BRAPA and ...... The Yeast of Bodmin (Cornwall Part 3)

Having learned that a Hull City-esque home crowd of 9,207 people lived in Bodmin in 1971 (see part 2), it was time to add one to the current tally of (14,736 - avg Hull City home crowd according to our chairman) and make the town my first port of call on Wednesday, the first full day of my holiday.

It wasn't as easy to get there as I'd hoped, having to get a train to Roche and then wait in the freezing cold with a jagged wall stabbing my ass for a bus to Bodmin where a bloke told me it was amazing we were making the same journey on the same day at the same time.

Although he was a bit hairy, he wasn't the Beast of Bodmin who I was hoping to catch a glimpse of whilst I was in the town, having been captivated by the legend for many years.  Still, I think he stays mostly on the Moor.  Consequently, it was probably no surprise I found the town a bit down at heel, just a lot of grubby folk shuffling in and out of pound shops and cornish pasty bakeries.

But such a scene paved the way neatly for my first pub, a Wetherspoons!  And a grand one at that, I felt like I had an appointment at the Royal Palace just walking up to it, no wonder it is one of those the company are currently trying to flog, probably worth a fair bit .......

Cornish as a first language?  

Glad I never really had to pronounce Chapel an Gansblydhen (1647 / 2617) but there is something strangely reassuring about entering a 'Spoons on such a potential unknown, chaotic holiday, for I could take solace in the fact that from Inverness to Bodmin, and everywhere in between, the chain stamps their indelible mark on you from the moment you enter, which outside peak dining times, puts you at ease.  A 50p off voucher on a perfectly kept pint of Oakham Citra followed, served by the smiliest lass in Bodmin, and I perched at a posing table amongst mainly old breakfasteers from South Wales loudly extolling the virtues of Rugby Union in between gulps of free coffee refills and rashers of bacon.  An old bloke behind me asked our smiling barmaid for a beermat.  Pubman!  I could've leant him one of mine for the duration but she cheerily replied "of course, don't worry, it isn't like I've got a lot to do!"  If this was sarcasm, it was beautifully disguised.  He didn't have a clue.  The layout was less open plan than your average 'Spoons with the occasional bit of carved wood and stained glass reminding you were in a place of 'worship'.  No sooner had the bell tolled for 12 noon, when like clock work, my breakfast menu was whipped away to be replaced by a chicken club one.  They were on the ball in here.  As I returned my empty, our smiliest friend said 'have a good day', I murmured 'you too', and she looked at me like 'are you taking the Michael?'

Bodmin was the only place on my list for the holiday with more than one required Good Beer Guide entry, so I crossed town back towards the bus stops for my second pub, famous for being an old debtors prison.  I'd seen it listed in many GBG's so was expecting big things.  

Through the prison gates showing my visitors pass, I wasn't straight in the pub, first I had to negotiate a leafy pathway through a courtyard, not to mention a caged creature designed to scare of twild life, I presumed ......

The errrrm Lion of Bodmin?

But my Cornwall holiday really came to life here in the Hole in the Wall (1648 / 2618).  I visited many 'classics' this week but this was the first.  A lighter dining area towards the front of the pub, leads to a delightfully dark atmospheric bar area, and you could feel the echoes of those incarcerated spirits wailing for freedom, or perhaps a pint of Bass, for I was surprised to see that was a guest beer on here so I just had to have it.   Throw into the mix one of the chattiest most hospitable landlords of my trip, and you had a pretty perfect BRAPA situation developing.  He mentioned Bass being an unusual old classic to have on, so I tried to wax lyrical on its cult status as I understood it from Beer Twitter, but he broke me off mid sentence to ask what other pubs I was doing!  He even gave me a tip the Blisland Inn 'might' be returning to the next GBG.  Hold that thought.  After a bit of a silence (he told me he was working on something, I said 'that's ok, I've got important highlighting to do!') he asked me how to spell 'prison'.  Strange.  The calm was broken when a chirpy southerner arrived with blonde wife and a new born baby in a buggy and the landlord turned his attentions to them.  Felt like I recognised the chap, and it was only the following day when it occurred to me it may have been Steve Backshall, that adventurer bloke.  Even stranger, these crazy town crier / lord mayor types came in for a special lunchtime feed dressed in all their crazy garb.  After getting lost looking for the loos (cos I assumed they'd be outside, strangely), it was time I got a wriggle on like a deadly snake.

Now it was time to catch a bus to pub 3, but I don't want to give you too much all at once cos BRAPA is a bit like a drug, so I'll tell you all about the other pubs tomorrow, in part 4 of 14 or something ridiculous.  

Good night for now, don't let the Beasties bite.  

Si

BRAPA in ..... Lost in Lostwithiel (Cornwall Part 2)

It was about an hours walk from Luxulyan to Lanlivery, where I had one of those pubs with no train or bus symbol so this was probably going to be my best shot at getting to it.

The winding country lanes were mercifully quiet, I think I only passed five vehicles in the whole hour.  In fact, I tell a lie, it was three as the same BT OpenReach van passed me three times!  I was paranoid it was a BRAPA spy sent to thwart me, especially when he twirled the end of his moustaches and turned to his dog companion in the front seat who started chuckling like someone who didn't know the smoking ban had been in place since 2007.

The village of Lanlivery looked suitably 'worth the effort' once I reached it, the church nestling behind the long ancient looking pub ......

This was to contain one of the weirdest sets of folk I'd encounter all holiday, and for a 27 pub week in Cornwall, that is something of an achievement.  The warning signs were there from the start, quite literally ......

AKA if anything happens to you, it is your own stupid fault

And before I'd even reached the bar, a glass viewing bit in the floor which led to a well where they dump naughty pub tickers or something ......

The bar of the Crown Inn (1646 / 2615) was in near darkness, which I'd usually call a plus point if it wasn't for two huge black Labradors (Champ and Jasmin?) spread out across the uneven stone flagged floor (AS IF we needed any more obstacles in a place like this!)  I ordered this strong Harbour IPA from Bodmin and a contemporary source from the time reveals I wrote "this shit is good".  There was a strange silence in the room and a bearded local / retired landlord who looked like a kind of evil Bob Fleming off the Fast Show (and had same cough and accent) seemed to resent me sitting opposite as he read his paper, even though I was careful to make no noise.  But I was overheating after my walk so went to sit in the garden to 'cool' down despite the unseasonably chilly June greyness.  Staff were also smoking outside, and as I realised it was actually freezing and I'd have to go back in, I heard them saying "he thought he'd be better off outside than in!"  Were they REALLY talking about me?  Had Fleming been slagging me off?  Things improved after that, the landlady may've spotted my GBG for she theatrically admonished a young bar lad for serving Fleming a cloudy Doom Bar and exchanged it.  Turned out Fleming had a bad ear infection and was quite deaf, which may've explained his attitude, though he did laugh and wink as landlady pulled through the replacement and he roared "Handjob .... she gives a good one!"  Errrm, I think it's called Proper Job mate.  A visiting dog came in and misbehaved, startling Champ and Jasmin, so I was no longer public enemy no.1 by the time I left.  Still, I was glad to get out.  

Spot the dogs .... and I have actually lightened up that photo 

Fleming returns to the bar

During my brief stint outside

I kept walking east, this time to Lostwithiel.  The idea here was despite the current lack of GBG pub, it had a fairly regular one which I'd guess has been in more GBG's than most Cornwall pubs.  And it also has a railway station to get me back to Par.

It was a shorter walk at just 1.7 miles approx, but a bit scarier as some was on a main road which was just cruel .....

Geddit?

But soon, we (me, but I say 'we' so you can feel like you are on this journey with me) were at Lostwithiel (I didn't get lost at all, just couldn't think of a good blog title) and the pub, which just looked like a house - which is usually a good sign - came into view ......

Is that it?

Oh look, a bit more of a pubby entrance

Yes, the Globe Inn had the feel of a properly old pub, and the Globe was a ship in an 1813 sea battle where a member of the then owners family was killed, so said the last GBG.  Although I had plenty of time to kill before the train and time for two pints, I never really felt this was a great pub despite having everything in place.  Beer was fine but not as good as Luxulyan or Lanlivery so I think the decision to de-guide it was right on this evidence, though watch it get back in 2020!  Locals and staff another peculiar bunch, turning around expecting to know me, realising they didn't, and then not knowing how to react to my cheery 'hello!'  They did that thing I notice in Cornwall where they 'talk around you to show how amusing and sociable they are without actually making eye contact with you at any point' and an news story about a family with AIDS blaring out on the TV made a pretty dull mood positively depressing (HIV positively?  Sorry).  Highlight was when the cheeriest bloke who'd been banging on about over-population in Cornwall (!) for about 10 mins grabbed his phone and went "Siri, what was the population of Bodmin in 1971".   I couldn't stop laughing at the time, perhaps you had to be there!  It told him it didn't have a clue what he was on about (accent?) but when I ask, it just tells you what it is today!  A funny lad from work did find out that Google had the answers, but all in all, I was expecting the Globe to impress me much more than this, as Shania Twain once sang.

Can he find out the answer to the Bodmin riddle?  No.

Can the barman find out the answer?  No, he's probably googling Love Island or Plymouth Argyle

So, it was back to Quintrell Downs via Par.  First full day tomorrow.  I'll tell you about that in one or two parts tomorrow.  Is this blog write up REALLY going to be a 14 parter?  I feel sorry for you all.

Oh, and if you were wondering .......

Cheers, Si

BRAPA - Cornwall Pt 1 : Luxulyan Luxury / Leave Those Clomes Alone

With thanks to M.Lawrenson of Preston

'Twas time for my third year of Cornwall BRAPA.  A whole seven days booked this time, trying to learn my lessons from last year where I did five days in Cornwall, had a day off (but still did a pub in South Yorkshire), and then five in Cambridgeshire, and nearly killed my poor liver in the process.

Much of the west of the county had now been complete, though of course since the 2019 edition of the Good Beer Guide had been published, a few gaps had opened up for me to 'green off', but on the whole, I was looking to focus more on the middle and north of this beautiful county.

People on my previous two trips I'd so far found friendly, but not quite in the Lancs or Dorset class, being a bit insular and watchful at times.  The beer quality I can't say I've found amongst the best in the UK.  The old adage (which I invented) goes something like "if it is a building in Cornwall with a tap which has brown water coming out of it, it is likely to get in the GBG at some stage".  Catchy eh? It might sound cruel, but it'd be interesting to see how 'year three' compares to the last two.

And despite the lack of micro pubs, kitchens, cafes etc popping up as in some counties, the turnover (churn) of Cornish pubs seems quite high from year to year.   Again, I might be being unfair but what gets into the GBG feels a bit of a lottery.

I was amazed that the pub in Towan Cross where I had two pints of vinegar, the Mousehole one where I drank a pint of snot, and the Trevaunance Cove pub where I had really lame homebrew (great pub all the same) all remained in from 2018 when others I preferred (Gweek/Angarrack) have fallen/not got in!  Still, who am I, a one time visitor, to judge?

I flew down from L**ds-Bradford to Newquay (MUCH quicker AND cheaper than the train, even factoring in boarding time and shuttle buses/taxis etc) feeling in pretty good spirits.

Like Bono's Hat before it, my GBG gets its own seat on the plane

Quintrell Downs would be my home for the next seven days.  I chose it because it has a railway station on the Newquay-Par branch line, a cracking Spar shop (said no one ever til now), a few bus services, quite close to the airport, and most importantly, a nice impersonal Premier Inn where I could come and go without interrogation over breakfast, 'your TV was loud last night', cold showers and all the other 'joys' you get with some B&B's.

Anyway, with the scene (long boring intro), set, time to get on with pubs and my friendly taxi driver from Pudsey dropped me off at Quintrell Downs just after 12 noon.  Too early to check in, but what with a GBG pub round the corner, it didn't matter .......

Is that a pitchfork?  Are they ready for me?

I didn't even have to duck .... demoralising!

Two Clomes (1644 / 2613) looked a lovely almost triangular shaped building from the outside, almost Peveril of the Peak-esque but that is where the similarities ended sadly, as it was quite a bland food-led interior, had obviously been 'tidied up' in recent years.  The two clomes are two old ovens which used to sit round the fireplace, but I couldn't see them today, just random piles of logs doing nothing instead.  Could it be that they were deemed too old and characterful for the look the pub is going for now?  Mine host was a cracking chap, surprised and pleased to see a drinker so early, and the first ale I selected had gone off, so he gave me an Sharp's Atlantic and it was a good drop too.  The pub sounded like Niagara Falls as taps were running throughout making me need a wee even more than usual.  He told me there'd been some overnight muddy water contamination in Quintrell, and he was having to 'FLUSH IT OUT' , welcome to rural Cornwall! A couple came in for lunch and waxed lyrical on the food just at time I was returning my glass to say what a good pint it was, so it looked like I was just competing with them!  I walked through the wrong door on the way.  "Not that way unless you want to be eaten by my dog!" says the landlord.  I didn't, not at this early stage.

Oi, Quintrell, leave those Clomes alone!

Yup, this was about it

Toilet decor distracted me into nearly turning the tap off by mistake

So a solid if unspectacular start but with that first bit of green highlighting done, I had the bit between my teeth and tried to check in an hour early,  Well, no harm in trying.  I mean, I could get the 13:11 if so.  Luckily, my room was ready so it was a race against time to dump my stuff off and run for the train.

The nice train guard sold me a Ride Cornwall ticket for the new extortionate price of £18 and she got v.excited when I asked for the request stop of Luxulyan.  I nearly did this pub in my first year down here, but kept missing it, and it got binned from the GBG in 2018........

Yet the King's Arms (1645 / 2614) felt like everything you'd want in a proper old pub, it had a friendly air and a basic yet cosy no nonsense feel with the obligatory pool table you see in loads of pubs down here but hardly ever in York unless you are purposefully going in somewhere 'rough' with shit beer.  Despite being Tuesday afternoon, it still had a liveliness about it.  Everyone looked fairly old to me, but they were bemoaning being ID'd ("it's only when I go and buy fags!" moaned one lady who definitely looked over 40).  The owners then blamed a barmaid for leaving the till on overnight.  "I always get blamed for everything!" she whined, before adding as an aferthought when everyone had left the room ".....actually, yeah, it probably was me".  A group came in looking for food, one lady had a Wolves bobble hat on which no one needs to see in Luxulyan in June.  I was ready to laugh at them because it was gone 2pm, when the pub stopped doing food, I'd seen that on WhatPub.  But they served them anyway!  My ale was excellent, one I'd not seen before from St Austell called Hicks but was strong and top quality.  And good job, cos I had a long walk coming up.

Mr Potato Head likes the church

Hungry as Wolves

Because of that long boring scene setting intro, I'll stop here but I'll be back to tell you what else happened on my first day tomorrow.  Betcha cannae wait!

Have a good 'un.

Si

BRAPA - Not imPrest(wich) but Ramsbottom Majors in Pub Science

Halfway through a Saturday straddling that imaginary border between East Lancs and North Greater Manchester, as Dad and I left the varied Rostron Arms in Edenfield on our way back to Irwell Vale station. 

Dad has always been one of the more adventurous walkers out there, and can be often heard saying "oh well, all roads lead to Rome!" as he looks for a shortcut down some unlikely country lane before getting lost.  

Follow that man

Technically speaking, he wasn't wrong in so much as the path did lead back to Irwell Vale station, but it was actually a longer way around and involved squeezing through hedges and over stiles and down muddy dirt tracks full of puddles. 

We weren't too concerned about missing the train though as we approached civilisation with three minutes due before the next hourly departure.  After all, not one train had been on time and surely they wouldn't start being on time now, would they?  

They would actually.  "Toot" went the steam train whistle, and we had to break into a gallop, me leading the way, managing to grab onto the door with the train starting moving and Dad yelling at the station guard.  'Twas like being in a 1940's film, BRAP Encounter or something.   We climbed on, out of breath and panting! 

The group in our carriage described the area as being like 'League of Gentleman' country, and one asked the others if they'd seen the comedy by the same writers which he reckoned was called "What's Going On Inside of that Number 9" or something!! 

And in one of the best moments of the day, the bloke next to him then asks with all seriousness "is it based on Downing Street?"  Classic.  

Ramsbottom was our next stop, and the real 'monkey off my back' pub was here, having had aborted attempts on two occasions to get to this GBG regular .......

And sure enough, I was quite fond of Major, Ramsbottom (1641 / 2610) in a low key no nonsense local kinda way.  Being a two roomed pub, I was a bit confused what ales were on but for once in my life, I did actually clock the blackboard.  But I was still confused, unsure whether there was a Moorhouses beer called 'Right Beer' and a Robinsons' beer called 'Right Now' (and they'd brewed them in sync!), so just murmured two pints of Robinsons' and was none the wiser.  The barman was a young surly chap to compete with Edenfield lady earlier, and to be frank, I expect better friendliness from this part of the world.  But on the plus side, with Dad having a suspiciously long toilet break which he didn't elaborate on in case I mention it in this blog (poops, I mean oops), the moody guy brought over FIVE Tim Taylor Landlord beermats and plopped them on my table, so he did have a heart.  As two young girls played pool, you could almost relax into a soothing community hubbub, the ale was pale but tasted like a proper bitter.  But 'relax' was not a word in our vocabulary today, and we had to look alive to get the next connection if we were to get all the pubs on the line ticked off as only two services were left to Bury.  Phew, what an epic day this was.

Teddy bear as confused as me!

Me at the bar feeling confused

Cricket and carpet - a winning pub scene

See the gap through the bar into the other room to the right?  Was SO tempted to run through and see if anyone said owt!

Onwards and upwards then, and no disputing the prettiest stop of the day, though it helped that the sun had finally come out.  Summerseat might sound a bit like the home of the greatest cricket team in the world ever (fight me!) but as a leafy rural outpost on the ELR, it was a joy.  And even the staunchest Somerset fan would have to admit it is prettier than Taunton as a place!

It was a bit of a trek to the pub, not too far in truth, but we did end up walking 9 miles today so you can see it soon adds up.  After a quick morale boosting call home to Mummy BRAPA to tell her we were actually still alive, the pub was found up an unlikely side road.

Yes, you do get to go to plenty of Cricketers and a few Rugby Taverns, but I think this might be my first pub with the name Footballers (1642 / 2611).

A welcoming barmaid and a busy pub full of burly jocular Lancastrians was just the tonic after a few lame experiences today in this respect.  I bet the much more clearly advertised gastro pub directly opposite wasn't doing the same roaring trade, proof all people want at the end of the day is a proper pub.  The Bowland Hen Harrier was glorious, competing with the Pedigree in Edenfield for ale of the day, and Dad took a 'Mini Cheddar Medley' from his bag to help wash it down, which was very welcome as we sat in a nicely dark corner by a big screen showing more World Cup Cricket.  The locals pretended to be interested, and from what I could ascertain, they thought that if they showed an interest in live sporting events on TV, it made them more 'active'.  Some even hopped around one one leg and jogged on the spot as the batsman got ready to face each ball.  Some looked dangerously ruddy faced, and I was glad when one wheezing man finally sat down before he collapsed.  Oh, the 'beer mystery' of Ramsbottom was solved as they had on a Robinsons' beer called 'Right Beer : Right Now' which now I look at the blackboard from the Major, makes perfect sense!

Wonder if it is brewed with the Parklife festival in mind

Some good lacings

Inevitably delayed to the point we were wondering if we were stranded in Summerseat for good, the last ELR train of the day finally chugged into view and we could get back to civilisation.  Well, Bury, but close enough. 

It was a toss up for final pub of the day between the 'Spoons I required .....

Art Picture House, Bury, still on the 'to do' list (but its okay cos I still have other pubs to do in this area)

.... or Prestwich which was on the Metro line back to Manchester.  A tram arrived quicker than advertised, so we went with the latter option.  

It looked a good decision as we approached, it was called the Church Inn (1643 / 2612) and had a nice bottom of the street quiet setting where Dad decided it'd be nice to get a pic of pub and church together ......

And on entering the pub, my first thoughts were 'wow, pub of the day!' as you entered into one of those classically northern central bar areas with separate rooms coming off at all angles, reminding me a bit of the Swan in York so quite a compliment.  Dad had spied Boondoggle so he did his current thing of asking if it was a Marston's pub when he sees a beer they'd sell, but I don't think it is, after all Marston's pubs don't look this characterful outside of perhaps a couple (Dobcross, Chester-le-Street perhaps?)  We sat in the quietest room which wasn't guarded by an angry Twog, and I confess we were slow on the uptake (had drunk plenty, palate a bit mashed?!) when I says to Dad 'this beer is off innit?' of our Brightside Odin and he agrees (I've had Odin before more than once, usually an above average pale).  First thought is to suffer in silence but then I hear the breath of Pub Curmudgeon on the back of my neck (phwoar) telling me bad beer is never acceptable and I must return it.  So I go back to the bar, not a staff member in sight.  "They are in the cellar changing a beer" says a quirky lady barfly.  "Oh, is it the Odin, ours is off?" I ask.  But she says it isn't the Odin they are changing.  "Do you work here?" I ask.  But she says she doesn't.  Yet she pulls out her mobile phone, and rings them in the cellar and tells them there's a gentleman here who says his Odin's gone!  Wow, love this lady!  Without complaint, a bloke appears and changes my Odin for the Boondoggle.    He doesn't look too convinced so I hover briefly behind a pillar to see what they are saying.  But phone lady grabs the pint off him and says, holding it up to the light "look 'ere, you can tell it ain't right just by looking at it, you shouldn't be serving that!" I just wish they'd smelled or tasted it too!  Mind at rest, I return to our seat and fair to say, when Boondoggle tastes like a Bass from the Teet of an 19th century Staffordshire Miner in comparison, you know you've made the right call!  Thanks voice of Mudgie.  Sadly, on the way out, Dad notes they haven't turned the Odin clip around.  Hopefully they'd already gone back to the cellar and changed that one too.  We can hope!  

Dog says you ain't comin' in!

Mystery red room

The room we sat in, I think

The Odin of contention, long before I knew it was dodge

So that was a bit of a 'sour' end to a difficult but epic day, one you can look back on and laugh about but at the time, is all a bit too much of a struggle.  Let us hope Cornwall can be more kind (it won't be).  See you in a week or two!

Si