BRAPA .... CORBRIDGE, PHWOARBRIDGE (FROZEN STIFF WITH PELE)

Thursday 20th March 2025

My first Northumberland ticks of the 2024/25 season saw me climb from 60 to 70% completion, as it leapfrogs Gwent up to 42nd in the BRAPA league table, just one behind Bucks. Wot drama!

Spring has sprung. I'm saying it tentatively because as a 45 yr old who has lived in the north of England most of his life, I know that icy winds and wispy snow are capable of appearing any time up until 6th May.

But without a cloud in the sky, I arrive in Newcastle and have a wander around before a train out west in that Hexhammy direction ......

Drama on the way down too, as my Good Beer Guide sheds a page. It has been threatening this for a while in the London / Greater Manchester area, it was GMR that fell.

Such an Ashton-under-Lyne thing to happen

Apt that it should happen today. It was travelling back through Northumberland from Dumfries in mid September where I learned of the first sightings of the new GBG in the wild (Pub Curmudgeon and Axholme Rob from memory).

Not only that, if you were to ask me 'Si, when did you first become aware that the churn was going to be particularly cruel during your cross-ticking exercise?' it was when I looked at Northumberland. My biggest % loss (it isn't a county with a tonne of GBG entries, but tough anyway).

Corbridge is pretty isn't it? It wasn't last Feb when I came here to tick the weird but now B&B Wheatsheaf, but I was feeling the joy today as I crossed the pretty bridge into town, reminiscent of Newton Stewart or Dunkeld for you Scottish veterans. Pub one looked an intriguing building .....

The friendly chatty lady with the legs hops off her stool and follows me in, explaining she works here and that due to the thick stone walls, it is actually warmer out than in today and after such a long winter, she's making the most of the sun. Welcome to Pele, Corbridge (3005 / 5490). Colour me impressed. Two beers from First & Last, I take my piquant Equinox up the quite dangerous steep steps to explore on her recommendation. Two ladies are sat in front of the fire. "Best seat in the house!" I say, cos people normally say that to me. We have a quick chatter, my teeth are chattering, those thick walls really give that 12th century church temperature and atmosphere, but I'm not complaining, I love old buildings, not just ones serving beer either. When the ladies leave, I realise there's a second staircase going even further up. I unwisely have my pint in one hand, phone in other as I ascend, and nearly slip. I'm wearing size 9 shoes for the first time ever today (normally an 8) due to that toe issue I don't like to talk about, so I need to be extra careful. I read the local CAMRA mag, chat with Colin, then another exploring lady arrives, we admire the place a bit more and go back down together. "You been up there a long time!" her husband says (to me more than her, which was strange). Oh, and whoever listed this on Untwappd as the 'Pele Micropub' needs their hard drive checking. Seriously. Though I once heard someone say York's Blue Bell is a micropub 'cos it is small' proving you really can't cure stupid. Lovely stuff.

A short trot around the corner (air temp felt like being in Madeira after sitting in the Pele) takes me to my other required tick in the town ......

And Corbridge's ascension to GBG greatness was complete at Black Bull, Corbridge (3006 / 5491), a cosy serene warm hug of a pub with low beams and red bench seating. A GBG debutant I later learn, the main guy tells me he's been working at it for three years. Exciting beer choice, Riggwelter. "Not too early is it?" I ask our friendly host who recognises me off of the BRAPA thing (i.e. this). "Nah, only 5.9%!" A man after my own heart. I'd moved a tiny blackboard to see the pump, shame I didn't read it cos I later notice it said 10% off CAMRA members, d'oh! I'd walked into a rather Bucks pub scene, three expectant smiley staff stood on their haunches blinking happily at me, I feel obliged to clarify I'm here for just a drink, not food. Had this been actual Bucks, I'd have been speared by a clipboard menu long ago. I don't find Northumberland a particular strong beer county (too many lager drinkers v cask drinkers) so I reckon this place should become a mainstay, and good!

I didn't realise I had to change at Hexham for Haltwhistle, so have to be woken up and almost have my headphones yanked out by a friendly guard who thought I was some homeless urchin. I'd been listening to the wonderful Viagra Boys, the Pele links just kept coming (so to speak).

I try to convince a squirrely couple that they can get the same train as me to get to Carlisle, but they refuse to be helped, then a student gal asks me what platform her friend will arrive on from Prudhoe, and I'm wondering how it is possible I've gone from homeless urchin to Hexham station info guy in the space of five minutes.

Haltwhistle is another town I've found rather grey and unconvincing on previous trips which is so much better for a dose of blue sunshine. TBF, the two GBG entries I've visited (Mile Castle and Comrades Club) were decent, just something hanging in the air! Let's see what today brings ....

One of those rambling hotels, I actually find myself in a room with the washing machine before I pass the knight in armour, down a slope and find the bar at the Manor House, Haltwhistle (3007 / 5492). It is easily today's weakest entry. The Sycamore Gap beer (aptly named after a famous now dead tree) is flaccid, tepid, though with some lilting hoppiness. Service is slow as our barmaid takes an agonisingly long phonecall just as I reach the bar. Even the fire is fake. As nice as this grand 8/10 carpetted not overly foodie room is, a peculiar sweet smell halfway between a packet of custard creams and a microwaveable Thai Green curry is incredibly distracting. Yep, I wasn't convinced this was GBG standard on today's showing.

Today's final tick wasn't due to open until 3pm, so I'd had to linger in the Manor House longer than I'd have liked.

I reach it at 3:05pm but the front door is firmly locked. Uh oh. Sign on door def says 3pm, but then again, it also refers to Covid and compulsory mask wearing. Has it really been 5 yrs?

Anyway, I sit on a bench on the sun, encouraged by lights on inside and can hear a bit of movement.

3:09pm and the door finally springs open. Black Bull, Haltwhistle (3008 / 5493) and our probably long serving guv'nor in his tight pink sweatshirt struts about the place 'rum pum pumming' to the tunes on the Now 1999 compilation album. Shame Robbie Williams didn't 'rum pum pum' more, might've found him less unsavoury. Had I queried the tardy opening, I think I'd have gotten short shrift. Almost immediately, all is forgiven. The crackling of an open fire, a guest ale from Hawkshead which is 5* nectar, and horsebrassy sunken old fixtures and fittings - this truly was my kinda pub. And it attracts the sort of characters you'd expect. Friendly rosy cheeked chap sits next to me, just had his latest eye injections to stop him going blind . Then the couple opposite strike up a chat about sex education in the 1970's and ladies in bras is yer Ma's Freeman's catalogue. They keep apologising to me for the weird twists in conversation topic, but for me, this is what pubs are all about. Winning end to a great Thirsty Thursday.

I consider cramming in Cramlington. I even consider devouring Seaton Delaval. But when I do the sums, I'd be leaving myself way too short for the fixed train home from Newcastle, so an old favourite it is in the form of Bodega. What a pub! My fave in Newc, but let me know if you think anything competes and I'll go there instead next time.

The Jarl was at its best, staff were great, and the bonus half of 5.7% Marble Stout topped things off nicely.

Raisin & Biscuit Yorkie and a coffee for the train, back in York at a reasonable hour.

Tripped up the subway steps, I'm blaming the size 9's, not the beer, which aggravated my toe injury which I don't like to talk about, but I woke next morning and it felt a lot better having applied a pack of frozen peas before bed!

See you midweek for some tales from awkward Lincolnshire.

Si