I have to go all the way back to 17th August 2002 to find my last visit to Exeter, the only time I'd been there using the Good Beer Guide to inform my pre-match pub choice. We settled on the Well House. We got chatting to a fellow Tiger. He'd sent his wife off shopping, but recommended the strong Otter Head beer. "I'm on my fifth pint, pretty good stuff!" he slurred. Then we lost 3-1! They got relegated, and we soon got back to back promotions. Hence, it has been a long time.
We still see the bloke at away games, Daddy BRAPA says "oh look, it's Otter 'Ead!" But the pub burnt down a few years later because 'BRAPA things'. I remember seeing the cathedral from the pub window so I thought a wander around the cathedral was a good place to start this classic four day break.
With my Devon percentage a pathetic Plymouth heavy 7%, plenty of work was needed to make it respectable.
With Dudley Duck and Ozan Toucan replacing the 'rested' Colin (too green and white, might get lynched by a Grecian hooligan), it was time to get tickin' if I was to achieve my quest of six before close of play.
A strange stat in BRAPA history is that all the best holidays begin with a 'Spoons, and George's Meeting House, Exeter (2778 / 4938) augured well for what would prove an excellent four days in terms of the holy trinity of ticking : pubs, pints and people. It was a beauty. Ecclesiastic joy, not since that Chapel Gwndnmnmgjijldn place in Bodmin have I felt so holy, yet so Spoonsie. And despite being relatively busy, a hushed reverence fills this wood panelled, stained glass drinking church. An upper gantry too, it truly is a rare non-1930's art deco beauty. The Exmoor Wicked Wolf was pure juniper, and tasted more gin and tonic than ale, but a refreshing start was needed after a sticky long train journey via Paddington. I nearly didn't notice that the only carpet (7.5/10) was on the stairs up to the loos. Promising start.
My only other remotely central of Exeter's NINE Good Beer Ticks took me down a narrow alley which was even more of a tighter squeeze because of roadworks outside and a procession of doughy eyed tourists following a bearded pied piper.
Not unlike one of York's many city centre pubs which will never make the GBG in a month of Sundays, the Ship Inn, Exeter (2779 / 4939) isn't without character, just a bit too GK, and judging by clientele to come, a haunt of tourists and students. I timed my visit right, and I've chosen the right ale in Salcombe Lifesaver because a Hitchcockian cameo bloke says so, then tells me to "enjoy", before swooping out of the premises post-haste. The barman looks after him with reverence and tells me ".... and that bloke KNOWS his beer!" I think I was supposed to reply "who WAS that caped hero?" I spent the next 20 minutes listening to a bossy wife admonish her husband for refusal to make a decisive call on a Shepton Mallet day trip. The otherwise soothing atmosphere (punctuated only by a happy hound, presiding over an 8/10 rug, howling occasionally much to owner's embarrassment) is broken when a procession of students enter. About fifteen I count. Like clowns trying to fit in a Mini. All paying separately too the utter tossers. Staff telling them to move down. Carnage. Mrs Mallet rolls her eyes. I return the eye roll. The subjugated Mr Mallet (not Timmy) is told to 'come along' and I leave shortly after.
The clock had ticked past the 3pm mark, and us seasoned Premier Inners know what that means, check in time! So I lug my rucksack back up the hill in a St David's direction. Before doing that though, I spy a ginormous 'Spoons looking down on me like a haunted castle. Pub #3.
I couldn't fit the whole thing in frame, in fact I couldn't quite believe it was all one building, so I'm glad I went a wanderin' inside the Imperial, Exeter (2780 / 4940) because it was quite majestic. The Orangery room in particular where I found most of the (mainly student) crowd squirreled away. Stick that up your heritage guide! Incredible. And a trio of carpet patterns in one. Sadly, the beer was dreadful. Big Tackle by Keltek. I've never trusted egg-chasing themed ales and this is why. And for that reason, I much preferred being in George's Meeting House. "Handled glass sir?" our fluffy haired host had asked. "I don't normally, but you only live once, haha!" I say a bit too excitedly, noting the bloke behind me trying to form an unnecessary queue. And that was one of the more negative pub traits I found this week, weak bar etiquette in too many Devon pubs.
Check in time then, and what a shiny, modern Premier Inn it was. Impressed. Polar opposite to that horror on Newcastle Quayside recently. I'd been warned about 'maintenance works' creating noise, but apart from the stairs being out of use the whole week, I was unaffected.
Meanwhile, this chap called Dave asks me when I'm visiting his local GBG pub just over the water through Exeter's back-end. The answer is ' next on my list', so he says he'll have a quick shower and come to meet me, so I unpack, hang up my clothes, have a quick snack and splash my face with something fragrant ......
Dave is sat outside (can you see him) at the surprisingly thatched Thatched House, Exeter (2781 / 4941) and if you wonder why I'm surprised, I thought it was going to be one of those ironic pub titles, you know like the Red House Boutique or Fagin's Craft Beer House & Art Cafe where carpet don't match the curtains. No carpet here, but a nice dark wood interior as we make it Spoons 2-2 Greene King in this lively opening day clash. Dave introduces me to the incredibly smiley Carly (not to be confused with Nickleodeon classic of our times, iCarly) behind the bar and the Glasto Thriller was my most thrilling yet - I was craving a black beer at this point. Did Michael Jackson (not the beer dude) ever play Glastonbury? We sit outside as is Dave's want, he'll be back for the quiz later, so he hones his large brain by getting his debut BRAPA highlighting done.
Dave says he'll walk me to my next pub, also on this side of the river Exe, near Exeter St Thomas and my mind is blown because Exeter has about 58 railway stations which I approve of greatly.
'Spoons 3-2 Greene King , oh dear GK, "you're not singin' anymore, you're getting sacked in the morning" (actually, please can we not talk about manager sackings, still too raw). Sawyer's Arms, Exeter (2782 / 4942) is standard, precinct 'Spoons fayre, cheap n cheerful, lacking the pzazz of Imperial and George's Meeting House, but then again, they are exceptional efforts. A sign on the bar says their lime's are not vegan anymore having been rubbed up against an animal, possibly a monkey's bollocks. I ask my local vegan contact, Sister BRAPA for her thoughts, and she thinks this is above and beyond by 'Spoons cos no one, not even a vegan, would've been able to taste the difference! I ask Dave if he's happy to sit indoors for this one though I can see him smelling the air like a car dog on the M6. Ale situation is annoying cos the Ghost Ship says 'coming soon', the Old Hooky has just gone off, so Rev James is the chosen one, it drinks with a dark brooding Dylan Thomas poetic bitterness. Untappd you don't deserve me! Big up to the carpet (8.25) and Dave decides it is time he got his quiz head on so we say farewell (though he will appear in Part 3 so look out for that!)
Pub #6 (had I really done five already - time had flown) was not as far to walk as I'd been expecting which was always nice, just this side of the river, though dusk was starting to set in as it comes into view .....
Not 'Spoons? Not GK? My little brain could barely cope as I enter Topsham Brewery Taproom, Exeter (2783 / 4943) to a beer stinking, neon lit, stone walled old building. A young professional crowd walk around with slices of pizza and blurry dogs tied to their wrists, a boom boom boom as dance remixes of 'I've got a Brand New Combine Harvester' (hang on, a bloke's just come in to clean my balcony windows - that's not the name of the remix by the way). A chap who looks like Alastair Sim keeps scowling at me, probably because he's the oldest one here by 30 years. Things improve as Johnny Cash tunes start playing and my Utopian Red ale makes more sense. Even Scrooge gives me a smile. One of those pub ticks I was glad to get done when I was in slightly numb six pint mode. I would go to the pre-emptive Exeter Brewery Tap later in the week, but I preferred the atmosphere of this Topsham one.
I'd had enough beer, but I had another tick over t'other side of the Quay which doesn't open all day so I thought now was as good a chance as ever.
Google Maps must've known I was slightly tipsy because it tried to get me to swim across , but once I (finally) found a bridge, and I'm not saying it was easy, I found my way.
And we saved the best til last at the Hour Glass Inn, Exeter (2784 / 4944) You can tell from the shape it is going to be good. A Devonian Peveril of the Peak in some ways. But what really made it was the punters. Just as pissed as me. The blokes at the bar, who again, I won't call blockers because they contribute to the atmosphere and had spatial awareness, very chatty. I'm not convinced the barman wasn't drunk either, a very lively character. Everyone says I've chosen wrong with 'Exeter Avocet' (a sort of okay pale recommended to me earlier by a man called Malt) so mine host takes pity on me and gives me a try of EVERY OTHER beer on, and there were loads. Then he starts me on the keg stuff too! The old boys love the idea of BRAPA but think I'm slightly mad coming from York to do this, but after a while, as a few of them disperse, I realise my legs are jelly-like so I sit down for a classic 7th pub selfie session, when I get photobombed by a nice lady, just as pissed up as everyone else, so we get talking too. Even Ozan Toucan and Dudley Duck are down by now. Carnage! All the pubs had been 'perfectly fine' up to now, but this was the one which really whet my appetite for the hols ahead.
See you then, Si
