BRAPA - A SANDWICH (meal) DEAL

It might've happened in Ramsgate station, but it DID happen. I'd picked up a sandwich, and a drink, and the lady behind the counter says "if you grab a chocolate bar or some crisps, you'll pay less". So I invoke the meal deal offer. A Kit-Kat if you wondered. A four fingered one at that. Bonus!

I was offered a six-fingered Kit-Kat once, but that was in the Lincolnshire fens. Just my little joke.

I finished eating the sandwich whilst passing through Sandwich, on my way to Deal a fortnight ago, where I've still got two GBG pubs to tell you about.

Daddy BRAPA (refugee from York)

Smugglers Records, Deal (2389 / 4293) was a cute sort of place. A bit 'novelty factor' as far as I'm concerned, not that combining vinyl records and real ale is unique to Deal - Bradford & Preston spring to mind. I'd rather be in Deal though. And on this day, I was. It's a tight sort of place, the records plentiful, and as a wide-eyed young bloke full of hope pulls me a Patchwork ('yum!' I said at the time), a kind man offers us a seat with him. We politely decline. It is so close to the bar, everyone coming in for a drink is going to be giving me an involuntary backrub. I need my personal space. Instead, we send the next 25 minutes browsing, with a Mummy BRAPA live video call interlude. A £60 Taylor Swift, Gallagher & Lyle (I thought they made syrup), Roy Orbison and The Replacements (sadly not a double act) are the highlights. Few opportunities to even perch your pint to give your hand a rest , and always that threat of ruining a rare green pressed Depeche Mode.

Directly across the road, 'literally' like, our final tick of the day was to be found .....

And being my sixth pint of the day, in a most highly charged and bonkers environment meant that my memories of Just Reproach, Deal (2390 / 4294) resemble some sort of fever dream. Two main 'memories' whilst trying to discern the 'crumble' in my Oakham Fruit Crumble. Firstly, just how drunk everyone was. What was it? 4pm? Safe to say I was the second soberest person here after Daddy BRAPA. One lady in particularly, just seemed to have lost all sense of coordination and ability to communicate in a non-shouting voice. A microcosm of Deal I guess, busy and friendly verging on the barking mad. Anyone thinking pubs are dying (usually people sitting at home supping cans in their jim jams) need to get themselves down to this corner of Kent. Daddy B was conscious he hadn't paid for our drinks and was worried he'd forget. Had she forgotten to charge us, or was it test of our honesty so if we got up and left, they could give us a 'just reproach'? Thanks. He 'fesses up on the way out. Most people told me this was their favourite Deal pub. But someone on my Twitter said they didn't much like the owner of this place. The pub replied to say 'neither do I'. This made me like the place more. I wonder if it was the owner himself, or a very brave staff member who replied?

Fast forward one week, and I was passing through Deal once more, from the opposite direction this time, in my quest to tackle a few village pubs on the Canterbury-Sandwich bus route.

As it is 9pm in real life, so I'll finish this blog with my first pub of the day, and I chose this one because it is one of those funny old birds which close mid afternoon even on a Saturday, so I figured best to get it done early.

The importance of being accepted by the pub dog as a first time visitor to any boozer isn't something which should be underestimated. That was certainly true at local jewel in the crown The Haywain, Bramling (2391 / 4295) when this cute little mutt shaped like a stubborn piece of fudge that gets stuck to the bottom of the Quality Street tin at Christmas, shuffles over to greet me. Locals and staff witness the head scratch I give our 2023 Canine of the Year candidate, and I'm accepted into their Kentish bosom. And what a bosom it is.

I mean, I'll never forget my experience at West Bridgford, somewhere near Nottingham a few years back. A steady stream of folk, including myself, have been taking their pints to the outdoor smoking area on a hot July afternoon. A dog, sleeping under a table, remains unmoved. But when one bloke, not a regular, rocks up, the dog leaps up and growls at him, barking furiously. He walks past the dog minutes later to find the loo, and the dog doubles down on its febrile frenzy with an anguished howl. By now, the locals - in fact, everyone out there - is eyeing this chap with much suspicion. And a third woofy blast when he returns to his seat is the final straw. The police are called, his hard drive is removed, and before we know it, he is sentenced to death on trumped up charges of child pornography. "Any last words?" he's asked before the gallows. "I only went in for a pint of Blue Monkey", he mumbles, before the long drop.

I digress. The Haywain is a stunner. A flat capped bloke appears behind me and talks me through the beers. A motivated local? No, the guv'nor. "You hiking?" ask two chaps at the bar, Andy & Kim, the Mel & Kim of Bramling, and when sober at least, just as 'Respectable'. When I reply that I'm a pub ticker, Andy says "you must know Retired Martin then?". Do I ever? Well, I take that as my invitation to pull up a pew at the bar and whilst they've not heard of BRAPA, my fragile ego can take it. And furthermore, the ale is going down such a treat, I can catch the earlier bus if I stand in the road five minutes before it is due and wave frantically. Canterbury Ales Merchants Ale if you wondered, deliciously dark, like the tale itself, where a blind man is cuckolded into helping his wife into a tree so she can pick a pear, but really her lover is waiting to have sex with her. Chaucer eh? Filth. Well, there we go, I've wittered enough. Great pub, lovely folk, honest.

Photo courtesy of Andy

Join me tomorrow, or Wednesday depending if work is chilled out tomorrow or not, and I'll give you some more from the Sandwich surrounds.

Thanks for reading, Si