BRAPA (British Real Ale Pub Adventure)

It's been a liver-busting, kidney aching, bowel crunching BRAPA January, and I'm currently undergoing something of a mini-detox as a result! 37 GBG pubs plus 1 pre-emptive were 'ticked off', which is my third best ever, not a patch though on April or June last year. I must do a spreadsheet!

With so much quality to choose from, deciding on three to be put forward for the End of Year Awards Ceremony is impossible, but I've had a think and decided on the following six I loved:

1. Rising Sun, Tipton
2. Foresters Arms, Reading
3. Odd Fellows, Shipley
4. Land of Liberty, Peace and Plenty, Heronsgate
5. Red Lion, Penn
6. Little 3, Thirsk.

The wonderful LOLPAP (as the kids probably call it)

Quite a nice geographical split too I think you'll agree and here's hoping the quality stays this high for the rest of 2017.

My overall favourite day out was 14th Jan Outer Reading because I had flu and pushing through the pain barrier was worthwhile come 9pm.

The lowlight was the West Haddesley farce I described recently, though failure to find a way to Little Missenden and Chesham's Black Cat makes 22nd Jan the overall worst day!

Getting the 1,000 up (for good this time) in Brixton was another highpoint though,

The 1,000th pub celebration.

February Preview

Feb begins on the 4th in BRAPA terms with a hopefully momentous day, as I "finish" Berkshire. It has been a wonderful county and am hoping the final two ticks in Stockcross and Wickham can be achieved swiftly and with style. And that is because, as you know, I already have one eye on Buckinghamshire and I reckon I can get two ticks in there too if all goes to plan!

A week later (11th), 'family commitments' mean I am not allowed to stray too far (i.e. North London) but I have been granted permission for a low key North Yorkshire replacement service. This suits me fine as this is the county I've got a real bee in my bonnet about at the moment.

Hull City read the BRAPA script and promptly let Fulham stuff them, meaning more North Yorkshire BRAPA is on t'cards for the 18th as it is now "a blank weekend". Am not sure Spurs at home would've had me rushing back to The Circle anyway.

And why don't we make it a North Yorkshire hat trick on the 25th? A home game for the Taargers so it is certainly on the cards that I do my remaining 'train/bus' trip that day.

North Yorkshire is never easy though and there is Skipton (a random Friday) and Saltburn (a random Sunday) to try and factor into the equation perhaps on quieter weekends.

It'd be wrong to neglect West Yorkshire under the circs, so I feel we need to get back to 'gentle' Tuesday ways from the 7th onwards. Work are STILL putting me on 9-5 (despite a rota now supposedly being in place) so I'll crack on with the 'working my way out of L**ds by mileage' approach. Drabford, Kirkheaton, Emley, Ackworth are the kind of places crying out for a good BRAPA seeing to.

24.5 is the Feb BRAPA average and I'd be more than happy with 24-25 when I look at the agenda ahead, it looks about right.

I may just be in a position to "near full Yorkshire completion" in late March, which is good in the sense that I wanna crack on with Cheshire (as I keep saying), as well as some Bucks fun.

Si

I arrived empty handed, I left with Leffe and Ullage magazines.

It was a very painful journey down to Kings Cross on my now regular 07:01 train. For some boring train engineery reason, we took an hour long tour of Cambridgeshire, a county so permanently flooded, even York's residents send them food parcels.

After drinking in the delights of March and Ely, we arrived at Kings X an hour later than usual. Sunderland fans who'd earlier made coherent and educated arguments about N'Diaye, Middlesbrough's smog and Selhurst Park had been reduced to blithering gurning wrecks, such is the effect of a 24 pack of Budweiser.

I had to run to get my connection in Reading, and amazingly arrived in Newbury at 11:44am where West Berkshire pub legend Tim Thomas had kindly agreed to chauffeur me around my final two Berkshire pubs, and I briefly met other Berks Twitter alumni Sam and (m)Matt(hew) in the carpark.

Ahh this is all very nice, but bring on the Wickham ....

The pale yellow Fiat Panda bounded eagerly into the countryside, and I realised that had I got the number 4 bus as far as I could and then walked, I'd have been taking my life into my own hands. We parked in the steep driveway and the pub was open .....

Arriving at the penultimate Berkshire pub

1018. Five Bells, Wickham

And I was immediately struck with what a classic this was. Low ceilings littered with pump clips are no problem for a short-arse like me, and added to the cosy feel as I trotted along the wooden floor to the bar area which had a fine range of ales (ignore the jam jars) but it was the InnFormal ones brewed behind the pub which I was always going to try. A couple of tables only were geared up for diners with knives and forks laid out, but most weren't, and yes, I did need my "emergency beermat" for the only time today (point deducted!), but there was really only a positive feel about the whole place. Tim used the experience to do a bit of Berkshire community stuff, putting up posters and assembling cardboard holders to put gig flyers in, and he got this amazing coffee thing that looked like a pint of Plum Porter in reverse. A couple of staff came over (everyone knows Tim) so I smiled and nodded along and tried to look like some important CAMRA person silently judging them (which of course is kind of true) and then a couple came in carrying a baby over their shoulders (too young to be a twild) but nearly knocked it's head on the ceiling which would have been amusing in a cruel way. I got a loyalty card, and had to reflect like with all loyalty cards, I'd never get the chance to use it as BRAPA is a disloyal pursuit!

InnDeep in Hungerford, Innocence in Wickham.

Tim goes to bar to collect his crazy coffee

Tim grabs green highlighter and does the honours!

The pale yellow fiat panda then bobbed about a bit on the road back to Newbury, where Stockcross is located. Bit nervous, was it open? Yes, it was. High drama for all of 0.002 seconds. Here was a moment I'd been working towards since 20th Feb 2016.....

We're about to go in!

Tim and a view of the road away from Stockcross

1019. Rising Sun, Stockcross

The door was a bit stuck just to add to the tension, but I was in and we were soon chatting with the friendly landlady about Berkshire pub stuff, and of course, the fact this was the last of my Berkshire pub visits. A man to my left with a bald headed that kept shining off the sun was loving this fact, but his wife had an unimpressed toad-like face which screamed "BRAPA Crapper". Poor man, if you are reading this and want to leave her to become my Buckinghamshire chauffeur, I'll pay you in coffee and shiny bald head wax. Sometimes in pubs it's the little things that impress, and what strangely stuck with me here was the TV! It was kind of half propped on a low down side table, like if you were watching it whilst decorating a house, none of this raised Sky Sports nonsense. A lot of customers were present so none of the cosier rooms around the bar really had a seat free, so we went into the duller (well, sunny) more spartan backroom where two annoying American men arrived to loudly order food and try and look impressive for finding a semi-rural pub. Well guess what lads, you ain't BRAPA so no-one cares! Fair to say, I felt quite self-satisfied here. Tim did a bit more pubby maintenance (I don't mean he fixed a shelf) and we were on our way back to Newbs, job's a good 'un.

West Berkshire brewery etched window

Pint on a proper pub beermat

Ticking off the final Berkshire pub, hurrah!

Having said bye to Tim, I sat in the waiting room and ate my Dairylea Lunchables and read Ullage (a classy combo) til the train back to Reading was due. I changed for Taplow and suddenly came over all drowsy like I'd had six pints, not two! Even the walk through Taplow to the pub, I felt totally off my face (I hadn't even started the Leffe) but sobered up once the pub was in sight .....

I am pretty sure this pub is called the Oak & Saw!

1020. Oak & Saw, Taplow

It was time to 'crack on' on with my new 'focus' - Buckinghamshire, and this was a satisfying 'tick' in that I means I've now already done a pub in every page of Bucks, before officially starting! Today was a very good day. I heard an awful lot of commotion from the outside, and I should have guessed, first day of the Six Nations and they love 'Union' done here even though it bores me to tears. A young blonde tattooed barman with shitty quiff served me something suitably Rebellion based, I handed over the customary £4.20 and rolled my eyes, and he looked as terrified as I was of the baying Taplow mob of 20 in the room to my left, getting excited over a game which didn't even involve England. Dare I take a photo of them? Well, a huge woman in an England rugby shirt scowled at me so I retreated and found a curtain to hide behind in a back room. She'd be perfect in any scrum. And if you are reading this luv, that is a compliment okay? My only companion had a fruit machine addiction, my phone signal was zero, all I could do was reflect what a fine proper boozer this actually was if you were to say, exterminate all rugby fans and take 50% off the ale price. I read Terry Wogan lived in Taplow, I wonder if his ghost haunts this place, probably.

Behind curtain to the left, a baying mob stare intently at the screen, mouths foaming with upper class fury.

The only other person in the pub not watching rugby.

As I left, bells were tolling and confetti was flying - and a bridge and groom were emerging from a church to much applause. The bored looking wedding car driver vaped in my face and said "alright mate" so I nodded and headed back to the station, almost colliding with a neon pink horse lady on the way.

It was one stop to Burnham, the third time I've used this station for BRAPA. Previously, it was Littleworth Common and Cippenham (two VERY different places) so was nice to be actually doing a pub in Burnham. Again, all the Cippenham locals were smoking pot and wearing classic 80's kids TV t-shirts, those from Burnham walking around with their noses in the air. Where's the happy medium?

The Bee is buzzing (hahahaha .... thanks)

1021. Bee, Burnham

And with laughter and a really jolly hubbub coming from every corner of this pub, I think it was the 'happy medium' I'd been hoping for in this neck of the woods. Now I'd been vaguely aware that Hull City were 1-0 up v Liverpool and we were in the last few minutes, but too nervous to look, I thought I heard a lady in a red coat at the bar say "Hull have got a second!" I asked the locals if she said 'Hull'. "Holland? Holland? I don't think they are playing mate!" was the reply, so I took my pint of "acceptable Marstons guest" over and asked her myself. Problem was, she was eating peanuts (a killer to nut allergy suffers like me!) so I held my breath and she said something about it being good but probably ruining her husband's accumulator. Good, I hate betting, especially armchair Premier League betting. More plastic than owt. I went to sit down, but 'Holland' man joined a small dog of questionable ownership on the table next to me, and he craned his head to try and watch England who had just started. I told him I could move, but he said no, he seemed to enjoy craning his neck both left and right for the next 30 mins. Why are some people so unintentionally irritating? Anyway, nice pub, the standard was high today.

Mind the peanuts .... photo taken at point of Hull City revelation.

The dog of questionable ownership ... irritating man had gone to the loo. Note lady in red.

I'd have thought it'd have been well early enough to squeeze in one London pub, maybe two but the various waits for trains and tubes meant I really did need the full 'hour to cross London' which I now always allow for. It was 19:20 by the time I made it back to Kings Cross, train went in 25 minutes so I stood and ate takeaway pizza before another painful tour of the Fens with my happy Mackem buddies (apart from one who was carted off by transport police at Peterborough for suggesting a season in the Championship might be more joyous).

I'll be back on the West Yorkshire trail on Tuesday, may squeeze a bonus Friday one in (one of those pubs that doesn't really suit a Tuesday), and then I'll be on a 'gentle' North Yorkshire day on Sat.

Berkshire has been great, I'll try and write a full review some time this week. Am 11 pubs to the good in Buckinghamshire already and ready to officially crack on with that in 5 weeks time. The 'key' pub at present is the Bricklayers Arms in Aylesbury, but I'll save that joy until April.

In that formative year in BRAPA history (2014 to be precise), it felt like I was never out of Bradford pub-ticking, but since an amazing trip Jacobs Beer House on 4th November that year, I've not had reason to return to this crazy city. Until now that is, two and a bit years on.

And so it came to pass that I was walking from Interchange station up through town on a relatively mild February evening - the dark evening sky stifling my inner core in a way which only a place like Bradford can. And then, my pub/bar/cafe appeared on the street corner like a beacon of hope ......

A beacon of hope?

1022. Record Cafe, Bradford

"Mood" lighting combined with glaring spotlights coming from behind the bar meant that I could barely see what was on the handpumps at all - the blackboard was no clearer - and if you throw into the equation three stubborn old barflies who were reluctant to move, a perfect storm was created whereby I had no idea what I was ordering. Just my luck then that I later discovered it was a 7.4% hoppy pale ale. No wonder one of the men turned to me and nodded in a sage manner! It made no sense at the time. So what is this place all about then? I'll tell you, vinyl, ale and ham. And a sweaty Steve Coogan in his suit was sucking up a plate of salami, also stood at the bar. Because when they say "ham" in these places, they actually mean "cured meats". Gimme a bit of tinned spam any day. I sat down facing the bar, back resting on a cushion against a brick wall. So for the vinyl then .... and I spied an upstairs with records. I went to explore, very retro, very 'cool', shame you couldn't sit up here. And the record collection itself? As you'd expect - boring Bowie, boring Beatles, Glumford & Sons, and just enough rare pressed pink Sex Pistols vinyl to make it semi-interesting. Back downstairs, to my right, three elders greeted each other in French but became increasingly northern. By the time I left, last thing I heard, and a direct quote "Eeeee corned beef hash! Wi' brown sauce n Yorkshires, aye." To my left, a beardie on a laptop. He started on the ale but then ordered a pint of water with cranberries floating in the top with a side of olives. Twat. I liked this cafe's atmosphere though, and when the two bar girls wrestled a huge slab of pig into a vice like meat cutter, I had to stay for another half and observe. A young Jesus finally came to their rescue. You could do worse than visit this place. A less pretentious Friends of Ham for an older crowd, and I do actually like that place too.

The pub's mantra

Pint of 7.4%, and flowers in an empty Beavertown can (classy!)

Meat n Merch, hanging from the rafters

Retro upstairs vinyl area

For sale.

The Great Yorkshire Progress

Only 21 GBG pubs left to do in the whole of Yorkshire (13 North, 8 West). I'll be doing a couple of North ones over the weekend, see you Friday. And work have promised me I can finally, finally get back to a few 4pm finishes which will help with some of the West Yorks trips that require a bus ride.

Still on for a late March finish, so this is my main BRAPA focus for the next few weeks. Some, as you'd expect, have weird opening days and times so I will have to adapt my days a bit to achieve the goal.

'Twas a windswept, wintry day up on t' hills, the kind of day where you wonder how on earth you would cope without BRAPA chauffeur extraordinaire B.G. Everitt, and the kind of day where the hamlets, dwellings and villages that contained the pubs seemed to be more isolated than ever.

We arrived in the outlying Swaledale village of Reeth at 11:24am, 24 minutes after pub opening according to the GBG and WhatPub but annoyingly all was darkness from within after I'd trudged to the main entrance in a wet blizzard, having almost been run over by a tractor. What did offer hope was a blackboard outside showing the winter food menu began at 12 noon, so we waited.....

Braving the conditions at a shut Buck

1024. Buck Hotel, Reeth

And bang on 12 noon, the pub door jolted open and we raced from car to pub door, this time nearly being run over by that most uncompromising of BRAPA creature, the "dithering woman driver". Once inside, I was surprised to see we were not even the first customers. Either this couple were ghosts, or residents staying in the hotel. You decide. Dad was very thrilled by a new 50 pence piece he'd acquired, which led the chatty no nonsense landlord down a "Scottish/NI notes are legal tender" rant, making sure we knew this pub saw more Scottish tourists than any other Dales pub (they probably feel at home with the weather). We were soon on a much needed pint of Gamekeeper half in front of a roaring fire - man ghost found out the WiFi password was 'realale' so Dad took the opportunity to try out his new smartphone. Baby steps, but I tried to give him a few pointers. Three lads pretending to be walkers appeared on the scene, ordered brie n bacon, and went to watch Arsenal v Hull City in the back room. Tempted to stay and cheer on our team? No it felt like it was going to be painful and my hunch was right. I may have accidentally trashed the pub in Clattenburg-rage. We were more than content in the cosy bar area, Mrs Buck arrived, peered out of the window, and goaded the weather Delia Smith-esque style "come on heavy snow, we can't see ya, idiot weather forecasters, pathetic, where is the extra man??" One of the best Dales pubs I've visited and that list has become quite long since 2014.

Back in the car, we typed in post code of pub two which returned that now familiar address "unnamed road". We have become quite accustomed to rural outreaches and dodgy winding treacherous roads up here, but this still raised eyebrows. We eventually found it even if Mr SatNav had stopped communicating with us (sulking from earlier cos they had built a new road near Bedale which confused him as he thought we'd gone 'off-road', the utter dimwit).

1025. George & Dragon, Hudswell

I'd been really excited about this one because not only is it community owned but also shortlisted (or it was) for the top CAMRA pub of the year award. So I was quite surprised how modern it felt, loungey, not at all restauranty, but we felt the huge back window view over the Swale Valley let a bit too much light in (the pub's main attraction apart from the ale) and thus, it lost something of the warmth of it's Reeth counterpart. What was impressive was the barman's service, helpful friendly attitude and the superb beer quality (you know when you've been having good quality ale but suddenly one is so good, it really hits you?!) And it had a great community feel as a sheepish old lady tottered in and asked us to take part in the raffle - or the greatest Hudswell rip-off, as it should be known. You get a card with a few pairs of numbers on, from 1-30, then I was privileged to draw one of two numbers, 8, and someone else drew a 20. Dad caused a kerfuffle by claiming he'd won because he had 28 on his card, but alas, you needed 8 & 20. Chances of winning this? A better mathematician will tell you it is probably about 1 in 1,800. I let Dad vent about Hudswell village hall corruption, neglecting to tell him the woman was now sat right behind us! She sloped out guiltily soon after. Classic.

Fire number two

Long distance view of Dad being unaware woman sat behind him in window

Probably amazing in summer

Mine young host has the beer situation covered.

Back towards Bedale we found the pretty village of Snape, which no one has ever heard of before and was probably built in 2016 just so they could open a pub in a weird location and put it in the GBG to confound pub tickers like me.

Dad is happy to be in Snape

1026. Castle Arms, Snape

The Grinton-esque Jennings sign was an indication we were entering Marston's territory, and whilst it wasn't one of their horrific family dining pubs, it's fair to say that you are hardly likely to be blown away by it's brilliance, because it isn't. Cosy and low-ceilinged, another fire, though we had to share a table with the food and wine menus, oldsters with their faces in the nosebag, two poncey handsoaps and bog-standard (literally) paper towels arranged in a wicker basket, this was verging on twee bollocks when all said and done. You know what is annoying in pubs? When a group goes to the bar and then pay for all their drinks separately. I'd normally blame younger people for this, so when three coffin dodgers sidled up to the bar and told the landlord "I hope you are good at dividing by 3", I thought it was a bit rubbish of them. Our beers, a new fangled Wychwood and a new fangled Marstons were both a bit thin and limp, hard to know if pub or brewery but looked good so perhaps the latter. A very hungry dog kept licking my hand, ugh. The gents were labelled "Kings", the ladies "Queens" (I assume, maybe 'Prawns'). More and more dogs appeared, one called Lucy caused the most consternation, we were soon hurdling them Beckenham style, before someone announced "if he's got an attitude, he'll wee on the floor!" Hard to know who they were talking about.

Okay

Oh dear.

Fire number three, hurrah!

We had to scoot back to York pretty sharpish for family related 'fun', but overall a really good interesting day and some nice pubs.

I've forgotten to review my Friday trip to Skipton so will do that tomorrow (Monday) night if I have the energy. Tue and Fri I have further West Yorkshire trips planned, and a similar day to this one on Saturday. Only 17 Yorkshire pubs remain - come on, we can finish this!

Si

A lot of the remaining Yorkshire pubs I need to visit have weird opening hours, hence why I'm doing the odd bonus BRAPA on a Friday or Sunday in attempt to finish god's own county. Of course, if there was a god who loved real ale, he'd probably live North London. I wouldn't trust him.

But you can trust Skipton to throw up new GBG entries year upon year, it is just one of those Biggleswadey, Mirfieldesque places. And on a freezing Friday night, I was hot-footing it across a town I'd only ever seen on a summer touristy day before, and I enjoyed the gloom and misery.

Always a bit apprehensive going into a club, less reliable than a pub, an unknown quantity. How will I be received? Red carpet or spit in the face, could be either.....

The stone clad Three Links Club

1023. Three Links Club, Skipton

I walked in to a large typically clubby lounge, with just one group of six people sat around a large circular table and bar at very far end. I appraised it was five men and one woman, the woman was very gobby but three of the gents said 'hello' as I wandered past. The barman was a young chap who was keen to see my CAMRA card, make sure I wasn't just a passing wastrel, a bit of a surprise as recent club experiences have been so informal, I've been able to just go to the bar and order a drink, so in a way, good to see him sticking to the 'rules'. I took my Dark Horse ale to a table near the six old duffers in hope of overhearing some exciting convo, maybe even joining in, but save for a chat on wayward teenage girls, it was all 'committees', 'impending weddings' and 'dog breeding'. Zzzzz. At least the latter led to awful woman starting most sentences "If you buy a working cocker...." which was worth the admission price alone. The funky 80's Stock, Aitken and Waterman style music DID NOT fit the club at all, why do places bring their own atmosphere into disrepute like this? Which of these six old people were enjoying Rick Astley or Kylie and Jason? I reassessed the company, and soon realised it was three men and three women! Well, who knew? Couples as well, and they left one at a time. The barman was asked when his next customer was due. A weird question I thought, but he answered it with a prompt "8pm". Appointments? Well, as the final couple left, Tiffany's "I Think We're Alone Now" started, most apt BRAPA song of 2017 to date. I chatted to the barman after that, but at one point, he yawned and looked in agony. "I've strained a jaw muscle yawning too much" he revealed. Perhaps this sums up the number of customers on the early evening shift?! Funny place but enjoyable.

The quiet bar area

The quiet lounge area

My pint (very good) and two of the friendlier of the six.

I do really need a new Skipton pub to be in the 2018 GBG when it is released in September. This is because on 23rd June 2018, I have to take my sister there to remind her of something we talked about on 23rd June 2013. Cryptic I know. But come on Skipton, you never let me down.

Si

If all BRAPA nights were like this one, I'd readily admit defeat on my pub-ticking mission, retire, and instead do something more serene, like visiting all Norman churches in England, or becoming a member of the "92" club.

Not that tonight's pub, or location, were bad in any way, both lovely on this Valentine's night. But the transport, ugh!

After a straightforward train ride to 'Uddersfield and a two minute speed-walk to the bus station, I joined the half-term masses and local scroats on the bus to Wakefield, stopping of course at Emley. I was directly in front of two schoolgirls. One was telling off the other for dying her hair without her Mum's permission. "She won't be too mad, it's only green!" Traffic was horrendous but 15 mins later than scheduled, I was in this surprisingly remote hilly village just as dusk was falling .....

I tried to get Emley Moor and the mast in but failed miserably!

1027. White Horse, Emley

I do like a good Ossett pub (I feel I must've visited them all by now!) and I wandered in relieved it was one their more traditional efforts, with 8 locals (men & women) in their fifties lining the bar. I peered over the top and ordered what seemed to be a special Emley house beer, 'Emley Cross' - I might've been paranoid but I thought I heard a few stifled chuckles as I did so. Is this a re-badged ale that they put on for the idiot "outsiders" like me? Well, I don't think so in retrospect, as it was darker and maltier than 90% of Ossett beers, no nonsense stuff for no nonsense folk in t'village! To keep Saturday's run going, I spied a corner seat near a roaring fire where a woman kept warming her arse. At least she gave it a good poke (the fire I mean, not her arse). "Looks like the best seat in the house!" I commented in jovial manner. An insipid smile was all I received in reply. In my 27 minutes in this pub, she came over TWICE more for further arse warming. After that, it felt like I'd walked into a TalkSport phone in with the focus on the Championship. Firstly, two Huddersfield fans were pessimistic about their chances v Rotherham. Then, a Sheffield Wednesday woman said "let's hope all goes well at fortress Hillsborough" and then a seated Blackburn fan growled at her in Lancastrian tones which confused all present. Then an excitable gambling scummer listed all the teams on his "accy" accumulator, including Rotherham twice. And just to top things off, a man claimed Marcus Tudgay was the best footballer he'd ever seen. Then, to put the final cherry on the cake, a woman tells the Blackburn man, "you are owned by an Indian Bernard Matthews". And I couldn't even take my glass back to the bar because the efficient barman took it whilst I was in the loo, so all I could do was wave goodbye from afar to the newly arrived blonde barmaid. Oh dear!

It's Championship chat fest! The arse-warmer is leaning on the right.

I'd been downing my drink so I could make the 18:11 back to Huddersfield. Except there WAS no 18:11, it was now the 18:48 after a timetable change. How did I miss that? Thankfully, a dotty old local woman crossed the road to tell me. And because it was dark and there was no pavement at the stop, I couldn't see times on bus stop and had to perch in the road in my black coat leaning on a stone wall avoiding oncoming traffic Nightmare. Even West Berkshire's rural bus stops have bits where people can safely stand!

I'd assumed it'd been delayed due to all the problems getting here and accident on M62 (and I'd seen a broken down bus on the way up at Flockton Moor), but like she read my mind, dotty old woman said "it's not worth your while going back to the pub" (how did she know? A witch?) so I explored Emley in the dark! Where's mi BRAPA torch?

Funniest of all, the centrepiece of the village seems to be Emley Cross (hence the beer name) but it's a tiny stubby thing if you compare it to say, Lymm Cross. I wonder if residents of Lymm come to Emley to boast that theirs is bigger?

18:48 turned up at 19:07, exactly an hour since I'd left the pub. Arrrghh, give me strength. Back in 'Udders freezing cold with a dead phone and a painful back from the stony wall, I was glad of an almost immediate direct train back to York.

See ya Friday for more "bonus" West Yorkshire adventures cos some pubs can't do the BRAPA basics (i.e. open on a Tuesday evening).

Friday night fun in Ackworth

You know the weekend is finally here when you land in Fitzwilliam station, only to be told by Google Maps (which loves a joke at my expense) that you are to walk 1.8 miles along muddy waterlogged dirt tracks through sinister looking woodland to get yourself to pub number one .....

Despite ruining a perfectly good pair of retro Hummel trainers, I was soon back in civilisation (if you can call the area between Wakefield and Pontefract "civilisation") and after walking along a winding road called Bell Lane, I found the pub .... and it was still just about light, suggesting spring is on the way.

1028. Masons Arms, Ackworth

An impressive roaring fire on the left as I walked in, wall to wall with grinning raucous locals absolutely loving their Friday night drinks, sausage rolls on the bar, a friendly barmaid asking genuinely "how are you?" and calling everyone "luv", some pubs are just fantastic from the moment you enter. Shame I chose an Exmoor beer ahead of the local(ish) Bradfield ones, but that was my only mistake as I found a stool 'twixt front door and the fire to keep my recent "seat in front of the fire" record in tact, and none have been as impressive as this hearth. Perfect for drying the mud off my shoes. I was facing the main instigators of Masons Arms Friday night jollity, and with so much chatter, I couldn't hear much conversation, but when I did, I almost regretted it. Firstly a woman on a pub crawl revealed she had to break off part way through - "I've gotta nip home at 8 to inject the dog .... he's diabetic". The things you never think you'd hear in a pub. But even worse followed, "you can't buy minge lube in Tesco". Woah, did she really just say that? Repeating it 4 times actually stunned even the loudest people in the pub into an awkward silence as I stared sternly into my Exmoor, pretending to discover a depth of complex flavours that didn't exist. A few locals stared intently up at "The Chase" on the ITV screen as if it were the World Cup Final. A posh version of Albert Steptoe kept coming over to warm himself on the fire a la Emley woman from Tuesday. I said hi and bye, for my bus was due.

A fire, and a nearby extinguisher cos who knows what'll happen here.

A (delayed) short bus ride to Hemsworth was next up, and the main reason for this Friday trip due to their inability to open on Tuesday evenings like a normal West Yorkshire BRAPA pub. I had been warned about this town from my sister's boyfriend who was brought up here, but I was still not prepared for the zombie apocalypse style locals on every street corner, red eyed, drunk, hungry for human flesh, York human flesh.

1029. Hamelsworde Brewery Tap, Hemsworth

So it was with some relief when I slammed the door behind me of this little safe haven, brewery tap by name but micropub in reality, though by no means a dud for it had a bit more depth to it than most. In some ways, it was a bit like entering Doncaster's Little Plough, sanctuary when all outside is madness. I was greeted by an eager blondie with red trousers I liked, who seemed keener to take me through the range of continental lagers and fridge bottles than the ales, strangely. Once she realised I was a boring CAMRA beard anorak, I got an extra 20p off and paid about 6 shillings for my pint, or whatever currency they use in Hemsworth. Two bald men were trying to impress the whole pub with jokes about their own baldness, the type who insist on wearing it like a badge of honour, urrrgghh. They left soon after to much relief from the assembled crowd (despite leaving with a barrage of rhubarb and custard jokes which made no sense), an attractive couple of the window who we'll call Freddie and Amelia, a middle aged couple who hated each others company but loved the fact smartphones had been invented, and a huge pinstripe suited dude who sat at the bar (practically on my face) telling the now bored barmaid about his work jaunts to Newton Aycliffe and Stockton on Tees. She'd rather have heard about BRAPA, I expect, but that's how the Hemsworth cookie crumbles. It was quite dull after that, though my off season Christmas ale was a winner. A woman came in and protested too much about not being a regular and not really wanting to try the new Prosecco but had time to kill, so she may as well. Time to run for the bus.

Bald and slightly annoying.

A board of cask ales

It was deja vu from Emley at the bus stop as it just didn't bloody arrive (I even checked the times at the stop) and after 20 mins, I took matters into my own hands and marched to Fitzwilliam station. My luck turned as the next train was just delayed enough to enable me to get it, and once in Leeds, the same happened with a York train. So even if the bus had been on time, I'd not have been home any quicker, just bored and colder. So hurrah!

I'm getting close, only FIVE West Yorkshire pubs to do. Back on the trail on Tuesday, but how weird are this pubs opening hours......?

I love a good all nighter with a full English Breakfast just before closing!

I'm having a new shower/bathroom fitted this week. This is relevant to BRAPA cos (a) I'd rather be out and about than in a bathroomless flat, so expect much BRAPPing over the next fortnight.

And (b) I want to ask if anyone knows of a real ale pub out there with a shower you can use? I confess I don't seem to recall one but it'd help massively.

See you soon, Si

Saturday morning and for once, Mr Sat Nav wasn't the main source of our frustration as we journeyed north through the beautiful North Yorkshire Moors, past Malton and Pickering - today it was "Mr Windscreen Washer" who kept beeping every 5 minutes to remind Dad his levels were low.

The mist and fog swirled around once we arrived on the top, surrounded by grouse and heather, you could just imagine Basil Rathbone being chased by a devil dog with the face of Tom Irvin.

Back on the other side by the busy coast (it was half term week, spit!), it was all sunshine again so as we arrived at our first pub, which was admirably open at 11am despite the old Inn sign and front door looking unpromising.

1030. Brown Cow, Hinderwell

We walked in through a very narrow corridor, the landlord (a sturdy steady stoic man in green) breathed in to let us past, and served us a great Farmers Blonde (I should've got it in Ackworth the night before) with Cameron's Strongarm the other ale on offer. What also excited me was a Carling Premier font, not sure I've seen that since I accidentally spilt a skinhead's pint in Cardiff circa 1998 and had to run to another room! This was a lot more serene, and it was one of those "almost someone's front room pubs", but with bird themed curtains, darts trophies galore, walking maps of the local area and the voice of Myleene Klass reverberating around the building (sadly, only on Smooth radio and not there in person) and classic 80's hits played. We sat in the sun at the far end, I think we were the only customers, a great pub.

Dad basks in sunshine fun

My view of the bar

The Smooth radio screen

We then drove into the middle of nowhere back on the Moors, located our pub, but a fleet of cars were parking up and a big group were lurking the car park, so we parked down the road and Dad suspected Ugthorpe was a very odd place.

1031. Black Bull Inn, Ugthorpe

Back in the car park, Dad asked the friendliest looking chap in the group if we were waiting for the pub to open. "I am open" was the quick reply, and he walked us inside, explaining these people were waiting for some kind of photo opportunity (and as a consequence, my BRAPA outdoor photo had to wait til we'd left the pub). He was a very personal bald slimline young chap, explaining there's no point having more than 2 ales on in a pub like this - we agreed and had the "guest ale from Stockport", explained to us in a way which made Stockport sound continental and mysterious. In truth, it was a guest Robinsons ale with lemon in it. With the photo opportunity complete, the big group came inside for a hearty feed, plenty of beer bellies and beards flying about so the young girl who looked like Willow from Neighbours seemed a bit out of place. Their shirts said "Audis and Dubs" and sure enough, loads of glittering Audis were parked outside. Good job I find cars interminably dull. Our genial host seemed to have the job of "entertaining them" aswell as running the pub, turned out his father and his father's father had the pub before. He was definitely the right man for the occasion and he was definitely impressed by BRAPA, probably.

Dad ticks off one of he trickiest remaining Yorkshire pubs

My pint and the bar, pre-Audi gang

Which artist did this view remind me of (clue, this is the most highbrow BRAPA q ever)

On the way out, finally got my pic!

We took the short drive on to the incredibly scenic village of Egton Bridge and found a free carpark and walked over the "historic" (rebuilt 1989) actual Egton Bridge. The drive made me realise how much I nearly killed myself that BRAPA day of yore when I walked Beck Hole-Grosmont-Egton-Lealholm - a killer!

1032. Horseshoe Hotel, Egton Bridge

We walked in through a rabbit warren of corridors and side rooms (this was our third residential pub of the day) and a huge group of feeding women were laughing like chimpanzees. We got served this incredibly chocolatey pint of Great Newsome ale (better than any in 'Ull) and Dad told me a 'lazy wind' is a wind that goes right through you, because it is too lazy to go around you - it's a Hull thing so don't worry if you don't understand, just be thankful. No sooner had we sat in a corner when a crazy, outgoing chap commented on my obviously amazing drinking trousers - though his older female friend (his Mum?) was less than impressed. He'd love a pair the same but was worried his friends would take the mickey, they already judge his parking by giving him marks out of 10 (his highest score is 5, even when he parked perfectly and he seemed mentally scarred). On the plus side, he had once dressed as a dog to raise money for charity, so claimed he knew what it'd take to wear such trousers. Hmmm. After practising barking, he left, no wonder Dad thought he was a bit weird, perhaps just a bit 'flamboyant'. After that, Dad tried to send a picture on his new smartphone, which took what seemed like an eternity and didn't work. I admired huge fish that locals had caught in the River Esk and hung on the wall in years gone by.

The visiting "Biker Mice from Mars" arrive for a drink

One of many giant fish

On the way back to the car, we cleansed our souls with a trip to the amazingly huge but also amazing village church.

Dad hiding behind some flowers and the crotch of Jesus

I was staying in Naburn for tea so the usual Fox post-pub trip couldn't happen.

Now I'm not saying we went to either/and/or the New Inn at Cliffe & Wadkin Arms at Osgodby, but if we had've done, we may have been offered/seen/taken advantage of free buffets at each. Okay, so the New Inn might've been packed with footballers from Cliffe and/or Barton Town, the pasties may have been 90% pastry, 10% filling, and the brilliant Wadkin landlord might've heard what beer I was ordering from two miles away, moved us from 2 reserved seats, taken pity on us, and offered us free sandwiches and bhajis whilst Wolves messed up their chance of cup glory.

But all is hypothetical cos it probably didn't happen ...... but here's how it might've looked....

Three more off the list! Only 6 left in North Yorkshire, and 5 in West Yorkshire to do. The "completion by end of March" dream is still alive, and I'll be back in some fictional outer Huddersfield village tomorrow, which hopefully has better transport links than Emley.

Good bye, I'm off to see Sutton Utd set up a quarter final defeat against Lincoln City.

Si

You couldn't blame me for missing the bus stop in Kirkheaton. I'd had a crazy day, firstly winning the "Yorkshire Bank BRAPA Employee of the Month" award, then my bathroom people confessed I had no toilet to wee in for 2 days, then my dentist told me I needed some mysterious treatment I wasn't aware of. Yes, I needed a pint after that day.

Had I stayed on the bus, it actually would've gone round in a circle and stopped outside the pub a few minutes later anyway, but how can a visitor be expected to know how crazy made-up West Yorkshire villages like Kirkheaton (Kirkstall + Cleckheaton) work?

1033. Yeaton Cask, Kirkheaton

The pub had that kind of wooden flooring that goes "clomp clomp clomp" when you enter, so all the bar perchers were aware of an interloper in their midst. Luckily, the landlady was an ultra friendly woman, telling me there was a blackboard to view all six beers but I told her I needed to see the pumps to make an informed choice! She then apologised for not turning the pub lights on, as I squinted to count my change in the dark. I liked many things about the pub, most notably the wood-burner keeping my good recent run of "seat in front of the fire" going. I had to pirouette awkwardly on my seat, so I was facing both fire and pub - so as to appear more sociable. Some tropical fish swam happily above my head, and the toilet doors were Wild West saloon swing style which I've not seen since Bingley 2013. I thought about stocking up the wood burner myself but the landlady didn't want customers doing it in case they burn themselves and sue the pub! A dog made some of the weirdest wimpering dog noises in BRAPA history. And then a little capped lesbian vaper lady became the honourary "fire bum warmer" of the evening, there's always one. She reminded me of a customer me and Dad used to see in a pub in Irthlingborough with bullet holes in the windows which sold Websters, we named her "female Ryan Williams" after a terrible Hull City winger of the time. I reflected that given a bit of carpet and bench seating over posing tables, you could be looking at a classic here, I still enjoyed it a lot - this it's first year in the GBG, fully deserved. The landlady wished a group "good luck" and I realised they could only be Huddersfield fans off to a match. Another short haired woman came in (very much the Ruth Davidson of West Yorkshire), scowled at me, and stood at the bar eating complimentary bar snacks in an angry European manner. It was time to go.

The bus did more weird circular tours of Kirkheaton before zooming back to Huddersfield (the driver was a total nutcase) and with a bit of time to kill before the next train to York, I popped in the wonderful King's Head for a swift half, totally forgetting 'Town were at home to this team called Reading. I was wearing blue n white so everyone was very friendly, and a lone anorak Reading fan let me share his table, muttered something southern and inaudible and let me read his paper, which was nice!

A man aims for 'BRAPA poser of the year award' as Town fans sup up.

Bathroom Woes

It is day 4 of my bathroom fitting and peeing in a bucket and then rinsing it in the same kitchen sink I have to wash in really has been quite an experience, and one that makes me seriously consider my earlier question, what pubs have showers/bath facilities?

The good folk of twitter have alerted me to three.

1. A truckers pub off a motorway near Rotherham selling one ale.

2. A pub somewhere near Swansea

3. A bar in Glasgow (possibly Duncan's house) has half a bath and serves cheap Tenants and Frosty Jacks.

Tom also says any GBG pub with the bed symbol should count, a good point but I mean ones that anyone can use regardless of staying overnight.

Keep 'em coming!

Day one - shower and sink are no more!

Day two, my leaky cistern.

Day three - the "hallway takeover".

Day 4 - hooray, I have a toilet!

So that was fun for you all. I'm off to meet my friends at York's incredible Three Cranes in the York Pub Champions League Group E soon so gotta dash, I have a 'bonus' tick tomorrow night and I'm splitting my weekend pub ticking into two mini-days of three pubs each, mainly due to Saltburn's stupid club opening times.

When the first green haired, pagan, vegan, lesbian settlers came to Hebden Bridge in the year 1510, bringing with them a hippie culture, the ability to open shops selling crystals and incense for ridiculous sums of money, before retiring to run a cattery, with a bit of paranormal investigation on the side, who'd have thought that in the year 2017, they would be more "relevant" than ever?

Not that I'm stereotyping the good folk of Hebden Bridge, it is a lovely place and am always pleased to see a new GBG pub to visit, which invariably happens every edition. But not too lovely as to be twee, the kids in the park try their best to be threatening along the old canal, and there were signs that people from Coatbridge and Airdrie were holidaying here .....

So I'd probably say that the micropub fits in with Hebden culture, and this one was an absolute cracker despite a shaky start .....

1034. Calan's Micropub, Hebden Bridge

Friday evening isn't the best time to enter a micropub (or any pub for that matter) and I was wedged in the entrance door for 5 minutes behind a hairy rugged man (seen above striding purposefully into the pub). He was the most 'real' customer, the wait was for 5 middle aged women making a song and dance over, you've guessed it, a Prosecco order, but mercifully, they read my mind and pissed off into the cold courtyard. A man covered in dust and soot came in behind me to swell the numbers of 'proper pub goers' to a massive three, he joked if he could order "4 quarters" of ale - I didn't get it, because I thought this is EXACTLY the kind of thing a place like this'd do! After all, you see three thirds often enough. Just as I got served, a seat became available and with Messrs Hairball and Sooty happier to block the floor space than sit down, I darted into it. I was opposite a watchful middle aged couple, the hubbie had a broken foot and it was up on a chair, stopping me from getting a good look at, or photo, or the impressive GBG selection that dated back to 1978. To my left, a couple with a bored dog kept nervously glancing over - all I could do was admire the pump clips and wall decor, it was a bit cheek to jowl but there was a great warmth to the hubbub, and to enjoy a Friday evening here was testament to what a good little pub this is. I also managed to nick THREE beermats for my collection, no need for emergency ones here!

Mr Hairball (nice chap) inspects his pint and I try and avoid eye contact with all

An impressive selection of GBG's (the missing ones are nothing to do with my thieving mitts!)

My train App decided I should change at Dewsbury instead of Leeds for a change so I spent a quick 15 mins in the always wonderful and impossible to leave West Riding Refreshment Rooms, home of the worst Pub Periscope Podcast in living memory, but I don't want to remind you all of that!

It was back home quite early as I had a "bonus" Saturday trip to fit in before Sunday's main event in North Yorkshire. Oh, and only one week til I can have a shower again!

Si

If anyone tells you they've visited Dukinfield, or that they even know where it is, then they are lying. They are probably trying to impress you, but as I walked through the grey drizzly windswept streets of Ashton-under-Lyne on the edgy A627 (my green leather jacket and odd gloves nearly caused me to be the victim of a drive-by shooting), I realised I'd still have to wait 30 minutes for the pub to open.

Solace came in the form of a pie shop, Martins to be precise (and note the lack of apostrophe making it inferior to Paula's, across from the pub, which our very own Martin (Taylor) visited on his trip). The pies weren't labelled at all so I asked the girl which types they were. "Which one?" she asked, a dim response I thought seeing as EVERY pie looked the same. I settled on a gorgeous cottage pie, with a crusty layer and cheesy topping, and ate it on a swing in Dukinfield Park, in the rain.

Who says I don't do classy? This was living and breathing Dukinfield. The Town Hall was very nice too, and the lovely Lizards chap off Twitter told me a famous racing driver was born here. Nora Batty or something?!

Dukinfield Park

Pie Bag

A pub

1035. Angel, Dukinfield

So yes, I felt like Mr Dukinfield by the time the pub doors swung open at 12 noon and 54 seconds, though one barmaid immediately legged it across the road to Paula's, but the other one assured me pub was open and I was drinking this £2.55 pint of a beer from another made-up place (Mobberley or somewhere) and very good it was too! I took it to the raised area of this fantastic lounge bar to the right - there was a chilly looking pool room to the left, and again, I was using Martin's blog to give me pointers throughout my 30 mins here. Red is a nice warming colour, good for pubs, but this was red in the extreme - the reddest pub I've been in since that Salopian Bar in Shrewsbury. I got the impression it wasn't an out and out ale pub though as adverts for Smirnoff, 2 for 1 shots, and Guinness 'bunting' were hanging everywhere. I had to suffer a large screen with Keith Andrews trying to be a football pundit as the White Shite took on another horrific club in the kind of fixture that actually really wants me to see Hull City get an automatic 'bye' into League One. But I loved being the only customer, and this was a real sturdy street corner local which you can't ever imagine not standing here. The two barmaids munched Paula's baps in the corner, all was well. Oh yes, and weren't the toilets noisy? Loudest extractor fan ever.

I walked back into Ashton-under-Lyne where, like almost every Greater Manchester place I visited in 2015/16, had a new pub for me to tick off, so I went .... obviously.

Oh baby, baby, it's a Witchwood (as Jimmy Cliff nearly sang)

1036. Witchwood, Ashton-under-Lyne

It was immediate from the outset that this was also a self proclaimed "concert venue", or gig dive if you are being more truthful. I have to admit, I never find pubs doubling as music venues to be the best (Alma, Bolton and Purple Turtle, Reading are two examples) but this was better than both, though a bit rough and ready. A blonde skinny girl with her tummy out called Sarah - stock phrase "Fooookin' Dick'ead" - turned round to smile at all new arrivals, before swiftly turning away in disappointment, and she was giving relationship advice to a man in a tracksuit with an impressive chin. I ordered a Draught Bass as a 'thanks' to Martin for guiding me through the Dukinfield process, but found it a bit limp which may have been quality rather than the ale itself, I never have any luck with it! Zouch was one example, when a dog tried to drown itself in the canal. I was served by a barmaid with obligatory tattoo sleeve and nose piercings. Me and a few old blokes watched "Come Dine with Me" and it caused much hilarity and heckling, like we were watching a sports event! Sadly, they left just as I was bonding with them. An old couple replaced them. The old dear sat down, she had no teeth but necked a pint of Thornbridge Jaipur (5.9%) in a way that put me to shame. And if that didn't sum up this pub, I don't know what did.

Come Dine with Me fans enjoying life

Draught Bass and background relationship counselling.

The rain was now teeming down on Tameside as I ventured tram-wards towards Droylsden, a place I've always wanted to go to. This is mainly because I've seen their football team play away from home three times with performances ranging from "workmanlike" to "stodgy" to "inept".

The one recurring factor of the Bloods(? Or is that Saffron Walden Town?) performances is that they never make playing football look easy, effortles or pleasurable.

Despite the weather, something strange happened. People started smiling at me! Ahhh, this must be the friendly part of the region. And after some needless faffing around near a shopping precinct, I found the pub on the main road .....

Pub time, what can possibly go wrong?

1037. Bee Hive, Droylsden

Evident straight away that I was not only in a local's pub, but a bit of a classic. Beautiful little place, wood panelling ,warm - though I had to bite my tongue when an old dear saw the state of me and remarked "oooh, 'as it started raining?!" "It's safe to say it has!" was my restrained reply. Sarcasm may've not worked. I dried off and went straight to the loo where I got into conversation with a Scotch bloke who told me not to complain about the weather because he lives in a place called Wishaw and it's far worse up there! I hadn't even said a word to him at this point, but he seemed like a good fellow. Time to settle down then but immediately noticed my ale tasted off. Sour, chemically, not traditionally sulphur "off", it didn't even look terrible. I hate taking pints back, but had no qualms in this instance. As I waited for the barmaid to reappear, a local lager drinker helped appraise it - but he wasn't sure not being an ale drinker. But the barmaid's attitude (a redoubtable old looking lady who seemed to have been there a long time) was simply that another bloke had just drunk 2 pints of it and not complained i.e. it must be me! She didn't taste or smell it herself. It smelt of wee! I nearly did an Alan Partridge-esque "SMELL MY BEER!" It was the only ale on, but before I could consider going onto the keg Boddies, she'd already pulled me another. Initially, I thought it seemed improved but as time went on, it got worse and worse. Of course, I felt too awkward by now to take it back again, so eventually left the last third or so! It's rare in my BRAPA challenge to have a bad pint but it can happen to the best of pubs, it's more the manner of how it is dealt with. In fact, when it happened in Armthorpe a year ago, the staff actually turned it into a positive experience by being so good about it! And it 'soured' what would've been a really good pub experience. I did later have a DM chat on Twitter with a (younger) member of staff about the incident, which made me feel better about things. I even got a Droylsden pre-emtpive recommendation out of it so good on 'em! Every cloud.....

Nice pub.....

....lovely pub .....

....bad pint!

I couldn't end on a bad note, and my train was going through Slaithwaite - one of three remaining West Yorkshire ticks. It was still only 4pm so I decided to fit it in.

What I hadn't accounted for, "Transpennine Scum!" Ugh, awful bunch, and something about men and women in their 50's and 60's acting like 20 year old tossers that really depresses me. I thought people had stopped doing this ale trail 5 years ago, especially on a wet wintry day like this.

I got quite lucky really, a load got off in Marsden, and the ones who joined me at Slaithwaite ALL went down into the town, instead of up and around this cobbled bank like me. I even did a little celebratory jig in the rain, I was THAT pleased to see not one following me to this pub!

And yet, something in my mind was telling me THIS was the mystery pub I did at the end of my inaugural Transpennine crawl 11th July 2009. I'd got VERY drunk that day but had been sobered up in Marsden and this, the last pub, I remember the steepish walk and the low loungey area, lots of Mum's with twilds and disco equipment by the bar - and it WAS the same pub!

The Swan Inn, Crimble Bank

1038. Swan Inn, Slaithwaite

But as I said in my piece on Hebden Bridge yesterday, you shouldn't stereotype folk, it'll only come back to haunt you. And so it was, my heart did sink when I saw six Transpennine blokes making a massive meal of ordering their pints - one was complaining he wanted a Farmers Blonde and not a Bingley Something (not it's real name) and cos he'd had a sip, she wasn't allowed to change it! So I just elbowed in amongst them and got served by the two jolly barmaids. The group went to sit at the far end, and were good as gold, but I didn't expect it at the time, so sat at the near end, near two locals - the capped John Torode and evil Gregg Wallace of Slaithwaite, only more objectionable. I can deal with bad language (even though I don't condone it), but these two absolute fuckers were on the "Wokingham Paint Stained Overalls" level of people who make your skin crawl. I can't do it justice, one theme was their obsession with wide arsed women, getting a series of women staff along to surreptitiously compare them like something in a cattle market. The staff laughed along with them, but you could tell no-one liked them. They even tried to start an argument with someone in the busier right hand bar, because they didn't like his brother. Still, I wasn't taking my pint for granted and enjoyed it immensely. and this'd be a cracking pub in the right circumstances.

Capped Torode about to disturb the peace

View of the lovely bar

Pint and a BRAPA card

A weird drunken bookcase

Back to York before I did any more damage, after all, the MAIN event was still to come on Sunday in what was a weekend festival of pub-ticking, and a good time to do it as my flat doesn't feel like my own until I get a shower put in!

Cheers, Si

I was nervous as I walked through Saltburn on Sunday morning, one of the North Yorkshire's most underrated coastal towns in my opinion. This club just HAD to be open. How else would I fulfil my Mum's wish of visiting my FINAL Yorkshire pub with her on Mothers Day?

My last trip up here had been fraught with disaster, but with the sun shining down on me and a stiff but mild North Westerly (or something), I knew today was going to be different.

A padlocked fence around the cricket, bowls and tennis clubs didn't help my heart, but my hopes were raised when I found a building tucked behind it all, THE CLUB, and an open door!!

My joy was short lived however as I wandered in to find the place in darkness, shutters down over the bar. I know fellow pub ticker Duncan Mackay would wrench it up and pull himself a pint and down it in one in this situation, but I'm merely a junior pub ticker so I tiptoed from room to room, until I found an old couple drinking coffee and reading papers......

Time to do a Duncan?

I felt a bit awful disrupting their peace but "OI CHUMPS WHEN YOU BLOODY OPENING EH? 11:30AM GBG N WHATPUB MEAN ANYTHING TO YA?!" They told me "just after 12 noon, so to be polite, I stood in the bracing wind outside in my long black veil and waited forlornly. Like a faithful dog waiting for it's dead master to return.

Tetley's lamp of note, perhaps

No cricket on today.

I was just contemplating if '12:00 and 1 second' was too early to go back in, when the steward man shouted to me "we're open now".....

1039. Saltburn Cricket, Bowls & Tennis Club, Saltburn-by-the-Sea

I had a nice chat with a young bar bloke who obviously thought it weird, me looking so delighted to be here seconds after opening, so I bored him with BRAPA for a few minutes until other customers arrived. I didn't have to show my CAMRA card, sign or book or owt, Take that Skipton! After admiring the view of the cricket pitch through the low windows, and then the massive trophy collection, two Indian lads came in with cricket bats. A bit off season I thought. And then the locals descended and it became proper clubby. Much Middlesbrough moaning "we are relegated!" was a big theme, having to say "happy birthday Dave" was another. A ladder had been propped up at the bar, presumably for me to walk under, and they started putting up a curtain as a partition which hid the real ales - so was glad when they gave up on the idea completely. What is the worst type of Twild? A ginger one of course, well there were FOUR of them with Adam Henson playing the role of "Dad". The young girl wanted a glass of pepsi. "Do you want vodka in that?" asked an old local. "What is vodka Daddy?" (possibly quote of the day). "Wait til the last match of the season, then you'll find out!" was the old man's reply. The girl was upset when her twild brothers went outside. "They are not playing, darling" said Mummy Henson, "they are practising football!" Classic. As if this family couldn't get any better, they then complained about the lack of Caffreys. "It's just not selling", said old man steward, "you're the only ones who drink it". Ginger twilds? Caffreys? Who were these people?! I was then asked to appraise my real ale, very good - "and why should we listen to YOU?" asked old local. "Because I am BRAPA" is what I wanted to say, but the young barman told him I drink a pint in every GBG pub, and that shut him up! Time to go. Crazy but wonderful place.

Little did I know i'd have to give an opinion on this

Trophies, trophies and other stuff

The curtain of real ale denial, and a ginger twild.

I walked back through Saltburn, took a bit of sea air on the pier, and had a lamb samosa like all good seaside people do, and then my bus arrived on time amazingly and 35 mins later, I was in Staithes.

Another pretty coastal resort, this had a touristy element at the bottom and a local feel at the top. One pub was at the bottom, one was at the top. Guess which I prefered? Anyway, it was very photogenic.

1040. Cod & Lobster Inn, Staithes

Yes, it was wall to wall diners and the only space in this small but homely pub was at the bar, so only one thing for it, I swung off my coat, scarf and bag with the certainty of a chap who was even fooling the three regulars into thinking he was a regular! If that makes sense. After a few nods and "ayes", I settled down with a pint of some rebadged house beer nonsense, served by a friendly barmaid with the most glittery eye make-up ever witnessed in BRAPA history. Taking photos of any aspect of the pub was impossible, it was cheek to jowl and even lifting my pint was a struggle. Writing notes about people sat 2 inches away felt a bit wrong too! The nicest man turned out to be the landlord, I think, but this experience reminded me very much of when I sat at the bar in the Speaker in Westminster! Spookily, we all had to say "happy birthday" to a man again (probably called Dave) and an Indian family turned up, not with cricket bats this time, but their order of chicken nuggets and coffee to a table outside, was the most dramatic it got apart from a mushy peas v garden peas faux pas. Almost everyone else ordered scampi cos they think they are in Whitby, tourist idiots! It was good to see close-hand how hard staff work at busy times, not helped by a ruddy faced young man who came downstairs, revealed he was feeling rough from night before, and went back upstairs to bed immediately. I drank up in 25 mins and was glad to be out of there, would love to go on a quiet wintry midweek night.

The only pic I could take without being arrested!

I climbed back up this really steep hill, and nearer the bus stop was this forboding looking building, looming large in the fading light, quite sinister and finding the front door was a challenge .....

The gothic horror novel of pubs ..... (no, I know I'm not in Whitby)

1041. Captain Cook Inn, Staithes

This was a happy, smiling pub from the moment I entered, loved the green and white colour scheme, quite unusual, felt like being in a Plymouth Argyle supporters club and locals moved to let me see the the pumps. However, I was being a bit freaked out by a man who looked like a homeless Jimmy Savile with walking sticks, propping up the bar and staring in my direction. It later turned out he was former landlord Trevor who had to give it up when his eyesight failed, so I was hopeful he couldn't see me. I was served by a lovely young brunette made almost entirely of flannelette, like a granddad's nightshirt. Another stand out barman was the athletic Kyle Kane, so named by me cos he supported Spurs, was glad to see them winning 4-0 and looked like their entire starting 11 amalgamated into one. He was everywhere, until he totally let himself down by putting the rugby on! The pub couldn't believe it. But good news for one man, who's marriage had been on the rocks since he asked his wife to move from a nice sunny large window seat to a dingy side table so he could have a better view of the game! She rolled her eyes, and mouthed to me "what a wanker he is" or something (I've never been a good lip reader). I'd missed my bus so ordered another one - my beer was from Kent (obviously) and about 6% but I didn't notice that as I'd pressured myself into it due to Trevor. Apart from one customer who stood at the bar "accidentally" touching everyone's arse, the rest of the pub descended to a table next to mine (friendly old duffers), and started looking at pictures and YouTube videos of bird boxes (??) on their mobile phones - for about 10 minutes! One of the blokes then had the temerity to make the following social observation "you'd be lost without it wouldn't you?" I agreed with him, declining to mention bird-box-gate. But we soon got chatting - the art of letter writing has been lost apparently, but soon I was on more familiar BRAPA territory and I soon realised the whole pub was listening! And it was huge room. An audience with Simon Everitt. Wennington pub garden all over again. It even allowed estranged husband to escape his wife's evil glances, nip out and check the score, as she was listening to me from the far window. Utter classic!

Trevor Savile, Kyle Kane and the Phantom Arse Toucher at the bar.

I took the bus back into Saltburn, really fancied some fish & chips as I had an hour to kill before my train home. It was dark and very windy, and suddenly all I could see was pizza places! Earlier, loads of fish n chips at 11am. Silly Saltburn. But then, I saw some gleaming handpumps from a modern glass window and I could see the lights flashing "pre-emptive" so I decided to investigate.....

Gun Bar, Saltburn-by-the-Sea

I asked the barmaid (a cute young thing who still hadn't learnt that it was okay to talk to strangers if you work in a bar) how long this'd been here and she said it opened less than a year ago. Not sure if it was a micro, it didn't feel limited enough and just had 4 ales on(!) and a cider, and more than one loo and a decent area downstairs/upstairs too. Plus they had some quite nice features. But then to prove the day had come full circle, a family containing ginger twilds arrived and they all gurgled in my ear'ole for the next 20 minutes. The door then inexplicably opened and slammed shut on it's own - and me and the barmaid looked at each other like "definitely a ghost!" Not sure if this is a co-incidence or not but something weird followed. Remember that embarrassing Brit Awards where Sam Fox and Mick Fleetwood co-hosted, very badly? Well, a gothic Mick Fleetwood and a beetlejuice Sam Fox suddenly appeared at the bar. All a bit too much for me, and whilst I admired the bar for looking a bit like my new bathroom flooring, I left before I was anymore freaked out!

The view from the window that enticed me in.

The Twild Family Robinson

Fleetwood and Fox appear at the bar.

I think this was the most fun BRAPA day of 2017 so far, and there've been some great ones. I now take a break for Pancake Day on Tuesday (today as I write this) and to take stock of a fruitful Feb.

I'll be back for a month end review but I have a surprise early March trip to look forward to!

Icy roads of rural North Yorkshire, a common BRAPA scene in Feb.

24 new Good Beer Guide pubs and 1 pre-emptive was a return I could never have dreamt of when the month started. Despite my optimistic predictions, I worked out I'd probably not reach 20.

But what with my bathroom/shower woes meaning I was "better off out & about" and a sudden thirst to finally put Yorkshire to bed, I had quite a few fun Fridays (and a Sunday) to entertain me, as funny pub opening times added an extra bit of spice to proceedings.

The month started in fantastic fashion as I finished Berkshire! It was almost a full on Yorkshire fest from there. Only FIVE Yorkshire pubs to do now, 3 in North and 2 in West. If you can name all five, you win a free BRAPA pen next time I see you so get thinking, these pens are items to be truly treasured(!)

Here are my three favourite pubs of the month in no particular order.....

1. Buck Hotel, Reeth
2. Masons Arms, Ackworth
3. Captain Cook Inn, Staithes

One of many great fireplaces this month, at Masons Arms in Ackworth

The days out were generally great. Tim Thomas the perfect host as I finished Berks. Dad the perfect chauffeur around impossible North Yorkshire - the day on the 18th at Ugthorpe, Egton Bridge and Hinderwell was a real strong point. And my Sunday in Saltburn and Staithes was majestic, though I enjoyed my Greater Manchester Saturday a lot too despite a sad experience in Droylsden.

March Preview

By the time you read this, I'll have done my "secret" bonus overnight trip to Warrington as attentions start to properly turn to the county of Cheshire (though I've been saying that since my trip to Lymm about six months ago!)

I'll have also done Sat (4th), in Leicester, lots of pubs still to visit despite about 6 away games there with real ale pubs in mind. Interestingly, my favourite pub Ale Wagon prevails, former GBG recommendations like "The Pub", "Salmon", "Slug and Lettuce" and "Globe" are not currently up to GBG standard. And when you are recommended things with names like Brood@VinQuatre as a potential pre-emptive, I think it's right to err on the side of caution and get concrete ticks in.

No Tuesday night this week as I catch up on my pub write-ups, but the following weekend I'm starting Buckinghamshire (officially) with an anti clockwise tour of the wondrous and mythical outer Milton Keynes villages.

Dentist / beer festival events (not at the same time) then complicates my routine but it will be a good time to take stock of the future. How will I proceed on midweek nights without Yorkshire? How will 'Dad Days' be affected? Don't worry, I have irons in the fire (no I don't mean I'm off to West Ham or Scunthorpe).

Sat 18th sees the long overdue return of NFFD - I will ask Tom and Dad to sign a clause of confidentiality but they both know which northern seaside town we'll be enjoying.

Tues 21st will be D-Day for my West Yorkshire ticking so can't wait for that.

And the following weekend is HUGE, 25th is the final North Yorkshire chauffeur day, with the final pub being done as a "mother's day treat" on the Sunday lunchtime. I'm practising my opening gambit to the barmaid already "NO WE ARE NOT DINING, NO WE HAVEN'T RESERVED, WE ARE HERE FOR A DRINK OKAY YOU SOUR FACED BINT?" on then off home for Mother's Day Spam Fritters n Soup or something.

Tue 28th is off limits (more dentistry), so overall, I'm putting an estimate of 25 pubs on the month but we will see won't we my blog chums?

Good night, Si-pub.

A hastily arranged day off work and overnight stopover took me to Warrington for the first time in my life, being a town that doesn't have a football team though I did almost consider stopping off here on the way back from "L is for Llandudno" in 2013, but I ran out of time.

Cheshire (along with Bucks) is the main focus now for the British Real Ale Pub Adventure, and although Alsager is next alphabetically having done Agden Wharf last year, the 2pm Saturday opening time continues to annoy me so I went for the next one along, Appleton Thorn with it's limited clubby opening times. The 8E was late setting off due to chatty bus drivers, everyone was either cockney or scouse on this bus.

Bus photo - another new BRAPA low?

1042. Appleton Thorn Village Hall

A bit of confusion on arrival as I was greeted by two women smiling expectantly from behind a desk, with boxes on the table and some polling booths just behind them. Luckily I spied a window through to a bar, pushed an unpromising looking wooden door, and inside was seated half the village waiting expectantly for the smiling barman to 'pull the ales through' - it was 19:30, same as the opening time, so I tried not to look too eager for a pint! They'd be waiting all week for this moment. Having said that, I was second to be served after a 10 year old coca-cola drinker so it was some classic queue jumping I'd pay for in Leicester two days later. I also ordered a pork and apple pie, which he said he'd bring through to me, 30 minutes later but worth the wait! The hall was a grand place with huge vaulted ceiling and curtains, a nice echo, a bit like a religious beer festival. I was a bit scared by the ancient agricultural machinery, and wondered if the pitchfork was used to chase pub bloggers out of the village if they complained about tardy pies. Some off-putting lycra clad men started handing out beermats, and like he could read my mind, gave me one for my beer, and one for a souvenir! Some lost looking people came in, wondering if the bar was where they voted! Whether the Appleton Thorn by-election had a surprisingly high or low turnout, I think this excellent Village Hall can be held entirely responsible. The bus was a bit late, as car after car arrived so I played "pint drinker or voter?" judging by the occupants of each vehicle.

The bus driver seemed in a hurry (well, if your mates hadn't been stood around gassing earlier, you wouldn't have to rush now!) and I pretty much jumped out of a moving vehicle at Stockton Heath straight into the next pub.

1043. Costello's Bar, Stockton Heath

It all felt very familiar until I realised I'd been to a bar with the same name (and feel) in Altrincham, selling wonderful beers by Dunham Massey and Lymm, but also lacking a bit of proper pub fibre. Though warm and comfortable it was. I also wonder if Lymm's Brewery Tap is one of these two, it seemed to have the same 'beer menus' on the tables. A friendly barmaid with the high pitched whine of a Twild served me, meaning the neighbourhood dogs started barking and bats started circling the premises. As I stood at the bar, the staff did that off-putting "where are all our customers tonight?" as though my presence actually reduced the number present. I sat in a booth near four no nonsense men, one had a grey tracksuit on which looked to be an extension of his skin, and he spoke passionately on the topic of vaping, and went outside 4 times during my stay, returning to say things like "smell that .... custard, mmmm" which was a bit weird. An extended version of pub favourite "Bad Moon Rising" played for about 20 minutes, until the regulars started joining in. And then an excitable local Jonjo Shelvey won a bet with his wife about how long this bar had been open, and jabbed her aggressively in the chest in celebration. They met up with another couple but the man was sent away for "being annoying" in what seemed to be the least successful wife-swapping I've seen in a pub so far, and believe me, you do see it in the north-west with unerring regularity.

From a comment of Twitter, it was hard to know whether I was supposed to think Stockton Heath was a salubrious posh-hole or a down and out scroat-hole, but as I passed some shifty looking hooded individuals near a bookies, I was in the next pub, or should I say the first pub, of the night.

1044. Red Lion, Stockton Heath

This was much more how I'd imagined 'Warrington' pubs in my mind's eye on the train over here, a proper no nonsense multi-roomed Thwaites house, making the most of itself with top quality ale, a happy joyful clientele (note to Costello's, here's where your 'customers' are - a proper pub) and people crowded in front of a rugby league match which was causing much hilarity as L**ds were getting a tonking. Nice to see dislike of the White/Rhino shite spans different sports, and binds us all together from Warrington to Hull and back again. Heart warming. As was the tiny little "bowling room" where I was fortunate to get myself seated opposite 3 young student nerds who reminded me of me and my friends on night's out, getting frustrated with Untappd and making weird comments - the highlight being "we are all chess pieces if you think about it" and yes, it was meant literally. However, putting your phone on loudspeaker to chat with a hungover friend was a lack of pub etiquette which is harder to forgive. Like the face-timing Grandma/Grandson in Settle that time, ugh! The barman had obviously been told eye-contact was important when dealing with the public, he took it to the nth degree, but I liked him. The students and only other people in the room all left, just as another couple came and sat down - "is it something we said?" they joked. "It's okay" I said, "at least I'm still here!" They didn't look thrilled. Really good pub this.

Two of the students act quirky, my pint was great

My attempted artistic shot from bowling roon to bar almost worked!

I walked back over this bridge past a couple of motorway ring roads and before I knew it, I was back in Warrington and still time for a last orders drink, after all the GBG said this closes at midnight and it was only just half ten ....

Fact : I took this "mid-session" as my phone battery died on the way in.

1045. Tavern, Warrington

When you walk into a pub and the first thing you hear from one of the old blokes sat at the far end of the bar is "the thing about fucking Southerners is that they get so fucking easily offended!" is that this is 100% pub. Well that and my sudden need to order a pint of Warrington Special Bitter in t'most Northern way I could muster - ey up mate, paaarnt of that WSB or whatever it's called laaakkke". (I got told I was too posh to have ever lived in Barnsley the other day!) I think I got away with it, though I was slightly terrified. Bar assistant Paige, was already clearing up, and Maurice, the most vociferous of the 'end of the bar gang' bought her a pint. She looked like an honest lass, working hard to make ends meet to feed her child. Speaking of which, the pub also had free quiche on which seemed totally uninkeeping with the situation. I didn't dare risk going for a slice, whichever way you take that, it could've ended my life! The pub was a hive of Warrington Wolves paraphernalia and must be lively on match days. I sat on one of those awkward barrel stools (whoever thought they made good pub tables should be shot, where do you put your legs?) One thing I couldn't get over was the weird smell of the pub, something that'd become something of a Warrington theme but more on that tomorrow. Yet in a strange way, I quite liked this place.

Spot the quiche

For now, it was back to my refreshingly archaic Travelodge which had actual KEYS rather than swipey cards. Still, nice to get a shower and that there was no denying after 2 weeks only being able to do the vitals in the sink. And on that note, see you all tomorrow for day two.

Si

1046. Looking Glass, Warrington

Like all good Wetherspoons clientele, I sloped out of bed at 9am, scratched my bum, yawned, and crawled past the bus station to join the old couples, shopping Mums and dusty men in hi-vis for a pint of 5% Jabberwocky and a full English breakfast. I felt that this Wetherspoons missed a chance to be unique. Pub pets are not something I've ever seen in the pub chain and with it presumably wanting to take on an 'Alice in Wonderland' theme, an actual Cheshire cat would've been perfect. Would it have been grinning from ear to ear? Well, the service was efficient if miserable. The table a sea of sticky crumbs. My table number had been 'stolen' so I had to 'describe' where I was sat (always fun), the beer was good, breakfast nice but a bit tepid - bacon a bit like eating a brillo pad, the old women were friendly (had I stayed any longer, I might've got a bingo invitation) and there wasn't much else to say of a grey Friday February morning in 'Spoons.

I hopped on the bus to Thelwall, somewhere I considered on my Lymm day but I decided it was a pub too far, and probably better approached from a Warrington angle. The bus was a sociable hive of coffin dodging lunatics, who waved at anyone they saw in the street - and the bus turned down EVERY estate going to give them that opportunity. The 80 year old gent next to me with the footwork of Bruce Forsyth wouldn't keep still, thinking he'd be better off near some lady friends at the front of the bus. But they weren't Miss World contestants.

Thelwall looked like a nice place, and the pub was tucked out of the village round a bend behind some trees .....

Had the pub just been this tree trunk, I'd have probably been happier.

1047. Little Manor, Thelwall

One thing I'm learning in the course of BRAPA is "the longer the pub driveway, the more gastro nonsense it'll be". Chester's at Sunderland, the Chestnut at Ayr, the Victory near Leeds, and now this, I felt like I was walking to a wedding evening function rather than going for a morning pint! Luckily, I chose the correct door out of the thousand options (always go most wooden and battered) and after some deliberation over where the staff were, an business like European lady appeared and served me a £3.70 thing which was Oliver Cromwell themed, and Cromwellian in it's lack of fun fun fun. Though it grew on me like a malty fungus. Fair play to the pub, it had some surprisingly real features you might not expect from an expensive chain gastro-pub. Like real bookcases and a real fire at the far end, the woodsmoke smell probably the highlight. A lack of beermat and a few groups of frightful old posh ladies having tea and scones (at this time! terrible etiquette) didn't help, but a text from my shower people to tell me they were completing, and some free Wi-fi cheered my mood. In the bogs, I went to grab a paper towel and the whole thing collapsed on my thumb - it was red for hours afterwards and I may be suing Brunning & Price(y) if they do this to me again. I'd been to 4 of their pubs before and am sure I always get injured going to the loos! (slipped on leaky green soap in Armoury, Shrewsbury , hit head on beam in Rowbarge, Woolhampton, collided with a twild in Old Harkers, Chester and got hit by chef coming out of kitchen too fast, Wharf in Manchester). As one of the posh old ladies spoke of her "difficult upbringing" and declared that 'depression doesn't really exist' only to be admonished by her peers "anyone could be listening!", they were. I hid a BRAPA card in "The Principles of Physical Geography" by F J Monkhouse. If you find it, let me know.

The rain was pouring down by now so the bus just had to be late didn't it? A lively old couple crossed the road to tell me if I'd been here 3 minutes earlier, I'd have managed to get a delayed bus back into Warrington instead. Just what I needed to hear, thanks(!)

Back in Warrington, I decided not to go out to another village (I was getting short on change anyway) so decided to seek out my third and final Warrington tick .....

1048. The Lower Angel, Warrington

Good things come to those who wait, and my final Cheshire pub of this fruitful overnight stay proved to be the best. I knew from the minute I walked in, smelt the dank 100 year old grime, observed two middle agers in a corner munching their sandwiches from a carrier bag, the hopelessly but wonderfully worn bench seating, and the locals telling me it'd be easier for me to look at the blackboard rather than try and peer round them at the pumpclips. Their ulterior motive, they were all trying to get a good look at 'Geoff's' phone, seemed he was on a dating site and had got a date with this local woman who they reckoned was far too good for him! "She hasn't seen your coconut head yet!" said the camp scouse landlord in a bid to boost Geoff's confidence(!) Alas, I think I was the only person in the pub not shown her profile picture. Still, it served me right as I'd broken my own BRAPA code of conduct "the locals are always right" by telling them it's much better to look at the pump clips than a blackboard - they did NOT like that. What was I thinking? I sounded like a know-it-all twat the second the words had left my mouth. And I was an outsider for the rest of my stay, only a strange gargling man with long beard and half a mullet nodded at me, and that was probably his nervous twitch playing up when we were stood in the bogs drying our hands together!! A couple of other visitors arrived to make me feel less of an outsider, they all got tasters of the 7.2% Polygraph from Shropshire which led to some terrible 'Polygraph testing' jokes, but a minus point to the pub for only selling it in HALVES. Jeez, you automatically get a pint of Old Tom in Crewe or Stockport by simply looking the direction of the pump clip! Anyway, a classic pub that couldn't have been less like the previous pub. I bet I know where F J Monkhouse prefers to drink.

Back on the train after I bought lunch from a mad woman who gave me a recipe for this amazing stew she was making (Warrington was determined to leave an impression on me, though I think I'll need to be back for some of the surrounding villages) and although the train back to York was direct, it was (a) heaving and (b) I might arrive home too early and see the shower-men still in my flat, so I hopped off at Manchester for my final pub ....

1049. Sir Ralph Abercromby, Manchester

Manchester GBG ticks are pretty hit n miss, it has to be said. One minute, you can be full of joy in a place like Angel or Marble Arch, the next you can be crying into your pint in somewhere like Pie & Ale or Rising Sun, wondering when life is going to end. But this is everything I like about Manc pubs, central yet hidden down a quiet unassuming side street, full of dithering old locals, switched on friendly staff, and in this case, a fire which I could warm wet clothes in front of as Sky Sports News hot luminous screen singed my eyebrows just above. Such was my happy sense of goodwill, I offered to give an old man 80p to help pay for his pint so he didn't have to go into a £20 note, though if I'm being brutally honest, the old bugger had been faffing around for so long, it was a case of me impatiently wanting to order a drink ASAP as much as anything, He told me the poor lighting in the pub combined with his bad eyesight was the problem - he needs to go to Record Cafe in Bradford or Further North in Chapel Allerton if he's struggling to see his change in here! These Lancastrians don't know they're bloody born! If the rumours are true that Gary Neville wants to buy this pub, I'm sure it'll be light and airy in a year or two when it's a restaurant. Arsehole. The music was funky, a group of men played darts happily in a tiny back snug, and there was a weird kitchen like canteen thing in the far corner. A bit of controversy to end as the erstwhile barman declared to a colleague that this pub's new manager has been sacked before he'd even started! He did say why but it was too hushed for even my BRAPA ears to hear. We can only imagine. Maybe he's a Man City fan.

Great pint, great fire.

One of many old ditherers blocking the bar

If this was blockbusters, I've got a vertical Cheshire line!

So that was fun, I'll be back tomorrow to review Saturday's trip to Leicester. Plenty of venting needed about that city, so get ready.

Why have I never FULLY enjoyed any of my 7 trips to Leicester? I can't blame them for Hull City's usual inability to 'perform' here, but the pubs and the general lack of warmth and 'giving' from the natives are what we really get my (regimental) goat.

The people of Leicester must have HATED winning the Premier League. They had to be happy and joyous. It can't have felt right. Pub blogger extraordinaire Martin Taylor appraised my favourite Leicester pub Ale Wagon as "perhaps Britain's grumpiest pub". What he (probably) meant was that it encapsulated the city better than any other. And that is the sign of a truly great pub.

Why else does Leicester legend Gary Lineker spend every Saturday evening trying to recreate the "Ale Wagon experience" on faux bench seating opposite Alan Shearer, a man with all the charm and charisma of an Ale Wagon regular? "I'm off home to creosote my fence" MUST be a stock phrase uttered here.

I know a very nice man from Leicester called Richard (no he's not a hunchback who lives under a carpark). He's a pub man, an ale man, a kind Leicester fan, very humble, supportive of BRAPA too. But even his helpful local knowledge hasn't helped me get the best out of pubs in the City.

Their lack of shelf life is a problem - "The Pub" was hailed as a wonderful new thing about 5 years ago, by 2pm on same day, the TEN handpulls started running out at an alarming rate, I don't think it ever recovered. Then it closed and got re-branded. "The Salmon" supposedly amazing, my 600th BRAPA pub in fact, high anticipation, but a blocked piss-plunging disappointment with dull beer and disinterested staff. This is why I didn't go with any "pre-emptives" I was recommended today.....they could all be dead within a year!

Dad walks away in disgust

'Twas just my Leicester luck, we'd got in before 11am, the sun was out, the Hull City scum were singing, we ran as far across town as we could to this 11am opener, the Charlotte, but it was shut, and I don't mean "not open yet shut", I mean "CLOSED DOWN PROPER SHUT!" Peering in through the windows, rats seemed to be nibbling on the landlord's carcass in the middle of the floor (okay, I might be exaggerating) but it had been closed down for 2 weeks, so a ruddy faced man in Leicester Tigers shirt told us in a rare display of 'communicative local looks you in the eye' behaviour.

All my other earmarked pubs were 12 noon openers, but we all know what the saving grace is in situations such as this ..... SPOOOOOONS!

Dad is smiling! (for now)

1050. High Cross, Leicester

A pub tick is a pub tick, is the best you could say about this bustling 'Spoons. Dad jokes about "a pint of Wetherspoons" meaning they all have that standard stock taste (not gravy, quite), though his friend takes him literally and thinks he thinks there is a beer called 'Wetherspoons' can you imagine?! I've actually had some wonderful Wetherspoons pints (Maltby, Bury, Castleford to name just three), just never with Dad, so I blame a combination of him and my "Leicester luck" for the fact that both our beers tasted identical, not awful, just boring and tired. Despite being a huge place, Dad did well to find us a table in the sun, and when a strange bearded creature knocked on the window and waved at us, you could be forgiven for thinking this was a Wehterspoons 'character' until the presence of Tom Irvin was looming large over our table, with his usual greeting "we're going to lose today". He's rarely wrong these days. And the poor lad had just come from another 'Spoons, and two seasons ago, we went to ANOTHER one, called Last Plantagenet which had some tardy service in the extreme. "A second rate king for a second rate Spoons" to paraphrase David Starkey. Time to move on.

A very dull pint

The pub was full but the locals didn't appear in this photo spookily enough!

1051. Rutland & Derby, Leciester

We stood outside pub two and waited down this side street pub, fairly huge and modern looking, at 11:57am until they opened pretty much bang on 12 and we were inside. I ordered an Everards Tiger because (a) it had a 3D pump clip (b) it might be lucky for Hull City and (c) it seemed the Leicesterly thing to do. It wasn't really up to scratch. Young bar chap was friendly with a "this isn't a proper boozer you do realise that?" kind of a smirk and soon we were sat in some hideous leather bench booths in an area called "Pub Garden Kitchen". Not quite "Bowling Room" is it? Another neon sign said "Lel" whatever that means. LE1 perhaps? It certainly wasn't lol. Well, until a posho woman spied her posho friend, stared at her drink, said "what is THAT?", the reply "THAT is water!" Thanks for Tom for encouraging me to use that exchange. We then scowled at a menu on a blackboard, Tom suggesting this was a contender for BRAPA worst pub of the year but it was more Theale-bland than outer-Wolverhampton-thoroughly-upsetting. It was utterly dull though.

Me and Dad pre-opening

Dad appraises the menu of despair (Tom soon dispensed with his straw)

Please make it stop!

It was at this stage of the day where Dad had a "Good Beer Guide" crisis of confidence, denouncing my 'bible' as little more than a selection of pubs entered at random into the GBG. The real problem, I tried to explain, is that Leicester has been given a WAY too big allocation - probably to give it similar rights to Nottingham and Derby - but about five or six would do.

Even so, I felt like I (as a staunch GBG advocate!) was under scrutiny just as much as Leicester, the next pub simply HAD to deliver .....

1052. Swan & Rushes, Leciester

It didn't help matters that Richard who I mentioned earlier, told me (at a Scunthorpe fan's 30th birthday in Hull!) that this pub had gone downhill in recent years. But as soon as Tom opened the inner door and we walked up to the bar, Oakham ales gleaming, moody looking Leicester old men, a very straightforward pricing policy (see below), carpets, seats, basically, a proper pub, I knew we'd recovered and we'd be here to stay. So typical then of Dad to say he was almost disappointed it was good and we were staying(!), "just imagine how many pubs we could've got done if we kept hopping from rubbish pub to pub!" And if this was the pub going "downhill", how good must it have been before? We managed to save a huge table just for us 3 (and Ben when he arrived for a quick one after 2) which was quite an achievement when you think how high the influx of Leicesterites was due to this pub being quite near the ground. I was the only Hull City shirt in here, and was this the reason why, at 2pm when I went for the final round, it took over TEN minutes to get served?? I'd already noticed the staff were a bit slow but the locals, having prodded and picked at me for a few mins before realising I belonged to the same species and they could talk to me (no eye contact of course), wondered if my City shirt was causing the issue and they all went off to another bar like I was some leper! Anyway, i was served about two seconds later so in yer face Foxes! It'd been a great pre-match session and the earlier woes were a distant memory.

One of the better staff people pulls a beer in this busy pub (again, Leciester fans don't show up in photos)

I think all pubs should have this kind of thing.

We'll gloss over that little thing called a football match, and it was pouring with rain by now but we had time before the train, and I'd seen a pub between ground and station, with a 'trophy' next to it, meaning it had won some pub of the year award or something .....

My view on today's performance.

1053. King's Head, Leciester

Ohhhh yesss, and suddenly Leicester's pub redemption is complete! This was the pub that Dad rated "even better than the Swan and Rushes" and you know what, I think I may just have to agree. And a proper backstreet boozer with an Ale Wagon-esque crowd of curmudgeonly old locals - you'd have thought they lost 0-5 judging by their expressions, simply marvellous. Vintage Leicester, and after craning our necks over the post-match barflies to get served, we shared a table with a sleeping version of the Elephant Man and I noticed a pub cat, totally unfazed like all good pub cats, asleep on the table next to me. Poor thing though, I think Leicester fans are dog people cos they kept coming in, patting it's head, and scratching it's back like they'd not learnt the art of cat stroking before. It suffered in stoic silence, yawned, and pretended the outside world didn't exist, you could tell it was a Leicester pub cat. Before I could breathe, a man we always see after away games came to moan at us about Hull City for about 20 mins. We were like "chill out dude, you're in an award winning pub, stroke the cat and/or elephant man and relax".

So only 5 GBG pubs to do in Leicester for now, I don't suppose we'll play there next season and I'm not due to do the county of Leicestershire til the year 2032 but I will be back!

Si

Classic train toilet humour

Having completed Berkshire last month, it was time to get cracking on the next alphabetical county in the Good Beer Guide, Buckinghamshire. I'd already made a solid start with 11 pubs previously, so I'm hopeful I can be done by this time next year.

Obviously, it wouldn't be BRAPA if we didn't have some early morning drama on the trains, and somwhere near Marsden / Greenfield, a 'fire bottle' (whatever one of them is, please DON'T tell me) got dislodged and the inhabitants of Coach B were evacuated. This had the pleasing result of meaning a stressed out German girl sat next to me, worried she'd miss her flight to Cologne for a funeral. We eventually started moving again. "Don't worry" I told with usual BRAPA tact as I handed her a card, "read my blog after the funeral to cheer you up".

Amazingly, I made my connection at Piccadilly and was soon on my way to MK, tempting as it was to jump out at more ale-friendly towns like Stockport and errrm Stoke. And after being driven mad by an avenger/dinosaur loving twild, I was soon stood at MK's bus rank ready for Emberton.

Milton Keynes gets a lot of (unfair, in my opinion) criticism, but whilst it might not have the 'historic' feel of most British places (I felt a bit like I was in L.A. or Melbourne when waiting for the bus), it doesn't have the miseryguts locals and everyone was so happy, by Newport Pagnall, I felt like I was in a Victorian Christmas scene, on acid. York for one could learn a thing or two.

Arriving at my first "official" Bucks pub.

1054. Bell & Bear, Emberton

It didn't look very open, but that was probably because I was entering through the post-office esque left hand bar, which looked a bit foody and sterile so imagine my relief when I found a proper pub room to the right, with a fire and one of those Northamptonshire Skittles tables, ah brought back memories of good ole' Bedfordshire! A lady who might've been called Toni served me some ale so unusual and local it didn't have a pump clip, and I sat down in the window and surveyed the scene which was basically lots of hilarious staff and one other customer who was wearing a Lincoln City top which seemed highly convenient considering their "big day" v Arsenal. Even more so when the jovial landlord left a voicemail on somebody's phone simply shouting "come on your Gooners HAHAHA". Maybe supporting Lincoln is an Emberton thing? Anyway, he soon made himself useful by putting the fire in, singing Prodigy's "Firestarter" in an unsettling operatic style at the same time, and then boasted about how multi-skilled he was by bringing some chopped wood in from outside. A man in full motorcycle gear appeared including helmet, making pint drinking difficult. He was referred to simply as "the Stig" but soon removed the mask and looked very much like Lincoln City man - brothers? He kept telling funny stories about a bloke called "Shaggy", no one had proper names here. I'd put my Good Beer Guide on the table in a subtle attempt at making my intentions known, too subtle perhaps and I suspect rather like Beds, Bucks folk will need conversation coaxing out of them, though the scene amongst locals and staff was "classic pub bantz". I was a bit on edge as I needed a taxi, but I finally got a signal, hurrah, and was on my way. If all Bucks pubs are this good, I'll be in for a very good next year of pub ticking.

Lincoln City man sits at the bar trying to remember the club's nickname.

Drink Good Prosecco with Good Friends

Emergency beer mat needed already, uh oh!

After a nice taxi ride with a jolly man who spoke little English but loved the pub-ticking concept, I was soon at Chicheley and as I breathed in the fresh country air, all seemed well in the world of outer MK pub ticking ....

1055. Chester Arms, Chicheley

Sadly, my feeling didn't last and I was still outside the pub when I heard the shrieking of the dining twild within. 2 twild. Awful. At the bar, there was no getting a smile out of the miserable local man propping it up, maybe he knew something I didn't. He did keep asking for more ice in his drink, which if it was ale, was very strange. The 2 barmaids, "brunette sauce grabber" and "occasionally Scottish elder teenage boy moustache" both had the decency to tell me I'd be served in a minute, but were too busy serving diners (mainly taking them sauce!) to actually do so, and I had a good 5 minute wait in a fairly quiet pub. The pub house beer, when it came, was poorly kept and rapidly on the turn. 75% of the pub was a restaurant, but the left hand side with it's carpet and fire and a bit more homeliness, the fish & chip eating oldies opposite me had chosen to eat in here too, and who could blame them? A sign did tell me to wait to be seated, but I was never going to observe that. And following on from the Prodigy incident, one of the barmaids (not sure which) sang Queen's Radio Gaga in the club style, which was a real feast for the ears! And I realised I suddenly smelt strangely like Sorachi beer (which I dislike) , how random is that, and it didn't last beyond this pub. And I had to nurse my drink as the bus wasn't for ages, but when I left, the strains of Jimmy Nail's "looking back, over your shoulder" were piped into the pub garden, but I was never going to do that. If this gets in the 2018 GBG, I'll be thoroughly amazed!

Sinister rabbit and easter chick

Drinking up the dregs pre-bus. Beer mats were an unlikely plus.

There's not much of a bus service to Stoke Goldington, but I managed to get one and I really felt I was cooking on gas now, and what a pretty little village it was as I skipped down the road like a spring lamb to the Lamb for pub three .....

Nice tail!

1056. Lamb, Stoke Goldington

I entered the pub to find barmaid Alice being laughed at for trying to turn the TV on with her mobile phone, so I joined in obviously to try and fit in, but she soon got her own back on me when I tripped over a step going to the loo. The pub had a beer range like Swan & Rushes last week, with two classic Oakham's tasting like nectar after that last pint of shite! What I should've ordered though was what the locals refer to as "half and half", half a Tring Death or Glory with a half of standard bitter. But no one told me this until it was too late! I had it in Saltburn once so not to worry and described it as tasting like a Cockney Rejects album, hmmm. I sat at some low flung table / low flung leather settee combo (who needs beermats when you have this many newspapers?) and noticed the burning embers on another warming fire, and was just wistfully thinking of a joke I could make if an Ember Inn ever burnt down, when the smiley landlord spied my GBG. My challenge created some interest within the pub, especially from Mrs Lamb, but they'd had those 'Tairstairs' chumps in not that long ago - but I won't dream of criticising them as (a) they do it for 'Charideeee' and (b) they are from the West Midlands which in pubbing terms, makes them almost as uncriticisable as a pub in the north west. I also defended Wetherspoons against locals criticism which didn't go down well, but I can't see them opening one in Stoke Goldington any time soon. Was a nice chat though, and I thought the pub dog was coming over to say hello as well, but I was just sat in his seat! I took the opportunity to ask the pub to ring me a taxi (I had no phone signal, and a 4 mile walk to Hanslope didn't appeal along these roads. A real cracker of a pub this, my favourite of the day.

My pint of Oakham was a truly wonderful thing.

Alice finally works out how to turn the TV on.

Me and dog compromise, and decide to share.

Eezicabs are a much better taxi company than the name might suggest, and after another top BRAPA chat with a man who'd apparently been waiting ten minutes for me, oops, we set off down some hair raising country lanes in vaguely the right direction cos we had no signal to put in the post code - it was almost like a North Yorkshire chauffeur day, and we made it in the end!

1057. Cock, Hanslope

Another great village, and another friendly pub welcome. I must admit, I hadn't expected to find such characterful places and this one was dominated by tree branches hanging from the ceiling. I've seen them put tonnes of hopbines up, which can look a bit tacky, but this kind of worked a lot better. I was served by a jolly man, very dapper in his flat cap, reminding me of if Harry Enfield did a sketch where he was a stereotypical Yorkshireman. Nice lad anyway, and the loungey feel and old corridor to the loos made me realise I was in a proper old pub. Seriously, I don't know who writes the GBG summaries for the pubs in this area, but they do not do justice at all, made this sound like some kind of Greene King Sky Sports lager lovers boozer, when it had lots of class. Hanslope's answer to Dee from Neighbours came in with a puppy that kept biting everything, and she was chatted up by the ghost of Abraham Lincoln in one of those moments which make you wonder if your earlier drink had been spiked with Death or Glory after all!

Dee from Neighbours gets shoe chewed by dog under the branches

Pub men deep in conversation

The ghost of Abraham Lincoln tries his "nice puppies" chat up line.

I hopped on a bus back towards MK but I still had time to do the pub I came here for, being in Bradwell village it is next in the alphabet after Aylesbury (which I'm doing in April) - you gotta have a strategy haven't you?

Ready for the 5th and final pub tick of the day.

1058. Victoria Inn, Bradwell Village

Not sure how I manage it, but whenever I'm on a Beds, Berks and now Bucks day, I manage to co-incide it with the Six Nations rugby catastrophe. Absolute cat-nip to the folk of the South East, but posh boredom for most northerners. And it was England v Scotland, and it's hard to imagine hearing more anti-Scottish sentiment in any BRAPA pub, sadly I was too hazy by now to remember any of the classic quotes, but what you must say, this pub was extremely 'spirited', everyone bar me was on the Stella, and ordered at as "a pint o' wife beater" without flinching. And that included the women folk. Another strange quirk, everyone sounded like farmers. Like I'd stepped into a weird Suffolk or Devon dimension, when this really was the least rural of the five pubs today. However, when England scored a try, the applause was polite like in cricket, very odd. No wonder I sat in a dark lower down area away from TV screens. I hope they didn't think I was Scottish. Whenever a scrum happened, a loud bloke shouted "they are having a bromance on the floor". But no one laughed. The toilets were very ornate in here, and it was another nice pub not done justice by the GBG write up. And just as I was leaving, a large (in every way) family decided to start a burping contest!

I like a pub that arranges it's beermats with a degree of symmetry.

After another bus, I was back at MK railway station for a sobering hot chocolate and bag of crisps! The train seemed to take an age to get back to Manchester, and then on to York where West Yorkshire people did what West Yorkshire people do, and displayed a total lack of train etiquette, I will make a 'drinking' game out of train commuter behaviour one day!

But that was a great day, expensive at times, but to get 5 villages done like that bodes well and I'll be back in Bucks on April Fools' Day for part two, further south this time. And then the "big Aylesbury holiday" later in the month.

The future's bright, the future is BRAPA.

Si

The NFFD (Non Football Football Day) took us further than ever before, Southport, despite the national weather forecast telling me that it'd only be horrendous if you went to a north western seaside town with at least two GBG Wetherspoons.

Whatever, it was preferable than a trip to Liverpool Crime Street station (thanks Tom!) being surrounded by thousands of baying Scousers in a dilapidated stand with a terrible view, watching Hull City concede their usual shed load of goals here.

Dad prepares to board the train at Southport

We changed at Manchester Piccalilli and Southport for an 11am opener I needed in a place that sounded like a "discount Supermarket chain", Freshfield (quote B G Everitt). I was determined to cross a road I didn't need to, when the hooded wraith-like character of Tom Irvin appeared, and soon we found the pub. It didn't look very open at 11:03am but Tom found a side door.

Arriving at our first pub of the day.

1059. The Freshfield, Freshfield

This was a vast building, with a huge restuaranty area to the left and a relatively (but not quite) pubby area to the right. It's big pulling point is obviously the beer, with 14 ales to choose from, blackboards explaining beer styles, those taster trays, and serious but friendly staff proving they are "ale men" with t-shirts that said #realaledrinker and "can you see my red squirrel?" (okay, so I may have made one of them up). The ale was good considering the number on, but due to elaborately sized menus, I could not see my fellow drinkers or the levels of beer to see if I was keeping up / drinking too fast! In fact, the whole pub seemed to be having some internal crisis, caught between a modern restaurant and a traditional pub with nice features such as air vents in the gents which hadn't been cleaned in 100 years, and a blue acoustic guitar next to a fruit machine, Yet, in the same breath, a menu offering horrific stuff like kale and pomegranate. It all reminded me of the Crooke Hall Inn, a pub I'd been told was a classic, almost willed to love, yet still felt all too 'vast restaurant in disguise'. Quantity never trumps quality when it comes to pubs and ale. Though I suspect it does for many, York's Rook & Gaskill springs to mind. So, a pleasant place with great beer, nice staff, clean, but not really my cup of ale. All that remained was to laugh at Sheffield Wednesday, before heading back to the station.

I finally managed to cross the road that I didn't need to, oh and we never did see a red squirrel. Can I have my money back? It was time to see what Southport had to offer.

Grey skies, wind and rain couldn't disguise the fact that Southport was a pretty classy Victorian seaside town, much nicer than I'd imagined though I judge all seaside towns on a Blackpool/Bridlington combination, so my expectations are generally low.

1060. Willow Grove, Southport

Though I didn't do us any favours by starting here. I used to believe a visit to a Wetherspoons could give you a microcosm of life in a given town. Or, as Dad suggested, it could just be where all the down & outs go. Whatever, I'd been determined to prove to him after the Leicester debacle a fortnight ago that 'Spoons in the GBG can be very good. Sadly, this wasn't the place to prove my point. It was heaving, and the ales were being turned around at an alarming rate. One lady (hag) was upset to hear a St Patrick's Day 'Irish Red' ale had gone, she panicked, surveyed the remaining ales, and went for a ..... pint of Stella! The staff did well to get us served to quickly, and as I handed Dad my penultimate 'Mudgie Voucher' for this period, I found a table - moved some disgusting food plates, swept away the crumbs in an angry manner, and tentatively picked up a soiled tissue packed with the finest Southport D.N.A. Upstairs had it's own bar, and would have been calmer had it not been for a terrifying hen party and twild learning to walk up and downstairs, whilst Tom was nearly mowed down by a buggy. However, it was a friendly place and the beer was good quality, so it wins 'Spoons of the month so far. We poured scorn on the new breakfast menu (Tom wrote his own "specials" on the back), the "NEW! Beans on Toast" made us laugh out loud, and a jolly man who was far too enthusiastic about Wetherspoons food excitedly told us what the 'specials' were and that he was working his way through the menu! It takes all sorts.

Possibly the most 'Spoons photo I have ever taken.

Fart arsed ponce burger? Tripple cooked chps? Half a tomato and chps? Tom at work.

Dad and Tom fight there way back from the bar.

The day then really could start improving, and after walking past Southport's answer to the ghost of Chuck Berry, busking, under some lovely old awnings, we hesitated outside the Scarisbrick Hotel complex looking confused until a kind man told us Barons Bar was first door on the left.

Is this the way in?

Dad and Tom tentatively step inside

1061. Barons Bar, Southport

It all felt a bit clubby, almost like I needed to show my CAMRA card, with plush red carpet and happy old duffers sat on leather chairs chewing the fat, drinking coffee and wine. Oh, and don't forget the legendary Tetley's which that nice Lizards man had already warned me/told me about. And now to meet our 'character' of the day, a strange southerner in a knitted jumper - one of those nervous types who couldn't keep still and flitted from table to table interrupting everyone. He told us he preferred the keg Tetley's (£1.85 a pint or something) to the £2.20 Cask as it was less gassy! And then like an eager schoolboy, he told me you could take your drink to a different part of the hotel complex to check on the Arsenal score on a big screen! Although my inner response to him would be "WHY, JUST WHY?" it is BRAPA policy to humour crazy locals so I let him give me a guided tour of the place, he knew everyone, and took me to a low-key Las Vegas type room but it was half time anyway. It was a bit like an 11 year old Essex schoolboy in 1990 finding the keys to the staff room whilst England play Cameroon in the World Cup. This tour made me realise the main area of Barons Bar was quite a baronial themed room with mood lighting, a proper bar and the loos - more like the third door on the left, but we (especially Dad) enjoyed the light clubby-esque room we were in. As our friend appeared to puke on a plant (too much keg Tetleys), and the weird smell of egg turned to burnt plastic, and my 'Top Totty' started to turn a bit sulphury, it was time to go whilst I was still semi-enjoying it.

Our new friend is taken ill at the lamp

View from bar hatch to main baronial style bar.

We carried on in the same direction down Lord Street with the rain teeming down again, and though I didn't have the heart to take Dad in another Wetherspoons, there was another pub across the road ....

Dad and Tom in 'crushed to death by inn sign' possibility.

1062. Phoenix, Southport

With gaudy purple frontage and a Carling inn sign bigger than most micropubs, I felt like we'd finally hit the cheap n cheerful seaside jackpot here. In some ways, it was the first traditional pub we'd been in all day, a massive place full of lager drinkers, twilds playing on the floor (though strangely, I found it more of a charming scene than an irritating one!), really well kept ale, watchful but friendly staff and huge screens showing pretty much every sporting event taking place at this time across the globe! Or so it felt. Dad and Tom described it as "a Wetherspoons that hadn't been ruined by being Wetherspooned". They spied a Mother's Day menu, "Mum Eats for Free!" it screamed, and Tom wondered whether you could just book a table for your Mum and leave her here alone, in the staff's capable hands?! It was an intriguing loophole which I hope a Southport resident will trial. This was the kind of pub where anything goes, so relaxed, like you could put your pyjamas on and sleep undisturbed for weeks, the kind of place you can eat your own sandwiches which we did. The acoustics were crazy too, the further down into the Gents you got, the louder the sound from the Hawthorns was despite the TV being very much upstairs. Hearing 'Wenger Out' cries at such decibels whilst draining your bladder is somewhat off-putting. But why I did enjoy this pub a lot more than, say, the Freshfield, can only be down to it's total lack of pretension.

I spent ages lining up this shot, though you'd never know!

Table for one please!

There was time for another one, back towards the station on the opposite side of the road, though what surprised us was that Cambridge Walk seems to be a shopping arcade. Never been too sure whether to trust pubs in Shopping Centres, apart from Southend's wonderful Cork and Cheese, especially ones calling themselves micropubs.

1063. Tap & Bottles, Southport

But I'm glad to report that I was wrong, as what followed was easily our favourite pub of the day. I'd not call it a micropub though, felt more like a cosy Euro style cafe bar, plus it failed my two main micropub requirements. These are - it had blackcurrant cordial for Tom, and it had TWO toilets. So there you go. The staff were young and eager, though perhaps not quite all there as when Dad tried to get a half of "Anarachy Sublime Chaos", he ended up with a "Slimline Chaos" which presumably had been diluted with tonic water. My pint of Kashmir was stunning, but when you have beers of percentages like these, offering seating that creaks, is flimsy and could snap at any moment probably isn't the kindest thing the pub has done. Oh and then I spotted an upstairs area too just to clinch the 'probably not a micropub really' theory. The clientele should be grateful I was increasingly "not at my most observant" so could not pick up any conversational bits, not that I can remember anyway!

So that was that, and we'd made great time so managed to avoid too much football traffic on the train back to York. I'll look forward to part 2 of Southport (really good day out), in the coming months/years but for now, I'm planning another NFFD trip for April, and I'm all booked for three BRAPA holidays later this year.

In the short term, next week should see me complete the last five pub ticks in Yorkshire which is very exciting! To me anyway. I'll be in touch, don't wait up.

After a traumatic day at work where I first walked through a blizzard, and then found out in a nerve-wracking redundancy meeting that I WILL be keeping my job after all (almost a shame as Tom had worked out I needed to move to Stoke Gifford), I was ready for a pint, or two (or seven).

And so it got to 4pm and I was ready for the final trip to West Yorkshire (well, until September) and chance to try out a new railway station, at a place called Crossflatts which I'd always thought was called Crossflapps.

After a stroll along the menacing B6265, I was (eventually) confronted by a huge cow made of wire and I'd knew I'd arrived:

1064. Airedale Heifer, Sandbeds

Although confronted by one of my pub pet hates, those piles of logs which are always for show and never EVER put on an actual fire, the pub had a warmth and friendliness about it despite being vast and suspiciously foodie. The barmaid was one of those characters, I broke her off in mid sentence as she was about to ask me "what style of beer I liked" but undaunted, she told me the new five pound notes "will never be the same". I laughed, a bit confused, noted the cosiest pub areas near limp fake fires were taken, so sat on a huge table with a fine array of Amstel beermats in the shadow of a poor cow, that had been force-fed til it was 312 stone by an evil man of the cloth. I almost collided with three school teenagers, too old to be twilds, but they loved running from one door to the other, opening them, giving weather reports to 'Mum' (barmaid), and then running to the next door to cause a chilly through draught. "No it isn't snowing, but it might be sleet!" was the general theme. The one local at the bar nodded sagely, and made a vague presentiment that spring was not quite here yet. No one cared so he left the building. As I noted piped Bryan Adams and a specials board offering Rosemary Jus, I suspected this'd be an easy pub to criticise, but the warm feeling and great pint of Bridgehouse left me feeling pretty contented about the place.

Holy Cow! A great pint.

Appreciating the Amstel beermat domino effect

Quiz : which of these three locals foretells of winter being here to stay?

You fat bastard, who ate all the rosemary jus?

I got the (obviously delayed) Shuttle bus into Keighley, where each passenger smelt of either wee or weed and had tea cosies or hoodies pulled up over their heads, and a five minute walk down the road from the bus station greeted me with one of Keighley's more picturesque landscapes:

1065. Lord Rodney Bar & Kitchen, Keighley

So I had a great feeling about this place before I entered, and being confronted with a healthy range of Timothy Taylor beers also added to my sense of Keighley wellbeing, as I was served by a friendly young moon-faced blonde who said "do you want anyfink ewse?" and looked generally happy but vacant. As I looked around me though, I suddenly realised why it had that horrid "bar and kitchen" tagline - half the "pub" was diners only, and they seemed to be afforded more traditional snug pub seating than the drinkers area - as I witnessed when a group of oddball twenty somethings lurked in the doorway as though they didn't know how pubs operate, before nervously saying they had a table booked. The place was near on empty. Then a disturbing ginger slob resembling the Airedale Heifer waddled to the bar, bought a shot for his girlfriend in an obnoxious way, then waved two menus around like he was landing an aeroplane, before ordering food. Girlfriend looked embarrassed, Miss Moonface remained pleasant and professional. The church bells next door tolled, but couldn't drown out the piped reggae, but at least a trip to the loo made me realise an almost snug area facing the ale pumps was a bit cosier. But on the whole, finishing West Yorkshire here isn't to be recommended, and when you think how good Brown Cow and Cricketers are, what is the point of all this?

Trying Tim Taylor's new beer, Knowle Spring - quite springy.

Relocated to my "snug" area, facing the pumps.

I wandered back to the station, half tempted to pop into the Self Publicist Arms and ask for a pint of BEST BITTER to see if I got thrown out / corrected / beaten up, but alas my train was due very soon.

And there we have it, West Yorkshire complete for a second time, and only 3 pubs left in the whole of Yorkshire which I hope to mop up on Saturday (x2) and Sunday (x1). So see you then.

And what of the future of my Tuesday night after work BRAPA trips, I hear you ask (or is that just the voices in my head)?? Well, I've identified an achievable one in Notts, possibly Lincs, a good few in Greater Manchester, and I'll take another look at Lancs too but suspect they are too rural. It'll more likely be once or twice a month now, until September where we'll no doubt have new Yorkshire challenges to look at.

Si

So this was the weekend when I would finally finish my home county of North Yorkshire (or so I thought), after almost three years of dedicated effort, missed buses, chauffering genius, Theakstons, Black Sheep and pubs masquerading as restaurants, or vice versa.

It'd all come full circle as my first designated NY day was in Aldbrough St John & Manfield, when I escaped Tour De Yorkshire scum in July '14, and I was back in the same area on Saturday. To spice things up, we temporarily crossed the border into Co. Durham for an 11am opener ......

"Pub & Kitchen" - never a good sign, in more ways than one!

1066. Fox Hole, Piercebridge

I should've really been in Hastings / Battle for pub tick 1066 but too late to worry about that, and in the warm sunshine, we found a side door marked "Welly entrance" which I'd like to think was a tribute to Hull's Wellington which also had a side entrance that opened five minutes before the front, alas I think it was for walkers with muddy boots. The friendly barmaids knew we were waiting, but a staff conflab surrounding 'foody tactics' meant "The Fox Hole Kitchen (and vague pub)" would've been a worthier title. We sat in an overly tight window seat for two to wait for them to organise themselves. Our first ales pulled through were used for fish batter, so the most wired barmaid told Dad, which helped us get one of the most cracking quality BRAPA pints of the year so far. Striking portraits of grimacing old locals, probably bemoaning their village pubs demise into restaurant territory, looked down on us, and we were glad we were in here bang on 11am as 'reserved' signs littered the tables. A blackboard said "free beer" and got me excited but it wasn't forthcoming. And piped reggae reminded me of Keighley's Lord Rodney Bar & Kitchen, and despite the lack of church bells today, I decided I shouldn't moan too much!

Side of the pub - note the Welly entrance

One of the locals wonders what's happened

Did someone say 4.9% Free Beer?

If you were wondering the real motive behind a foray into County Durham, it was to demonstrate to Dad (BRAPA chauffeur extraordinaire) that his 'skills' are easily be transferable from North Yorkshire to Co Durham without much effort! After all, with Yorkshire almost complete, we had to discuss "his future" and negotiate a new contract - he proved his Lincolnshire worth in Louth a couple of months back, and now he's proved his future is secure by agreeing to some south Durham requests.

However, the immediate challenge was not yet complete and a short drive south to another pretty North Yorkshire village, Melsonby, was about as frustrating as BRAPA gets.

We pulled up at 12:03pm to see a smiley raffle prize Easter Egg lady balancing 12 of the things, waiting on the pub doorstep looking confused. I joked they'd surely never had THREE people waiting for opening before, and would wonder what's going on, when I noticed a blackboard clearly stating 5:30pm opener on a Saturday! Which is rather anti-social isn't it?

Both the Good Beer Guide and Whatpub had said 12 noon opening, and even more damning, Mrs Easter Egg had been chatting to the landlady only last night and was sure she'd said she'd be open at noon. We found a phone number and rang, straight to voicemail. I peered in 3 windows, all very dark. Oh well. "it is what it is" (Dad's favourite phrase) so we moved on.

It was time to adapt. Special mention now goes to Mummy Everitt, her of Welsh Ankle fame. She'd insisted on being present at my final Yorkshire tick - West Haddlesey the following day. But now, it'd be Melsonby I'd finish in, so how would she feel about doing that instead on April 2nd and we do West Haddlesey today without her? No problem. Top Mum BRAPA work.

If all this seemed complicated and traumatic, the A1 up here was closed in about a million different places and by the time we found a route to Hunton (through Richmond), we'd been going over an hour to get about 8 miles and were thoroughly traumatised and in need of a pint! It seemed a lovely rural setting. You know when the GBG says "off the beaten track", it means "impossible to get to".

1067. Countryman's Inn, Hunton

And this closes at 2:30pm apparently and was now gone 1:30pm so kind of just relieved to see it open under the circumstances! I think I'd have ripped my GBG in two and run off crying. But our Half Moon ales were seriously vinegary and after some debate (just to be sure, still a bit scarred from Droylsden!), we returned them. The landlord's total lack of reaction and surprise seemed, errrm, surprising! He changed them with good grace though, turned the pump clip straight round, but a bit of empathy wouldn't have gone amiss. Didn't he want to smell/taste the beer for himself? A jolly red faced one armed landlady appeared in what was 'BRAPA cameo of the day', shame she didn't stick around, she must be the charisma behind the pub. Meanwhile, he helped a tourist book a taxi to a golf club, and talked him through the beers noting "those two gents said the Half Moon is off, so I'll need to investigate that" which I really hope wasn't code for "I'm turning the pump clip back round as soon as these dimwits drive off". It all felt a bit Llansillin York Guzzler. Golf club man got a shock when he turned around to see his wife had vanished, but she'd gone outside to escape. We enjoyed our replacement ales, and no longer had any qualms about smuggling our cheese n onion pasties. Then the landlord went outside to spy on us through the window, pretending to tend to his window boxes, see if I'd wired the pub to a listening device etc. It was that kind of a pub.

Golf club man's wife considers a quick getaway.

A fine replacement ale.

After a bladder busting drive back down the A1 towards Selby, we finally reached West Haddlesey. It's fair to say it had been a weird day (even by BRAPA standards), could it get weirder? Yes it could!

I need the pub defibrillator on a day like this!

Quirky entrance hall.

1068. George & Dragon, West Haddlesey

So if we hark back to late January, I was fuming about this place when we left Hull City v Man Utd early, so we could get here at 10:20pm, with their advertised closing hours of midnight, and the pub was lit but plunged into darkness as soon as our car pulled up. Coincidence, no it wasn't! So my face was set to "disapproving", but annoyingly, the pub was brilliant from the outset with it's bric-a-brac, two jolly old duffers, wheezing landlord, wood-smoke smell, not a food menu in sight. Perfect. And a little beer garden (well, benches in a car park!) to enjoy the first outdoor pint of the year - flippin 18 degrees by now, it'd been blizzarding in L**ds on Tuesday!! BEEP. We ate our sandwiches and noted the bench tribute to Bruno 2016-12, presumably the pub goldfish, who'd passed away but was still remembered. BEEP. Our calm was disturbed in a series of novel ways. BEEP. Firstly, two scruffy scroats brought FOUR dogs of various species to another outdoor table, and all decided to fight with each other intermittently. BEEP! Secondly, what kind of Twild wears a t-shirt bearing the slogan "Mick Parrott Plant Services" with the company phone number on the back? One that burps coke in everyone's face and then riles the 4 dogs into a further frenzy, that's who! BEEP. And then a docile dog appeared and the 4 evil ones ganged up on it. BEEP! And all the time, a flippin pub alarm sensor which I thought was a sophisticated Starling and Dad thought was his mobile phone (by dint of him being rubbish with it) BEEPING every few seconds!! I'll wait a bit longer for a relaxing 2017 outdoor drinking experience. Crazy stuff.

Now I'm not saying that I then told Dad what a good pub the Wheatsheaf at Burn was and that we should pop in, but had we have done, we'd have probably found a thoroughly brilliant airbase themed pub, friendly barmaid, great beer, but I'd probably still ban it from the GBG for one incident I noticed - see photo below and see if you can guess what my problem was?

What do I disapprove of here?

Well, no-one said North Yorkshire was going to be easy, and I'll be praying at 12 noon next Sunday then when I arrive with Mum and Dad, the Melsonby pub door is open and I can celebrate having completed another county. I'm taking an axe and flamethrower with me just in case.

On Sunday, I was able to revisit my 2015 BRAPA pub of the year, the Boot & Shoe in Ellerton. An absolute classic, would be in my top 100, and quite why East Yorkshire CAMRA have forsaken it in favour of the likes of Market Weighton's Carpenters Arms, Pollington's King's Head and South Dalton's Pipe & Glass, only they can tell you. My sister's new local pub since she moved, she did well.

The Fam enjoying some Dark Horse ales and lemonade.

No midweek BRAPA this week but I'm doing plenty of "bookwork" to document every GBG pub I visited from 2001-2013 as a result of Hull City away games and other random trips as I still need a definitive total as well as the "current" GBG total.

And I'll be back in Bucks on April Fools' Day so don't wait up.

BRAPA - January Review / February Preview (2017 Edition)

BRAPA - Finishing Berkshire, and a bit of Bucks

BRAPA - Back in the Bradford

BRAPA - North Yorkshire : Even More Ales in the Dales

BRAPA - Skipton's Three Links Club

BRAPA - The Romance of Emley

BRAPA - Ackworth & Hemsworth Fun Friday

BRAPA - More from the Moors

BRAPA - Kirkheaton / Si's Bathroom Nightmares

BRAPA - The Return of Hebden Bridge

BRAPA - From Dukinfield to Slaithwaite

BRAPA - Saltburn and Staithes (BRAPA-by-the-Sea)

BRAPA - February Review / March Preview

BRAPA - Wonderful Warrington : Part One

BRAPA : Wonderful Warrington : Part Two

BRAPA - A Day of Two Halves in Leiceister (not in the beer sense!)

BRAPA - Bucks Part 1 : Outer MK? Yes Way!

BRAPA - Half of Southport

BRAPA - Putting West Yorkshire to Bed! Sandbeds. And Keighley.

BRAPA - The Frustrations of North Yorkshire