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 .....
1027. White Horse, Emley
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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!
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 .....
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| I tried to get Emley Moor and the mast in but failed miserably! |
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!
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| It's Championship chat fest! The arse-warmer is leaning on the right. |
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).
Si