BRAPA and ..... BROCCOLI WINS IN SE4

 

After my rubbish photo attempt outside today's other Wetherspoons, Capitol in Forest Hill, I made a slightly better fist of Brockley Barge, Brockley (pub 1819) which was probably such a nice looking 'Spoons because it was actually a former pub, which happens, but not often enough.  Once inside, I actually had to queue (something I struggle with, constantly peering around the person in front of me in case things could be getting done a bit quicker!) and just like in Capitol, I was actively urged to complete the Track & Trace.  Of all the 'Spoons I've been in since lockdown, this was the one I felt was adversely affected by the temporary perspex dividing screens, but that could just have been that I kept accidentally headbutting the one next to me, rattling it on a regular basis.  Colin, stupidly of him, thought the pub was called the Broccoli Barge even though he knew we were in Brockley.  Times like this I wish i could conveniently 'lose' him and replace him with Brian Broccoli.  The customers were a joyously pubby bunch and taking selfies with a cauliflower didn't seem uninkeeping with the gaggle of limping, toothless crocks and crones who could be found around every perspex screen.  Ale was good too, and whilst the pub lacked something of the pzazz of Capitol, it felt very GBG worthy.  Nice carpet too.

A twenty minute stagger down the road, yes I was feeling the beer by now, led me to a different part of SE4 called Crofton Park which I was just pleased to see open .......

If the Good Beer Guide didn't control my every movement, it seems unlikely I'd ever choose to step inside London Beer Dispensary, Crofton Park (pub 1820) but as long as we don't try and compare it with the Blythe Hill Tavern, no reason why we can't take a modicum of pleasure from the experience.  After all, in a current environment where many bars of this ilk are merely offering takeout, if open at all, I was glad to be able to get the bona-fide 'tick'.  The friendly barmaid helps me work out what is on cask, and as my brain tends to do when confronted by incredibly crafty, serious beer loving backdrop, I asked for the most traditional brown bitter they had on.  This was by Southey, who own the place, and I found it a challenge to drink and murkier than predicted!  Also, the older I get, the more I find myself disliking those dimpled, handled jugs which I know many people prefer to actual pint glasses.   Every customer also seemed challenging and demanding, whether it was the Asian laptop guy who was talked through every can in the fridge, or Mr Mustard Dungarees and bucket hat buddy who preferred to drink on the move, than just find a table and sit down.  It was a long thin wooden place, though of all previous places I've been to, it most reminded me of the Bank in Willingham where Martin Taylor kindly drove me to one sunny evening in the past.  It took a bit of classic Whitney Houston and Gloria Estefan to help the beer go down, 'Eye of the Tiger' had me n Col do a bit of shadow boxing in the corner, and then I left, quickly remembering you can't take your glass back to the bar and say thanks bye in the current circs, which I think is one of the saddest things of pubbing at present.

So Colin might've had it, but I told him Martin the Owl was strictly a six pint owl, so he'd have to gather himself for one final push at Denmark Hill, or is it Camberwell?

I'd made this same walk with Daddy BRAPA and Thomas G. Irvin on a cold dark rainy Saturday evening of 8th Dec 2018 when we went to the neighbouring Stormbird.  I remember peering across the road at this pub and contemplating it would be a good pre-emptive tick, only for Dad or Tom to suddenly double check train times, realise we'd miscalculated the whole thing, and we had to drink up and leave ASAP!  

Today, it was a lot sunnier which was just as well as I'd end up outdoors ......

Nice curvy shape, inquisitive dude in black, and my first thought at Hermits Cave, Camberwell (1821) was how much more of a traditional boozer it was than the Stormbird over the road.  However, once in with drink in hand, I just didn't feel comfortable in there.  Round to the left felt too cut off from everyone else, and the main bar had so many folk coming and going through the big saloon doors, that you kind of felt in the way even if you sat down.  So I perched outside next to I.D.I.B. opposite some ladies who'd spied a guy they knew going into 'Falafel & Shawarma', and didn't it cause a mini furore, they'd certainly not been expecting him to do that?!  Oh yes, the drama was every bit of electric as I'm telling it.  Errrrm, back to Kings Cross?  Ah, go on then.

I nearly managed a 7th, as I found myself walking around Kennington for no reason half an hour later., had a wee, but decided against the ale on the basis I couldn't stomach it and thought I might do another 'Devonshire, Burton' so its still a tick that needs doing.

This is why most pub tickers are sensible enough to drink halves!  Oh well, 41 is still young, isn't it?  

And plenty of pubs the following weekend as I'd be having a three day extravaganza down here to try and get some of those awkward Surrey ones ticked off I failed to do on my holiday.

Join me for the first part of that on Sunday evening, about 9pm.

Si 

BRAPA in ...... AUGUST THRILL AT FOREST HILL (YOU, ME AND SE23)

 

It might not be the most striking photo of the Grade II Art-Deco former cinema that is Capitol, Forest Hill (1816) but so determined was I to finally overtake the group of six I'd followed all the way from the railway station, and were now dilly-dallying at the entrance, scratching itchy backs (above), that it was a case of 'point camera in general pub direction' and run past them.  At the bar, I hastily ordered a Plum Porter which the many variations of never quite seem as good as the Titanic one.  As I handed over another Mudgie voucher (I'll be starting on the Simey vouchers by October at this rate, the number of 'Spoons I'm doing at present, absolute godsend to me since 4th July), I heard the two bar staff say "I still cannot believe <insert staff member name here> accepted a voucher that was two years out of date".  I asked her to elaborate, but the tale had run its course, so instead she asked me to complete the Track & Trace (if I wouldn't mind).  I didn't, but this was to be the first, but not the last 'Spoons to actively ask, rather than leave it entirely up to the customer.  The group of itchy backs had made their way straight for a table anyway, and finally I could sup my inferior PP and admire the grand surroundings.  It had a 'Blackpool Winter Gardens Rebellion Punk Festival 11:45am on the final Sunday' vibe about it, where the few zombies still standing stagger around the palatial arenas, waiting for the first band to start.  A man perched above me on a high stool, glaring at my Good Beer Guide and Colin, and I briefly wondered if he was this week's 'Pub Twitter' guest, alas he never made direct eye contact so I departed, aware five pubs still awaited BRAPA attention.

The other Forest Hill pub was nearer to Catford in truth, a good yomp down the A205 where at 12:17, a lady with a moustache smiled at me.  Significant as it was the first smile, and I'd been in town for just shy of an hour.

A few people contacted me to claim this next pub was actually in Catford (SE6) and I was wrong to say Forest Hill (SE23)......  

Still, postcodes don't lie, the GBG certainly doesn't lie, and far be it from me to contradict locals as some 'one time visiting Yorkshire upstart', but they are actually wrong as this red line shows.

But when it comes to Blythe Hill Tavern, Forest Hill (1817) you cannot blame Catford for wanting to claim it for themselves.  Occasionally in this BRAPA game, you know within about three seconds of walking through the front door that you are in the presence of something special.  It was low-key and non-fussy, small and square, yet strangely perfect.  My overriding feeling as i waited to get served and said hello to the trio of locals was that pubs don't get better than this.  I remember it happening at the White House Hotel in Peel, the Elms Inn in Stapenhill and probably a fair few others, but I'm glad it isn't a common feeling because I'd hate to not be floored by that joyful leap from the pit of the stomach when unexpected pub genius is thrust upon you.  The young barman had a shirt and tie on, and was as engaging as you'd expect in these surroundings.  I paid cash and sat in the left hand corner, and soon the chatty local who reminded me of eco-warrior Dave Angel ('Moonlight Shadow') from the Fast Show asked me if I'd seen a programme called 'Camping' which was a bit like League of Gentlemen but the best thing he'd seen on TV all year.  "Look for it on your phone and watch it later, it's a little bit naughty but not too rude" he says, before explaining that he couldn't take his wife camping because she won't stay in a tent, but she'll stay in a box, whatever that meant!  The other two left, leaving me alone with D.A. but a chap with an Irish burr who was possibly the landlord came out and started chatting horse racing, though I admitted I had little to offer.  A trip to the loo took me through the bar!  You had to look left & right for fear of being run down, and after I'd pissed joyfully, I had to hurdle two huge bags full of sports gear some guy had left there, just to trip me up.  The back and side rooms were every bit as lovely as the front bar, with the added advantage of less traffic sound, presumably, but less natural light.  I couldn't get on with my Harvey's, which I chose because I'd enjoyed it in London Bridge last month, and although nothing wrong with the quality, it is just not one of those ales I always enjoy.  Was almost nice to have this leveller, because it a pub gets too close to perfect, I actually find myself feeling a bit disconcerted!  

A short walk into SE6 and past both railway stations found the third pub suddenly looming over me, but not before a scary moment where I hid in a bus stop and a crazed man came screaming down the pavement.  I thought he had a knife at first, but it was a twig he was brandishing!  It sounds funny, but my heart was properly beating boom boom boom.

Any pub would struggle to follow the Blythe Hill Tavern, but regardless, there was something wholly unconvincing about the set up at Catford Bridge Tavern, Catford (1818).  I was asked to find myself a table, sit down at it, then come up to the bar, and order my drink, which I think I then ended up taking back to my table anyway, all in the shadow of 'floor arrows', a lot of perspex and a wordy blackboard.  The lack of cask didn't help.  Cellar broken due to the heat, I was told, though I s'pose I should admit this crafty Five Points Pale was a damn site more enjoyable than the Harvey's,..... fizz, chill and pricing woes aside!  I was told later £4.50 was good value for London.  It was the staff that made this experience ultimately a pleasant one after a slow start.   The lady said "hello lovely" and was lovely throughout, whilst the guy took a real shine to Colin, though telling me they had cauliflower on the menu within earshot of the poor mascot was a bit cruel.  Then he recommended a pub in Lee when we got onto BRAPA and I left with a smile on my face, just as I had at the previous pub, and all in all, isn't that what really matters?   Could it continue in the next three pubs?  Fat chance, I thought, as I headed back to Catford station where a bloke who reminded me of Theo Whitmore apologised for not socially distancing properly, but then made up for it by folding five tissues into a pack of mints and a bottle of water.  I think i like SE23/SE6!  I'll leave you with the CBT photos and we'll discuss Crofton Park, Brockley and Clerkenwell tomorrow if I have the energy.

BRAPA says ..... "LET ME BRAP 'EM IN CLAPHAM (JUNCTION)"

Evening all, having a bit of a BRAPA 'mare as I came back from my Bank Holiday jaunt down south to find my laptop totally broken, the one which contains by 'Master BRAPA spreadsheet'.  I have it backed-up, but not very recently.  Anyway, I'll try and carry on on my reserve laptop as best I can for now, and try n get it fixed.  Don't wanna start from the beginning again do I? :)

Anyway, I wrote this a while ago.......

Croydon, mid afternoon, Saturday 15th August and a friendly 60 year old bloke born in 1960 called Citra (his parents were fans of hop varieties long before it was cool) turns to me and says "wot pub you off to next Si?"

When I tell him I have three pubs to do in Clapham Junction, he expels a breath of skeptical North Hampshire air, but when I reveal the name of the next pub, he perks up and says he'll come with, he likes this one!  Well, well, well, I knew it'd been on the front cover of the 2015 BRAPA (sorry, I mean CAMRA) Guide, but didn't know any pub remotely near Clapham Junction could get the juices flowing.  How wrong I was.  

I don't feel an affinity with Clapham Junction like I do with Croydon, messy transport interchange splurge which even in these 'coviddeo killed the radio star' times just has too many flakey fakers floating about within 5 mins of the epic railway station.  

We strode out to this first Citra recommendation, it took us past all the dross, into a more secluded, dare I say peaceful part of 'town' which might be verging on Battersea, I don't know, I don't do the geography.  This was it.

The Brucie bonus above laid the foundations for what was to come at Eagle Ale House (1813 / 3030).  A quirky, irreverent, some might say plain brilliant approach to navigating the social distancing route through post-covid pubbing, the perky guy on the makeshift reception desk explains all, Clarissa style.  We have the Hoff where you 'hang' and join the queue, you got Ainsley where you order, and then you have Susanna Reid (NOT Courtney Cox, Simon you idiot!) where your order is complete and you pay.  In truth, it was the staff who made it.  Even more charismatic than their cardboard cutouts, the young guy on the 'entrance' desk made me feel probably more welcome than any other pub in London BRAPA history has managed, and if I was going to lose my Oyster card anywhere and have it returned to me, this is the pub I'd choose. Which is good, cos that is what I did.  All the staff were equally chirpy, good humoured and just lovely - I guess they wouldn't just put ANY pub on the cover of the GBG!  Well done CAMRA, never doubted you for a second.  Loved the fact the pub was basic yet comfortable and homely, that deep red colour scheme is always a winner as we saw at Staines' Wheatsheaf & Pigeon recently.  "Old school pub, new school people" it shouted, and I think that sums it up quite perfectly.   And just when you thought it couldn't get any better, a barmaid asked about Colin.  Okay so she initially called him a cabbage, but corrected herself within two seconds, so we'll let her off.  More proof Colin gets more love in London than he ever did in Surrey!  A true great this pub.

Massive in Malibu, ginormous in Germany, and David Hasselhoff wasn't bad either

Looks more like Courtney Walsh than Courtney Cox now I'm sober again

The pub just being amazing

Don't put him off Colin, this is the important 'ticking' bit

We left, smiling and revitalised.  How could the day get any better from here?  It couldn't of course, it was all downhill from here.  Interesting though.  First, as we got back onto the main drag, we came across my busiest pub since 4th July, and by quite some distance.

Looking a bit wired

At least, in the sense that I felt uncomfortable and like I could catch Covid at any given moment, Draft House Northcote (1814 / 3031) will be one of my more memorable Draft House experience, the mini chain which are a bit Brewdog, a bit CAMRA, with a gaping hole inbetween filled with purgatory.  Swathes of tables outdoors packed to the gills, the hardworking attentive staff sat us indoors which we welcomed with open arms.  For one thing, we wouldn't have to drink out of plastic, would we?  Well, after about ten minutes setting up on the pubs App, we finally got two absolutely gorgeous pints of stout ordered, problem was i thought I could hear the staff behind me whispering 'oh, we've put their drinks in plastic, but they're indoors, oh well, never mind!'  Imagine how amazing this pint would've been in a glass?  Down at the loos it was even worse, a queue snaking back around the corner, and no one really sure which were men's, women's, either, 'twas a bit crazy.  Citra crossed his legs, I queued and chatted to some stoned dude about the insanity of modern life.  It was quite deep, i think.  Citra had been here before, and on a Saturday afternoon in summer, and could not explain the huge mass of people.  In the corner, a Slush Puppy machine chugged away slowly, terracotta n creamy, like it was stuck in 2002, unaffected by everything else in here.  It was quite poetic. 

Questioning my mortality

Our final pub of the day is probably not one I'd recommend attempting to do in a slightly drunk, mentally fragile state.  But here we were, best go in. 

Doesn't look particularly unusual does it, but read the GBG entry for Four Thieves, Clapham Junction (1815 / 3032) and either I was so drunk to be blissfully unobservant, or Covid restrictions have toned down the ''fun".  'This pub has the wow factor' screams the first sentence in the GBG, enough to put most curmudgeonly CAMRA folk off before they've even got inside, including me!  It talks about swing classes, live jazz, a gin yard, table football, mini-golf, motor racing, and all sorts of 'electronic wizardy' (who wrote this, my Dad?)   The whole beer situation was enough of a wild whitewater raft of a ride enough for me.  The crazy blackboards, the decision to both go for this Honey & Cheesecake sour beer.  It was salty and tricked your brain into wanting more which tricked you into thinking you were enjoying it.  You weren't. And now I promise not to talk about beer again all year.  But the glasses they came in?!  I wouldn't put my dead goldfish in here, never mind beer, there's a reason for centuries glassware has been a certain shape, cos they fit people's hands.  But not 2020, thinks it can change all the rules doesn't it the utter bastard!  Throw into the mix two more unforseen external problems.  Cooking Lager asking me to take a selfie whilst having a dump.  So I do.  And then John Depeche Modem only bloody rings me.  I put him on speaker phone so Citra can say hi, nice to get Twitter people in communion.  If that's the word.  That refocussed me briefly, but not for long.  What exactly had just occurred?  Where am I?  Where's my shoes?

Staff playing 'point at the most likely Covid victim in a crazy shirt' in the absence of live music

King of the contactless transaction, Citra goes in for a swipe

Good times, bad times, all around times

This one's for Cooking Lager

I'm finally broken, no wonder Colin stayed in his bag

I said goodbye to Citra, he headed back towards Hants and I headed back up to King's Cross.  I remembered  I hadn't eaten all day so munched my snacks under an awning as the heaven's opened, but realised I had a long wait for the train home.  We'd obviously made good time!

King's Cross is rubbish at the moment.  Upper concourse not open, barely any seating, toilets closed, no coffee places or sandwich bars or even Parcel Yard open.  I knew I didn't need another drink, I didn't even want one, but I couldn't hang about here for over 90 minutes.  So I set off in search of Queen's Head which has always been quite good to me in the past.  Closed.  Should've prob looked for a MaccyD's or a Costa but in the gloom and driving rain, a pub twinkled out at me.  Pre-emptive?

Lucas Arms was the name, remember it for when it is a GBG regular in 10 years time!  Not sure if it was my slightly wobbly state, but by 'eck, how confusing the rules seemed here!  After about 10 minutes of answering questions and signing in and looking at a huge menu, I was encouraged to slope down to the bar and order the only cask ale on, Abbot Ale, not the easiest beer to drink when you are struggled.  At one point, I tried to inhale, sneeze and drink at the same time and it all went up the back of my throat and back out through my nose!  Luckily, the gobby L**ds fans from Worthing didn't see, but they were unhappy I was a Hull City fan and started chanting stuff about my Cauliflower's never seen it's real Mother or something equally upsetting.  No wonder there's a much recommended micropub called Wankered in Worthing.  This pub was quite nice though, to be honest, after the last two, was nice to be in something,anything with carpet and shiny mirrors and chairs and stuff! But if I'm being brutally honest, I can see why it isn't in the GBG!

Nearly got on the wrong train but a man helped me, only 3 people in my entire carriage back to York, so I watched Hull City v Scunthorpe Utd videos on Youtube and listened to Shanice, Paul Simon and Survivor.  

Great day, lovely to meet Citra, top chap, and six good ticks done which puts Croydon and Clapham Junction to the back of my mind for a couple of months at least!  

See you tomorrow for more blogging, where we'll get stuck into Forest Hill & Catford.

Si