BRAPA (British Real Ale Pub Adventure)

I once vowed (after a bad experience in Birdwell, South Yorkshire) NEVER to try pub ticking on a Monday ever again. Since then, I've had a day in rural Ayrshire with no problems, and here in the heart of Wales, I managed to find two Monday 11am openers which weren't Wetherspoons or Nicholsons. Conclusion, the English are bloody softies.

Montgomery was the most lovely place we'd encountered all holiday - it had the peaceful quality of Criggion, as we walked down the High Street, we were whispering to each other, as we passed museums, model car shops, twee tea shops and old people with hanging baskets and sticks. Have you ever had the misfortune to go to Tregaron? It was like that without the menace and witchcraft and circus elephant buried in pub garden.

Dad arrives at the pretty Crown Inn

995. Crown, Montgomery

There was one of those "left or right" bar choices, Dad chose correctly with left as I'm pretty sure the other side was in darkness, perhaps a restaurant or function room. But the pub itself, nothing wrong with it as such, quite a nice old building. Just incredibly dull. Apart from one old bloke who was trying to get inspired by the 58th repeat of Usain Bolt winning the 100 metres, yawn. The Three Tuns beer from Bishops Castle in Shropshire tasted like an ancient style ale, was sweet and just a bit too clarty for 11:50am. It was well kept. The barmaid was a disappointment, no chat, no eye contact, functional. She is what I would describe as a P.I.S.S. barmaid (Pretty If She Smiles). Problem with PISS barmaids, they never smile. And if they see you writing "PISS barmaid" into the notes section of your phone or on a notepad, they are even less likely to smile. They might even frown. But this would be too much a show of emotion for someone so vanilla. And that was the whole pub. Vanilla. Okay, following Criggion and Anchor was always going to be a tough act, but you'll have to show us more than a darts league and Olympics highlights to make anyone love you.

Boring bar scene, not much going on here.

The man in blue was on his third pint by 12 noon.

The next pub was not on my original list, but let me tell you it made sense to visit as the bus service is probably tardy, and it was (sort of) on the way back to the place we were staying......

Llanfair Caereinion was surprisingly a good sized town, approached from high up as the road wound down along some tight roads. Again, it was picturesque, you could imagine some cosy crime drama on ITV being filmed here, the type where Martin Clunes steps on a dog to much hilarity and an old woman gets her stockings caught in some barbed wiring and has to be freed by a blushing policeman.

At the sign of the goat

996. Goat Hotel, Llanfair Caereinion

Anyone who has been to the Goat Major pub in Cardiff will know that it is not sheep, but goats who get the Welsh heart swelling with pride. The CD soundtrack of love songs reserved for their Regimental Goat is still one of my favourite pub experiences ever, and whilst this place didn't have such extremes, it was certainly weird - Twin Peaks had suddenly taken over from the cosy crime. I was disorientated on entry, as a young man let us see the beers, everything felt a bit back to front and I almost wondered if I'd wandered behind the bar by mistake. This was until the landlord appeared from a hole in the floor (well, probably the cellar) to eventually serve us! Meanwhile, two well spoken old characters sat to the right, and an extremely old couple sat on plush settees behind, debating a game of Trivial Pursuit, as I looked for the loo and got totally lost even though the door was directly behind me. The young man helped us find our way to a beer garden, it was a proper summers day by now and the Monty's Sunshine was a great pint, shame about the Guinness glass. We were hoping to repeat our lunchtime success at Criggion but despite a kitchen and dining area, it didn't look promising, not even cherry pie was on offer! (Twin Peaks joke courtesy of Mum, who was 'checking in' with us as was now customary). Bit of a vague reference, but if you've ever been to the Village Inn in Fairlie, Ayrshire, and the Pineapple in Stockport, and thought, crikey, these pubs are seriously full of weirdos, I love them, then you will enjoy this place!

It was back to Bwlch-Y-Cibau for some scrambled eggs on toast, an afternoon nap, watch Neighbours, and all geared up for tonight's "evening special".

A bit cheeky of me this one, but buoyed by the Anchor success, a 31 mile trip towards Gwynedd seemed acceptable, though Mr Sat Nav didn't help with his stupid B-road idea to save us 2 miles. (It's like one of those well meaning chaps who'll save you 30p on a train ticket even though it means going on a route that takes an hour longer).

Me and my excitable shadow at the Dovey Valley

997. Dovey Valley Hotel, Cemmaes Road

As we pulled up in the car park (gravelly area), a youngish man who'd been snoozing/reading on a picnic bench suddenly burst into life and hot-footed it into the pub, almost like our arrival heralded it was 6pm, that the pub was open and needed attending. Just the one ale was on, "Cwrw Coch" and I'm not sure my Welsh had improved over the last few days as I ordered 2 pints of Queer Cock. He knew what I meant, a good n proper Welsh ale from some crazy brewery I have no idea about and frankly don't care. If I was disappointed in the one ale, the pub was stunning. A heritage survivor, Beeching and his evil mate might have taken out the railway opposite, but the multi roomed interior and old memorabilia recently found in an attic made this place feel like one of those wonderful old Lancastrian or West Midlands pubs, but with added railway charm. We sat in "Room 4" with an old fireplace, old station benches and a once illuminated pub sign. Mrs Dovey Valley popped up to tell us we'd found the "cool" room (I think she meant temperature-wise). We decided to enjoy the second half of our session in the pub garden, but at the bar, a tourist stopped Dad and cryptically said to him "it's no good asking you which beer to choose" which made no sense to anyone. Outside, a man and his mate exclaimed "it's not a bad life is it?", he was a bit like a male scouse Sinead O'Connor and seemed emotional throughout. Their third friend, a white van man, turned up and blocked the pub driveway, joining them for a quick Carling which inevitably became a 5 pint session. The outdoor loo was like a cross between Field Mill and Bootham Crescent, but clean, not even sure it was properly opened but I used it anyway. Incredibly good pub. Up there with Anchor and Criggion.

Can you see me in my Hitchcockian cameo role?

So, 7 pubs achieved was more than I had hoped for from a "family" holiday in a tricky part of the world. Sad that Mum couldn't get to see more of them but hopefully her ankle recovers soon and massive thanks to her and Dad for their efforts helping me get some difficult pub ticks.

The holiday ended as it started, with a bat flying down the chimney to rudely interrupt my post-meal trawling of Twitter where a man was shredding Wetherspoons vouchers for some reason I never quite understood.

The (fake) 1,000 is starting to look increasingly like it will take place in Wigan! I half thought about a trip out tomorrow just to get the monkey off my back but it can wait til Saturday I'm sure.

Si

Friday night is probably my least favourite time of the week for pubbing, but a combination of circumstances (too boring to list here) meant that it "felt right" to be on the 16:33 Leeds-Elsecar where my seat had previously been occupied by one of those dangerous 'craft' can drinkers......

Stuck to the seat in front.

Despite the rain, I walked the 1.5 miles to Wentworth along one of those frightening roads with no pavements, a reservoir, and lots of fast cars. It's a wonder I'm still alive to do this pub ticking mullarkey.

Wentworth, even in the gloomy grey wet, is what they'd describe as a "chocolate box, picture postcard" village if it was down south. So instead, we'll call it a "chip cone, cigarette football card" village.

997. Rockingham Arms, Wentworth

The ivy clad pub certainly seemed to fit within the village image, and it was one where I entered to find four members of staff, all looking at me expectantly. "Hello welcoming committee!" I almost said, but the friendly ginger bearded male stepped forward to serve me an Ale Fresco from a disappointingly Greene King based range of ales. Diners on posing tables seemed to be the order of the day, but a 'secret' seating area to the rear would have been delightfully pubby, had it not been next to a rather severe reception desk - leather bound notepad and all. Yes, this was a hotel too, though I did wonder at first whether it was all for show. A wedding party was getting steadily drunk outside, and had lost all control of the Wedding Twilds (i.e. bridesmaid twilds and page boy twild), who were running amok indoors, playing hide n seek much to the local's disdain. "Shit up a stick!" exclaimed one older chap in disgust, a phrase I really must remember. I was joined by the slightly crazy redhead kitchen manager chatterbox, who was finishing her shift with a pint of Carling. She'd forgotten the Prosecco was on special offer and was most upset, and was soon joined by all the staff - our ginger bearded friend, Blonde Goth and Miss "I'll keep telling everyone I used to work at Asda" barmaid. I felt almost part of the staff, especially when a fifth woman (the only one doing any work) arrived on the scene to reveal the ending of Disney's Pochahontas disappointed her! Whilst the staff chatted about working in a pub at Christmas, we had some real drama as an old man complained his ham, egg & chips should have had HOT ham rather than cold. I totally disagree. Order gammon if you want hot ham, idiot. I left, saying bye to my new staffy friends.

Trying to give you an idea of reception area and back of bar (didn't really work)

A few yards down the street and opposite the bus stop set back from the road, was Wentworth's other pub. The evening sun was out now but outdoor seating was too wet to sit out .....

998. George & Dragon, Wentworth

I shouldn't have been surprised (but was) to see the pub absolutely heaving with a more traditional Friday night atmosphere than in the Rockingham. Being a Friday, this wasn't the relaxed pub experience I crave - in fact, in the 40 minutes I was there, it managed to achieve THREE of my five biggest pub pet hates. Firstly, "standing at the bar" when there is enough room to move throughout the pub. No one budged to let me see the ales. Secondly, (and part of the cause of the first) the entire left hand side and a back room to the left were reserved for diners, yet the left room was empty, but being guarded by a zealous waitress. It was like the pub had had a stroke, and speaking of which, the barmaid's botoxed faces (think blonde versions of Robert Palmer's backing girls) couldn't smile even when they did finally serve you. Even my pint from the normally terrific Chantry tasted a bit lame, possibly my mood. And then, my third pet hate, the pub allowing flower sellers/charity box people into the pub to disturb not just drinkers but the few diners too. I hate this - captive audience, possibly not 100% in their clearest mental state due to alcohol, possibly not wanting to look bad in front of other people, it is so unethical. Just wrong. Luckily, the good South Yorkshire folk gave her the shortest shrift I've ever seen in this situation! And then things improved, I'd been squashed against a wall where a terrifying man kept doing elaborate physical comedy routines, Pinnochio his favourite. Imagine a skinhead Lee Evans with the voice of Neil Warnock. See what I mean? But now (and I shouldn't have been so naive), there was loads of seats in the main bar all along and I got half an Abbeydale Deception which was incredible. And I could imagine how much I'd have enjoyed this pub on a winter's Tuesday night, showing that it's all about circumstances "on the day".

Really liked this entrance door.

SIT DOWN YOU UTTER BUFFOONS!

A rare lame Chantry and view through to empty dining area. (note the Grim Reaper is only one eating).

Walk back was quite a dash as I'd forgotten Elsecar railway station was up a hill beyond all 4 of it's wonderful pubs. I think I'll stick to Tuesday night pubbing in the future but was an interesting experience and did enjoy Wentworth even if it might sounds like I didn't!

PUB SURVEY RESULTS - YOUR FAVOURITE PUB PET

Ages ago, I asked what your favourite pub pet was. Well, the results are in and it must be true when they say "mans best friend" because dog's won out quite convincingly.

Not just any dog though, a lollopy old big dog, preferably asleep in the corner, and I'm sure if you were picturing the archetypal pub scene, you might also picture a dog sleeping at his master's feet.

People would however, prefer to see a PUB CAT than a yappy little Terrier type creature. I am a cat lover, and whilst they may be seen as too "leftfield" to be part of a traditional pub environment, they are generally low maintenance (i.e. more like a lollopy dog) i.e. they add to a relaxed pub atmosphere. Exceptions to this obviously include that crazy creature at the Wombell in Wass, North Yorkshire (cat is worth the visit alone) but on a trip to London's Pride of Spitalfields the first time, it took me 2 hours to realise the cat asleep on the mantelpiece was real and not stuffed.

Other animals people seemed to enjoy seeing in a pub were things like tropical fish and lizard / reptile creatures in vivariums. I guess that they add character to a pub in a different way from how a cat or dog does, perhaps more like 'decor' and quirky ornamentation - I have to say, I do think a tropical fish tank adds something quite nice to a pub.

Birds were less popular. Most pubs with birds I've been in have felt dirty (Royal Oak, Pickering, Dog & Gun, Aughton and Ship Inn, Sewerby spring to mind) and in the former, going up to the carvery when there's a parrot chatting to you close at hand just felt wrong! A pub owl tethered up in the garden would be my preference, but those who voted didn't go for it.

Another survey coming up soon, perhaps on your favourite drinking days, having already asked you about what times you like drinking a few months ago.

Si

There's something strangely life-affirming about being huddled under a bus shelter at Wigan Wallgate at 12 noon on a busy rainy Saturday, waiting for a delayed bus, with just Tom and a few old biddies for company.

Wigan is a strangely unique and quite brilliant town, hard to describe but it seems to be almost laughing to itself, but hard to know if it is laughing with you or at you? At least I was able to identify a brilliant pub across the road I'd visited 9 years ago this week (the Swan and Railway).....

Superb ale in 2007, wonder how it is doing now.

Eventually, bus arrived and after a bit of a drag, we were in Billinge and after a short walk, we were at our first pub of the day although a very peculiar sinister young man (possibly the village paedophile) tried to photobomb us, and then snarled at us when we said 'hello'.

I'm in the green rain mac, but beware of Mr Creepy .....

999. Masons Arms, Billinge

I'm well versed at the "American Werewolf in London" style pub 'welcome' by now, and this was classic. The whole pub stopped, fell silent and turned around, so I said "hi, hi, hi, hello, hello, hello" to each person/group until I'd confused them into thinking I was a local in disguise (more on that in Wigan later). This was a absolutely fantastic pub from first minute to last. A healthy crowd was in despite the weather and relatively quiet location, a docile dog slept on the floor, a yappier one jumped on it's owners lap and there was the reassuring woody smell of old, which you always get in the best pubs. The decor was excellent, old gig tickets, beer mats & pump clips, a model ship, pots and jugs and plenty of St Helens Rugby League memorabilia. A few people feigned interest in Manchester City v Stoke City on a average sized screen, a few references to "City" were inconclusive. A gentle hum seemed to dominate the pub, one of those where everyone is really content in a proper local. Interestingly, the fact a few stood at the bar when seats were available didn't bother me at all today!

My pint of excellent 12th Man and view of the bar.

Model ship and a bit of St Helens shizz

We found a bus (same driver) to take us half way back on ourselves, to Orrell - though the pub actually seemed to be in a place called Tontine. Even more confusingly, the pub was listed under Lancashire but it could have been Merseyside or Greater Manchester in GBG terms, but let's not act like it matters cos at this moment in time, it doesn't.

My sign didn't really work!

The sign finally comes into it's own.

1000. Delph Tavern, Orrell

What DOES matter is that this was my 1,000th GBG tick and yes, I know I'll fall back below when I cross tick the soon-to-be-published 2017 GBG but for now, "celebrate good times come on!" And what better way to celebrate than with a makeshift sign made out of part of a Sainsbury's own brand Special K cereal box? It seemed almost inevitable the pub would be a slight disappointment, and it was. Despite the fact that nearly everyone present was a no nonsense drinker, the pub was determined to push a foody slant (restaurant room empty out the back) that no one cared about. I say no-one, but a child in full Liverpool kit ("full kit Twild wanker" as they are known) was shovelling chips into his mouth with a greedy yet monotonous regularity. Tom was meanwhile perving (slyly in his opinion) on an insipid looking blonde waitress who looked like eating a bowl of chips would do her the world of good. Having the door open and a through draught on such a chilly and wet day did nothing for the atmosphere, and my pint of Nova Foresta was heavy going. Tom noticed our "bar area" had plastic cutlery laid out (as though they don't trust us bar scum not to try and stab ourselves/each other), we suspected the 'restaurant' had the proper silver stuff. Dad panicking I hadn't rang just furthered my frustration (when will parents EVER learn that to receive text messages, you need to KEEP YOUR PHONE ON??!!) It made us miss our train, and summed up a difficult pub experience!

Proper pubbers just wanting a proper pub experience!

At least Tom's travel expertise got us back to Wigan where he bought me a butter pie (SUPERB!) and a short train ride to Gathurst followed. We then did a 20 minute canal path walk (slightly treacherous due to the heavy rain) to our next pub .....

Excellent pub approach work.

1001. Crooke Hall Inn, Crooke

I'd heard so many great things about this place, I was very excited, so perhaps a slight anti-climax was inevitable. It all started superbly well (well, once we found the entrance on the street around the corner!) with a larger than life chap giving us a cheery welcome before disappearing, and a fantastic beer range (the likes of which I hadn't seen on a BRAPA trip in a while) allowed me to order a pint of Ella by the wonderful Mallinsons brewery. Pint of the day. When I said "Ella", all three barmaids looked up expectantly, were they all called Ella? What a co-incidence. Anyway, it was nice to see genuinely friendly barmaids in a pub. The pub was a hive of activity, a few dog walkers / canal boat folk had taken up the front bar but seemed to have problems keeping the dog under control so that cosy area was off limits as far as I was concerned. No room in the back bar either, which seemed to be where the locals were, again looked a very homely room. So we had to sit in the big area to the right which was reminiscent of an Ember Inn, and 'Christmas menu's' (£36 for the full thing) were on every table which made Tom recoil in horror as he won't even use that particular C word! We tried sitting in the superb garden overlooking the canal but the rain just returned with extra ferocity, and the smoking balcony was uncomfy, whilst an underground bar area was bolted. So we did try to create a great pub experience for ourselves, but it just didn't work out.

Me at the front upstaged by the yellow car

Sod your Christmas menu!

Ember-ish in places.

After the canal-walk back the other way, we popped in to the Gathurst Station Inn. No cask ale, pretty disgraceful, bored and unfriendly staff, at least a nice but overpriced bottle of Britvic 55 was washed down with the news that City had beaten City 2-0 much to our delight/surprise.

Train back to Wigan, we decided to still leave some Wigan pubs for football days in the future, but did the one nearest the station which might be too busy on a football day......

Arriving at the Wigan Central

1002. Wigan Central, Wigan

Well that backfired, it was heaving! Wigan weren't even at home. I quite liked this place regardless, though Tom (with his love of trains and having heard good things about this bar) thought it was a bit tacky but as a novice, I liked the uniform train style signs, the departures board of trains and ales, and with a queue forming for the bar (spit!), I thought the staff did amazingly to serve so quickly and keep a smile on their faces despite the heat inside. There was some live music through to a room in the right, where a grey haired hippie chap was wowing some female Prosecco drinkers with folky hits - had it been Donovan or Bob Dylan, I'm not sure it would have made a difference. Sitting outside was certainly our best and only option. A group of raucous men sat behind us, and with my green hood up, one peered in and asked me "enjoying yourself there Mr Tait?" Errrrm what? Was this a weird cultural reference we didn't get, or more likely, was his friend, an old man in a similarly bright green coat, the real Mr Tait? Being Wigan, I didn't question it too much. I expect strange friendly behaviour. The rain really bucketed down and they all ran inside (despite having hats and hoods), not sure me shouting "bunch of pussies!" at them was wise but they probably didn't hear. The rainwater helped take the hoppy tang off my excellent Neptune Triton. Then the wind whipped up too and smashed a glass, probably wouldn't have happened with proper wooden benches + chunky pint pots. But all in all, a good unique pub experience.

Hood up enjoying my Triton. Note the real Mr Tait inside.

Next, we took the train back towards Manchester but whilst Tom had to stay on due to getting a connection, I had one more pub trick up my sleeve and said goodbye to him at Swinton where I hopped off the train.

After a good 10-15 minute walk through this typical outer Manchester town, I reached my pub and looking at it and the place, I think I'd have demanded my money back had it not been Joseph Holt's.

Final pub of the day.

1003. Park Inn, Swinton

As I entered, I collided with a middle aged couple who were wedged right inside the doorway with their drinks and I did the typical "apologise even though not my fault" British thing. The front bar was another heaving mass of jolly Saturday night drinkers - cheek to jowl I said at the time. All I could do was find a serving hatch to the side where a threatening looking young scroat looked disapprovingly - possibly because I ordered a Chorlton Bootleg Ale instead of a Holt's bitter. His two elders were friendly characters and moved conversation back to football to keep his mind off murdering me. Just as I was debating where on earth I could sit/get out of the way to, I noticed a huge lounge area (typical of many Holt's pubs I've been to) without a single person in it. Remarkable! Maybe Leicester and Arsenal had bored everyone so much, they'd moved en masse to the room without a TV. As I walked towards the corner table, 'Total Eclipse of the Heart' by Bonnie Tyler started up, and for a moment I felt like this was the most Mancunian/Swintonian pub experience anyone could ever have. To add to that feeling, the toilets were full of "do not take drugs" signs and blue lighting on the hand dryers so scroats like the one at the bar struggle to find a vein when they are shooting up their smack. But if they succeed, a pint of Holt's Mild takes the edge off (so they tell me).

This pub was heaving, but you'd never know from this photo!

Back to Manchester Victoria, should have changed at Salford Crescent had I seen Tom's message as I then had to walk to Piccadilly in time for the direct train to York which I made with 5 minutes to spare.

A great day, some very good and interesting pub experiences. Probably won't get a midweek BRAPA trip in this week, so if the 2017 GBG is to fall on my doormat on Friday, I'll be "locked down" on 1,003 pubs whilst I start the cross ticking,

Have a good week, Si

Saltburn Pier, one of the few nice things of today.

I was already in a restless mood heading into today's trip, having expected the new 2017 Good Beer Guide to be with me by 10am Saturday morning, but it didn't materialise. Using the now "out of date" 2016 GBG meant I might be ticking off pubs I didn't need to. Oh, the mental trauma!

Luckily, I love travelling on the Grand Central and it calmed me down. It felt so North Eastern, I kind of expected to get a Pease Pudding Stottie + Vaux Samson 20 pence meal deal, shared in the company of a coal miner lecturing me passionately on workers rights. Train conductor Susan was a canny lass, telling me "lots of people are ganning to Saltburn today, must be the weather!" She managed to change trains with me, checking it on the local stopper too.

First annoying moment of the day came when the 11:47 X4 bus shot off without me. At 11:46! After a nice walk on the seafront, I got on the 12:17. A scary sergeant major hiking chap sat next to me. I heard a whimpering from his rucksack and the face of a black dog appeared, unable to move from the neck down for the 24 min journey. Animal cruelty surely, he got off at the same stop in Loftus, I followed him briefly and he unlocked a rusty white door next to an industrial complex, and took the bag in. Sinister.

Looks shut, because it is.

Station Hotel, Loftus

SHUT PUB ALERT! The GBG said 12 noon Saturday opening. So did Whatpub. The Facebook page rather unhelpfully claimed "always open". Yet the sign on the door confirmed my fears, 3pm opening. On a Saturday? As that kind West Brom man said on Twitter, business must be good if they can afford to open at 3pm on a Saturday. CAMRA should implement a rule whereby if a GBG pub changes it's opening hours without notifying CAMRA, it gets de-guided from the next edition. Fuming, I trudged back to the bus stop to find three equally fuming locals, all throbbing temples and bloodshot eyes, claiming the bus had "gone missing". 23 minutes later, it showed up, 3 mins ahead of when the next one was due anyway.

As the nice lizard chap from Preston said, "never trust a pub sign with Comic Sans font". True!

It was still the cricket season, meaning I had a chance of getting into the GBG listed Saltburn Cricket, Bowls and Tennis Club on a rare Saturday afternoon, providing they had a home fixture. Inevitably, they were away (to Sedgefield) - I had a feeling it was going to be one of those days......

After a pasty in the sun watching 5 foul-mouthed chavs wrestling with a crate of Fosters, I got a train to Marske and was finally in a pub, after 2pm though!

This better be good!

1004. Clarendon, Marske-by-the-Sea

"Middle House" as the locals call it, this was easily the highlight of the day, and totally sober and therefore observant, I can tell you why. Big island bar sweeping around pub, superb pint of Flying Herbert from North Yorkshire Brewery served by friendly landlady who seemed to be Susan from the trains again. The pub was carpetted throughout, with a warming burgundy and tobacco colour scheme which extended into the toilets, surprisingly. Bench seating all around the pub, not a sniff of food, no music or TV, and the local old men said "alright mate" as I sat fairly close to them, wanting to be at the heart of the pub. The friendliest/oddest chap was reading a Marske Utd football programme, commenting on a dangerous player who once played for Corby Town! Having wished the one female in the pub a cheery goodbye (she was heavily tattooed), he then launched into a diatribe about how tattoos make women look common as muck (two faced?) and "look at that Beckham" he said, "he's got 'em all over his face!". He later tried to look cultured by saying him and the wife were having tagliatelle with a sparkling rose wine for supper, but then let himself down again by telling an incredibly toe curling story about when he nearly got punched for cuddling a man's Muslim wife who he'd watched grow up from a small girl. It was definitely time to leave, but what a classic pub.

Back on Marske station, I heard a strange noise and peered through a gap in the hedge to see geese, hens and ducks drinking green water from an old paddling pool. Unique.

Redcar East wasn't far off, but the pub was a good 15 minute trek despite GBG claims it was closer.

1005. Turner's Mill, Redcar

The biggest criticism of the Ember Inn chain is how identikit they are. But not only that, even the approach to them is depressingly familiar. Down a busy main road, past modern housing estates, on the outskirts of town, this was Grovesnor, Caversham and the Horse & Jockey, Aylesbury all over again. The one difference was a racecourse to my left. "Oh well, an Ember Inn it might be, at least it isn't raceday" I thought. WRONG! I entered to find it three deep at the bar as fuckwits in tight grey suits ordered blue WKD and Carling, jostling with silly bints in stupid hats and ridiculous heels looking for Prosecco. It was a farce as they had two members of staff on (a grey bearded man had apparently chosen the "wrong moment to go on his break") and the scene got increasingly fraught with racegoers complaining and the younger barmaid taking it personally and sulking. Luckily, two old locals helped the older barmaid judge which customer's were next in line, which stopped a 7 foot tall goon from pushing in front of me, 15 minutes later, I was served. My beer, when I got it, was cloudy and almost on the turn. Strangely though, the pub atmosphere wasn't too bad. Two theories for this. (a) Ember Inns are so bland, they absorb any 'edge', noise or atmosphere created. Or (b) York racegoers are such scum, it never occurred to me Redcar's folk may know how to behave. Your thoughts? I certainly offended the old chaps in Aldworth's Bell by insinuating any forthcoming Newbury racegoers would be shitbags. So who knows what the truth is? Next to me, an absent husband finally returned to his bleary eyed wife. He'd just nipped out to buy her some Optrex.

This pint is not quite right

Microcosm of racegoers (surprisingly well behaved)

After that trauma, I took the train all the way back as far as Eaglescliffe, where the Good Beer Guide 2016 (not to be trusted) told me there were two pubs near both this, and Yarm, stations i.e. within half a mile. Who writes this bollocks? The nearest pub was 1.2 miles away "as the crow flies", the other 1.3 miles, and they are just as far if not further from Yarm station. And from past experience, I bet Yarm's Black Bull is more than 0.5 miles too from the station too.

So I basically had a dash on just to get one pub and get back again, as it was going to be the last train of the night. (Yarm was a slightly later train but an even further walk).

As I legged it down the main road, a smiley girl I'd seen earlier on a bike decided she wanted to stop and chat about my quick walking speed and what I was up to. Honestly, the ONE TIME a pretty girl asks me about BRAPA and I'm thinking "stop jabbering on cos time is of the essence, luv" (she slagged off the pub I was heading to but used to be a barmaid at the Black Bull in Yarm).

Should I tell them Euro 2016 finished a while ago?

1006. Cleveland Bay, Eaglescliffe

A homely and bustling main bar room awaited me, one of those where you feel the whole village /place / whatever Eaglescliffe is, has come together. I squashed in at the bar and a friendly barmaid (Susan from the train and Marske pub for a 4th time today?!) served me a Cameron's Strongarm, which seemed like the kind of beer you should not be downing in 20 mins but never mind. There was a bit of what we'll call "Swinton Saturday Syndrome" (SSS) going on with blokes blocking the doorway in and out (for the entire duration of my stay), even though there was much seating available. One nice feature was ivy (or some creepery plant) hanging from the bar and ceiling (nicer than the usual lazy hops plant decor) though it did seem perilously close to getting caught in one of those ceiling fans. I could see Hull City on in the far corner, so squinted to see us murdering Man Utd for the first 25 mins (my eyesight is bad) and reflected on how sad it is, in this day and age, that people can't just enjoy watching football in pubs and get excited for the underdog. Now it is all "YESSSS, I had a tenner on Pogba to take the first throw in", gambling and accumulators. It is all wrong. Nice pub though, I thought.

Strongarm and background Hull City

The fan and the ivy (or similar plant)

STOP BLOCKING THE DOOR AND JUST SIT DOWN!

Cos I'd stayed to watch Snodgrass take a freekick on the edge of the area, I only had 18 mins to get back to the station. The rain (not forecast this morning) was absolutely bouncing it down, I just had my BRAPA t-shirt, and was drenched. I started running but a frail old lady crossed in front and I had to slow down for fear of killing her with shock or crushing. Ran over the bridge, the train whistle had sounded, oh no ...... but she held the door! Phew! Today could ACTUALLY have been WORSE!

Back in York Tap and still feeling remarkably sober, I enjoyed a pint of Anarachy with a drunk guy from work and his mate - they are doing a Dutch version of BRAPA which means he understands me, but told me I'd never finish the whole guide, which was just want I needed to hear(!)

A busy Saturday evening in York Tap

Oh well, I thought, as long as Hull City hang on for a point and I arrive home to find the 2017 GBG on my doorstep, something good will have been salvaged from a trying day.....

Neither of those things happened.

Si

I'm more "in limbo" than errrm, errrm Thom Yorke (it's a Radiohead song apparently) as I continue to wait for the 2017 Good Beer Guide to hit my doorstep with all the force of it's 1,000,000,000 pages or however thick it is this year.......

Hopelessly optimistic (and increasingly weather beaten) sign on my front door.

One thing is for sure, CAMRA's new distribution centre in Anchor, Shropshire was a mistake. September tomorrow so time is ticking on. This was the first year my direct debit had been set up / taken correctly too.

And even more galling, the privileged south-easteners (south of Cambridgeshire) have their copies already and have spent the week on Twitter like teenage gossip whores, breaking CAMRA confidentiality etiquette about GBG inclusion left, right and centre.

Or complaining they've received unexpected copies, which they no doubt rip the pages out of to mop up the caviar and swan gravy from their overfed mouths whilst Tristan parks on double yellows (stuff the fine, he can afford it) to bring the SUV round for Jemima before they scoot off to the Craft Kitchen Urban Tap and order Beavertown and Kernal's #777.76 collaboration brew (matched with "eats"). There's a 'meet the brewer' event with both later, maybe they'll get a selfie with their bearded heroes and Instagram it with the ironic hashtag #evilkegrules

Not that this lack of Good Beer Guide is getting to me or anything ......

All ready for some GBG cross ticking, just one vital thing missing.....

August Review

22 new pubs is disappointing when I've had two weeks of annual leave and it is supposedly summer time, but as I always say, August is the hardest month to pub tick as I've been mentally preparing myself for the new GBG, worried about what might drop out!

The highlight is almost certainly the Welsh trip and in particular, finally getting to the Anchor! Felt really bad for Mum's sprained ankle which is kind of a metaphor for August pub ticking if you think about it. The other great day was around the Wigan area where I brought up the 1,000.

Here are my three pubs of the month:

1. Admial Rodney Inn, Criggion
2. Masons Arms, Billinge
3. Clarendon, Marske-by-the-Sea

Surprised to see Anchor not in? Well, it was amazing and magical in so many ways but putting all the romance aside of location, great landlord, great beer, the overall pub experience itself still wasn't quite as good as the three above.

Seriously good Salopian Oracle in Criggion.

September Preview

The month starts with the next leg of my Berkshire trip (part 7 I believe) but no idea where I am going yet. I'll be using Reading as a base but can only pray the new GBG arrives tomorrow or Friday.

Tuesday's are off limits for now as I enter "One Month Reverse Owl Syndrome" (don't ask) whilst the GBG cross-ticking exercise takes place. I'm on 1,006 at present, hoping not to drop below 900 but perhaps 850 is a more reasonable expectation.

Saturday's will continue in force, the 2nd Saturday is the annual Hull City away defeat at Burnley. I should be running out of pubs by now in this part of the world but Padiham and Ighten look enticing.

A week later, another punishing day in North Yorkshire looks the most likely county.

And a week after that, we celebrate Tom Irvin's birthday (not that he'd lower himself to such festivities) with a trip to Crosby which is near Liverpool. I see Bootle and Waterloo are nearby so it could be a rare pub ticking fest on Merseyside.

And hopefully, Tuesday's (South Yorkshire to a finish) will be back up and running after 15th Sept. Going to aim for 25 but it might struggle.

Bertie shocked by lack of GBG arrival in August.

Pub Spreadsheet

I've spent the last month logging over 1,250 pubs into a spreadsheet with the (probable) date I first visited them. What a life I lead!

I'm now filling in the gaps ..... all those 'early' Good Beer Guide pubs I did at Hull City away matches circa 2002-04.

In an interesting twist, I've just had to re-order the 2003 and 2004 Good Beer Guides to retrace my thought processes for the 02/03 and 03/04 seasons. So I'm waiting for 3 GBG's now! I must be a masochist.

Si

DISCLAIMER - Any pubs I visited today should be viewed as pre-emptive ticks. I'm asking you to believe that I heard about these pubs either through word-of-mouth, on social media, read about them in a CAMRA mag (Ullage perhaps), or simply stumbled across them when walking down the street and thought "ooh, that looks like a pub with quality real ale".

Chaos in Paddington station on Saturday morning. All trains were delayed/cancelled because one signal man had been taken ill. One man! I squashed into a "vestibule end" on the first available slow stopper but was still in Reading by 11am, where I then took another delayed train to Midgham.

Midgham Station is actually in Woolhampton, a local old lady telling me this is because there used to be "Wolverhampton" confusion so they couldn't call it Woolhampton. Fact of the day?

Finally, the pub was in sight but I couldn't get to it even then because one of those swing bridges over a river was letting canal barges through for 5 minutes. I finally got in the pub at 11:46am.

Finally at pub 1 after 3.75 hours travel torment!

Rowbarge, Woolhampton

I was surprised to see such a wide range of ales (six of them), all from microbreweries and was greeted by six members of staff (none of them doing any work) so one fresh-faced lad stepped up to serve me. The other five took what seemed to be a "secret meeting" around the corner out of earshot. I saw my barman looking disturbed by this, so being evil, I asked him what plans they were possibly hatching! As I took my pint outside, I heard him demanding an explanation. Isn't paranoia wonderful? The other customers seemed very well-to-do middle agers reading broadsheets and drinking cappuchino in smoking jackets, making the most of canal-side sunshine before the rains came. I managed to make a spectacle of myself looking for the hidden toilets (up narrow staircase behind a door) and then the rain started early, a fact I pointed out to a posh lady who simple replied "quaite". I was drinking a beer by "Wild Weather" so it seemed fitting. We all went back indoors en masse, the pub and setting very much a cross between Curridge's Bunk Inn and the Crooke Hall Inn nr Wigan. I couldn't find a copy of Ullage so I perched in the main bar on a posing table, looking very innocuous as the lone drinker whilst my barman was still looking nervous, sulky and on edge. If a body is found in the canal this morning, I think we can all guess who it belongs to .... nice pub this.

Before the rains came

Last seen alive 12:30pm yesterday serving a loud man in red shorts.

One stop back up the line towards Reading is Aldermaston, which I used to get to Beenham back on my April four day extravaganza. But now it has a pub I "heard" about and needed to "visit".

Nice Butt

Butt Inn, Aldermaston

As the barmaid pulled me a pint of strong Dr Hexler's West Berkshire Something ale (one of three on), she looked all panicky and exclaimed "bear with me, I'm new!" as if I was judging her pulling technique(!) Well, I wouldn't have even noticed. Of bigger concern were her tiny hands, not ideal when you are trying to pay for a £3.50 pint in mainly 10p's. With a very restauranty area to the left, and a whining dog to the right, I sat in the main bar but the lack of head on my beer (a common theme today) meant I spilled it all over the floor and table, and this wasn't the kind of pub which would have beermats to soak up the mess. Behind me, three oldsters had to try and fit three plates of ham, egg n chips onto a small table (no complaints about cold ham, this isn't Wentworth) whilst their docile dog, a lovely shabby thing called Jenny (stupid dog name) slept at their feet. To be fair to the whimpering dog on the far side, I think it was joining in with piped Adele. The landlady appeared with a cloth and wiped the surplus beer off my table, I apologised and was just about to mention beermats when she called me "darling" so it didn't feel right. Next we had a Twild of the year contender, appearing in a hoodie and having a strop cos he wanted sweets from a dispenser by the bar for his pudding. They gave in (weak parenting) on the basis he shared them, but he then exclaimed "noooo I HATE SHARING!" and ran off with the full pack. Main ham and egg bloke and me shook our heads and exchanged glances as if to say "spoilt little shit!" Kinda summed up the pub.

The bar at the Butt

Eclectic bookcase action at the Butt.

One more stop up the line was Theale. A town which should be good as it is an anagram of "the ale". It isn't though, it has an aggressive undercurrent of chavery which was best highlighted by a horrible man who got angry with the train for almost "not letting him off" and called everyone cunts which seemed harsh under the circs. His toothless girlfriend murmured it was his own fault as he'd fallen asleep after all that cider.....

With people like this around, at least the pubs of Theale should be "real" I thought, Wrong!

At the sign of the Bull

Bull, Theale

I've not been in many Wadworth pubs before, if any, and if this is a reflection of them, I'm not missing anything. I was stood there for ages trying to get served, before the staff actually TURNED AROUND and only because I'd rustled a five pound note like I was after a cheap lapdance, probably the only kind in Theale. Remember my description last week of that pub in Marske, and all the little quirks that made it perfect, well this was the antithesis. Horrendous. Cushions, kids, Mum's, buggies, more piped Adele, sterile, bad service, staff apart from one man who waved at me for no reason were like zombies. Even when a barmaid caught me eating my own Sainsbury's spicy chicken bites, I said "hi" to try and cover myself and she just gave me a look of total contempt. Chucking me out would have been kinder. Children in fairy costumes appeared next, my IPA was ok but tasted unlike any IPA I'd ever had, and the 'gents' - jeez, well someone had put a massive pot plant in front of the door so you could hardly get in. Utter utter shite.

On the plus side, beer mats!

A 3.6% IPA. Or a pale bitter as I call it.

Back in Reading and despite the rain, there was a heaving happy atmosphere due to a "Pride" festival, and I'd not seen this many mustachioed men in leather in one place since I visited Preston's Dog & Partridge. I decided it was too busy a day to visit town centre pubs (besides, I hadn't contacted Sir Quinno to see if he was free which is Reading pub law) so I took a bus to Lower Earley.

Seven Red Roses, Lower Earley

In a strange quiet kind of shopping precinct, I'd never visited a pub attached to a Sainsbury's before and I went in to find a proper pub atmosphere, lots of men laughing loudly and immediately thought that this is to Reading what the Wigmore Arms is to Luton. Beer range was poor but a burly impatient but friendly bearded man served me a St Austell Tribute which got absolutely no love on my Twitter, but I decided it was pint of the day, a real testament to the quality. The weirdest thing about this place was the dry autumn leaves, blowing throughout the pub. I didn't know it was autumn until now and everytime the door was opened, they were whipped into a mini cyclone. One jovial man who smelt of wax asked a barmaid "what's with the tumbleweed?" but that could have been the result of all his terrible jokes. I bet he's one of the main offenders of the pubs "infamous karaoke nights" that are advertised. Meanwhile, a woman disowned her young family to watch Saracens v Worcester, intently from a settee. A strange man tried to buy her a drink, she went all coy, then remembered her kids were sat on a stool behind her with her husband. Hilarious, as was the whole pub.

A sample of dry autumn leaves

A winning pint of Tribute and a bit of wrong-code egg chasing.

The rain was coming down harder than ever as the bus edged back towards Reading, so I decided to forgo a long walk across Cippenham to get back into London instead. Once on the Tube, where a girl said "I was wearing a black t-shirt, literally", I emerged at Baker Street for some Marylebone fun.

Not one outdoor drinker posed for my photo.

Gunmakers, Marylebone

So I pushed my way through the bustling outdoor throng and made it to the bar, where a tattooed Eastern European lass looked concerned as I ordered a Portobello Very Pale Ale, asking if I wanted a taster. I did my usual "I'll be brave and go straight for it!" which never impresses anyone south of Sheffield. Well, despite the "mood" lighting, this pint looked murky, ropey, not very pale, and the limp head was a congealed mess. One sip confirmed my fears, and I returned it only for her to reply "that's why you should try before you buy, it is a very distinctive taste". Distinctive in that there aren't many ale drinkers I know who like a pint of vinegar. A Roosters replacement was far better, and I found one free table, with what appeared to be someone's lost black woolly jumper on the bench. Except it was a sleeping pub cat! Pub redemption at it's finest. I bonded with the group of 6 next to me over the cat, the friendliest having the most horrific Hawaiian shirt ever witnessed. Their conversations can't have been amazing, because on the few occasions the cat stirred, they were all transfixed. Late drama occurred as an American man was helping his toddler walk, cat got interested and looked ready to pounce, "not often prey comes into MY pub!" so I warned the Dad and left before I witnessed the second potential murder of the day. Cosy pub.

Pint and cat - always a happy pub scene.

View of the pub, pre-toddler.

And the Kraken rises (sort of)

Golden Eagle, Marylebone

Just a five minute walk away was this pub. I feel like I've been into lots of London pubs like this, tiny side street one room gems with great stained glass windows and architecture so you walk in, all excited to be in such a lovely building, full of optimism only to have a P.I.S.S. barmaid looking like she's so bored, she sucks all life out of the occasion. At least the barman winked it me (in a manly no nonsense "I'm the guv-nor of a Landan Pab" kinda way). And in keeping with such pubs, the toilets were down a narrow staircase which you thought probably leads to secret underground tunnels. I had to perch on two seats of different heights by a wall, there weren't many customers (apart from a woman having an asthma attack everytime her hubbie told a joke) yet it still felt full. I think the atmosphere could have been better if they shut at least one of the pub doors - I really don't understand why pubs insist of having everything wide open on a wet busy London street corner. It was another Yorkshire ale (Kelham Island this time) to save me from the likes of Doom Bar and Fullers. Quite a decent pub, but prefered the Gunmakers.

I walked to Bond Street station (there's something about the Central line I like) and changed for Kings Cross and still managed to sneak a quick half in at the Parcel Yard, where a waitress did something unexpected for apologising for knives n forks n menus on my table when I only wanted a drink! And here was I thinking she was going to chuck me out of a dining area.

Autumnal Fullers beer for £4.50 a pint but quite nice.

So, a good six pub day, NOT that I'm saying it'll benefit BRAPA in any way.

Speaking of which, cross-ticking of the new GBG continues apace. I'm only up to Gloucs & Bristol so far but trying to crack on this afternoon with it. Early indications (my BRAPxit poll if you will) suggest I'm going to make some serious losses, though strangely enough, I'm up in both Devon & Derbyshire, whilst Bucks has been particularly cruel.

Roll on 15th September.

Si

Tuesday afternoon at work and I had that sudden compulsion that we all get at some stage of our lives, to 'randomly' visit the pubs of Barnsley that I'd not quite managed to do before.

After a train journey on the familiar 16:40 from DirtyL**ds, which was only notable for a power-dressing business woman slaying her own mother over the phone for not knowing where the bread was, I was in the muggy town of the Tyke Monsters in good time.

All quiet on the Dove front.

Dove Inn, Barnsley

I almost came here circa 2005/6, but deemed it "too close to the football ground" on a match day and likely to be heaving. If you don't know which way you are walking from the station, it isn't an easy one to find, and as soon as I stepped inside the Alhambra shopping centre, Google Maps basically said "Si, you are on your own from here". After side stepping some teenage chavs, I found myself being greeted by one man sat at a table in the middle of the pub, the landlord. "Yes cock?!" he exclaimed, well I've never been so insulted! Friendly Barnsley greeting I hope. As the only customer present (brilliant at first, but soon depressing), I sat in the main bar enjoying my Old Mill guest ale (a brewery I usually find a bit crummy) admiring memorabilia from Barnsley F.C.'s "golden ages". So 1910-11 and briefly in the mid 1990's then. Toby Tyke kept staring at me in a foreboding manner, I had to remind myself I lived here in 1983 (town, not pub) and my great uncle played for the Tykes in the 1920's so I am virtually royalty. My pictures might make the pub look ultra traditional, but it has suffered a massive stroke on the right hand side and is all a bit restauranty (well, dried flowers in small vases on wooden tables) and was this the reason for the emptiness? Isolating old school drinkers, yet at the same time, hardly the most salubrious of eateries either? Great ale though, told barman, called me "mate" this time as he hummed in a slightly mad, out-of-tune way to himself......

A 15 minute walk across town took me down Summer Lane, to a pub that myself and the redoubtable Tom Irvin tried to enter after 12 noon in July 2014, supposed to be open. We even rang the pub phone number but nothing doing. After some questionable theories, we settled on "pub closed forever" (it made me feel better) and returned, brows dripping with sweat, to the Old No 7 where Bernard Everitt was all like "why did you ever leave here in the first place?"

Carling, John Smiths, Fosters or Beautique Treatments?

Commercial, Barnsley

A proper local community spirit was brewing on this warm Tuesday evening with an occupied pool table and England U21's on a screen. I was greeted as "luvvie" by a barmaid in a fetching black and white striped get-up, and was soon enjoying a typically amazing pint of Abbeydale Deception, choosing to sit "right in the heart of the action" rather than cower in the empty far corner room - after all, I needed blog material! As friendly (and ever-so-slightly edgy) as this pub was, the main criticism has to be the amount of hypochondriacs that abound. Firstly, barmaid herself. "I'm ultra tired, definitely something wrong with me" she kept saying. It didn't stop her getting animated at the slightest hint of excitement and told a tale of some drunk guy throwing a bucket of water on her last night. He nearly got barred when he refused to get in a taxi and then demanded another pint. This place must be fun at 11pm. Then a neck-aching layabout girl entered and ordered much Prosecco, admitting she actually cried when the doctor refused to give her any medication. She then sympathised with the chubbier pool player, he's been "laid up sick" all week - yet he was on his 5th bottle of Bud (since I'd arrived) and was racing around a pool table like a hairier but still more acceptable Stephen Lee. Was I seeing the dark side of Barnsley society? At least I got called "pal" for opening a door for a man with too many drinks and not enough balance, and then when Rashford scored for England U21's, they all nodded smugly in unison and went "aye, Rashford's got it, aye" as though he's a Barnsley born and bred regular. Insane pub.

The blurry beers

Action shot of beer and one of the few people without an ailment

Joseph Bramah, Barnsley

'Spoons time it was, armed with another Mudgie voucher to get the price down to £1.59 for a very good Horbury Beer. Reason I've not been here before was that when I went to the other Spoons, I just didn't have the heart to do two in one day! 'Spoons pubs seem to have one of two entrance types - either, and most commonly, the light glass door, wide and bustling, greeted by tables at all angles as you fight your way to a bar straight ahead. Or like this one, the narrow thin dark entrance with a few miserable locals lining the walls, where the pub slopes before sweeping round left or right to the bar. All the drama here was at the bar where a horrid man from the West Country, having earlier admitted confusing the young barman with a complex order, then slagged him off to more senior staff "You need to train your staff better!" "It's only his second shift!" protested the guy serving me, "EXACTLY!" said West Country Twat, which was a comeback which made no sense to anyone who witnessed it. Seriously, if I had a west country accent in Barnsley, I'd not be making a spectacle of myself. As I sat down at a sticky table and brushed crumbs onto the floor, I wondered what the army of female skanks (oops, waitresses) were actually doing, well until the tiny strawberry blonde tanned one smiled at me, then I forgave them. Upstairs was a huge seating area and another bar, the locals all looking at me like "this is an upstairs room for local people!" Then, nothing else happened for the next half an hour.

The scene so typically Spoons.

So that was nice, three more pubs errrm, not ticked off cos they aren't in the GBG just yet, but visited pre-emptively anyway. Journey back nice and uneventful despite changing at L**ds again, and back on with cross-ticking my new GBG in readiness for 15th September. I will be in Burnley on Saturday for some football and real ale, so will keep you posted.

Si

The 'cushion of controversy', Padiham (see below)

It was time for Hull City's annual visit to Burnley. Seriously it doesn't matter whether or not we play in the EPL (spit!) or the Maidstone & Snodland District League Division 5, Burnley would still be in our division.

After a 17 minute bus journey, we were in Padiham. It wasn't the sandstone hillside Pendle village I'd imagined in my mind's eye with a friendly witch stirring newt eyes into a cauldron, but just a busy road to Burnley with a bridge over a river, a few shops and random buildings on each side. Still seems a strange place to have your hen-do, as my manager at work did.

Disturbed character waiting for pub to open.

The pub was off the main road, up a cobbled hill and we arrived dead on 12 noon to find the erstwhile Tom Irvin outside, soon joined by an old local at 12:01 anxious a late opening might stop his enjoyment of the Manchester derby. Finally (well, 12:02), that happiest of all sounds as the door was unbolted from within......

Hare & Hounds, Padiham

The pub was suitably multi-roomed, dark and a tiny bit dingy despite the sunny morning - perfect! A good range of local-ish ales were on (I tried the likes of Coach House, Worsthorne and Accrington's Clock) and Dad was swiftly admonished by the young barmaid for suggesting that a 7.3% stout was a "bit strong". She wasn't joking. I think this shows us that she isn't the kind of girl who'd fret about a sheep cushion being moved, but it didn't stop Tom trying to get me into trouble for moving it .... had I been 'barred' before my minimum 25 minute stay, there'd have been trouble! As it was, she was looking for the remote control and with the Manchester derby on three screens, fresh beermats handed out to the customer's like a card game, and the smell of wet dog (lolloping at the bar) neutralised by cigarette smoke (it isn't 2007 in Padiham yet), the pub really started to swing into life. When I say 'life', I mean the ever-so-slightly terrifying clientele. Twilds who you wouldn't dare call twilds had mini mohawks and troubled stares, their parents all tattoos, fake tans, tracksuits and hooped earrings. I didn't dare photograph them. To ramp up the "local interest" element, someone on Twitter told me that this pub is known locally as the Stabbers Arms after the landlady's partner followed a customer home, stabbed him, customer then returned to pub (presumably for a last rites pint of 7.3% stout) where he died on the pub steps. We speculated on whether anyone currently here might have been involved, and Dad whispered "they probably ALL have tags on and are out on day release". After this story, there was no chance we weren't going to take part in the pub football team raffle (I chose Hull City & Hibs) but I haven't been contacted with my winnings yet. Memorable pub!

After one of the more enjoyable 90 minutes at Turf Moor, I was walking away from the ground when I stumbled across this club looking like it was going to sell quality real ale, and despite a stern looking skinhead with folded arms outside the closed front door, I snuck in through a side door.

KSC 110 Club, Burnley

I suddenly had to set my expression from "94th minute equaliser euphoria" to "abject disappointment" as I saw the sullen faces of the Clarets packed into the room. I revealed my Notsensibles band t-shirt (Burnley's finest early 80's irreverent punk band) and shook my head at a kind old man as if to say "HOW did we not hang on for victory?" and before I knew it, I was in the inner circle being served Reedley Hallows superb ales - easily my pint of the day and it'd be nice to think this club would get in the 2017 GBG when it is released on Thursday. I perched on the end of the bar, a good way to see how ultra hard the army of staff were working and I don't think I've ever seen so many empties being returned to the bar in such a short space of time. Robert Snodgrass did a lot for local beer industry yesterday. I couldn't really move enough to leave the club (good excuse), so ended up staying for another where the kids and women started to disperse (the men said they were staying for just one more) and I finally got a seat for the last 10 minutes.

Back in the street, the football traffic had cleared and I had time to pop in to the Ministry of Ale for a final drink before the train back to York, via L**ds. The Ministry was one of my original favourite real ale pubs, surprised it hasn't been in the GBG in recent years, and I was just starting to suspect a falling out with the local CAMRA (politics!) when on this occasion, my beer was rapidly descending into vinegar. At least I got a nice chat with some stray Tigers.

So all in all, a pretty good day out and sat here 7:30pm on Sunday, still feel a bit hungover! On Ripper Street this week, Drake asked Reid why on earth he'd leave his peaceful seaside town to return to the grime and seedy crime of 1890's Whitechapel? "Because this is where life is!" and exactly why I'd take a million 'mild peril' pubs of East Lancs over a sanitised gastro buggy-friendly non-threatening place in South East London.

I'll be back in South Yorkshire tomorrow evening for more pre-emptive fun, and will write it up on Tuesday. Have a good week and get down t'pub!

Si

You'd have thought by now, the number of times I've visited the town of Doncaster, I'd have been confident, relaxed, been embraced by the locals as "one of them" .... NO CHANCE! With one of the hottest September days on Donny record, the freaks were out in force making for a hair raising experience.....

Man from my train fails to enter pub. Loser.

Leopard, Doncaster

The Leopard, one of those "oh my god Si how have you not visited this pub before?" pubs looked splendid from the outside. Green tiling must be my favourite pub exterior along with cats and stuffed owls on spikes. Inside was immediately more underwhelming, not that I had chance to take it all in. The ales seemed to be missing and a barman (possibly Leo Fortune-West) seemed just as confused as me, told me a blackboard displaying them had gone walkabout. A more senior barman then asked if I was a "Rep" and when I told him no, just a CAMRA member, he got a bit sheepish and gave me 10% discount. Wish I'd have said yes to see what would have happened, but no doubt my Tim Taylor top was to blame. I decided to sit in the right hand room of the three (table tennis and pool in the back). As I "admired" the fake bookcase and listened to conversations like (a) "if poker is annoying you, don't get addicted, just give up" and (b) "How did you manage to buy a church by accident?", I read my Donny Drinker thinking this is quite a standard pub experience for Doncaster, especially when a Vietnamese bag lady appeared from nowhere. But then, "Whisky Steve" arrived. Oh dear! Once he'd ascertained I wasn't gay (he said he always checks, it's the one type of person he won't talk to), he sat with me, forever. Wish I'd said I was. He was amazed to learn I was 37 and not 12 years old. He compared himself to Einstein (when sober), told me he liked boobs, and then when a chap in a turban walked in, he chanted "I Sikh him here, I Sikh him there, I Sikh him everywhere". So embarrassed, I downed my Sharp's Atlantic, made my excuses and ran out as quickly as I could.

Not much was going on at this stage .....

The calm before the whisky storm.

Flying Scotsman Tap, Doncaster

Pre-Steve, the Donny Drinker had told me this was a pub of the season with it's Chantry ales and live music, so in need of a calmer experience(!), I headed down the hellhole that is Silver Street, all horrific bars and takeaways with scroats and skanks lining the streets, I'd been expecting some shiny metallic trendy bar full of uncomfortable posing tables, so to find quite a divey dark gig venue was quite a relief. The barman was of the enthusiastic, cheery ilk (like all bar staff in South Yorkshire towns, pleased to see anyone drinking ale). He asked me the old "What type of beers do you like?" question, I humoured him by saying "stout and porter" but it'd just gone off so rather than offering me the nearest fit, he sold me the lightest hoppiest beer on sale cos he liked it best! Bit too dry but the New York Pale at least reminded me of better pubs in Rotherham, I squashed into an incomprehensibly low settee as two unwashed old men chuckled about the warm weather and wives hanging their washing out (or something). The artwork was all Brewdog and Bowie. Ugh. Our barman kept checking on me & the state of the ale, calling me "duck" far more than was necessary - he must have moved from Derbys, he probably thought I was a rep too. The music was good, the place a bit dull, though just as I was leaving, "Go Now" by the Moody Blues started up which summed up just how welcome I felt in Donny tonight!

Put "Tap" in front of a pub, and it might get in the GBG one day!

Empty moshing space

Top quality Chantry

After another terrifying walk back to Donny station where three topless teenage chavs crossed the road in an aggressive manner, I did my usual ritual/superstition of getting fleeced by the station vending machine, (£1 plain chocolate Bounty). Three drunk men in vests came along to tell me I could pay contactless on this vending machine and how ridiculous that was but was I having a good evening? They had a point of course, but "WHY CAN'T PEOPLE JUST LEAVE ME ALONE?!"

It was a relief when I got back to 'boring, no-one gives a shit about their fellow man' York.

Good Beer Guide 2017 out on Thursday, I will be back with a special blog so see ya then.

Si

15th September 2016, it is official, the Good Beer Guide is upon us.

For those of us who have respected the embargo through those difficult days of late August / early September when the CAMRA carrier pigeons buckled under the 1,000 plus pages heading to "The North", some even being electrocuted on power lines just outside Stockport, today is a momentous day.

I have finished my "cross-ticking exercise". I was on 1,006 pubs going into the 'blackout' period, I emerge 110 poorer at 896. Was expecting about 100 drop, but at one stage looked nearer 150 so I can't complain.

Here's ten highlights, lowlights and BRAPA strategy ideas for the 2016/17 "season" (like you care).

1. Tuesday Triumph - Yorkshireof course is my main focus, living there n all, and it has not been too cruel. South Yorkshire looks very achievable by the end of 2016, and whilst West Yorkshire has thrown up plenty of new challenges, I love my Tuesday nights so lots to look forward to. North and East Yorkshire have been kinder, I'm aiming to finish all four Ridings (or whatever they are called) by the end of next summer.

2. The Bedfordshire Conundrum - Sounds like a dull Dan Brown novel*, but I'll explain. I had completed Beds, and moved onto Berks. But now Beds has new pubs to go at. So do I return to Beds once I've completed Berks, or move on to Bucks and sack off Beds until I've done all other counties in many years time, then go back round the counties again? My three leading 'strategists' all favoured the latter approach, so that is what I will do. Did that make sense?

3. Evil Greater Manchester - All this tooling around missing Hull City away games (NFFD's) to tick off the many weird and wonderful places that inhabit this region, and how does it repay me, with the biggest percentage drop of anywhere?! It's taking the P I S S out of me. Suddenly, Altrincham, Ashton under Lyne, Atherton, Billinge and Tyldesley all have new pubs to visit. I'm surprised Crooke hasn't opened up a new underwater canal micropub. Arrrghhhhh. And I bet it would have a shitty Christmas menu.

4. Berkshire Blast - My current "long distance" focus county is not looking too bad, by contrast. Amazingly ALL my pre-emptive ticks I did early September are in the GBG, even horrid Theale (fancy that!) and I can see me finishing the county by Feb/March 2017. I'd like to once again thank Tim Thomas and Sir Quinno for keeping me on the right Berkshire track back in April.

5. Bucking Hell - Which makes Buckinghamshire my "far away focus" (FAF) county of 2017. I lost more than 50% of the 11 pubs I'd done here (i.e. 6) so am annoyed our Wembley day pub ticking was almost totally in vain. Roger Protz might find it commendable MK has forgone all it's entries ("doing a Watford" as it is known in the trade), but for me, sheer annoyance!

6. Chauff me the Money - With self driving cars still not available, and Tom still not passing his driving test (not sure which of these two would be safer) Dad is my premier chauffeur / tricky pub ticking buddy having earned himself a new 2 year contract(!) with BRAPA, having impressed in mid-Wales. We've spoken about strategy, so on Hull City home days, I'm advised to focus on the likes of Lancs, Greater Manc, Merseyside, Cheshire, Notts, Cumbria and Durham and leave tricky Yorkshire days for when he's free. This is a shift in focus but makes sense, and our sporadic NFFD's with Tom will continue.

7. Pre-emptive Joy - Most satisfying to see some pre-emptive pub visits making their way into the guide, the gamble (in some cases) paid off. Cow & Cask, Newbury, Castle Tap, Reading, Bald Buzzard, Leighton Buzzard, New Brew-m, Burnley, Butchers Dog, Driffield, Gallaghers, Cross Hills - just some of those mainly micro pubs which've come good for me.

8. Marvellous Middlesbrough, Yucky York - Speaking of micro pubs, my place of the 2017 GBG is Boro. It has added Infant Hercules but none of the other micros apart from Dr Phil's Misery Palace (sure they all opened about same time as IH so must qualify) but what a fantastic bold step to reintroduce Isaac Wilson excellent Spoons near the station instead. Parmos are on me. I also think Sheffield got it spot on with it's entries this year. I can't really criticise most places as I'm rarely more than a one off visitor, but me and my York friends go around random York pubs almost every Thursday and I cannot believe the decision making. Fox is probably my pub of the year, anywhere. Deguided. Old Ebor, superb quality ale, cracking locals pub, passionate landlord, deguided. Rook & Gaskill pub of the year? Gimme a break. Falcon Tap deserves it's debut, Duke of York, well, it's okay, but hardly pulls up any trees. Still, as John Watson says, we (local CAMRA members) all get a vote, it's democratic, so you gotta abide by the decisions made.

9. Archive Surprise - I've counted 24 pubs in the new GBG which I hadn't reviewed since BRAPA has started, either because they weren't in 2014,15 or 16 GBG's, or I didn't consider them as GBG worthy pubs when I visited, so over the next three Mondays, I will be reviewing 8 of them at a time. Don't I spoil you?

10. You Absolute Anchor! - After a year plus of planning this fabled almost mythical pub, references galore with the likes of Martin Taylor and Pub Curmudgeon, me and Martin both get to it, it lived up to the billing with wonderful ale, top landlord and what happens, they de-guide it! If one thing sums up the frustration of pub ticking, this is it.

I've got today off (not because the Guide is out, but to "recover" from last night's York Beer Festival). I didn't overdo it because today seems like a fitting day to go BRAPping.

Si

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* The Bedfordshire Conundrum, Chapter 1.

I entered the dusty old Christian chapel on a wet November morning. A man hunched over an alter in robes, heard my footsteps and stood up, bolt upright. "Simon, is that you?" he ventured in a voice broken by too many average pints of Greene King IPA. "But how did you know my name?" "We have been expecting you. Biggleswade has been expecting you. You are the only one who can solve our conundrum .... the Bedfordshire Conundrum!".

Bewildered, I stood open mouthed but he reached forward with an athleticism defying his years, or come to think of it, anyone in East Beds. He grabbed my arm and took me over to an unkempt rusty window, displaying a stained glass prism. "You see the prism?" I squinted into the sunlight which had conveniently appeared at this moment despite the grey rainy morning. "Yes, I do sir" I replied. "Don't call me sir, my name is Alan". Alan seemed a disappointing name all things considered.

"Now see here", Alan rolled out some parchment over the parapet displaying a map of Biggleswade town centre. He took a quill (the poser could have used a biro) and marked a cross. This represents "The Golden Pheasant". He drew another cross. "And this, the Wheatsheaf". I looked sceptical. He drew a third cross and looked at me inquiringly. "Errrm, the Stratton House Hotel?" I asked tentatively. "Don't be fucking stupid, that place has been shit for years Simon. No, that is the New Inn Alehouse & Kitchen!" And then he drew a line going West. "And what is that?!" I exclaimed. "That is the bus route to the Cock at Broom. It has no bar. NO BAR!!!"

And then he vanished in a cloud of smoke, leaving behind him a scent of stale Charles Wells Eagle IPA. What did it all mean, the Bedfordshire Conundrum?

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11am on Thursday morning and all was well with the world. A day off work, the kind of beautiful summer's day we never get in summer, my York Beer Festival hangover had subsided, and as Dad was presented with his "two year chauffeur contract", Mr SatNav was at his stoic best, failing to tell us about various country lane turnings until it was too late.

I changed the starting pub three times in the first half an hour, but after a tortuous drive through the centre of Harrogate (very much like a tough piece of beef stuck in an intestine), it was 12 noon and I screamed "STOP!" as we tore past pub number one on the main road. A quick U-turn and we were in the car park.

Me about to get slapped with a ticket for being in the disabled space.

897. Hopper Lane Hotel, Blubberhouses

Being the first "official"'tick' of the 2017 Good Beer Guide, I stomped into the wooden floored pub in cheery mood, asking the blonde daughter barmaid how she was today. "Errm, I'm alright" she said in a pained manner out of the corner of her mouth, trying desperately to flex those facial muscles into a smile - but being a P.I.S.S. barmaid, she obviously failed. After more painful interaction and me trying to pay using a stray dice I found in a pocket, we found a nice outdoor drinking area (can't quite bring myself to say 'beer garden') backing onto a field filled with sheep who kept hiding behind hedges. Possibly because the smell of roast lamb was emanating from the kitchen. Dad was being a bit lame, reckoning it was too hot, and not for the first time today, he played his "wasp get out of jail free card" by saying the insects were hassling us, trying to get into our excellent quality pints of Jorvik Blonde by Rudgate. Being inside a least allowed me to get a feel for the pub, the quirkiest point being a bust of Beethoven staring down a glass covered well. I then confused Dad by asking him if this was the Boyzone version of 'Words' or the Bee Gees original. Mum landlady was even less smiley than her daughter, Dad appeared to be on Crack Cocaine. The music was awful, the pub average and although Dad sporadically kept making assenting noises, "ooh I could bring your mother here", "quite nice", "decent pub this", as soon as we got back into the carpark, he stated "well, that was incredibly average wasn't it?" And it was.

Dad - pre wasp complaints.

View of this large multi levelled pub, you can just see the glass well & Beethoven.

The sheep are hiding but a nice view.

We carried along some rather extreme country roads (I almost feel guilty for making Dad do this driving lark) but we soon arrived at Malham. And it was HEAVING with bloody school kids. Where were the teachers? In the pub. Of course.

We'd both been talking about various school outings around here from our youths (me at the horrific Bewerley Park in the depths of January, Dad at some cave dwellings probably sometime B.C., he wasn't sure on the year).

Pretty frontage to the pub, but can it overcome tourist mediocrity?

898. Lister Arms, Malham

Having found a free car park but still needing to go "off-road" and park on the grass next to a tree, we had to walk past the schoolkids, who were all about taking selfies with stalactites and testing soil pH levels with iPhone apps, the youthy scumbags! Anyway. a square jawed black haired chap of suspicious friendliness (you could see him thinking "pints only, no food, and they aren't teachers, what is their game?") served from a good ale range, my Settle Mainline was very meaty. We pushed past bikers in shorts and guilty teachers to find a bench seat, but this pub was hellbent on committing a plethora of BRAPA sins. Pointless piles of logs near a fire - check. Knives n forks on all tables- check. Chintzy cushions making it hard to sit on flimsy bench seating - check. Top Trumps style cards of all the staff pulling funny faces to make them look 'humourous' - check. Uniformed waiters kept disappearing outside, to serve coffee, scones and jam to old people. So I hope you are getting a picture of why this wasn't pub of the year, without being terrible. Saddest thing was the tankard being used to hold 'our' knives and forks was etched with the year 1935 and the name of presumably a former customer when this pub was quite different / better! My favourite part of the pub was the toilets - underground and refreshingly cool. Wish I'd drunk my pint in there.

Note the old tankard with it's "new use".

View to the bar after the teachers remembered their responsibilities.

Coffee, scones and jam more popular than beer here.

Parking in the famous and picturesque village of Grassington was even tougher, we had to pay and display here and still walk in, cursing the hot weather bringing out the tourists. However, this was a much older crowd. Topless old gents sucking up vanilla ice cream with sunburnt faces happily staring into the sun with vacant expressions.

Dad needs a wee, but he still manages to pose (sort of).

899. Foresters Arms, Grassington

After two pubs lacking in what I could say was "true pub character", we were rewarded here. The barmaid was on her phone as I scanned the bar to find the guest ale, obscured by board at the far end. She must have seen us come in, for although Dad had long since disappeared to the loo, she turned round to ask "what would you both like?" and quickly looked puzzled as I turned to my imaginary friend and said we'd both love a pint of Wharfedale Blonde. She did redeem herself by calling me "Sir", a nice addition to September's South Yorkshire pub greetings of "Duck", "Cock", "Luvvie", "Pal" and "Chief". The pub certainly was trying to give a rustic impression of still being in the 1940's, with money saving war slogans, an old typewriter, and pictures and photos of the pub from yesteryear. It was perhaps a bit forced, but a nice sentiment. Back in the 21st century, one of my favourite occasional BRAPA moments ensued when an old chap brought his Filipino bride into the pub - "give 'er a pint of blackcurrant!" he ordered (he may as well have added "whether she likes it or not!") She later escaped his clutches to return to the bar, asking for 'pork crisps'. After some confusion, turned out she wanted scratchings and there was much relief I can tell you.

Later on, our barmaid shouted from the kitchen area "shall I put the chicken on?". In the true spirit of Martin Taylor's ace blogs, your quiz question today is "What was Dad's reply?"

Nice but very dry Wharfedale Beer served in correct glassware.

"I've got 300 loaves in my pantry, will that be enough to scare off Mr Hitler?"

We meandered back towards York, taking a slight detour around the Ripon / Knaresborough area to help me get up my 900th pub - that is 1/5 of the GBG. And this time, it was a bit of a happier experience than the Dulcimer in Chorlton-cum-Hardy.

We had to wait for traffic to clear for ages before achieving this shot.

900. Guy Fawkes Arms, Scotton

What is this strange rural North Yorkshire phenomenon? Yes, I do believe it is a friendly, happy, fully engaged and personable barman. Well well well. A rarity. And what a lovely chap, bit concerned that a beer called Lemongrass Thai might need a "try before you buy", and despite some faint Fairy Liquid lingerings, it was pleasant on a muggy evening. The pub was a little bit foody with a more traditional drinkers area near the bar being leant on by locals, so we went outside where earlier, a nosy old couple had watched Dad try to reverse into the smallest car parking space ever. A bit like the low roofed pub, it seemed to have originated from a time when people and cars were a lot smaller! There was a real calmness about the place despite a busy main road out the front stopping it from achieving full "Criggionesque" levels, and even the slow moving wasps, confused by the September heat, were not being threatening enough on this occasion to force Dad back inside. I did threaten to kill one with my new 2017 GBG but it crawled into an old woman's discarded glass of Prosecco and immediately died anyway. Probably.

There was no time to pop into the non-GBG listed Fox (no I'll NEVER let that one go!) on the way back as Dad was cooking tea for the ankle invalid, and I had to be well enough for a project at work the next day.

Tomorrow, I'll be back on the BRAPA trail starting in a county where I only have 14 ticks to my name, before moving to one where I have 62. But I'm looking for the maximum six tomorrow (three in each) so here's hoping for a good day with public transport! I'll write it up on Sunday.

Si

I was glad I'd taken an earlier train out of York to Manchester on Saturday morning, when an announcement suddenly sounded on the tram advising we were terminating at Timperley rather than Altrincham as planned. The reason was unclear, but Alty Alistair Sim looked deeply angered, and kept shouting "LATE!" randomly until the replacement eventually turned up.

Altrincham bus station was thankfully attached to the trains, and 25ish minutes later, I was in Lymm.

Lymm Cross, about 11:50am Sat 17th September 2016

Having previously insulted a lady by asking whether Lymm was in Greater Manchester, I was unsurprised to see a pretty well-to-do little town where the locals loved themselves a bit too much, lots of tannnig, muscles, and bright white teeth on display, everyone walking around with their noses in the air, the canal boat people thought they were George Clooney and wife in Monaco.

901. Brewery Tap, Lymm

Considering I was stood on a bridge watching this pub open dead on 12 noon, I''ll never understand how I was not the first customer - a man was already swilling round a half of 7% cloudy beer and making intelligent "beer approval noises" like hmmm, aaahhh and ohhhh. You know the type! Had he slept under the bar? He had a scruffy dog too. Maybe he lives here. A helpful young barman wanted to me to do the whole "try before you buy" on a milk stout, I did my old "no, I'm being brave" routine, though it sounded like I didn't trust the beers. He smiled a lot and was polite, but wondered if it'd been trained rather than came naturally. The two room bar was modern but cosily green, cream and brown and I sat in a sunny front window, not yet warm enough to laud it over the canal scum above me. An old man on crutches clocked me, said hi nervously, then revealed he had gout. Man with dog said "don't come near me". He was assured gout wasn't contagious. I think he was a benefit cheat though probably retired too. The next two men who entered were also on sticks, drank pints in 10 minutes, then hobbled out whilst a sour faced woman with nicer hubbie sat reading papers. I read a beer menu (very Sam Smiths!) and discovered this was Lymm brewery tap, not Dunham Massey I probably had chosen the wrong ale, even if it was delicious. The good music obscured any further conversations, but a man started bringing pork pies to people outside. Promising start .....

I then took one of the more interesting walks to Agden Wharf, sticking as close to the canal as I could - the outskirts of Lymm into woodland went from Tilehurst to Beenham alarmingly quickly (sorry but I can only use Berkshire analogies when walking around the UK these days):

Walking through canal side woodland

Apart from a bit of mud and balancing on wooden planks, it was a nice walk and I was excited about pub two, as I love owls as you know:

Carved owl - sadly not stuffed or on a spike

902. Barn Owl, Agden Wharf

Well, it didn't look hugely like a pub from the outside and although you could walk to the bar and choose from a great range of local ales, this was a restaurant. Not even a pub with a restauranty feel. I guess the canal running directly parallel to the back window is the added draw, as you munch down your lobster thermidor. Goodness knows where I'd have sat on a cold winters day, but as it was glorious, I sat out the front with another carved specimen, a brown bear, for company. A chauffeur-cum-waiter man walked past and told me "you've got the best seat in the house!" Must've been a pub man, The pub was doing a good trade judging by the number of cars pulling up, and I did spot a canalside outdoors area to the rear but it seemed full of Hooray Henry's and Geronimo Jessica's. There were a couple of other owls around too, but none of them stuffed or on spikes, this wasn't the Green Owl by any means and proof that just cos a 'pub' has owl in the name, it's not bound to be marvellous. My Storm beer was frustratingly perfect. Like so many pubs of this ilk (North Rigton springs to mind), it also had unnecessary sexy lady photos in the gents and a most confrontational hand drier called "Rips the Skin off Your Hands" or something. When pub toilets are accidentally the most interesting part of a pub, you have to have your doubts.

Another walk next in the heat, this one felt harder despite apparently being 0.1 miles less than the last one according to Google Maps, and I was soon walking down a country lane in Lower Bollington.

Not far to go....

A pub of interesting characters

903. Swan With Two Nicks, Lower Bollington

What the difference is between a Nick and a Neck is I'm hoping some pub sign expert can tell me, as you tend to get both but on reflection, I prefer the good old traditional Necks of Stockport. A pint of Old Tom in the heat here certainly might have finished me off for the day. Again, diners dominated though at least this place had some allusions to being a pub. It was a sunny Saturday lunchtime so what did I expect? At the bar, we had early drama as a man rushed his runny bottomed child into the gents, only for the barmaid (a stern faced woman who was actually quite pleasant) to say only the Ladies has baby changing facilities. Well, what if he'd been a single father? Just as I was imagine a beer bellied man dressed as Batman abseiling down the pub wall chanting "Justice for Fathers, Give Gents Baby-changing Facilities", Mum appeared on the scene to save the day. Shame. Next to me on the other side, a young interracial gay couple were celebrating their first pint of ale together since the 2017 GBG release (or some anniversary). It was a moment for CAMRA to embrace, and reflected the eclectic mix of the pub. An old couple of chaps with sticks (so probably from Lymm) appeared just in time to check out the arse of a brunette beauty with Prosecco. It got a bit too much though when a South African Twild, supposedly searching for rocks(!) disturbed a snail from it's "home" and had to be reprimanded by a Mum with the voice of Oscar Pistorious. Because the human race are sheep, everyone had squashed into one small section of the beer garden so when I went to the far end table, all nicely isolated, all the fore-mentioned characters stared as if it say "I can't believe he's actually sat there!" Okay, there were enough wasps to give my Dad nightmares, and I was eventually invaded by a family of bikers (the boys in Liverpool shirts had set up temporary goalposts using cars and had a penalty shoot out) so it all made for an entertaining pub experience.

A great pint of Dunham Massey Obelisk amid the entertainemt.

I then found a bus stop on a hair raising bend opposite Dunham Massey Hall and National Trust park to take me back to Alty. An old couple joined me who tried to make me responsible if we didn't succesfully flag it down as it sped round the corner. But we were okay. Fair play to Dunham Massey, one day they are winning awards for their stout, the next, they have a huge hall and gardens, even some deer, presumably out of the proceeds from generous CAMRA!

The bus journey went okay even if I discovered Hull City were losing, and I was back in Alty but where was this "pub", I was confused. Surely not just a stall in the market??

904. Jack in the Box, Altrincham

On my last visit to Alty, I feared it had finally waved the white flag to trying to retain it's own identity and was happy to go down the Chorlton route of upmarket, young and hipster. The days of drinking a lunchtime Wobbly Bob in the Old Market Tavern whilst a scroaty man with headphones and a Glasgow Celtic shirt sits on your knee because you are in "his seat" are long gone. Now it all Costello's and Pi's ,complimentary peanuts and outdoor blankets, and now this place, making Tap East in Stratford look like the Atherton Arms. Depressing to me, but not the vibrant young folk of Alty living the trendy market dream. Each "space" looked the same, most visitors simply refering to Jack in the Box as "the beer stall". To the right, people drank fancy wines like there was no tomorrow - this one was called "Reserve". There was a "Great North Pie co.", there was a "Wolf House Kitchen", and a "Tender Cow". Wasaabi Popcorn was on sale next to me for £2. There was not one seat in the whole place, so I stood facing the bar wedged between three barrel tables, somehow still in the way. The staff were good, the ale from Hawkshead was probably my pint of the day, but how could I possibly enjoy this experience? One old chap was sat at the bar with his headphones in ignoring the world, oblivious to anyone. Perhaps he was Glasgow Celtic man. He had the right idea. I feel like I'd seen a hellish vision of the future!

Nice colourful straws make the pain go away....

A snapshot of hell.

Shaken but not stirred, I took the tram as far as Stratford where I rang Mum to tell her of Hull City's fightback. By the time I found my 5th pub, we'd conceded two more!

As close as you'll get to an external pub shot

It's up the stairs we go......

905. Sip Club, Stretford

And WHAT a place to try and find! I wandered upstairs and whispered to the friendly young lady behind the bar "is this the Sip Club?" It felt like I was entering a secret society. Her Mum was sat in the corner, giving the illusion of a lady in a rocking chair knitting, even though she wasn't! I chatted with them for a while, it was all the brainchild of the young lass, with one of those entrepreneurial power business woman names like Heather or Hazel or Margot. I can't remember. I encouraged her not to put a "Sip Club" signed outside, though she told me she felt a bit guilty when people arrived traumatised and drenched from rainstorms because they couldn't find it, despite being stood outside. She told me most visitors demanding a sign were from Chorlton-cum-Hardy. "Stuff them" I told her, "they have enough one syllable bars in their own town!" I deserved a bigger laugh for that comment. "And why only open at 2pm?" I asked her, "Is it to keep the Man Utd fans out on matchdays?". "No" she laughed, "I just like a lie in!" I went through to the other room, where sun was shining in. It was all gingham tablecloths and scratchy 50's rockabilly coming out of a beat up old speaker. It would have been perfect if not for two boy Twilds divebombing off a chair onto a leather sofa. 'It'll only end in tears', I thought, and it did, but not quite as I imagined. In propelling themselves off the chair, it flew backwards and smashed their Dad in the leg. He wasn't very brave. Made me laugh though as he hobbled out, his wife telling him to man up.

Back on the tram, I jumped off one of the Manchester stops which seemed to be just a few minutes walk from my final "pub of the day".

906. Pie & Ale, Manchester

Okay, so I wasn't expecting a dark traditional pub full of Steptoe types drooling over polystyrene tray filled with steak n kidney pies, topped with mushy peas and a bit of optional mint sauce if you are like me. The place smelt nice and all, but I got the distinct impression that "Pies" here were probably about £20 a go, filled with things like Braised Lamb and Raspberry Jus on a bed of Rocket. I didn't see or hear the word gravy once during my almost 45 minute stay here, that saddened me. What also saddened me was the fact that I had to walk through two rooms, and peer into two serving hatches selling food before I finally found the room with the bar. I was feeling a bit worse for wear by now so ordered a "Pick Me Up Coffee Porter" and waited and waited for it to "Pick me Up", It didn't. It was almost like I was putting more alcohol inside my bloodstream or something?! A group of Geordies behind me were being drunkenly obnoxious, to each other, but eventually left and it was quiet as most people were in the separate dining area eating their pies.

Ale but no Pie, at the Pie and Ale

I hadn't timed the train back very well, so "had" to pop in to the always characterful and cheery Bull's Head where I had a swift half of Sunbeam and shared a bench with 4 animated old chaps who were having what they thought a very entertaining political discussion. One especially loved that I was chuckling along, but what they didn't realise is that I was chuckling cos they were talking utter crap. So I politely kept saying, "well, you've both got a point" (there may have been 2 of them but I was seeing 4) before quickly absconding after the obligatory "handshakes all round" session.

A great day even if the standard of the "pubs" was not always to my taste, great walking, great weather, the Sip Club was a revelation. I'd set out to do Alty and work my way back in to Manc, but when I thought (not for the first time) I could get a bus to Little Bollington, that soon became Lymm, and then I noticed Agden Wharf between them, being the first alphabetically Cheshire letter so now, I've got one eye on Alsager wherever that is! Funny how plans evolve, I'm feeling very much like I want to explore Cheshire now.

Si

For the first time since November last year ..... a review of pubs I visited before BRAPA became a "thing".

These are pubs which now find themselves in the 2017 Good Beer Guide, but were not in 2014-16 editions and/or I didn't deem them as pre-emptive ticks when I first visited them. I have 24 to review, so 8 at a time......

375. Coach & Horses, Dronfield

In the pre-cursor to BRAPA, my "A-Z aleway adventures", the letter D was (eventually) for Dronfield on April Fools Day, 2013. I say eventually, because the plan was to watch a Sheffield F.C. game and our plans were cancelled due to postponement after postponement from about October onwards! Non league football grounds eh? I was joined by John Watson and Krimbo, swelling the crowd to a massive 213. Post-match then, after a straightforward 3-0 home win, the highlight being a pre-match hot dog and a half-time spicy chicken pie and we piled into, what is in effect the club house, for a mint flavoured Thornbridge Stout which was virtually impossible to drink on top of this food. It was a nice traditional dark pub with friendly old women serving. The Kidsgrove Athletic players piled in for the post-match buffet a lot quicker than the home side, the quickest any of their players had moved all day! We certainly weren't rushing for buffet food.

Kidsgrove's number 11 looks forward to the Coach & Horses

376. Woodman, Durham

I'd not been into the Good Beer Guide for long, and had recently upgraded to the 'modern' 2002 edition having been using a 1999 second hand one with varied success, John Watson was in the same boat and had invited me to Durham to stop over and give me a tour of the real ale pubs in town. We started our evening crawl here as it was furthest out of town, and uphill. My memories are vague, other than we were both underwhelmed by the whole experience and sat at the end of a large sparse room with very little furniture and very little clientele, despite the threat of a student invasion constantly looming ,but then, I guess they'd all gone home for the summer, maybe.

377. Kemble Brewery Inn, Cheltenham

And you have to go even further back to April Fools Day 2002 for my visit to this unassuming but very nice pub, tucked into the backstreets of town. Me and Dad sat on some stools near the bar initially, enjoying Archers ales (ahhh remember them?), they were staples of Hull's then fantastic, soon dodgy Hole in the Wall so we were well aware how good they could be. An old home fan spied by away top and we had a nice chat about football and how they'd probably beat us (they did) but as the pub filled up, it became increasingly smoky and being low roofed and a sunny day, we sat outside on one of the most carefully manicured lawns I've still ever seen in a pub, felt like a bowling green and I remember feeling guilty every time I stood up.

378. Rose & Crown, Bury

Bury town centre on the morning of New Year's Day 2003 was a depressing place to be. Streamers, empty bottles, confetti and puke on every street corner. Me and Dad took on the fairly long walk to the Dusty Miller but despite being gone 12 noon, it was obviously sticking to it's weekday 2pm opening (lazy bastards, we were freezing). A harsh early GBG lesson in pub opening times! Instead, we went to the Rose & Crown and it was a cracker we still remember to this day. Dad still remembers the Leyden Nanny Flyer as one of his all time favourite ales. I remember one called Raglan Sleeve. A real proper one roomed (but quite open) pub, we returned the following season of course for a midweek game, Oct 21st 2003, but the magic had well and truly gone - beer less good, more foody, and I noticed it had been de-guided in the 2004 edition. It'd be great to go back (well, it isn't the Clarence) and see if it is back to it's New Year's Day '03 magic.

379. Olde Trip to Jerusalem, Nottingham

I'm going 7th October 2005 for my first visit here but could have been sooner. After all, I was very excited about a trip to the Trip with it's stories of cursed galleons, pregnancy chairs and the so-called "a pub since 1189" claim. Love a good pub ghost story / historical tale. I had this amazing book called "Britain's Strangest Pubs" or something and that probably helped shape my BRAPA-like existence today. John Watson is also the kind of chap who this place would appeal to, and I seem to remember sitting in this cobwebby ceilinged room with a crazy bayeaux tapestry going around the wall. The Hardy & Hansons beers weren't that amazing if I'm honest, and I think beer has never been so great here. We then went to watch the now defunct Groovie Ghoulies play the second of two amazing gigs at the now defunct Junktion 7 (Student Housing being planned). Other experiences in this pub as follows. With my sister, a chair moved on it's own (honest!) and a Chinese girl with no English sat in the pregnancy chair - should we tell her, errm let's just laugh at her instead. Another time with my sister, she was really ill after a week in Camden Town and slept on a bench seat whilst her boyfriend went to Boots to bring her drugs back. She then puked behind a burger van all the way through Gogol Bordello. Very vegan behaviour! And most recently, April 2014 a group of us came here for a bank holiday beer festival only to find out it wasn't starting til 5pm. WHAT KIND OF PUB DOES SUCH A THING? I'm unlikely to go back as I can think of about a million better Nottingham pubs off the top of my head despite the great quirks.

Most recent trip to the Olde Trip, with it's historically dodgy claim featured on front.

380. Cask Corner, Doncaster

It had only just opened (with "Dive Bar" on the end of it's name) when we visited on 28th August 2010, think we'd had a tip off from one of our Welly gang so we gathered at this pre-emptive pre-emptive before Hull City's regular defeat to the small-minded scroats known as Donny Rovers. Dad and I had snuck in a swift father son pint at the Little Plough and were probably wishing we'd stayed when we saw we were drinking in nothing more than a warehouse - the toilets still not properly built. Lots of beers on, that is the main thing for people like Ben, but not us. It was pre the Kraft Kraze (not cheese slices) but in a pre-cursor, Ben liked to supplement his ales with a "continental bottle" or pint of Erdinger - and got me into Floris Chocolate which I thought was incredible but everyone since including lame girls at work tell me is too sickly sweet. We needed this though as the Cask emphasis was on Toad brewery, a terrible brewery in anyone's book. They simply couldn't brew (a fact they knew in Hull's Hop & Vine but sold us them anyway because idiots like us will drink anything, to only slightly paraphrase the owner). No, am afraid although I returned here for a slightly cosier session the following season, Cask Corner v Plough is a case of less is sometimes more.

381. Isaac Wilson, Middlesbrough

Post match on 27th November 2010 after one of the craziest away days ever, and the walk from the Riverside BT Cellnet Whatever back towards the station felt like a scene from Narnia, mainly due to all the snow but also because there is something quite C.S. Lewis about many of the Boro' folk. Popping into a 'Spoons near the station didn't look like changing that, and was a joyous scene of people eating Parmo's and drinking quality real ale. I got a bit separated from Dad and Ben and spent most of the time chatting to an old pigeon fancier which was, well, interesting and different! I also like the Swatters Carr Spoons, and the Micro revolution is no doubt a good thing for the town, but I always come back here and on my most recent visit, rated my Dark Star ale here as the "drink of the day" (you could say it was a 'Revelation' ha ha). Fully deserved entry in the new GBG, well done Isaac.

382. George Hotel, Hull

Not quite sure (yet) when I first visited here, probably the first year I spotted it in the GBG when me and Dad wanted a break from the Welly for an 'old town' day (proof I was pub ticking in a sense, years before BRAPA). I'd guess about September 2008. I'd walked past, through the excitingly named 'Land of Green Ginger' as a younger lad, to admire the "smallest window in the world" on the edge of the building. The pub has been up and down during my visits, from crazy hen do's with inflatable toys, bad beer I had to take back when work people came over after a Watford 0-0, and most annoyingly, when the pub door was open at 12 noon as advertised, we squeezed past some washing baskets into the pub, only to be told "sorry, we're not open yet!" by some slobbish women. Don't think Dad has forgotten this incident, as whenever I suggest it as a possible old town venue, he turns his nose up in disgust. More proof to me that Hull has been allocated more GBG pubs than it really needs, though nice to see it back and would be happy to give it a second (well, fifth) chance.

So there we go, 8 down and 16 to go so I'll be back for the 2nd volume next Monday with delights from places like York, Plymouth, Blackpool, Manchester and Ipswich, You have been warned.

Si

Saturday had been a great day n all, but it certainly had been lacking something for all the quirkiness, humour and six GBG ticks. And that something was "a proper pub". So that was what I was craving this Tuesday evening, and Hoyland delivered.

Elsecar seems as much of a popular South Yorkshire pub base as places like Donny and Sheffield despite the modest size of the town, but it packs a real ale punch. 4 great pubs, Harley and Wentworth are both walkable as I proved earlier this year, Birdwell and Hoyland Common probably are too, and now this, less than a 10 minute walk from the railway station!

The walk was fun as a miserable shopmobility scooter man tried to mow me down, then he played chicken with a yappy dog (and won), he hit the curb and temporarily came to a stand (sit) still, before he raced past me on the other side with a cheeky grin. I meanwhile observed a house clearance of a recently dead old lady, but she didn't have anything worth taking so I carried on.

Arriving at the Furnace

907. Furnace Inn, Hoyland

It was one of those situations where I walked in, the locals gathered at the bar turned round with welcoming smiles on their faces, thinking that being 5:30pm on a Tuesday, it'd definitely be one of their "crew" arriving. Then, noticing it was a stranger, turned away with a hurt expression, as though I had in some way deceived them / murdered their imagined friend and taken his place. The landlord was from the 'dying breed' variety, an elderly gent who had a voice which permeated the pub's otherwise gentle hubbub, wore a smart buttoned black and grey cardigan, seemed constantly busy despite the relative calmness, and pulled the ales through with a vigour belying his fragile frame. I sat in the right hand room, displaying some 'artwork' which was apparently 11th century but looked like it had been drawn by some maniacal local schoolkids. There was no music, just local chat, one lady started a story about a young lad they'd all been introduced to who was "a friend of Dorothy's" but when I listened more closely, it did appear that he was ACTUALLY a friend of Dorothy, presumably one of the other local old crones! Had I sat closer to the action, I may have heard more and at one lull in the chatter, I coughed. The pub turned around expectantly as one, I raised a hand in apology, and everything carried on as it has done for the last 100 years. I left to friendlier smiles from locals and landlord seemed pleased I'd enjoy my ale. Lovely place.

About to enter, masquerading as a local.

My pint of Brad's Trad was excellent. Not sure about The Sun.

View of the locals at the bar.

Terrifying 11th century / schoolkid artwork.

Despite a less than ten minute walk back to the railway station, I saw two people having to pick up dog poo, whilst children who looked like extras from Ripper Street played in the local park. The train home went pretty smoothly, though locals from Wakefield Kirkgate and Normanton won awards for managing to "out-weird" both Barnsley and Castleford folk. Someone described Pontefract as though it was some beautiful mythical land.

I'll be back after Saturday for a Tom Irvin birthday special in the North West, whilst next Tuesday sees me do a similarly named South Yorkshire place and that'll be it for September.

Si

Following a conversation back in June about those Antony Gormley statues on the beach, myself, Dad and Tom had organised a visit to Crosby and surrounding area with plenty of BRAPA ticking potential. It was Tom's birthday, so his Father Chris (not a priest) joined us too to swell the numbers to four.

The journey was notable for only two things. Scouse babies are the loudest whiniest babies in the UK and helps me understand why Goodison Park's atmosphere is like it is, and secondly, the shade of yellow used on the Mersey trains is the most offensive shade of any colour in existence.

The day should probably have started with a huge cooked breakfast from Wetherspoons with hindsight (more on my memory loss later!) but as it was, we had to make do with a local bakery where I bought a Scouse Pie (more on the later too) to line the stomach.

After 5 minutes of Dad looking in estate agent windows and deciding he wasn't going to move here any time soon, the pub was actually open early so time to stop messing around and go in ......

908. Stamps Bar, Crosby

I'd mentally prepared myself for a micro-pub so it was nice to see something a lot more traditional, even if it did have modern leanings. Our rosy cheeked barmaid seemed a nice if slightly nervous lady, and had to shut Chris down when he asked about CAMRA discounts, something I never do unless it is obvious for fear of reprisals (e.g. those pubs that think CAMRA members are all scum). With beers on like Oakham Citra and Titanic Plum Porter, anyone would be happy and my Boris Citrov was excellent. Dad had already decided this was probably going to be pub of the day, helped by 'North Liverpool's first vegetarian menu' which he rang Mum about, but to me, ordering something called "No fish, chips and mushy peas" is asking for trouble, or an expensive empty plate! I'd inadvertently sat us in "Kids' Corner" with it's wonderful apostrophe but I left the SpongeBob colouring book alone. No kids were to be seen but a vacant old man on his 50th pint of Plum Porter before 1pm looked at us in a wistful way. Younger relatives soon joined him and took him back to the care home. Always the best style of pub music, 50's rockabilly, was playing (well unless you count Judge Dread or George Formby) and under the stairs was a piano and a drum kit so this must be quite a music venue too. I went back to the bar for a swift half, and a most hyperactive woman was telling one of those heartfelt impassioned stories with no pauses that made her voice go higher and higher - the only bit I picked up was "the mushrooms were cold and the beans were still bubbling". What an anecdote.

Under the stairs music

909. Liverpool Pigeon, Crosby

Just gone 1pm then and we reached our second pub, named after some extinct Scouse bird (not Cilla Black) and this one really was a micropub, yet it had comfort, warmth and enough space to swing a cat despite the usual trimmings (i.e. no blackcurrant cordial for Tom, he slummed it with lime). I scanned a good range of Blackjack beers but went for a Salopian Oracle because it is so good. I then became perhaps the first person in a pub this year to start a conversation about the perils of deciding to wrap chicken livers in foil in the fridge, and wake up to find a bloody mess in the kitchen! It certainly inspired the barmaid to join in the conversation, she was a great people person, and with a York pub trip booked, we were soon advising her on where to go (though she seemed to know). She told us about a micropub potentially opening on York's pretentious 'Bishy' Road, something I hoped I'd never hear, York doesn't need one like certain places rhyming with Giddlesbrough do. Next, I heard a strange "eeeeeee .... calm down" sound coming from my bag. Of course, it was my Scouse pie made from the locals themselves! Very tasty, but in stew form, impossible to eat without cutlery so I just stuck my face in it. If I'd done this in about 80% of UK pubs, I'd have been chucked out. A really good pub this.

My claims that this pub was opened in 2015 were made to look unlikely by sign in window....

The insides of a pigeon

Bit of confusion next as our third Crosby pub wasn't listed on the GBG app. My first thought was that it had been de-guided already, but a check online at least showed it was open and selling ale, so we went along, hoping it was just a CAMRA error.

Chris arrives at Corner Post.

910. Corner Post, Crosby

Well, if you want to have your faith restored in micro pubs, Crosby is the place to come. Another wonderfully cosy and friendly establishment, even on a grey Autumn day, and nothing to suggest this shouldn't be in the GBG. Only seconds in and a couple were confirming the sad details of the Lion Tavern's demise, plus the Grapes is being refurbished which means I'll have to re-think the Liverpool stag do pub order in a fortnight. Seems that a 'perfect storm' series of events led to the Lion's demise. As I was told it, Pub Co and landlord both acted like chumps, Liverpool CAMRA focussing so much on saving Roscoe Head that this slipped under radar, compounded by Moorfields station closed for refurb meaning it lost loads of passing trade. Sad times but it might be back. But I had bigger problems, The 'Havok' beer I ordered absolutely killed me, 5% but like paint stripper. Ugh, Chris offered me chance to change it but to give you an insight into my mental state, I revealed a voice in my head wasn't allowing that. Not only that, the voice I could hear belonged to Rolf Harris! If this wasn't bad enough, my bag was leaking Scouse Pie residue, all over my GBG. If you've ever tried to lick Scouse Pie off a GBG, don't, it tasted too gluey. And made me look a bit special. At least the landlord was a friendly chap and had tissues and a rubbish bin at the ready, though learning about an annoying gang of West Midlanders who wear beer towels and visit tonnes of pubs wasn't going to improve my mood. It's testament to how good this pub was that I came away feeling anything other than very pissed off!

Avoid that green pump directly ahead, it'll kill you.

A friendly, chirpy lass helped us find the railway station and we went back as far as Waterloo. She was about to start work there, and liked the idea of BRAPA like anyone with any taste would. Obviously. A jolly chap on his phone enjoyed learning we were Hull City fans as he was telling the carriage Liverpool were 3-0 up after 35 mins. The lass (think a more tanned, less red headed Sonia from late 80's Stock, Aitken and Waterman fame) pointed us in the direction of our next pub......

Dad, Tom and Chris about to go in.....

911. Stamps Too, Waterloo

I'm glad we have the above and below photos as evidence we came to this pub, because to a man, me, Chris and Dad had no recollection of it once we'd sat down in pub 912. Wow, that Havok really was strong (or this pub was lacking any memorable characterful quirks!) Even Tom seemed very hazy on the details and he'd been on the cordial. Like a brain injury victim, the photos helped a few memories come back, none of which are interesting in the slightest, Here goes. Chris was excited by the Marble beers, I told him I refused to order "Pint" on the basis it always gets confusing and jokes about ordering 'half a pint of pint' always go down like a lead balloon. I did a quiz on Hull City's first half stats as they were so utterly dire it was hilairious. I read the half time scores James Alexander Gordon style. Chris pinpointed some Twilds but Tom downgraded them due to their well behaved natures. Some Archers pump clips got us reminiscing about the pubs on Spring Bank in Hull. But all in all, what we in the BRAPA field call the "Elm Tree Syndrome".

Internal pub shot - and the memories come flooding back (sort of)

912. Old Bank, Waterloo

Dad had a train in mind for getting back, so we only really had time for one more pub tick if the rest of us were to join him, and let's face it, I felt drunk enough, So we choose here over the next door Spoons. This pub was a lot more promising in than out, and another great local hubbub as folk milled around a bare-boarded bar area to see the football scores coming in, one woman telling me she could not believe Everton could lose to a team like Bournemouth. We sat in a raised area, but my beer tasted like tomato and basil soup. After a third of a pint trying to work out whether that really should be the case, Chris took it back for me and the Sandgrounder replacement from Southport was better in that it actually tasted of beer. At least Rolf Harris's voice had stopped me sticking with it this time. Maybe we killed him off in Stamps Too, and that is what wiped my mind. Dad said that the piped music here was almost EXACTLY what was on his iPod. The toilets smelt like parmesan, or was it sick? Anyway, no sooner had a decided than a bit of a furore swept over the pub as Benteke scored a 94th minute winner v Sunderland. Sorry, where are we again? West Croydon? Anyway, after a bit of Dad rage when a terrible version of 'Sounds of Silence' was played. it was time to go for the train.

Dad and his amazing jumper at the Old Bank

Jeff Stelling captivates the locals in the Old Bank

GBG listed pub in "Cask Ale Now Available" shock horror!

I claimed this was incredibly artistic when I took.

After some classic Tom train jiggery-pokery around Lime Street, we were back over the Pennines even quicker than imagined. Me and Chris popped into York's usually brilliant Maltings where a barman was having his leaving do before his big money transfer to Three John Scotts in Hull. Got talking to his mate, a nice lad who was a big Harry Maguire fan and for a Sheff Utd fan, remarkably civil. The ales from Alloa and Rudgate on fine form.

It was fish n chips and football league show for me, and an early night. Great day out, and Merseyside doesn't look too much of a difficult 'county' to complete.

Si

Monday night, Archives night!

Welcome back to week two of our three week archives special, where I delve into the vaults of my memory and review eight pubs that I visited before BRAPA was even a drunken sperm trying to fertilise a micro pub shaped egg.

Either that or I visited them and didn't even consider them for BRAPA inclusion, which probably sounds inconceivable but has been known to happen (see pub 388) ......

Apologies for the lack of photos, most of these are such old visits, cameras probably weren't invented (not on phones anyway!)

383. Artillery Arms, Plymouth

The morning of 9th December 2006 and I'd already had my obligatory 10am pint of Bass in the Dolphin, and been to a quirky GBG pub called 'Sippers', when I finally made it here for 12 noon opening, in the delightfully edgy area of Stonehouse. I managed to get lost en route, as I tried to take a shortcut through a dockyard but annoyingly, I couldn't get past the giant metal fence! It was worth the effort, a great street corner local with a real family feel. Being December 2006, it was the time I was keeping a notepad record of my pub visits (like an old fashioned Twitter and Untappd rolled into one) so I can exclusively reveal, I drank an unspecified Adnams beer of top quality, but moaned a Flowers beer and another "non-interesting one" made up the three on offer. As soon as I sat down and unzipped my jacket to reveal my Hull City top, the fun really started with me saying "got some great banter going with all - ending in the landlord running down 2 streets to return my "lost" hat!" The Pilgrim topped teenage son was bouncing a football around the pub despite all the fantastic looking breakfasts flying out of the kitchen, constantly keeping everyone on edge. I told them all I predicted a 1-0 defeat for us, they looked amazed I'd travel all this way to say such a thing. I think you can guess what the score was.

384. Cricketers, Westcliff-on-Sea

Sunny but chilly morning of 1st Feb 2003 and for some stupid reason, instead of discovering the wonderful Cork & Cheese sooner, I thought outside the box and realised this pub, not listed under Southend, would be a great way to spend a pre-match. Well, I was wrong. A modern, bright and shiny Greene King emporium was what it was, soulless vapid staff, comfort of zero, dried flowers in tiny vases on our table. Wooden floors went clomp clomp clomp with the sound of ridiculous high heels, attached to Coke-thin waitresses. One of my main thought processes for coming here was to avoid a big football crowd pre-match. Well that backfired when one of the largest groups of Hull City fans, many young and female (unusual at that time) descended on the pub to complete the experience. The one saving grace was that, being idiots, they all stood blocking the bar, whilst we sat at the far end so at least had our personal space. Hull City then lost 3-0 in one of the most abject performances ever (and that is saying something), Danny Webb was sent off (or should have been) for murdering a defender, and the club apologised to the fans (which was rare too) for the poor effort, they should have also apologised for this pub.

385. Saddle Inn, Blackpool

One of the consolations of the low turnout of our 2008 Blackpool Punk Festival (just me, John Watson and Jig this year) was that it allowed me to plot all the GBG pubs on an autoroute map and try and get to them. Jig and JW2 would be good sports in this sense, had my sister been here, it would never have been allowed being the pre-emptive BRAPA crapper she was. The pub seemed pretty traditional, lots of tattooed locals in vests eating mixed grills. It was boiling hot, the landlady was feeling it, but when I realised our Summer Lightning's were vinegar, I had to do one of the most apologetic beer returns ever. She told me that if our replacement ales were off too, I'd have to come back there and pour something for myself! Which would have been amusing, sadly the replacement ale was fine. Pretty crummy experience considering what a trek it'd been to get here! As a post script, I tried to return on the Friday evening the following year, this time with my sister and her then boyfriend Ric. As predicted, it only took a toothless tanned teenage girl with burning pram asking us to go into the offie and buy her a bottle of cider, for my sister to decide Whitegate Drive was too scary and made us turn back for the (relatively) safer climes of Pump & Truncheon.

386. Briton's Protection, Manchester

11th September 2008 and myself and the good John Watson were excited. We were about to witness the Stray Cats farewell tour at the Uni down Oxford Road. I got to Manchester first, he met me later. I waited in the Lass O'Gowrie in the days when it was a gem of a pub, full of bric-a-brac. John got lost and accidentally stumbled across the GBG pubs on Great Bridgewater St, so I left my drink with two men who definitely didn't look like date-rapers, and found John to bring him back to LoG. We walked to the venue but were shocked to hear the drummer had broken his arm in Brixton the night before and the gig was cancelled. NOOOOOOO! Devastated we were, but at least John had found those other real ale pubs so we decided to make the best of it, and Briton's Protection was arguably pub of the night, much better than Rain Bar and probably also the amazing Peveril of the Peak. Multi roomed, amazing ales, amazing features, I've always wondered why it hasn't been in the GBG more in recent years. I wondered if the landlady of the time had fallen out with the local CAMRA, quite a feisty lady. Less than 2 months later before a 4-3 defeat at Old Trafford, a group of us were in here and sat in one of the more amazing backrooms with fire in. It was one of those all time classic pre-match sessions, just perfect, No food was going on so we decided to eat our sandwiches, so out of courtesy (almost an afterthought), Christine asked the feisty landlady if we could eat our own food here. Her reply "would you go into Marks & Spencer's and drink our beer?" is still one of my favourite pub quotes EVER, huge awkward silence. We sat there as a group for about 10 mins after trying to process what she'd said, like we had been posted a tricky pub quiz teaser. Classic. "Errr, so is that a no then?" we eventually said. It soured the experience, but I've been in since, before a 4-0 defeat to Man Utd with Jig and his Dad (another great session, no food was consumed) and then, before the Man City 2-2 Bullard penalty brilliance, me and Dad hid in a corner here. When landlady announced she was "off shopping", Dad nearly asked her to bring us back some of their beer from Marks n Spencers. The pub breathed a sigh of relief anyway as the door closed behind her, and the rustle of sandwich bags began ......

387. Greyhound, Ipswich

Me and Dad were staying in a nearby B&B overnight so having checked in on 25th March 2006, we decided this was the nearest pub in my GBG to come for pre-match. It was notable for a few factors. Firstly, it was the first time Ben Andrew joined us for a pre-match session, he'd become a regular over the next 5 years or so, Secondly, it was the first time I paid £3 for a pint, and I was fuming. Adnams Lighthouse it was, and to rub salt into the wound, the Adnams vases they serve their beer in just makes for a depressing drinking experience. The staff were right misery guts, and this probably all started my (until recently) negative impression of Suffolk's 6 fingered lovelies. Ben enjoyed the pub experience, we didn't (pub was all cluttered dining tables) but he did enough to encourage a group of us back two years later on the last day of the season, as if it is the only pub in Ipswich. Some of our group were here for breakfast, but they wouldn't serve ale til 12 noon, and they meant it. Even counting down the final minute at 11:59 before they serve us. Obvious they were deliberately proving a point and being obstructive. Some of us had even popped out to the local home fans only Spoons to tide us over. Irritating pub, Ipswich has so much better.

388. Duke of York, York

Every Thursday, me and my "York Gang" us a dice to randomly decide where to go. Let's face it, York has over 100 at least decent cask ale outlets. When a new one opens (which has happened a lot over the last two or three years!) we know there will be an initial clamour brought on by Mr Aitchison's gushing Evening Press review. This will be counter balanced by people moaning York has reached pub saturation levels, debate about whether it is worse than the latest pop-up Tesco Express and whether drunk racegoers are ruining the city. Our gang yawn, "give it a few weeks/months", and visit when the clamour has died down and the pub has 'bedded in'. So on 21st November 2013, we came here and in the dark mood lighting, I ordered an Acorn "Burning Bails"as "Burning Balls". Ouch. Still busy, the problem for me here is the pub never feels like it has 'bedded in'. My second visit (alone on a Sunday evening) was better but amidst the dregs of a 'brewery takeover', and beers were going off at an alarming rate - the service was terrible. Whether you try and sit upstairs or down, I've never 'enjoyed' a pub experience here. Another problem is the Leeds Brewery pub model (and I do very much like their beers). If you've been to "Crowd of Favours" in Leeds, you've been to Duke of York. 'Brewery Tap' and 'Midnight Bell' are slightly different, but the point is they are all a bit modern and soulless. Apparently, if you sit upstairs in the window on a wet Tuesday afternoon overlooking overlooking King's Square, it is the most joyous York drinking experience in the City. Such claims aren't enough. I'd advise you go to "Eagle & Child" as a pre-emptive instead, as this is one York 'Leeds Brewery pub' which does have more natural charm.

389. Royal Oak, Old Malton

26th Jan 2013 and "F" had been for "Filey" with John Watson, one of my most favourite of all the A-Z days as we refused to let heavy snow the previous night spoil our plans. It was pitch black at the end of the day as we trudged out of Malton along a busy main road and found this fantastic old heritage pub. Not sure what we drank but the landlord could sense our approval of the old building and came over for a nice friendly chat. Our main criticism would be the icy draught coming from the window behind, but we were told that because it was a grade II listed building, it could not be replaced or double glazed or whatever, and we'd just have to wrap up, which I suppose was a consolation in some kind of way!

390. Fleece, Pudsey

There were many reasons why me and John Watson (featuring heavily in tonight's archives) kept coming to Pudsey in the 2003-2006 period but it was our "adventurous" evening twice yearly trip. Our first pub experiences in Pudsey were the World's End (wanted to love it but you could tell it was on the decline), and the Bankhouse which was our favourite with it's "Last of the Summer Wine" bathtub approach play, some good grub, and the best, albeit limited, ale in town. What's more, we accidentally first came to Pudsey on a "Children in Greed" night, which seemed fitting with the Pudsey Bear link. I fancied a girl from Pudsey too, not that we were likely to bump into her in a real ale pub. And we went to many more pubs of mainly poor standard. So when I saw the new 2006 GBG in Leeds Waterstones one lunchtime in Sept 2005 (I was too much of a skinflint to buy the GBG back then so used the shop as a public library), I yelped with delight at a newly listed Pudsey pub. 18th Nov 2005 was the probable visit date, memories are vague but I remember a full range of Tim Taylor beers, busy with very friendly locals and staff (middle agers) and a great lounge like small hubbuby atmosphere with lots of photos and decor. I'd like to go back really but I might wait til the "Pudsey Bear Micro Terry Wogan Cask Eatery Tap Tap Tap Kitchen" opens next year!

I'm in South Yorkshire tomorrow night, I'll write that one up on Wednesday. Then we'll have a month end review / preview for Sept/Oct before my 8th trip to Berkshire on Saturday.

Si

Shape-shifting locals become a pub cat

Just to show I hadn't learned any lessons from Saturday's "Scouse Pie" incident, I bought a squishy pie of questionable contents in Barnsley bus station, and proceeded to (accidentally) shove it directly under my GBG at the bottom of my bag - but luckily, this one didn't explode.

Freeing my GBG from further pie torture in Barnsley Bus Station

Ahhhh Barnsley Bus Station, the favourite of all my South Yorkshire Big City bus stations, I could easily settle down here in a onesie with a cuppa and two Jaffa Cakes and watch the world go by. Sort of. Just as well cos the bus was ten minutes bloody delayed wasn't it?

It would be churlish to blame visiting Aston Villa fans, so I will anyway. As the bus left, we passed the brilliant Old No 7 pub, near deserted at 7:30pm, whilst the lager titty bar across the road was heaving with Villains, further evidence if needed why Villa are no-one's favourite Midlands club. Hell, even Villa fans hate Villa.

After a mildly tortuous 40 minute bus ride, we were in Hoylandswaine and the air smelt somehow fresher than any other air I'd ever smelt!

Nearly the pub - actually a garage with a postbox

The actual pub. Hurrah.

913. Rose & Crown, Hoylandswaine

I was greeted by one of those reassuring South Yorkshire pub scenes. A group of three old locals hunched over in a corner like they were plotting to explode the Houses of Parliament, and two more sprightly but still old men, smiling at me from the back wall with slightly reserved expressions. The barman had a southern accent (how very dare he?) but he was friendly and when I became the first person to circulate a new style five pound note in Hoylandswaine, I'd definitely put my cards on the table as an "outsider". "Oooh one of those sneaky ones!" said the barman, hoping he was talking about the fiver and not me. Well, it was just the perfect pub scene. The fire was in and roaring, Autumn is finally here, my Farmers Blonde was crystal clear and superb, the pie and peas was almost too tempting, and Dire Straits Brothers in Arms played gently in the background. As I reached for the highlighter to "green my entry" (ooo err), the landlady appeared at my shoulder asking if this was the new GBG. Soon, all (two) staff were gathered round reading the entry for this pub in total silence. I felt more nervous than a baker about to be appraised by Mary Berry, eventually they nodded their heads in approval. I invited our landlady, Judy, to do the green highlighting but she had to reach for her specs as she's apparently blind when dusk falls. They may well have been night-vision goggles too, for when she dropped the pen lid under the table, she was straight on to it in a flash. No sooner had that incident past when the Guy Fawkes gang had disappeared, to be replaced by one pub cat. How on earth did that happen, I only looked away for two seconds?! One of my favourite features of the pub were the blackboard beams displaying customer reviews of the pub grub. The best being "10/10 for the Turkey Dinosaurs, says Bobby". It was that kind of a pub.

The perfect midweek BRAPA pub ticking experience.

Although the bus was ten minutes late, we somehow made it all up and got back to Barnsley at the correct time so I could get the connecting train back to Leeds, then York. Bonus.

Sunset at the bus stop as a bid farewell to Hoylandswaine for ever.

It was nice to hear Barnsley had scored a 90th minute winner to silence the Villains, I hope that when Sam Winnall celebrated, he raised his shirt to reveal a t-shirt saying "this one's for the Hoylandswaine Rose & Crown Turkey Dinosaur Massive" though I'm not sure how small that font would need to be.

Attentions now turn to leg 8 of the Berkshire Tour on Saturday, we'll be east of the county this time and I don't know whether to be pleased or sad that both Slough's entries have disappeared, deriving me of my debut there. Still, I've got 5 or 6 pubs in mind.

Before that, the month end review on Friday. See you then chumps.

September started on the first of the month (as it so often seems to) with the 2017 Good Beer Guide plonking through my letterbox after what felt like a fifteen year wait (about five days in truth).

After some intensive cross-ticking, I was down from 1,006 to 896 GBG listed pubs, a 110 drop, and desperate to crack on to replenish my numbers........

September Review

It was a more successful month than I'd anticipated, with 29 GBG pubs visited, plus 1 pre-emptive. As they (I) say, "a pub a day keeps the doctor away". The quality of the "pubs" visited wasn't so great this month, but I enjoyed some top days & evenings in places like Berkshire, Barnsley, rural North Yorkshire, Cheshire and Merseyside.

Here are my favourite three pub experiences of the month in no particular order:

1. Sip Club, Stretford
2. Rose & Crown, Hoylandswaine
3. Stamps Bar, Crosby

The Furnace in Hoyland also deserves a special mention.

Daisy the cat asks when I'll be visiting her Farsley home town.

October Preview

A pretty crazy month is about to start - and I don't mean in a way which is particularly beneficial to BRAPA! But it will be fun.

It all starts healthily enough, tomorrow in fact for leg 8 of my World Tour of Berkshire. We are heading out east again to that Windsory Eton area. A week later, I'm on a stag-do but fear not, for I am best-man, so organising a crawl around Liverpool, which will also take in Birkenhead. Yes, there'll be a couple of re-visits (Cracke, Roscoe Head, perhaps Peter Kavanagh) but 3 or 4 new 'ticks' to keep me going. Then it all gets a bit crazy as work send me to Melbourne for a week - and I don't mean the Derbyshire one where I need a pub tick. I will be, of course, trying to find good pubs, bars and beer on off chance they are pre-emptive if an Aussie GBG gets published in the year 2040 when the convict-landers start brewing real ale. And even on the final Saturday of the month (29th), I'll be recovering from the wedding so am writing that off as a 'recovery day'. However, a pre-Hallowe'en spooky BRAPA chauffeur day with Dad (hopefully dressed as Lurch from Addams Family for effect) is all systems go on Sunday 30th. "You rang Si?"

As for midweeks, I'll be cracking on with my South Yorkshire Tuesday nights for the first two weeks of the month, and perhaps the last week depending on jet-lag. Am aiming to have SY done by the end of 2016 but may fall just short.

So my aim really is just to achieve my minimum 15 pub ticks in Oct, then go crazy in November!

Wish me luck, and I'll be back on Sunday with the review of tomorrow's Berkshire trip.

When National Treasure Terrorist Encourager John Betjeman implored those friendly bombs to fall on Slough, little did he know that CAMRA would take him literally and decimate the town from the 2017 GBG, leaving just a commuter-tastic railway station that seemed to suit the drab, grey rain-soaked morning.

Probably a lesson to me in not buying local rail tickets too far in advance, though at least Slough seemed a sensible changing point for Windsor & Eton where I did need to be for pubs. I was so drenched, I felt like I'd jumped in the Thames by the time I found my first pub .....

914. George Inn, Eton

10:29am, and I had to fight my way through a big group of poshos, who were blocking the entrance with those wheely suitcases whilst they 'waited for Giles to bring the car round', sheltering from the rain like they thought they were at some cosy indoor taxi rank. Under the circs, I felt obliged to ask mine-host if they were actually serving ale. "As soon as I've finished clearing up the breakfast" was his reply, but within seconds, I had a nice pint of one of the many Windsor & Eton ales on offer. He was a great chap actually, friendly and hard-working and just as in Hoylandswaine (which felt about 10,000 light years away from Eton) we bonded over new £5 notes. A bit of late drama for the posh gang, who having expressed gratitude for a wonderful evening and finally left, returned in a fraught and soggy state because 'Giles' (still chatting to the landlord) had accidentally locked the car. It had set off the alarms and everything. Amusing. An old couple ordered a pint and a half of ale so I wasn't the only pre 11am drinker outside of Wetherspoons in the UK, but he spoilt it by loudly declaring "£5.40 for a pint and a half? Very reasonable!" His wife then told a half-hearted anecdote about her trip to Waitrose which made it sound like Farm Foods. The pub twild 'Darcy' then appeared, and like a pub dog, I find a pub owned specimen more acceptable than a visiting one. It kept demanding Daddy which was no surprise, as Mrs George looked totally vacant when, on the way out, I thanked her when returning my empty glass. Perhaps it has never happened before. Nonetheless, an enjoyable start to proceedings.

As Martin Taylor said, nice to see jam jars containing jam and not beer samples!

The poshos finally leave (pre locked car trauma)

I have located a beer mat, I should probably use it!

I should probably note at this point that I'd packed a new addition to the BRAPA survival kit, the emergency beer mat. This is in case pubs (and Berkshire is a repeat offender county) don't have them. Here, like at York's Cross Keys on Thursday, the beer mats are at the bar and you have to grab one and bring it to your own table! Stress.

My emergency beer mat today, but would it be required?

Onwards and hopefully upwards, I didn't quite have time to squeeze in a visit to Windsor's unassuming looking Acre with less than 20 mins to spare, so took a train to Maidenhead (changing again at Slough) before running for a bus.

The sun was out by now, and I kept my 100% Maidenhead record alive of chatting to an old woman AND having a joke with a bus driver. WHAT a jolly town it almost is!

Not quite enough time today, looks like it might sell Doom Bar and Coors to me!

A few minutes later, I jumped off the bus and walked into the picturesque village of Littlewick Green, a lovely place with the pub facing the green. It has been used five times in Midsomer Murders, but never as a pub. That seemed ominous.

915. Cricketers, Littlewick Green

Luckily, my fears were allayed and it was a pretty basic traditional small pub, especially in the left where I sat and no one was eating. Perhaps a bit too light and airy for Tom Barnaby to observe murderous local gossip over a pint of Causton Best, but I did my best to take on that role in what was my first Badger pub. The landlord again was a very helpful chap, I pretended I was clueless so he could take me through the (two) beers. Hmmm, not sure Fursty Ferret is light and hoppy like he claimed but his message was consistent to all incomers. And most of incomers these were a huge group of old local walkers, whose numbers just kept growing like some all encompassing human caterpillar. I'd gone from being in an empty room to having to breathe in and move my bag, all in the space of the first two minutes. The landlord meanwhile, had lost interest in me as a visitor when I said too much, admitting I'd had Badger beers in bottles before. In one episode of Midsomer, Tom & Joyce looked at this place as a prospective house to buy. Well, they'd have to keep the Fosters font in as a centrepiece as it dominated the pub. The old walkers meanwhile, got more amusing once a nervous but happy chap in a Marillion t-shirt appeared. Conversations included "has the football season started yet?" When they couldn't work this out, they discussed the perils of cat-sitting, before one woman talked about the perils of accidentally downloading adult movies, which apparently she was quite adept at. Great little pub.

The Fosters is lit up, and it is calling your name.

Badger and a rare beermat success story in rural Berkshire.

Back into Maidenhead. A change of trains, then I jumped off at Burnham which I'd complained about earlier in the year for actually being nearer Cippenham. This was now a good thing as a 2017 GBG listed pub had appeared.

Cippenham still felt the same as before, with dead-eyed zombies (is there any other type?) in vests and tracksuit bottoms wandering the streets with no end purpose. Give them a chance though, and they will smile. Even if their teeth are mainly stumps. This was classic Berkshire - Theale, Tilehurst, Maidenhead and Wokingham all combined in one beautiful b-movie party. I'm such a York snob.

Approaching the pub, beware Arsenal fan on mobile phone guarding the door.

916. Barleycorn, Cippenham

"What happens in Scotland stays in Scotland!" was the first thing I heard as I entered. Yes, like all crazy local gangs in south eastern pubs, the ringleader was a Scotsman, in strange white overalls. "Guys, Liverpool av a penalty!" shouted the excitable barman with an element of Scrappy Doo about him. No one cared, they just all slagged off Liverpool and adjusted their baseball caps/skulls. I took my Rebellion 'Red' to a table which was just about far enough away from the crazy gang (not Wimbledon 1980's) but still close enough to hear what was going on. The barman kept another current theme going, when he told everyone how "Nicky" had come into his room, naked and drunk at 6am, holding a can of Fosters. I then went in search of the loo, I ended up outside and then back in, but what must have been the staff quarters, for I found one unisex lockable toilet akin to the type you see in a micropub. Not that anyone stopped me. I soon realised I'd been sat right next to the actual gents. The Scotsman was back in the room having presumably joined the Arsenal fan for a smoke, "I once shat myself!" he announced suddenly. No one was surprised. "Well, we've all done that mate", said another. What??? Was he joking? It did beg the question, when he'd earlier said "What happens in Scotland stays in Scotland", how bad was this actual incident? I wish I'd been brave enough to ask. Actually, no I'm not.

Brilliant but slightly scary stuff in Cippenham.

After a bracing walk back to Burnham station and another change at the former town of Slough, I was back in Windsor, and this next pub was a little bit off centre.

917. Vansittart Arms, Windsor

For a bit of a backstreet pub, the Vanni was bustling and doing a roaring trade this afternoon, with lots of the locals spilling into a courtyard / garden area behind. Not that this stopped the really friendly barmaid from asking how my day had been. Any excuse to impress a lady with my BRAPA, I launched into chat-mode and turned out her Grandad lived in Littlewick Green. I really hope he doesn't like Marillion. Wanting to remain something of an enigma(!) and not outstay my welcome or block the bar for potential customers (because unlike 99% of pubgoers, I have spacial awareness), I retired to the outdoor area. Pub people are often suspicious of grassy areas on a day when it has been raining I find, so whilst they all jammed into the patio area, I became about the only customer to take my drink to the garden proper. I might be the first person to ever say this, but the Vanni was so much like Mackay's in Troon, it was untrue. And that is a compliment. I guess not many people have been to both! Ok, so I wish I'd ordered London Pride as my guest Liberation ale was boring A.F. but you can't win 'em all. Barmaid returned to clear some glasses and smiled from a distance, contender for an end of season BRAPA award? Proper good pub this though.

No beermat but will let them off as an outdoor table!

McKay's in Troon (well, felt identical at the time!)

What I had done that was rather stupid of me from a BRAPA perspective was book myself back on the 18:30 from King's Cross. What was I thinking? Cost saving? Despite my good early start and being on schedule, I worked out that if I was to give myself about an hour to cross London (as advised previously after some missed trains!) I'd need to be on next train out of Windsor. Silly me.

I didn't even have time for a Scottish Stores or Parcel Yard half, just got a coffee and a sandwich and sat with an unscrupulous man who removed other reserved tickets so he and son could sit down! If I told you he was both a West Ham and a Leeds fan living in North Yorkshire, would that help explain it? When I got off the train at York, it wasn't just them, but Charlton and Brentford fans got off too! I had to pop into York Tap for a swift half (i.e. pint) to recover.

The beermat haul of today, chilling in the York Tap.

So there we go. South Yorkshire Tuesday takes me to two pubs from the same pub chain which will hopefully be lots of fun! Before that, I might release my final archives tomorrow night if I'm not too tired after work.

See you around, Si

For the third and final time this year, here are eight pubs I visited before I thought "oooh crikey, I'll take a photo of this pub, walk inside, be all judgey, and give it a number based on how many pubs I've visited previously". Sounds crazy now doesn't it, but that was my sad life before 2014......

391. Crown & Sceptre, Torquay

Revolutionary! Oh yes, that is how I felt in those heady days of 2001/02 when supporting Hull City was fun despite the level of performance, and the idea of "well kept real ale" was a novelty I didn't take for granted. 16th Feb 2002 and after enjoying some crusty bread and soft cheese with Dad on the cliffs at Babbacombe whilst discussing where Agatha Christie took her inspiration from (we knew how to be hardcore hooligans!), we walked to this gem. I can remember clearly to this day my first pint here, "Granny Wouldn't Like It" by a brewery called Wolf, which I think was Norfolk. Am sure it wasn't my only pint. There were lots of colourful candles, and picking bits of wax off them was about the most enjoyable pub game you could have. The landlord was one of those friendly curmudgeonly types who looked like he'd been in charge for 500 years, and all the other customers were bearded old men with sandles and funny Devon accents. We got a great 1-1 draw and we came back for two of our next three visits including on an evening last of all, which lacked some of that Saturday lunchtime magic, but we won 4-1 and 3-0 so quite a lucky pub too.

392. Commercial Rooms, Bristol

I don't know if there's some weird old pub law in Bristol still in place today but I'm always amazed to find that despite the wealth of pub options and locals reckoning they are "hard", finding anything opening before 12 noon anywhere remotely near the centre is virtually impossible. This helps explain why despite my many visits to the city, I've done such a small number of pubs and need to book myself in for a week for BRAPA purposes! When you have to rely on a 'Spoons to save the day in Bristol, you know they must seriously hate the idea of morning drinkers. No wonder this place was busy, but one of the more spectacular Spoons I've been in with a huge high glass ceiling and lots of gold and shiny decor and lots of 17th century men in wigs and top hats laughing (or that is how I remember it anyway). It was March 1st 2008 and we just used it to tide us over before we went on to a pub called the Old Fishmarket which I might get to review another year.

393. King William IV, Leyton

It was 23rd March 2002 so another ultra early GBG 'tick', having spent the last few years enjoying the legendary atmosphere in the Coach & Horses very near Brisbane Road, but my new book suggested we might get better ale elsewhere - how dare it? Well, Dad went for something light, I was looking for a stout or porter, and chose something called "Dark Star" but this was a brewery unbeknownst to us and I was upset to see it was a pale ale. But then we tried it and "boom!", best beer ever. We both drank about 10 pints each which helped numb the pain of watching our new loan signing Kyle Lightbulb make his debut. Oh, and a very nervous Liverpool fan came in, sat at the bar, twitched a bit, drank a glass of red wine, watched 10 mins of his team on TV, made a scouse noise, and then ran off. We came here a year or so later but the pub had become more like a Thai restaurant. We had a meal we didn't really enjoy and were disappointed by the pub change. Our third visit, a lot more recently, for an evening cup game on a cold cold night saw the pub looking much more errrm 'pubby' but it lacked warmth and charm despite being in front of a fire, and I had this ale called Brodie's Citra which was one of the vilest pints of a well kept beer ever - pure Fairy Liquid.

Me deciding I could do a late Christmas album in King William IV - Jan 2013.

394. Coach & Horses, Norwich

Post match on 27th September 2005 and as I was staying overnight in a Pink Lighthouse owned by bikers, I felt the need to join the post match throng at this very impressive pub, though hard to fully appreciate with so many Canaries around. I don't remember much apart from getting a seat against all the odds (mainly because people like standing up and getting in the way), I remember the ales (by Chalk Hill) being really great and I even nicked a beer mat for my collection - such a part time Tegestologist! On another evening post-match, I brought Dad here and when I saw a crazy incident being repeated on Sky Sports News, I said it was an Ipswich goal and a local turned round and properly told me off for mentioning the "i" word - he wasn't even joking, weirdo, Anyway, we chatted with "Big Dave" and his lady wife, Aidy might have been there too or some other Welly Gang 'backing cast' - we definitely didn't get a seat, despite staying til almost 11pm.

395. Head of Steam, Newcastle

13th September 2008 and it was more post match fun, and a good idea to go somewhere a bit "off-beat" in the Toon as Bodega and even things like the Bridge Hotel are heaving after the match! I say "off-beat" but it's incredibly handy for the station, just never seen it busy. Maybe stairs confuse Geordies. They'll never find the Sip Club. Anyway, this was very much a mission, led by hardcore revolutionaries like Chris Irvin/Mark Bainton and Ben Andrew who wanted a "carry out" for the train, which was pretty much the sole purpose, though we mingled at the bar with an extended group of Andrew's. Beer is always good I find (Autumn Tyne by Mordue was superb in Sept 14), been here 2 or 3 more times since, with people like John Watson and again Ben Andrew who really likes this place, though the stuffing coming out of settees, weird lighting and music that should be better than it is, always make me wonder how it does often get in the GBG amongst such strong competition. Well, I suppose simple answer - it is a beer guide!

396. Falcon Tap, York

So BRAPA had been going for almost a year, yet when I first visited here with friends on 29th Jan 2015 on one of our Thursday "dice night" challenges, it never occurred to me to treat at as a pre-emptive and give it the full BRAPA treatment. Expectations were low. Having been an old man's pub when I started drinking in York, the scumbag drinking culture of Micklegate meant it soon became a shitty bar called Rumours, despite retaining the bronzed Falcon above the door. So it was good to hear it going "real ale" again, though of course the word "Tap" had to be included somewhere in case we didn't realise it sold proper beer, FFS! Stood in the front bar (all a bit reminiscent of when First Hussar became Yorkshire Hussar became the Whippet Inn), friendly barman tells me there's not just THESE two ales on, but FOUR more round the back, so I went round, saw my friends already deliberating, and ordered a Brass Castle Snow Eater (very good of course) due to snow blizzards in L**ds all day. It's not so cosy, posing tables are about as good as you can do save for one 'porno settee' which is too low and often inhabited by the kind of dead-legs who can't quite accept it is no longer Rumours. Nevertheless, of all of York's recent pub opening (and there's tonnes), probably most impressive for me, certainly ale-wise, fully deserving of a GBG entry.

397. Foley's Tap House, Leeds

It's the "T" word again! This pub, one of my most frequently visited in Leeds since my 2005 debut here, has had more names than most pubs have served guest beers. I was once told it was a tax fiddle, possibly by a barmaid who just after, disappeared forever, I liked her honesty. Being of a multi levelled nature, and having an almost "modern" feel (well, until the current Friends of Trembling Ham-ness trend kicked in), it has been a good "go to" compromise place for work nights out over the years. I reckon it was a pre-emptive tick when I first visited, about 2005, possibly early 2006. It was called "Baroque" and served Isle of Man beer from Okells so it soon became "Dr Okells". Then it became "Mr Foley's Ale House" but became a York brewery pub which excited some folk at work, but bored me shitless. Last year, they added "Cask" to the name. This year, the "Mr" has been dropped and "Cask" changed to "Tap". Next year, who knows, I'll let you predict. I'm going "Doc F's Craft Kitchen". Two favourite times in here - (a) a work Christmas do, everyone stood in street not making a decision so I marched 20 people here including a group of old ladies - the "filing" ladies. They spent the whole time moaning whilst I sipped my Acorn Gorlovka. I got a right slating for bringing them, so we all went to this shocker of a bar called "Players" which was hideous, everyone THEN said I should have persuaded them to stay in Foley's. And they all went home. I got drunk on Desperado and a stripper's t-shirt hit me in the face. But he was male and sweaty ugh. (b) World Cup 2010 and I set myself a challenge to watch EVERY game so went to Mr Foley's after work EVERY day to watch the 4pm kick off. Three weeks in, Japan or Sweden v Cameroon or Ivory Coast was 0-0 after 34 minutes. I just thought "what the hell am I actually doing", necked my Roosters guest ale, and sped off home to gorge myself on salad for 3 weeks.

After work Mr Foley drinks with Rebecca, 2nd Oct 2015.

398. Inns of Court Hotel, Wakefield

On mine and Jig's epic W is for Wakefield pub crawl on 30th Jan 2014 when I was already thinking ahead to BRAPA and wishing the A-Z was over, this was our second pub of the day after the Black Rock on account of it actually being open before 4pm on a midweek. What my hazy memories tell me is that this was the weakest pub of the day so haven't been surprised to see it deguided from either the 2015 or 2016 GBG. The beer range seemed lacking, perhaps a Marston's pub and I spent ages trying to fathom out whether Empire is a session 3.8ish beer or a 5.4% bruiser. It seemed very basic, airy, quite open plan, a bit like a working man's club if I'm being honest. Yet, there was that nagging feel that it wasn't quite all there - like someone had removed some of the furniture, fixtures and fittings for a clean, and would be bringing them back again in the morning. Strange place.

So that is that then! As I say every year, we'll have to wait and see what the 2018 GBG holds before I can archive any more pubs (unless I get bored and just start reviewing old pubs at random).

Before that, someone on Twitter has requested I go through a few of those that have been de-guided from the 2016 GBG and perhaps give my thoughts on whether I agree or not. I'll pick 10 at random and write a couple of lines on each, with a final result on whether CAMRA has got it right or wrong in each case (in my very limited humble opinion!)

I'll be writing up Maltby and co on Wednesday so see ya then,

Si

BRAPA - Mid Wales : Bad Ankle, Good Anchor. (Part 3 of 3)

BRAPA - Friday Night in Wentworth / Pub Pet Poll Results

BRAPA - Billinge! Orrell! Crooke! Wigan! Swinton!

BRAPA - A Tricky Day on Teesside

BRAPA - August Review / September Preview

BRAPA - Back in Berkshire (Part 7)

BRAPA - Barnsley Bonus Bonanza

BRAPA - Padiham & Burnley

BRAPA - Doncaster Doom

BRAPA - Good Beer Guide 2017 published today!

BRAPA - North Yorkshire - School Adventure Day Trip

BRAPA - Going Out on a Lymm

BRAPA : the archives (375 - 382)

BRAPA - Hoyland Heaven

BRAPA - Crosby , Half of Waterloo & a Scouse Pie

BRAPA : the archives (383 - 390)

BRAPA - No Pain in Hoylandswaine

BRAPA - September Review / October Preview

BRAPA - Windsor & Eton, Littlewick Green, Cippenham

BRAPA : the archives (391-398)