BRAPA in ...... SON OF DORK(ING), My Ticket Outta Loserville (Surrey Part 15/17)

Saturday August 1st and I'd finally hit an invisible wall, suggesting that in the future, seven days consecutive Brapping is probably the maximum I should try and attempt!  Day 8 of 9 today.

Still, the sun was shining, it was Yorkshire Day, and after my regulation Travelodge breakfast in a box of cornflakes, orange juice, flapjack & mini pain au chocolat, plus some fermenting mango I'd bought the previous day, I drank two coffees and felt semi-human again by the time I reached Surrey's favourite transport interchange, Dorking. 

All I really craved was fresh air, a bit of exercise, and the pubs would just have to wait!  

A good time then to get a tricky rural one ticked off, so I took a train to a place no one has ever heard of called Holmwood, and turned off down the secluded AONB wooded lanes of Moorhurst and Anstie, in search of the village of Coldharbour.  

 

Col and I even stopped for a bottle of Harrogate 'gonna beat Hull City in the Checkatrade Trophy' Water and a sit on a felled tree.  Isn't BRAPA fun when you aren't rushing about like a madman/mad cauli?

Insect of the Week landed on my hand.  It didn't look much.  But it attached itself to me, lowered a prong into my hand, from which blood then dripped, and in the coming days, it'd turn into a very sore raised spot.  Cheers rural Surrey!   

The village appeared from around a sharp leafy corner, a man with a beer festival tee shirt angrily strimmed a hedge, ironically the only person in Coldharbour not at the pub, which seemed to be dominating all life within .......

Pub is on the left if you were wondering

I walk into the Plough Inn, Coldharbour (1800 / 3017) where a pragmatic young lady tells me that if I'm not dining, I may as well stand outside and get served at the hatch which you can see above, as I can avoid the track n trace system.  'Ok as long as I can see what ales are on' I mumble, but she's already passed me to a young guy who is a little bit impatient and aloof as I try and repeat my ale question.  He doesn't reply, but simply steps aside so I have to squint through the hatch towards the bar where I can just about read one of them.  Wish I'd brought my binoculars!  Guy asks if I want to pay cash or card.  I tell him what ever is easiest for him.  This isn't the answer he wants, and he glares until I crack and hand over a fiver.  Tough crowd!  The village is dotted with drinking villagers.  We have posh women tending horses.  Bikers on a park bench.  Cyclists on a grass verge.  And all the picnic benches are taken by excitable yuppies and their excitable yuppie puppies which I wish were hush puppies.  Time to get creative, so I lean backwards on the village phone box and hope no one thinks it is still in use and tries to get in!  At one point, a German looking man peers inside and makes a comment about the wires, but all quiet otherwise.  I quite enjoy my time 'at this pub' (I use the term loosely) after this, Colin gets the odd funny look, a dramatic woman screeches at a dog which actually echoes through the village, two blokes who sound like something out of Harry Enfield discuss whether they are going to go rafting or body boarding tomorrow, and I just feel a bit superior in my 'beer only, Bass tee shirted, northern interloper' kind of way which am sure impresses nobody.  A novel way to bring up the 1800 landmark, cheers!

I retrace my steps and am back in Dorking soon enough.  Surely now is the time for Cobbett's , which had been closed by the time I'd reached Dorking twice earlier in the week.  Third time lucky?  

Alas no, time for the tale of the closest I've come to getting a 'tick' without getting tick in BRAPA history.  You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll hopefully share my rollercoaster of emotion .......

"Please can you put a face mask on?" is the first thing I hear, so not a good start!  "Oh sorry, I didn't realise!" I say hurriedly reaching for my back pocket.  "It's okay, we're all getting used to the new regulations" says the jolly owner chap.  But what I meant was that I didn't realise it was a shop!  "Ah, well" he continues ".... it is a shop up to this line, and then it becomes a pub!" he elaborates, pointing at a line on the floor, and indicating a smiling middle aged couple sharing a table just beyond the bar at the end of the room, foaming pints of cool cask ale in their hands.  "Do you have any draught ale?" I ask (I know they do), I dunno if that's the right term, but I want him to know I'm not after a can or bottle to buy.  He shows me a blackboard at my feet, and the bottom two beers on say cask beer, so I choose one.  "Pint please" I clarify.  "Oooooooh" is the noise expelled by the smiling lady at the end.  And then the guv'nor tells me he's afraid not, as they are full up, with one room booked for a function, the other one full, and obviously these lovely smiling bastards occupying the only table visible to me.  He tells me I can get beer to carry out, so I explain that won't do because I'm ticking off all the pubs in the Good Beer Guide and that wouldn't count.  I think he thinks I'm trying to twist his arm (I wasn't), becomes a bit defensive, so I explain I know he can't let me stay and I fully understand, as frustrating as it is, as you can tell he's a good guy.  The couple are smiling very sympathetically at me, which somehow makes me feel worse!  He tells me I might be best trying midweek, though I know I'll be back in York by then.  Some pub visits just weren't meant to be (unless I was up to say, 99% completion then I'd camp outside like Duncan does).

I skipped back through Dorking with a fake smile on my face, feeling slightly embarrassed actually, as I'd probably just walked purposefully past all these shoppers in the other direction 5 minutes before.  Luckily Dorking has quite a smiley good humoured nature about its residents.  Unlucky as the town was pub wise this week, I got a good feel for it.  

Back at the station (a good 15-20 min walk), I needed a morale boost so headed for Epsom which even at this late stage of my holiday, has three whole pub ticks.  

The first two were well off centre in quite a picturesque part of the town, but close together, so I headed to them first.  I stumbled upon the first, when it looked like I'd walked into a pretty housing estate by mistake!  But there it was, hiding around the next corner .......

Looks pretty doesn't it, the Jolly Coopers, Epsom (1801 / 3018) although the first thing that struck me, which I failed to photograph, behind my lens and to the right, was an outdoor drinking area which was a totally cacophony of twilds running wild, dogs and laughing diners in bulging lycra.  The guy who greets me at the entrance, is very impressive, and wins the record this week for 'most words per minute' as he gives me the Covid Manifesto.  He didn't stop for breath, and I sure couldn't take it all in.  But they key point was 'I could actually sit indoors', and all I wanted was a pint of cask ale.  Knowing where the toilets were is always handy too when you're on the pints (& bottle of water earlier!)  I saw a local ale from a place called 'Fuzzchat'  I'd not seen before, and whilst it was kept well, it just tasted a bit vegetably so not to my taste.  The pub was not memorable, one of those which was noticeably an old building but modern refurbs had taken their toll.  Being so quiet in, watching the staff interaction was probably the most interesting thing, that and a few demanding customers, but the 'banter' between the 4 young staff was good and it was a happy pub, which sort of made me happy.  After Cobbett's, I was no longer taking any pub tick for granted so was thankful to the JC for making this a nice, easy experience.  Had to pay on departure (pet hate) but at least it helped me hone my 'don't leave without paying' spiel to the excellent brown haired one!  

Two more Epsom pubs to come, including 'bad staff moment' of the holiday, plus a Tongham bonus.  Join me in Part 16 for that one on Monday evening, we're nearly there now thank heavens.

Si 

BRAPA - JULY REVIEW / AUGUST PREVIEW (2020)

Better late than never eh?  Even if it is nearly September.

As we've made it to the end of July in my 'Surrey Holiday' blogs, I thought tonight we'd break off briefly to have a quick look back at July 2020, a important month in pub history!

Isn't it crazy to think from 1st-3rd, the pubs weren't even open.  Seems so long ago that I nervously left my York home at 9:55am on Saturday 4th July, and walked the five minutes or so to The Mount, a  Marston's house which had never exactly convinced me in the past.

I was so nervous.  Some people were expecting something akin to Mad Friday before Christmas, combined with an England World Cup game in a Sports Bar on a baking summer's day.  A few suggested this might be media hype, and the reality of that first day back in the pubs might be a well damp squib.  Or 'damp squid', if you are Mummy BRAPA.  

Relieved when the latter prevailed, and that first pint back will live long in my mind, closing my eyes and taking that first sip and opening to see the pub peering at me, laughing.  The camaraderie with staff and the handful of other customers was the kind of interaction I'd been missing since early March, and it was heart-warming.

Poised for my first pub pint in nearly four months

So encouraged was I by the experience, that BRAPA officially returned a week later on 11th, with a trip to London.  It might have seemed a long way to travel from York, but the amount of larger 'chain' pubs I needed plus the increased likelihood of them being open and organised swayed my decision.

That inaugural first 'tick' back was the Colley Rowe Inn, Collier Row , a Wetherspoons a short bus ride from Romford.  It was also significant in giving a debut to new BRAPA mascot, Colin the Cauliflower and the whole day went hassle free, the pick of the pubs being the King's Arms near London Bridge, though Twitter was more excited by the fact I drank a pint of Harvey's.

Eager as I was to keep the BRAPA momentum going, some things are more important than even BRAPA, and that is family & friends.  Aaaaaah.

So the following Saturday, a group of us met in Hull for a little pub crawl.  It was a first trip out for most, including Father BRAPA, the decision to 'let him out' not universally popular in the Everitt household so I had to help keep him 'outdoors' where possible.  We met the masked Tom 'Zorro' Irvin and occasional Hull City hero Ben Andrew at Furley & Co for pint one.

Today felt more like 4th July, Hull stricter than York and London had been.  This was possibly due to the fact we were a group of six, but also the more modern 'crafty' venues.  Furley's staff were great.

We then went to a pre-emptive tick for me, Brewhouse or Beerhouse or something where we met Christine, who you'll recognise from many BRAPA trips of the past, and sister Lizzy (not a nun), the only person I know who can straddle Scunthorpe and Chorlton with an air of nonchalance.  The downloading App and table service only set up in here seemed crazily complex for a guy born in 1979.  But it was something I'd get a little bit more used to over the coming weeks.

Ben & I then went to a post-emptive, Atom's Brewery thing, which can you believe was in the original 1974 GBG when it was known as the Corn Exchange?  It was a bit dull but good beer.

We caught up with the others and finished at the beautiful White Hart, heritage joy and great ales. Again more table service and I did a quiz which am sure was a success but I felt a bit drunk on the train back as I kept ordering these murky drinks without looking at percentages, but a coffee and kit kat sorted me out.

Here's some highlights from the day as I never blogged at the time .......

Another 'pub return first' followed on the Tuesday, as I met a friend for a pint in York in what seems to have become my 'go to' York pub of these difficult times, the Fox.  It is a stunning pub with the biggest and best garden in York, great staff, and amazing ales like Silver King, Excelsius, White Rat and maybe a stout guest all being well.  It's my fave pub in York of all, only its off-centre location stops it becoming more well known.

The following Saturday, 25th, saw the start of my BRAPA holiday and as I'm sure you know, I decided to try and crack Surrey.  Every day from then til 31st was a boozy tour of some surprisingly good pubs, amazing weather and welcoming staff and witty clientele.  

This all meant I ended up with a BRAPA total of 47, my second highest July total not bad as I'd only done 6 by the 24th!  Hard to pick my faves, but here were 3 of many .....

1. Jolly Farmers, Bramley

2. Surrey Oaks, Newdigate

3. Crossways Inn, Churt

Jolly Farmers, Bramley

There were so many other very good ones though that I could give honourable mentions if I wasn't wanting an early night at the time of writing.

Although my beer at the Libertine near London Bridge had been poor, the whole experience was actually quite positive and amusing, so the clear winner of Worst Pub of the Month is the King's Head, Ashford quite early on in my Surrey adventure.  It was just the worst of all worlds.  Though I should add, when you only visiting a pub once, there's a chance I might just've been unlucky and it normally displays Burton upon Trent levels of amazement.

August is all about continuing to keep it simple, and it makes sense to stay 'South East' now for my pub ticking.  

Pubs are behaving in the same way as they were on 4th July (and good) so you still need to be checking opening hours, whether booking is required, and just get an idea of general rules before setting out.     

Add to that public transport isn't quite normal yet, and it makes pub ticking that little bit trickier.  But as with most things in life, effort is rewarded and once you are sat down with a pint and your friendly cauliflower, pub life feels surprisingly normal, and I can't tell you what a relief that is!

Back to Surrey reviews on Sunday evening, 

Thanks for reading, Si 

BRAPA in ..... UP THE ALE IN UPPER HALE (Part 14/17)

I was all ready to declare myself well and truly beaten on a disappointing four pub effort, as I trudged uphill back towards Farnham station, late afternoon on Friday 31st July.

The extreme heat was still energy sapping, even as we approached evening time.  A bus farce at Churt had killed me early, and warm beer and not so warm people meant I felt totally beaten by the time Boundstone & Wrecclesham were over.

The lack of buses was boling my wee wee too.  This wasn't 'pretty green' Surrey (not Liam Gallagher's clothing chain), yet the public transport seemed pretty lacking.  The plan now was to just get a bus to somewhere near Tongham or Weybourne to salvage a fourth and final pub of the day.

However, as I passed a junction at Castle St, just past Boots and a solid looking pub not in the GBG called the Queen's Head, I had a bit of a word with myself re my tick at Upper Hale.  "Now or never Si" it said, quite sternly.  It was right, as this pub had limited 'evening only hours'.  

I should've walked diagonally through the centre of the big green area where a headless horseman hangs out, but I stupidly went right around the castle up the Folly Hill.  Pure folly on my part (ha ha).  I felt almost sick by the time I finally reached Upper Hale, a ridiculous meandering collection of lanes, links and raised grassy knolls going absolutely nowhere in semi-suburban desolation.  

I smiled in pain as the pub came into view .......

Due to the timings and beery focus, I was expecting something a lot more micropubby at the Alfred Free House, Upper Hale (1797 / 3014) but I guess they'd have renamed it 'Up Her Ale' or something more 2020 if that'd been the case.  I am still a bit cross with them that the pub sign was something blander than a picture of Alfred from Guess Who, a childhood hero of mine.  I was surprised what a vibrant clamour of tinny noise and chatter there was within, but the young lad who greeted me was absolutely spot on, so I told him I'd walked from Wrecclesham and just needed a pint, and was happy to be seated anywhere, so I probably shouldn't complain that I was led out into a tent and had to sit on a small plank of wood supported by two Sharp's barrels!  Good job I'm not a fat bastard or it'd never have supported me.  I got shown a blackboard with about 5 billion ales on, but the arrows showed me only 4 cask were on so that made choosing easier.  This was definitely a place for those excited by a beer range, only Surrey Oaks had come close this week.  Barely time to get my breath back, when I realised the tent was full of warm, funny, friendly characters.   They roared with laughter and disbelief when I explained my exertions to get here, and I unwittingly had the attention of the ten or so people who then started quizzing me on all things BRAPA - one bloke even took a sly photo.  The main guy Steve was lovely, all bravado but with a real kind heart you could tell straight away, he used to be a proper big city banker, putting my Yorkshire Bank stuff in the shade!  I was encouraged to take the piss out of a flamboyantly dressed Santa who looked the guy from Miracle on 34th Street, but I defended him on the grounds of the flamboyant contents of my own wardrobe.  The guy next to me had travelled back from some Manchester brewery trip - he doesn't want his first post lockdown haircut til December.  Such lovely people, why couldn't the SandRock have produced this?  Best of all perhaps, the revelation of how close I actually now was to Weybourne - something I hadn't considered, oh and after some debate about how quickly I could walk it, I was told I may as well then walk on to a Hants pub that was only 0.7 miles from there.  This pub was helping me to go from zero to hero, and I cannot thank the folk & staff enough for improving my mood by 100%.  As I said my goodbyes and walked off down the street, I could hear them saying nice things about me (til I got out of earshot anyway!) 

With a renewed spring in my step, I skipped onwards like a spring chicken towards Weybourne (the guys weren't wrong, did it in about 20-25 mins which was nothing compared to recent events) and one of the pubbiest Greene King pubs you will ever encounter  .......

Yes, you could almost smell the Aldershot peril in the air as I walked into Running Stream, Weybourne (1798 / 3015).  So unaccustomed had I become in recent days to the gritty, rugged, indoor carpetted boozers, I had to reset mentally as the various blokes dotted around the room half smiled, half gurned.  Quite a different crowd from Upper Hale, majority here seemed to be here for the hubbub of a pub session first, beer second.  I had plenty of time to adjust myself to my surroundings as service was slow. Miscommunication perhaps, or maybe I wasn't seen to be standing 'directly behind the stool' as instructed, and the feisty landlady and timid minions just kept walking past me, some apologising for not being 'servers' (errrrm why are you stood behind the bar then?) or 'looking after the locals' first and foremost.  I noticed this too in Shepperton and have mixed feelings on it, though it does usually seem to occur in the type of pub I favour.  I got to the point of whirling around in desperation, and got a few sympathetic glances from the gnarly potato shaped geezers.  If only pubs knew the efforts I made to pay them a visit!  At least I got chance to memorise 'Pint of Pressed Rat and Warthog please' which could've been a tricky tongue twister t'otherwise.  Anyway, I loved the unfussy nature of the pub, and was happy to be left alone this time, as I'd not had any time to unwind since I left Churt all those hours ago.  Nice pub. 

And so with dusk falling, I walked the short 0.7 miles over the Hants border, for my sixth and final tick of the day.  Isn't pub ticking great?  I could never have imagined, as I was walking through Farnham a couple of hours ago that I'd end up at here.  

Okay, so I'd strayed from the Surrey plan, and of course it'd make me want to have a 'North Hampshire Holiday', but as I hit the outskirts of Aldershot, all I could feel was happiness.  What is Basingstoke like in October?

And a third consecutive, bona fide fair dinkum proper type of pub here at Garden Gate, Aldershot (1799 / 3016) which was more than I could've hoped for.  What a way to end July.  I walk in, immediately identified as a stranger, so the hand sanitiser and guest registration form comes down on me like a tonne of bricks, perhaps I shouldn't have stopped to 'do my hair' in the mirror and adjust my cauliflower.  The landlady was very friendly, and talked me through everything very slowly, perhaps suspecting I'd been out all day on the booze in the sun and was struggling to take information on board, as I kept sticking my tongue out in an effort to concentrate.  The bench seating, carpet, quality Twickenham ale and general rumbling of happy locals popping in for a cheeky 5 pints before last orders made for a lovely atmosphere, which offers hope Hants could be a decent county to rival Surrey pub wise.  This must be the gentle part of Aldershot too, from what people had been telling me!  I'll let you know when I get to the White Lion in October!  I probably lingered too long in the loos admiring the jokes on the wall, or whatever, cos when I came back, Colin was looking a bit shaken and this huge black dog and unforgiving looking owner were sniffing around.  You can't take your eye off your pub mascot, look what happened to Martin god rest his owlie soul.  Great way to end the night anyway.

And even better, Aldershot station wasn't too far, and Aldershot to Guildford is quite an easy route, so I still got back in time  to buy my Tesco Express snacks and watch a bit of TV before tomorrow.  

Two days left!  Join me for a Yorkshire Day Special in deepest darkest Surrey but as we've reached the end of July, we'll first have an interlude with a monthly review for July.

Si 

BRAPA in ...... I CHURT MYSELF TODAY (Surrey Part 13/17)

Friday was scorchio, peaking at 33 degrees, which wasn't really fair considering it turned out to be one of the most physically taxing days of my holiday.  Mileage wise, I didn't seem to be straying far from Guildford, but when trains are scarce and buses are tardy, and you are trying to get round six pubs, it doesn't exactly make for a winning combination.  

Progress though, was being made, as I ventured south and west dangerously close to the forbidden land they call 'Hampshire'.

At Farnham station, it was already sweltering and I got chatting with an elderly Spanish couple who for some strange reason, had been waiting for this bus for an hour already.  A posh lanky bloke in a boater who reminded me of Lord Emsworth joined us.  Twenty five later, the number 19 bus finally arrived, and an extra five setting off as the elderly Spaniard man struggled to reverse his scooter into the disabled space.  And then the posh blokes hat flew off in the only gust of wind all day and I had to run after it! 

The bus was packed to the coviddy gills with overweight families, spotty teens and blotchy snotty twilds all off to this place called Frensham Pond, a huge area of strangely blue water which makes it look more tropical, but might not be.  People float in it due to the high quantity of salty substances, probably.  The pub seemed much more appealing, but maybe that's just me.

Never have I been more relieved to get off a bus.  Little did I know what a struggle getting back on one would be! 

A friendly group under a canopy had to direct me towards the slightly confusing entrance hidden around the back .....

.... but I really need to stop being surprised at the greatness of some of these Surrey pubs.  Crossways Inn, Churt (1794 / 3011) was a pub I'd recommend to just about anyone, providing you can cope with a bit of bad language from the friendly, boisterous regulars.  Less lauded than Surrey Oaks, less visually striking than the Jolly Farmers in Bramley, but every bit as good as both.  The landlady made it, in a week of fabulous landlady's, and the sheer amount of generous tasters she gave me (I suspect I'd gone for her least favourite ale!) meant i probably came out of the pub an extra pint to the good!  One of the few pubs today too that managed to keep the beer cool.  The pub had a farmhouse sort of vibe, despite being dead centre on a village crossroads, and the tiled floors and basic bench seating in the side bar to the right allowed me to stay cool.  Despite the locals filling up the main bar, the landlady kept popping her head through the hatch for a chat with me and to make sure I was ok and enjoying the beer.  She even told me I could go over the road to the shop and eat my own food in the pub if I so desired.  Eventually I relented and joined the others in the main area, they thought BRAPA was a bit of a crazy concept but seemed to enjoy it.  "You must be facking thirsty!" croaked one to roars of laughter from his mates.  Colin hid in my bag at this point, needless to say, and one of the guys was originally from Leeds so he was quite excitable when he heard I worked there.

Too clever for my own good, unlucky, or just a bit rash?  It was hard to know how much to blame myself for the 100 minute wait I then had in the bus shelter as I tried to get back north from Churt.

You see, being 30 mins behind, I (probably incorrectly) assumed there was one bus on a loop, and when it got to the end of the line at Haslemere, it'd be the same one coming back up.  So I 'allowed' for this, and didn't return to the stop for 20 mins after the due time, seeing there was absolutely no way it could make up this time.

However, I think there must've been a second bus after all that HAD gone at the due time, which I therefore missed.  At least it was a proper shelter (i.e. sheltered from the sun), I had food and drink, and a secluded bramble hedge behind for a pee to save me the humiliation of returning to the pub!  My legs still have the scars of that hedge, over two weeks on!   SIX taxi numbers I tried, 3 didn't pick up, 2 couldn't help, and the wife of one just chatted to me in a mad shrill voice about everything else.  I wasn't in the mood.

A couple in a convertible eating ice cream looked like they might offer me a lift.  "Is there a beach near here?" he asks.  I tell them about Frensham pond.  "That's probably what we're thinking of!" and they speed off, with an outlandish wave.  Or was it a middle finger?  I later heard it might actually have a beach too!

Oh well, I'd avoided the peak of the extreme heat, and was totally sober again, by the time the next two hourly bus arrived and dropped me at a place called Lower Bourne which afforded a semi-rural walk to pub two.  It was beautifully situated on a stream, perhaps by a cricket pitch also because of the name, it seemed a bit too far off to be classed as 'Boundstone' but the GBG never lies ......

In a bit of a 360 degree shift from most of my pub experiences this week, Bat & Ball, Boundstone (1795 / 3012) was a pub that a few Surreyians I'd bumped into had told me good things about, but just left me totally flat.  The tone was set by the young guy who 'greeted' me, though it was more a snarl, when I explained I was just here for a drink and hadn't booked.  No other pub this week seemed to take the hump with me quite so much.  He put me outside near a couple of blokes where the leafiness provided a canopy above this trellising.  The two young ladies walking around were similarly sullen, and if there's one key theme I'd been impressed with all week in every pub had been the quality of staff. £3.95 for a pint of Hopback seemed pretty good, but the quality wasn't great.  It just seemed too warm and furry.  I know extreme heat and all, but am not sure that is a good enough excuse, don't pubs have cellars and stuff?  I don't know, you dear reader will have a better opinion on this subject than me.  The men, whose sole conversation topic had been fibreglass insulation (not enough to brighten my mood!) may or may not, have left without paying, as the staff had a bit of a confused conflab on the subject and became a bit animated for the first time!  Was just about to press 'Tweet' on my pub checking slagging the place off, when it all changed.  When I asked for the 'bill' early (of course it was a 'pay at the end' type of place), I ended up having a really nice chat with one of the barmaid's about people 'accidentally' running off without paying - mentioning no names of course Messrs Fibreglass.  Then, working theory, she went inside and told the other two "this guy is less of a dick than he looks" cos immediately, the other barmaid comes out, smiles sweetly, and asks if I can be tempted with another drink.  Then the previously rude bloke, comes out two mins later, smiles just as sweetly, asks if everything was okay for me!  Incredible turnaround, I was touched, proof you should never tweet until you've had the full pub experience!  But why couldn't it have started like this? 

I managed to fathom out the stream crossing which suddenly made my third pub incredibly easy to walk to, even if it was on a hill.  

In fact, I'd go as far as to say it was the only easy, convenient thing that happened all day!  No rush getting here either, because depending on who you spoke to, which internet source you referred to, it was very open to debate whether the pub was opening 4pm or 5pm.

I arrived about 5pm, and was delighted to see the door nicely open and it sounded in full swing ........

A capitalised letter in the middle of a pub name is always a bit of a red flag, but most sources say it is Sandrock, Wrecclessham (1796 / 3013) so we'll just assume the front of the pub isn't quite right.  That wouldn't be the only thing that 'wasn't quite right' about this pub.  Again, a few people I'd spoken to this week had positive things to say from it, but I wasn't exactly won over by it.  The young barman smirked at me like a school bully about to nick my lunch money, and was having far too much 'bantz' with the hidden locals out to the right to be remotely interested in serving me.  The beer again was Hopback, and again was far warmer than you'd like.  A theme was developing here.  The interior was extremely drab, grey, stark and uncaring, heard the place sort of doubles as a Thai restaurant - about the only people who smiled were Thai staff in kitchens towards the back.  All that remained was to join a rugged bunch of locals smoking in the outdoor area, so much so, I'd basically become part of the circle, NOT that anyone made eye contact, never mind smiling.  Don't think they were unfriendly, just very 'locally local'.  There was an army of them, and when a lady with a pushchair turned up, everyone cooed , and then they did the same when a pregnant lady appeared.  Those two showed some signs of smileyness.  Heartening.  When one of them said "twenty, and one on the way!" it was hard to know whether they meant babies, beers or just people in their group.  A bit like Churt earlier, and pubs I'd go to later this night, the locals were noticeably more 'rumbustious' this side of Guildford.  A condition some suggested to me is evidence of 'The Aldershot Effect''.  And as much as I was enjoying this more 'stripped bare' face of Surrey, the SandRock wasn't a pub I was sad to see the back of.

Time was ticking on, and getting the full six quota was surely odds against.  But it is funny how things can turn around when you least expect.  Join me for a quite amazing Part 14 tomorrow evening.

Si