BRAPA .... A TICK IN THE TWICK(ENHAM) : London Latest
Saturday 20th April 2024
With Hull City's fading playoff dreams now resembling a pair of stonewashed jeans from a mid 80's club in Soho, it made more BRAPA sense to tackle West London rather than Herts, which I fully greened only a couple of years back.
London is a different animal. A hard to complete, noisy, scary, sparkler free, expensive, sometimes posh, sometimes pish, animal, but always an animal. And yet I'm strangely attracted to it. I set out today with 75% LON completion, sounds decent, yet I still have tonnes to do.
In fact, my early 2024/25 planning shows that London is a 'key area' on the 'plan of campaign'. Wanna see the list? Exclusive access ....
Up first was a return to St Margaret's in super posh West London for the first time since Aug 2019. A real battle to get there. Train strikes meant a later train out of York, the Victoria line was temporarily out of action meaning we miss our Waterloo connection despite a Northern line manoeuvre, and the place was packed with mainly England and Ireland female rugby fans off to Twickers for the Six Nations. I needed a drink!
What a lazier pub reviewer would probably describe as a 'well appointed Fullers house', Turk's Head, St Margaret's (2762 / 4922) is a sunny family feasting posho with admirable windows and drinkable Dark Star. A professional hard working type of gaff, not that 'gaff' really encapsulates what it is all about. If you got AI to plonk you into a West London pub, this would be it. Stinks of food. Competing screens show Leicester v WBA and something even more boring. Groups of pre-rugby ladies and turtleneck sweatered Twaddies with kids called Toby and Jocasta trot around like they haven't realised pubs are designed for sitting. Our host, a jaunty South Wales accented chap offers some much needed colour, as does Daddy B when he tries to pay with his dodgy Post Office card. Denied! Impossible to enjoy the experience, but looking on the glass half full side (which mine always is), positive aplenty. Plus, they sent me a birthday 25% off voucher for using their WiFi. Will I use it? No.
Despite the downside of taking us 'off grid', Isleworth (which I only know how to pronounce due to Soccer A.M.) was only a 0.6 mile walk so in that respect, it would've been a crime not to get it ticked.
An uncompromising tatty back streeter was not something I'd expected to encounter today, but the Victoria Tavern, Isleworth (2763 / 49323) was that pub. Let's be clear though, I don't mean this in a glowing "oooh, this is the kind of pub that gets the juices flowing" cos it was a lame duck. As was the beer. Kimberley by Hardy & Hansons about as reliable as the opening hours of the Notts micropub of the same name. Hardly any furniture, the one table I could see taken by that common breed, a group of loud pre-Twickers ladies. Passing a spectacular modern sound system (see below) and Les Dawson in drag, the back pool room was even darker and less inviting. The conservatory (normally my least favourite pub area) was most inviting, even if Col did get judged by a pot Siamese Cat and a dead bee. Guv'nor appears late on, a nice chap, apologises for state of place, party last night, tells us not to slip on the bathroom floor cos he's just cleaned it, and asks if we are off to the rugby. Through a grim gulp of Kimberley, I try to say 'no' but it comes out as a 'yes' so Dad helps me keep up the pretence. First GBG appearance since 1996, only a 2nd in total, and you can see why.
Behind schedule and now well off course from our original plan, we use a taxi cheat to get us back on track.
Sadly we've not timed it well, with the rugby kicking off in a few minutes and our next pub on the edge of Twickenham, bit of a jam but our taxi driver Isaac Kingsley is a top bloke, really appreciates how BRAPA is more than just a pub ticking exercise - seeing different parts of the country, talking to different people, enjoying your free time to the max, a real switched on dude worthy of his tip.
It is fair to say our day really peaked at this moment, entering the gorgeous Rifleman, Twickenham (2764 / 4924) , barmaid friendly and 'on it' from the start in this small wooden perfectly formed corner boozer, Twickenham beers always do well by me and this Azacca Pale is the cheapest and nicest drink we have all day, in the best pub, and it isn't even close, like remotely! She asks today's favourite question "are you off to the rugby?" even though I'm sure they should be kicking off any minute now, and this time through a happy gulp of Azacca, I correctly confirm we're not, we just happened to have visited Twickenham on the wrong day. Though, as Daddy B sagely suggests, "there's always going to be an event on so you can't avoid it" Sage like an onion stuffing that man. A bloke who looks like bus driver Otto from the Simpsons hears me, spins round and gives a big thumbs up and a 'yey dude', confirming his Otto gang are also here 'accidentally'. Great pub.
Can we walk to pub 4 in Teddington? Spirited barmaid seems to think so, which is good because I've always believed a 20 minute walk in London is the equivalent to a ten mile hike in normal counties.
Was it worth it? Well, the official line here is 'every GBG tick is worth it, even Buxton Cellar Bar'.
Judging by Daddy B's expression, he'd had a presentiment of 'Pubs of London Yet To Come'. Abercorn Arms, Teddington (2765 / 4925) shouldn't be selling cask, never mind be in a GBG, in fact hasn't been since 1985 when those stonewashed Soho jeans still had playoff dreams. How can you get White Rat so wrong? First Dad thinks it is a different beer, doesn't even look like WR, barman is nice but only about 20 and knows nothing about cask. It quickly turns to vinegar anyway, Dad returns it no problem, enjoys keg replacement. My Tiny Rebel isn't much better, like it has some crazy bursting tropicalness trying to escape, but it has been muted, nay, silenced! To compound our misery, Ozan Tufan has missed an early penalty for us at Watford in the opening minutes. I look accusingly at Colin. If Ozan Toucan had been today's BRAPA mascot, we'd be 1-0 up. All on me this one! Sorry lads. Pub is near empty and feels disconnected, though as Pub Curmudgeon notices, we have beermats and bench seating. I hadn't noticed! Grasping for a further positive, Daddy B notes that Oasis do some decent songs actually. I'd rather Cocksparrer. Or BTS. Saddest Abercorn outcome since evil Paisley rivals St Mirren got the council to kill off the original football team #SayNoToTheIceRink#NeverForget
Next up, we head for Teddington tube station and opt for Raynes Park, which rather controversially for a West London day is technically listed under SW London.
Kingston and a meaty place called Ham had been in my thoughts, but having done Isleworth unexpectedly, and with the LAST train outta King's Cross being as early as 7pm, we decided to skip this - I'm telling you this so you can see what an organic ever changing process BRAPA is!
The pose suggests we were now in fifth pint of the day territory, and we were also in second best pub of the day territory because Cavern, Raynes Park (2766 / 4926) was a really nicely kitted out gig venue, and experience tells me this type of GBG entry can be amongst some of the poorest. The red phone box really makes it, but the whole scene is pleasing to the eye. Being the reactionary fellow he is, Daddy BRAPA had lost trust in cask and gone for Atlantic fizz, but his keg luck runs out this time and he reports it is quite the struggle. My Wimbledon Common by contrast is pretty good, descending slightly into sweaty sox by the end but that's the London cask gamble. A fluffy dog runs over to say hi, and if they'd locked the doors and forced us to stay overnight, I'd have been quite happy. As I'm sure would Mummy BRAPA, settling down to watch a film of Eddie the Eagle Edwards with a bit of red wine. Little did I know our day of gig venues was only just beginning!
A rose between varying thorns
We'd made great time so far. The sixth and decisive tick was almost assured .... providing I didn't do anything silly, so it was pretty bloody silly to have us going the wrong way on the Waterloo loop (Waterloop?) so it took an hour instead of 17 mins back to Kings X. I realise EVENTUALLY but the damage was done.
So Wimbledon 'Spoons, and even the Farringdon back-up plan seem risky so all we can do us race to Kings Cross for a last gasp Parcel Yard ESB.
I nearly mess this up too. Racing ahead of Daddy BRAPA, shinning up the escalators, I take a wrong turning, and find myself halfway down the Euston Road. "Now 'ow did that 'appen?" (in the voice of Nanny from Count Duckula).
A surprised Daddy B is waiting for me clutching an ESB when I sprint back to PY. Relief!
Aside from a controversial incident involving a smoked salmon baguette (don't ask, this blog is long enough), everything goes swimmingly on the train back to York, and at about Newark (why always Newark?) Sister BRAPA (not a nun) messages to say her boyfriend Andy's band, JUKU, are playing at Vicky Vaults at 9:30pm if we wanna pop in. Well, it is like 2 mins from my flat, we arrive in York about 9:15pm, so could hardly say no!
First visit in ages (hardly ever been open last few years) and I can see why. Now primarily a gig venue, bar has moved, middle wall gone, one big room, sad really all the soft furnishings and codgery feel is gone.
But also nice to find a decent venue being used, and selling Bad Kitty in fine condition. Daddy B stays for three songs, I stay for three pints #PunkRockLevels, I kept finding Colin sat in different areas, JUKU easily best band on, and a good night was had by all. I'll leave you with some highlights.
