, perhaps because I'm not visiting Bedfordshire or Buckinghamshire every other Saturday!  

Many of my problems have been self inflicted, gave myself two days where I ended up walking over 15 miles, one around Runcorn, one around the Wirral, luckily there were some good pubs but I totally killed myself on those occasions. 

Deciding to have a week in Cambs straight after a week in Cornwall sort of finished me off.  I started moaning about defencless lovely pubs like Geldart and Haymakers, and this shot of me kneeling on the Six Bells toilet floor in Fulbourn said it all:

But ultimately, if we take things as a whole, who can forget PROJECT CALYPSO?  4 weeks sent to London for work, brilliant for pub ticking numbers but I insisted on ticking at least 3 a night no matter how crazy work got.  And London pubs are a breed all of their own.  Narrow staircases down to the bogs, water dispensers to keep you hydrated between pints, expectations you'll pay by card, beards, checked shirts, beer not really worthy of a Good Beer Guide, oh you could almost do a bingo card.

You don't get this sort of thing in Wigan

BRAPA OUTDOOR PUB EXPERIENCE

I'm not really a fan of outdoor drinking, I'd rather stay pale and interesting in the summer months, get a feel for the pub atmosphere plus it's easier to hear locals indoors!  But on some occasions, the pub might be so lacking in hubbub, you may as well be sat out in a giant car park as fag ash blows into your face - the Old Boat House in Astley post-refurbishment would be a good example.  Quite often, you are forced outside simply due to lack of any room inside, Heaton Hops at Heaton Chapel springs to mind.  But sometimes, the scenery and weather combined kind of force you out.  Gurnard's Head Hotel in Treen Cornwall was a great example, but my overall winner was the Hare & Hounds at Waytown in rural Dorset.    Great views, well into October by this time but great weather and after four weeks in London, I felt my Dorset holiday really started here.

Guest ticker at Waytown

BRAPA SCARIEST CLIENTELE AWARD

Good grief!  I think I'm getting acclimatised to even some of the weirdest pub atmosphere's in the UK now, and it must be said, there was nowhere to match last year's North & South Wales Bank in Wrexham.

But there were some interesting ones.  The Old Market Inn in Douglas, well I was glad I was in the other room, but partly sad too, and don't forget Bridge Inn in Laxey when I first arrived.  The whole of Wigan scared me as it likes to do annually.  Some of the more remote Fen towns of Cambridgeshire were odd, especially the Ship in Chatteris where locals didn't like my six webbed toes on each hand comment even though I was sort of joking.  But overall, it is back to Dorset we go for the Royal Portland Arms in Portland.  A mind blowing selection of folk that felt like ghosts from another time!

Leather Gandalf and reluctant purple server in action

BRAPA BAD STAFF AWARD

I'm pleased to say not many spring to mind, no real permanent scars.  Plenty of PISS barmaids, people who couldn't be arsed, but more good ones than bad.  The landlady in Cross Keys in Tutbury was a bit terrifying, she had an understated sulkiness like a malevolent spirit in waiting.  But my winner this year is the landlord from the Greyhound in Hartshill, between Stoke and Newcastle under Lyme, what a miserable bloke he was, really hated us too!

Hopes were high as I prepared to go in, but I didn't know what was in store ......

BRAPA BEST PINT OF THE YEAR AWARD

Beer.  It's a funny thing isn't it?  You walk into a pub and are forced to ask for this usually brown murky liquid to be pulled into a pint glass by a complete stranger who could be a poisoner for all you know, and then you have to actually pay for it, and then sit there and finish it!  Some people enjoy it.  Madness.

I don't remember too many of my pints, but when they are really good quality, I'm caught a bit off guard and tend to remember them. 

This year, the pint that most amazed me was in the White House, a big rural pub high above Littleborough in that East Lancs area not far from the West Yorkshire border.  I'd walked after work with guest BRAPee Karl, a Smirnoff Ice drinker, and I guess in the drizzle and uphill walk, a pint was likely to taste good, but this, I think Farmers Blonde or something reliable I'd had before, and it wasn't even a pubby pub but a dining place full of old duffers.  The Red Lion down in Littleborough itself was similarly brilliant, and an even better pub.

The only remaining photo of 'pint of the year'

BRAPA BAD PINT OF THE YEAR AWARD

Most of the dodgy beer I had this year coincided with that very hot spell of weather we had June/July time, when pubs might complain something along the lines of it being hard to keep their cellar cool or some poppycock.  I don't know, they might have a point, but I will just point out that at the height of the heat, I went on a pub crawl of St Helens and I didn't get anything other than top quality throughout (unless you count the Red Cat at Crank, which was deservedly de-guided two months later). 

Quite often though, if the returned pint is accepted with good grace, it can even be a boost to the pub, as I'll praise the staff for it, as happened in say, the Geldart in Cambridge or the Plungington Hotel in Preston.

If I don't say anything but should (Gate Clock in Greenwich, Fisherman's Cottage in Reading), I've only got myself to blame but end up harbouring resentment til I leave!  But when I say something, it is obviously shite, but they still make a fuss, like this Poulton Elk classic:

"Maybe it's supposed to look like this" she said!  

But the overall winner / loser is the Victory Inn at Towan Cross in Cornwall.  Lovely old pub, friendly German barmaid, but despite returning one pint, the second was just as bad but I didn't have the heart to return this too.  I should've done!

Great pub, shame about the ale

PUB MAN/WOMAN/PERSON OF UNSPECIFIED GENDER OF THE YEAR

Well, it is 2018 and I don't want to be accused of being unwoke do I?  Firstly, thanks for all the support reading my blog, liking and retweeting my twitter ramblings, look, I'm drunk and emotional now, I've been on the ale for the last few hours and it is nearly midnight.  

Martin Taylor has already said he refuses to accept the award this year which is slightly presumptuous of him, wonderful chauffeuring or not.  Father BRAPA is being made to prove himself on 24th March before he is back in contention, and Tom Irvin needs to learn to drive and take me to every pub in Cumbria before he can win again.

Met lots of great people this year, always amazes me when I meet beer people off twitter they are nice.  Pub Curmudgeon, Bert Kenward n missus, Christine Taylor, that recurring paisley jewel Matthew Lawrenson, the Southworth Bros (a bit like Bros but their version of Silent Night is better), Lincoln Pub Man, David Halliwell and many more, and hope to tick off the likes of Lager, Crilly, Tovich, Tandleman and more soon.   Nearest miss was Pauline Sharp, who hid in a Weymouth caravan park til I'd returned to York, which was a nice touch.

Me and that recurring Paisley jewel

Big thanks to my friend Christine Andrew for doing an excellent BRAPA feature (based on our wonderful summer trip to Cleethorpes) in North Lincs premier TWAMRA mag Iron Brew , order your copy today, it really does rock:

And also big thanks to Steve Halstead for Grand Central ticket help to make those London ticks all that more achievable.    Gawd, how Paltrow was that?  Right, back in your box Si! 

Oh, a winner?  Well, bit embarrassing but I guess we'll have to say me.  Simon Roger Everitt.  Never made fun of myself for needing the loo 3 times in one pub, and never once refused the challenge of going in the 447 GBG I shamefully achieved this year!

THE BRAPA PEOPLES PEOPLE OF THE YEAR AWARD

And whilst we are on the subject of folk, those I met out and about who made pubbing worth it.  All those guest tickers, members of staff and strange people I made friends with in pubs.  

Early in the year, it has to be in the Ginger Hall at Sulby in the Isle of Man where Laura the barmaid made me welcome, then introduced me to a bloke who was taking over the pub, he then drove me to Ramsey and took me to his current pub, the Trafalgar where he bought me a pint and left me with the locals!  That was the highlight.  

Me and a Ramsey local dude

Other great staff efforts in Little Gransden and Comberton in Cambs, where the brilliant landlady's really made that extra effort to make us welcome:

Comberton, Three Horseshoes - as landlady ticks the GBG

Weymouth was superb too, everyone so open and friendly, here were Robin & Andy at the Duke of Cornwall, a fantastic experience:

And closer to home in L**ds, I briefly worried about the BRAPA legacy if I was mowed down by a tractor on a rural Cornwall country lane, so I interviewed for potential replacements:

The candidates did well, but overall, I decided to try and stay alive and keep going for another year so sorry, you are stuck with me.  

And in terms of single friendliest pub improved no end by great locals and staff, it was the Vine Inn in Market Deeping, which is scarily in Lincs, but did a fantastic job on the day:

BRAPA WORST PUB EXPERIENCE 2018

Right, we're at the business end of the awards ceremony now!  

As I always say, plenty more great pubs than rubbish ones, but enough rubbish ones to give me something to ponder.  

The Marine Hotel in Hornsea, what is that doing in the GBG?  Edgbaston's Physician - giving Brunning & Price a bad name.  Station Inn at Habrough, utterly dreadful all rounder.  Gate Clock at Greenwich, utter puke!  One of the worst 'Spoons I've ever witnessed.  Willow Walk at Victoria, so boring it had absolutely nothing to say about it, yet I suppose not the worst.  Henry Addington, Canary Wharf.  Some said I was harsh, but imagine having to spend your life here?   A few Micros I found it hard to abide.  Early Doors in Skipton, Last Heretic in Burton, Hops & Barley in Lincoln, just chilly nothingness about them, not forgetting Burning Soul Brewery, caskless garage lock up of limited hours and limited everything.  But let's be honest, the worst of the worst was the Waterside in Leigh.

No redeeming features inside or out.

BRAPA BEST PUB EXPERIENCE 2018

So I've trawled back through 447 pubs in the GBG I've done this year, and here's a kind of shortlist cos I can't keep writing this blog for ever, it is nearly 1am for heaven's sake!

Green Man, Leighton Bromswold

Royal Oak (Th' Heights), Delph

Red Lion, Littleborough

Waggon & Horses / Royal Exchange, Stourbridge

White Hart, Shifnal

Blue Anchor, Helston

Turk's Head, St Helens

Chequers, Little Gransden

Board Inn, Bridlington

White House Hotel, Peel

Lazy Landlord, Liscard

Magazine Hotel, New Brighton

Lord Nelson, Urmston

Raven Hotel, Wigan

Helston hound

There's probably others, but I'll let you pick a favourite.  Am tempted to say Blue Anchor cos it is famous, was highly anticipated for years by me, which usually means a let down, but still maintained a magical feel.  So there we go, see you in 2019!

Si

BRAPA - Good King Walthamstow & Something to Ponder

It was the Saturday before Christmas, and I'd taken my eye off the ball in my fear of being swamped with Sunderland fans on the Grand Central heading down to Pompey via London.  No, I should know by now, middle aged female shoppers are a much more terrifying breed!

Sunderland footwear just in case but wasn't necessary, looked more like a Gooner off to lunchtime kick off

"You should've heard them earlier ...." said my fellow passenger Mick as we rolled eyes at another jibbering anecdote about nothing, "....they were singing the praises of Donald Trump!"  Thank goodness for headphones.  Mick seemed a top bloke, with links to Dorset, Berlin and Osmotherley (sorry, this isn't Crimewatch) and was pleased to see the Good Beer Guide, as he's just getting into ale himself, his current girlfriend is a pint drinker and previous one was a brewer.

By 10:55am, I was doing what I normal do at this time on a Saturday, lurking across the road from a 'required pub tick', in a particularly leafy area of Walthamstow.  After my pub trip here in July, I'd never have believed I'd be back by the year end, but two new ticks meant I needed to get them done.  It was a mild and sunny morning for December, and as the sun hit the nice looking pub at a particular angle, I thought this would be the perfect photo opportunity.  But then a white van man came and parked directly in front of me.  He could've parked ANYWHERE else.  I hated him.

Could've been even better if white van man had some awareness

1430 / 2403.  Coppermill, Walthamstow

A really cosy street corner local with a great atmosphere from the off, and that was with a 'mad Friday' clean-up operation in full swing, poor Henry Hoover was being worked overtime.  The landlord seemed a jolly bloke, and served me a London Pride which I'm afraid to say wasn't of the quality you'd hope.  Who should be today's second customer, but White Van Man.  "Boooooo!" Well, this is pantomime season, and it didn't take him long to mention a party or something that the landlord hadn't been invited to, but he had!  Was he just trying to upset everyone today?  Whatever, the landlord left at 11:10am, completing perhaps the shortest shift in BRAPA memory.  Barmaid Gemma took over, and custodian of Henry Hoover told me to put my feet up so she could get to the crumbs of last night.  She wore a hoodie with the inspirational slogan "What if I Can't Do It?" but the 't' on the can't had been crossed out!  Nevertheless, she confessed she was hungover "Everytime I bend down and stand up again, I feel like I'm going to be sick!"she tells me, and asks where I'm from, thinking I have an Irish accent(!)  I tell her no Yorkshire, and she says she once went to Bradford but found it a shithole where everyone took the piss out of her cockney accent.  We then somehow got onto the subject of the Queen's Speech, agreeing it'd be better if she did it in the morning.  And that concluded an amusing first pub of the day. 

Landlord during his 10 minute cameo

WVM sits down with Guinness and paper

Henry is smiling now, but would he be in half an hour?

It was a straight 15 minute walk to pub two though it was still 10 to when I arrived, so I had to hover round the bustling marketplace, this was peak-Walthanstow which I didn't even encounter in the summer, and with the pub peeping out from behind the stalls, I could only hope this'd be a Boar's Head Stockport style experience.  

To pass the time, a Del Boy type was flogging cheap aftershaves, colognes and perfumes to a crowd of impressed onlookers hoping for a late Christmas bargain.  For a man who seemed to want to remain, errrm, innocuous ("NO FILMING, FACKING HELL!" he yelled at one point), strapping a microphone to his face to amplify his voice seemed an interesting career choice.  Whatever, at least we all learned that 'Mediterranean Blue' was his fragrance of choice when he goes to Torremolinos, the Costas or wherever.  

"BRAPA you plonker!"

1431 / 2404.  Chequers, Walthamstow

And despite constantly scouring the doorway for signs of 'opening', when I finally burst in at 12:02, there was plenty of blokes drinking in the main bar, suggesting a back or side entrance had opened sooner.  Well, remember my recent day in Streatham and how 'woke' it seemingly was trying to make me?  More of the same here, as in a BRAPA first, I was served by a transgender staff member - I went for a pint of Speculation Ale, look, don't judge me, it was just there.  Nice lively chatty person immediately asks me 'straight or jug?'  Glassware of course.  Now, I'm no fan of dimpled handled jugs so in normal circs, I'd bark 'STRAIGHT!' but I didn't want to do this so said I was open minded enough to accept a glass of any denomination or preference.  Well, this got remarked on too "Some of the locals hate jugs and demand a straight glass!"  "Really?,  Snobs!"  I replied, half wondering whether I was somehow being tested.  The pub was a let down after that amazing intro, and despite green tiling, it was all a bit of a hotch-potch of styles, felt a bit messy.  Old Dandy and Beano covers in the gents, a very light airy left side, a dark cavernous right, a very weird smell throughout, some snooty Londoners, bit of Victoriana, some dodgy looking lurkers, good ale quality, and some of the weirdest alternative Christmas songs ever, an emo version of 'Walking in the Air' was a highlight/lowlight.  

Speculation in a jug

Mannequin Si in gents

After a bit of Tube jiggery pokery, I eventually got myself to Crouch Hill where I had the first of four North London pubs in my sights, in N19 Upper Holloway to be precise.  I found it after walking down a long straight road behind an irritating pavement blocker rucksack bloke who refused to move even though he was lost and kept asking people for directions to somewhere unpronounceable.  

1432 / 2405.  Shaftesbury Tavern, Upper Holloway

Considering how impossibly London this pub was (when you open the door from the street, the bar is immediately in your face and the news that the pool room had become a restaurant, tsk!)  it had a nice feel to it, perhaps because I was about the only customer.  The barmaid heaves herself off her arse round the other side of the bar, away from her smartphone, and serves me with a sigh and suddenly, I'm nostalgic for transgender folk asking if I want straight or jug.  I didn't fancy the Pride, a 6%er or a cider so I went for that N1 Hammerton shite which I've never liked but really enjoyed it here!  A large side room felt pubbier (but a bit chillier), it had a piano and a stage, you could almost imagine Chas n Dave doing a gig here back in t'day, but felt a bit like a storage room now.   A bloke popped in for a half, and smiled as I smuggled 3 mini cheeses and some pork pie with mustard from my BRAPA rucksack of delights, literally behind the barmaid's back who had heaved herself back to her relaxing position.  A family with an overfed twild presence were drowned out by the Smith's singing 'This Pub isn't Funny Anymore' or something, and as I got up to leave, the barmaid picked up the Mr Muscle, sprayed a bit on the bar top, and scowled at a cloth accusingly.

Barmaid relaxing

The bogs being amazing

The side room

A nice etched window

  

Pub four was up in Ponders End, near Southbury tube station though I made a meal of getting there, ending up lost around Seven Sisters and then walking a longer way around than was needed.  

A grand former cinema soon loomed large out of the now murky mid afternoon air, I'd noticed the 9am opening time, spied Doom Bar and GK Abbot on the bar, it was all crying Wetherspoons ......

1433 / 2406.  Picture Palace, Ponders End

But you can't assume anything in this game, and as I asked the barmaid if I could use my 4th last remaining 50p off voucher which the kind Pub Curmudgeon sent me, to my surprise, she replies 'no, we are NOT a Wetherspoons'.  I ask if I've offended her, and totally deadpan, she replied "well yes you have actually!" so I then say (theatrically looking up to the high ceiling) "oh actually, I can tell this is much better than a Wetherspoons!" to which she purses her lips in a kind of 'stop digging' look.  Well, my fellow drinkers are an edgy, rough looking bunch, so I sit closer to the bar than perhaps was strictly sensible.  Two blokes, right behind me, keep play fighting, grabbing each other by the neck, but our barmaid star seems to have them under control.  An old bloke and his hooped earring daughter seem to be arguing over the rules to some lager drinking game which ends with wet crotches and broken bar stools.  And slightly out of earshot, a bloke I think is the Dad of one of the two play fighters is making comments that the staff don't seem to like.  I felt a bit uncomfortable, it must be said, and when I go to the loo, who should follow me in but the two play fighters who then start snorting cocaine, which explains their slightly unpredictable behaviour.  I have to go back to UK drug capital Ross-on-Wye since I last saw such open drug use in a pub bogs.

Nice grand former theatre/cinema entrance

Bar blokes

Was a nice ale from what I can remember!

There were still two pubs to come, and plenty more weird London intrigue to come, and for tales of that a bit of Preston, join me some time next week!  But first, we'll have the month end awards, 'live' written on NYE with much ale and snacks for added weirdness.

See you then, Si