BRAPA ....... Looks for a Miracle Drug in Kendal (Cumbrian Adventures III, Pt 11)

Six pints, late night in Kendal, not a good combo for  photography!

If there was one drug I'd like to be invented to assist with BRAPA, it wouldn't be the ability to stay sober for longer to visit more pubs, or even to retain a crystal clear memory recall of events.  No, it would be some bladder strengthening device so I could drink my pints, hop on public transport, and embark on long cross-town walks without thinking 'where's my next opportunit-wee?'

After all, Kendal isn't Newark.  You can't just whip it out, act like a fire hose, and hope for the best.

And back in the town after a bumpy bus ride back from 'Elterwater',   I was in agony and the shopping centre bogs were closed.  Nooooo!  I had to run back to promising preemptive effort, Ye Olde Fleece, and edge in through a back fire door I'd spotted earlier, only ajar because a work man was measuring a door frame.  What a relief!

Then, I had to run back to the bus station to ensure I got the X6.  "You have a devoted young lady friend there!" a toothless old man says to me with a wink, indicating a girl in school uniform waving off her mates on the seat behind me!  "I don't know her!" I protest, realising a paedophilia misunderstanding could be even more awkward than my Newark incident.

The whole bus ride to my 27th and final BRAPA pub of the holiday was akin to a school trip, dropping off and picking up spotty dropouts from places as varied as Grange over Sands railway station, the Prizet BP garage and Brettargh Holt outside the Heaves Hotel, with the emphasis on the 'argh'.

Relief came in the form of the village of High Newton on a bright but increasingly chilly evening, the pub perfectly framed in the shadow of the lowering sun .....

'Good things come to those who wait' is a reasonable BRAPA adage*, and having failed to get here in September due to Uncle Funeral curtailing my Barrow trip, and again last Saturday after taking the wrong bus at Greenodd, I can happily report we end on a high at Crown, High Newton (1596 / 2813).  Local bar blockers aren't such a problem when they welcome you into their 'lair' with jokey comments about the AWOL barmaid, and rather than being awkward, the wait for her to reappear was almost 'welcome'.  High Newton is probably far enough from the Lakes and near enough to Ulverston/Barrow to offer me something lacking in this holiday, a bit of warmth and compassion from my fellow drinkers.  I'm sure they get curious walkers visiting, but this was more locals pub than glorified restaurant, not too dissimilar from the Sun in Coniston or Black Dog in Holmes Green in style.  I took my pint to a table behind the locals, and a cute dog bounded over to say hello, though in truth it was more likely it wanted to hump Martin the Owl or snaffle my EMCs (Emergency Mini Cheddars).  As strains of Billy Joel and Spandau Ballet filled the old building, I declared 'punk's not dead but my liver is' which didn't really make sense, but who cares.  A local told spent so long telling me where the bus stop was (even though you could see it from the front door), I nearly missed it, but I'd rather men like him than a repeat of Sedbergh.

Only interested in the Cheds

Careful Martin, you've got an admirer

Hazy evening sun in pub

Legends at the bar

Back in Kendal with the darkness setting in, I calculated I'd actually only done four pubs today, so that meant two late preemptives.

After all, RM told me Kendal is notorious for chopping and changing their GBG entries, one year, the four that were in were ALL replaced!  That must be unprecedented or something.

In a former mill complex, now home to industrial units, arty crafty things, and inevitably, a couple of micro style bars, I realised I couldn't get to the Barrel House as it didn't open til Thursday, so went instead to the recently deguided Factory Tap. 

A few locals had recommended it to me, two men had actually declared their astonishment it wasn't in this years GBG.  It did have lots of ales on, the staff were fairly attentive, and the place was surprisingly packed for a cold Wednesday evening in October, I thought.  It didn't help that attached to about 50% of the people in here was a lead, and on the end of those leads, twogs galore.  And they all hated each other.  Making for many barked confrontations, in a small building.  Result, a non-relaxing experience for me, on my triangular table by the door.  The most notable clientele, a group of loud southerners slightly watchful of my photography, and sure I recognised the big bloke as that dude from Murder in Successville, but why he'd be in Kendal, I'm not sure.  They got a taxi n left shortly after.  Not a bad Tap but can't say it gripped me.

This dog was nice, but suffered from surprising ones bounding downstairs into his back!

My intention was to end this epic BRAPA adventure in a Twitter recommended club called Ivy Leaf, but the locked door, weird intercom system, and fact it wasn't and probably never has been GBG, meant there was no guarantee I'd be allowed in so gave it the swerve.

Too scary even for BRAPA

As it was, the next turning took me to something called Indie Craft Beer where I thought I was the only customer (until I later found a cosy upstairs by the bogs) so chatted to our Indie-ish haired owner, a nice chap, and in the absence of cask (he tells me they plan to put some on soon cos I needed to check how preemptive it actually was!) I got this gorgeous one called 'I'm Spartacus' from New Mills in Derbyshire.  We had a nice chat about the local pubs, my BRAPA holiday etc and he probably said lots of interesting things I've forgotten in the grip of sixth pint of the night.  When I left, it was good timing as a man he knew came in, ordered the same ale, and I left to them doing a theatrical yet inevitable I'm Spartacus, No I'm Spartacus routine which had me smiling all the way to Tesco Express for a final time.

Nice chap, Martin, fake GBG and beer better than anything I've drunk in New Mills itself

It'd had been a cracking hols, the Cumbrian map greening up nicely, but I'd only get one day off tomorrow before Friday brought some outer-York fun, so join me for tales of that on Thursday & Sunday.

Si

* But if that is true, the Moon on the Square 'Spoons in Feltham, West London, will be Ultimate BRAPA Pub of All Time if and when I finally make it! 

BRAPA is ..... a Sad Bro in Sedbergh (Cumbrian Adventures III Pt 10)

The sixth and final day of this Cumbrian Holiday was all about filling in the remaining gaps so that I didn't have to return to the Lake District area in the next eight months.  Don't get me wrong, I'd had a great time but there is enough West Coast, Carlisle, Penrith type places to keep me occupied for the rest of the 2019/20 season, thank you very much. 

Only two 'key' places on the map concerned me.  Elterwater (which I can only pronounce in the voice of Arnie), the only remaining pub in the heart of the Lakes, and the elusive High Newton, squashed vaguely in that Cartmel area, it probably had twinned better with my Barrow weekend, but I'd failed twice to make it so far!

That meant I could afford to do a pub that hadn't been on my agenda at the start of the week, so after my now familiar Premier Inn brekkie, I took a peculiar minibus driven by a moody chap called Darren, Dazza, Deggsy, Deano or Denzil, to a southern place called Sedbergh.

With a chill & a touch of damp in the autumn air, the sight of a Wednesday 11am opener with legs akimbo (well, door open) was a relief, and I stepped inside with a confident smile on my face .......

Looks lovely doesn't it?

Grim, that would be my assessment of the Dalesman Inn, Sedbergh (1594 / 2811) if someone put the thumb screws and made me speak my mind, so I probably shouldn't hold back here either (as you know if you've read BRAPA before, I'm very gentle usually!  And that is a BRAPA fact)  I said 'hello' to the two old blokes at the bar, one scowled, one gave a nervous half smile, avoided eye contact, made his excuses, put a load of elaborate outdoor gear on, and left pronto.  The barmaid of southern accent gave the chilliest of welcomes, an overheard conversation later indicated that she was dreaming of the time when she could return to London / Oxford to do a proper job (unless she meant pulling a pint of Cornish ale).  Despite a weird centrepiece (I couldn't even be bothered to see what the weird polished stone represented), the pub was dining dull, the fire not lit, and it was my most miserable and stilted half hour in a pub this week.  The old bloke sipped his coffee and occasionally glared at Martin the Owl.  Maybe the location was the cause, it was almost North Yorkshire, and managed to combine the standoffish nature of a Yorkshire Dales dining pub, with the weird inbredness of one in Cumbria.  The beer was distinctly average and the pub didn't scream 'GBG keeper' in any sense. 

At least 'Handsome' was a new Cumbrian brewery I'd not tried before!

Only brave enough to take this photo when local and barmaid had gone out of sight!

Weird centrepiece thing

Martin's expression says it all

Had the pub been even half decent, I'd have been tempted to stay for another with such a long wait for the bus back to civilisation (well, Kendal).  But no chance, I went to explore in the spitting rain, realising nearly every building in Sedburgh is a book shop, they are everywhere!  I didn't buy anything but a good browse, twee bakery visit, and public loos helped pass the time.

At the bus stop, I met one of the rare 'characters' of the week.  He told me that unlike the other men his age in Sedbergh, he was tolerant of black people and the Scots.  His friends say 'why do you bother with 'em?' and he says 'you wouldn't not buy a car because it was black or Scottish would you?' and although he hates young men with tattoos, if a man with tattoos spoke to him, he'd probably be civil. 

After experiencing such Meta-wokeness in Sedbergh, it was almost a shame when moody Darren/Dazza/Deano picked us up, and after an old woman stroked my shoulder thinking it belonged to her grandson, it was quite amusing that a young chap with tattoos on his face hopped on!  I tried to see the expression of Old Mate, but he was keeping his head down. 

Back in Kendal, I had an hour to kill so time for a pre-emptive.  With all of the micro style things not opening til at least 4pm, if at all on a Wednesday, I decided a refurbished old pub was the way to go.  Whatpub had amused me with this one .......

So I hope I can rely on Westmorland CAMRA to stick Ye Olde Fleece Inn  in a forthcoming GBG, because the slight attempts at 'high-end' Kendal pubbing, it was quite wonderfully done!  They'd kept in plenty of old features in place, oldest pub in town, a sign said, and even with a few diners in large booths, it had a warm atmosphere, helped immeasurably by one of the finest pints I had this holiday, from Northumberland in fact.  Staff were professional and couldn't do enough for the old buggers having lunch, and the gents bogs had the Shipping Forecast playing in both male and female voices on a loop, making it a relaxing place if you need to evacuate those bowels after a tough week.  Only Hemingford Grey's Blackadder clips can beat this pub for bog entertainment in BRAPA history. 

Beer of the week?

Door of the week?

Booths of the week? (well, apart from Booths in Keswick and Windermere, obvs)

The long trundle back into t'Lakes for my final pub at (Arnie voice) 'ELTERWATER' reminded me what an utter ball ache squashing these buses down these country lanes is.

With the sun shining and the sky blue, the bus pulled up in the village and a gaggle of people on the green bits opposite the pub had me thinking 'ey up, tourist pub central!' but a boy's allowed to be wrong occasionally ......

Yes, I'm delighted to report that Brittania Inn, Elterwater (1595 / 2812) was one of the more fantastic pubs of the week, maybe we could go out on a high after all after the Sedbergh trauma?!  A welcoming but very busy front bar saw me squashing in for a cheeky pint of Bowness, served by staff who seemed to have a sense of humour, and as I swung round,  luck was on my side as a table of 4 had just been vacated, in prime position, facing bar next to the most fabulous roaring fire to end a week of fabulous roaring fires!  Shame my warped mind felt the room probably resembled Mary Kelly's after Jack the Ripper had put her heart and other organs on it.  Like they read my mind, something weird then happened and a la Badger Bar in Rydal, this busy pub cleared out, quick as a flash!  Soon, just me and an unappreciative bloke playing Candy Crush were left.  Some Euro walkers eventually rescued him.   A trip to the bogs added to the pubs legend as I found corridors, side and back snugs, and 'hand dryer' of the week, a rare Crocodillo.  A perky bald family said something along the lines of "yes mate, you've discovered a great pub we've known about for years".  An odd Scottish couple came in, saw the fire, said 'och, wud ye look at that?', faffed around looking for an ale that tasted like Special Brew, and retired to the pub garden, but on the whole, it remained peaceful, and with me seriously flagging, I needed morale boosting classics like this.

Not ordered because of the developmental hop

Just like being in Mary Kelly's bedroom

You won't see a better model this year

Candy Crush isn't going well

One of many even nicer rooms I could've sat in

The bus didn't stop where I wanted it to, so I threw myself in front of it to ensure I got out of here.  One final pubby push, and if all went well, we could call the week a success!  But would it?  Find out in our final part 11 tomorrow.  Och! 

Si

  

  

BRAPA Goes ..... Challenge Brapeka : Race to the Keswick (Cumbrian Adventures III, Pt 9)

Very much me in Keswick, but more lycra and a sturdier phone

Anneka Rice, Suzi Perry, maybe even a hint of the Interceptor,  I was in top 'skyrunner' mode as I raced against time to get my remaining three pubs of the day done before the last bus of the day from Keswick to Kendal.

The Notes section of my phone from that day now reads like the panicked ramblings of a mad man ......

Extra marks for showing your workings

The first part of the challenge was to get my remaining 'outer' pub done, and that meant yet another bus from Keswick's flimsy bus station to a very beautiful village surrounded by mountains on all sides.  They called it Rosthwaite.  I was the only person on the bus, and when I thanked the driver, he said "ho ho ho, I'll probably see you in a bit!"  in a 'you don't want to get stuck out here' kind of way.

In true Lake District style, we had another one of those 'bars tagged onto a hotel' yet it did just enough to feel like a pub in its own right.  Scafell Hotel (1591 / 2808) was the name, a couple of independent witnesses telling me the hotel itself is one of those weird throwbacks, where they ring a gong to announce dinner and everyone has to eat the same thing!  Early drawback here was the total lack of WiFi, especially bad when you are in Challenge Anneka mode, made worse by one of those twattish self-important "we don't have wi-fi, try talking to people" signs.  Not easy when there isn't another human being within 100 yards of you.  On the plus side, the friendly young barman from Edinburgh who hadn't been here that long, so was immune to the sneering impersonal tourist-hating 'welcome' you get from most Lake District barstaff   , even asking me what my game was so I got to explain BRAPA, quite rare on this holiday!  But he threw me into turmoil by claiming there was a half hourly 17:25 bus back to Keswick.  Wow, this would solve all my 'time issues' if true!  He indicated a noticeboard with bus times and the weather forecast, ya know, the kind of things people could look up on their phones if Wifi existed.  After scanning it, I shouted over "I think that only applies to half term week in October" but he still insisted a 17:25 would appear.  I was skeptical but bowed to his 'local' knowledge and drank up.  I was so on edge, I sat in the middle of the bar area by a draughty door, so had no hope of ever feeling at home or comfortable here, but the beer was ok and Tirrill was a new brewery tick in Cumbria for me, though I prefer their posh crisps.

Yummo!  Oh, and I missed the hidden Sneck Lifter pump.

Noticeboard of the year

Framed photo of the first two BRAPA GBG's near the gents was a nice touch

17:25 or not, at least I had to admit it was one of the prettier bus stops in the UK to have a long wait .....

No surprise when a 17:25 or anything resembling it failed to show, but at least the bus shelter had some classic graffiti to keep me amused, oh and it turned out there was a 17:44 rather than the 17:55 I'd been expecting so that helped.  Problem is, it went round the houses so only got into Keswick two minutes before the 17:55.  But every second counts (oh hang on, that was Paul Daniels wasn't it?) 

"Trip was here, but now he's not, he's round the corner, smoking pot.  He wrote this note, to prove a point, life if shit now HAVE A JOINT!!!" :) 

Classic cryptic poetry you'd expect on Challenge Anneka or Treasure Hunt, and whilst it is true that my life was shit for about 20 minutes, BRAPA gets high on pub visits alone, and now sign of the Rosthwaite dealer in any case (he gives you six free farmhouse duck eggs for every third wrap you buy).

The setting sun over the hills caused a beautiful effect, and everyone piled over to my side to try and capture it in photo, nearly capsizing the bus!  It couldn't be done of course, so I just sat back and enjoyed the moment.

But no time to relax, I was delighted to see we'd arrived in Keswick two minutes ahead of schedule at 18:14, though I had to practically knee two old women and six granddaughters to the kerb to capitalise on this and reach my next pub post-haste.  

IF there was ever a pub you'd just want to spend your minimum amount of time in, Wainwright, Keswick (1592 / 2809) was it, certainly on this evening's showing.  The floor was a sea of dogs, florid women in hideous blouses stinking of rusty prosecco took up most tables, it was chaos, staff rushed off their feet though friendly and helpful, lots of ales on.  But what does that count for?  Not a lot (Paul Daniels said that too). And when the three lager drinking chavvy lads perched on a stool against the wall next to me are the people you can most identify with, you know you are basically Mark Knopfler (i.e. in Dire Straits).  The bogs was a nice sanctuary with GBG selection poster and nice floor, but I had to get that pint drunk as quickly as possible.  Above me, TV's showed some Lake District walking channel, where Johnny come lately's with headcams climbed mountains, went on runs and stuff.  I got quite engrossed in it, but not quite sure what the original Wainwright, Alfred, would've made of any of this.  I shuddered to think what it is like in peak tourist season on a Saturday afternoon if it is like this on a chilly non-descript Tuesday in October!  

One of the many

Gorgeous floor for a wee (but try to aim for the bowl)

I like a bit of GBG pride, well done Wainwright

Watching the walkers

Complimentary wine carry out?  I'm confused.

Of course, getting to the final pub wasn't going to be a doddle.  Some might even say (but not the GBG) that it isn't even in Keswick, but neighbouring Crossthwaite.  Indeed, this is indicated by the poster in the gents at the Wainwright above, but then that thinks Middle Ruddings is in Thornthwaite rather than Braithwaite.  And people wonder why myself, Martin and Duncan find our yearly cross-ticking of the GBG such a blinkin' minefield! 

I practically jogged up to Crossthwaite or 'Far' Keswick, heart thumping, 5 pints in, 5th day of pubbing, and in near darkness by now, I reached the final pub of the day at about 19:03, which gave me 28 minutes in here before the 19:31 bus back to Kendal, hurrah!

It had worked out quite well actually, the bus I needed stops right outside the Pheasant on the way out of Keswick, affording me a few minutes extra than say, if I'd had to get the bus from Keswick bus station.  Like clockwork! 

Jogging as I took this shot!

Being an 'out of towner', I was expecting something a lot more real from the Pheasant Inn (1593 / 2810) but ultimately, despite an improvement on the Wainwright, I still found it a disappointment.  Very Jenningsy (never got on with their Cumberland ale but like Sneck Lifter), that was the least of my worries compared to the rather impersonal feel, and a very mixed and uninterested crowd gave off a vibe that reminded me of a late-evening session in the Parcel Yard at King's Cross!  Felt a bit like a waiting room for the bus back to Kendal, though no one else did end up getting on it apart from me.  Twild life weaved their way between Mummy's chair legs, and Europeans with luggage too big for the pub lumbered around aimlessly.  On the plus side, it was dimly lit, there was a good real fire giving off a bit of heat, and some low beams suggested something of the 'historic pub' I'd been hoping.  A version of Rocket Man by Elton John that lasted about 15 minutes seemed to be making everyone restless, and with one eye on the clock, I was again, just happy to have achieved my 5 pub target for the day, but if these last two are the best the Keswick pub scene has to offer, than it is one the weaker Cumbrian towns I've visited. 

A bit like in Levens the previous day, I had to stick my body and a very long arm half in the road to get the bus to stop, which he did suddenly, and then admonished me for not having a torch!

Long way back, but drank my Fiji water, dozed off, and by Kendal, decided against a late preemptive, got my Tesco Express snacks, and being quite late, straight back to the lovely Room 11 for the second last time.  Final day tomorrow, join me for crazy tales of that one on Monday ......

Si