BRAPA .... DON'T WANNA BE AMERICAN LYDIATE (THIRSTY MERSEY II)

Thursday 23rd January 2025

Seven pub ticks away from Merseyside glory and I could feel the invisible hands of Bjorn Tore Kvarme on my shoulders.

Although I'd booked myself out of the 'Pool an hour later tonight, the pubs are well scattered across the county so I'm aiming for the four closest to the city. Gotta strategise in this game.

A delayed train into Lime Street means I miss my bus connexion (as Poirot would say) at Queen Square.

Fear not, I leg it down to Central station, hop on the train going north, and once I'm confident we've overtaken the bus, I hop off at Old Roan and manage to pick it up. You can't teach experience like this.

I'd tried hard not to inflate my expectations of famous Jacobite hidey hole Scotch Piper, Lydiate (2913 / 5398) but gee whizz, as my Grandma used to say, a rare scouse thatched roof. I spy some outdoor loos - yes even the women have to wazz outdoors. Not inside yet, but my anticipation are fully anticied! I turn right once inside - a mistake - I find two cute rooms but no bar. I find it to the left, a small tight corner hatchy thing. A woman fiddling with bingo tickets with her back turned says 'arite la'' and another gives me Titanic Plum Porter. a beer befitting the occasion. I join a soon-to-depart bobble hatted couple in a back room (is that three different lounges? I couldn't keep up) because there's a fire in here. The barmaids start talking about The Traitors (final starts tonight) and the man asks his wife if Carol Vorderman presents it. "No, it's that Winkle woman" she replies. Friendly frail man with a walking frame is next to arrive, Guinness and a bacon sarnie. "Smells so tempting!" says a passing lady at my table ".... but I had a sausage roll before I left the house, and I'm off to Spain next month and have to fit into my bikini!" Then right on cue, 'Here Comes the Summer' by the Undertones starts playing. Ain't pubs great?

A short bus ride (I could've walked, but my bum injury sustained in a Goole lay-by a couple of weeks ago which I don't like to talk about is still giving me gip, so I'm trying not to exert myself before 2025's first BRAPA holiday in Feb).

2pm opener, a blink and you'll miss it frontage, well if you are me anyway.

"Nice 'n toasty" says our host from beneath his Boston Bruins cap. Or did he say "nice toastie" because he is munching on something. I remove my own hat, gloves and giant winter coat, just in case he's implying that the place is nicely heated (7.5/10) and being the only customer, I might be ruining their 'passing trade' by sitting in the window looking chilly! I guess I'm overthinking it. Anyway, I've long been a fan of Neptune beers so I can be confident Neptune Beerhouse, Maghull (2914 / 5399) will deliver on this front, and it does with an Oatmeal Stout called Abyss. A funny QPR fan (he can afford to be, having beaten my ailing Tigers in midweek) asks me if oatmeal stouts have been created as an alternative to milk stout for the lactose intolerant! That's why they're 13th and we're in the relegation zone. I rearrange the cushion set-up on my bench with bum injury in mind so I have a 'soft seat' but also support for my fragile coccyx. Another customer arrives, he's wearing a thin jacket, cap, but no gloves or scarf, and gets a deferential nod. Grrr.

Our warm blooded Bruins oatmeal giving legend

Now my ticking gets trickier. How is it that Maghull has TWO train stations but neither are anywhere near civilisation? Perhaps a bus would've been easier.

But I prefer trains, they have loos, are less bumpy, quicker, the people smell nicer, and I'm back in Liverpool before long, and by late afternoon, I've changed trains once again.

I jump off at Wallasey Village, over on the Wirral, and with my bum holding up a bit better now (numbed by the two pints?) I walk the 20-25 minutes into Liscard for my final tick out here with onl the occasional jolt of anguish.

I must remember to eat something, and having not done my weekly Sainsbury's shop yet, I have no quiche, gala pie or scotch egg in my bag! So it is time to delve into my Serious Pig box of treats I got for Christmas ....

Preferred the pickles to the salami

I suspect they've all seen me taking the above photo, in any case it is a lukewarm parochial reception that meets me at Twelve-Sixty Bar & Lounge, Liscard (2915 / 5400). One of the many drawbacks of those huge goldfish bowl modern pub windows I guess. Merseyside micros are usually more welcoming, but now I think back, it is on the other side of the river I've had the better experiences. Despite a greatest hits range of beers including Bass, Oakham Citra, White Rat and Plum Porter, I never feel settled here. One bloke has live BBC News on full volume on his phone - the Southport sentencing, and he's growling lots of 'bring back the death sentence' type stuff. His mate, a Royal Mail man, is watching the same thing on his phone with a slight time delay, and can tell he ain't impressed. One big positive the pub does have in its favour, 10/10 heating. Warm blowy perfection. I sit away from the action and cheat on my attempts to split the 'B' just to boost my own morale, but this wood-chippy beer pong-hole isn't one I'd be racing back to.

Cheat!

I find a bus around the corner going straight into Liverpool, and flip me it is effective, I can't believe how quickly we've got back into the centre. Still one more tick I MUST get done tonight, so it is the relatively short ride to Wavertree where I ticked off the Willow Bank Tavern last year.

I have a nice chat with an Everton fan about the late eighties, when I briefly supported the Toffeemen when I lived in Saffron Walden and thought it was acceptable to support two league teams as long as they weren't in the same division. The naivety of youth! (I work with a guy who supports Chelsea, Ipswich, Gillingham, Ebbsfleet and Fleetwood).

A different animal, but like Saturday's Dog House down in Kennington, I'd heard so many underwhelming reviews about Black Cat, Wavertree, Liverpool (2916 / 5401) that I approach it with zero expectations, especially following that recent Liscard debacle. And when I see the two pump clips are crispy water stained bits of photocopied paper, I'm subconsciously expecting shit beer quality. But it is ace, and the place is a multi-coloured swap shop of quirky yoofy bijou fun. Might not be to every grumpy old bloke's taste, and the benches weren't great for my derrière, but colour me impressed. Particularly as it has surprising depth and distinct areas, a 21st century Scotch Piper? Very studenty crowd, and two photography ladies sing the chorus of Pulp's Common People/Dolan at the same time as me, then comment "Not a relaxing place to read your book!" "Oh no, this is a Good Beer Guide, not a novel!" I reply, and soon they're asking me if their favourite Ferry Tavern in Penketh is in, I recall my late night walk there, they take photos of my highlighted GBG entry for their Insta, they give me a few central Liverpool pub tips, and then I decide I need to dash for my bus. 'Tis a thumbs up and a bums down from me.

I'm annoyed with myself because I'm aware the St Peter's Tavern is a decent pre-emptive shout, think a Chelsea fan told me that, and I'm not that far away, but I boringly play it safe and stay next to Lime St. for my much-loved Crown Hotel.

Not many beers are on tonight, just Landlord, Tribute and summat I can't remember (Doom? Jennings Cumberland? Black Sheep?)

The Landlord drinks well, half a Tribute isn't shite (though not the standard of that amazing pub in Luton with the green bricks - best Tribute EVER!!,) Our landlady is proper old skool and we have a good chat about Storm Eogwin or whatever he's called. My train is cancelled, so is the Blackpool one someone cries (not Jane), so now I'm even more convinced I should've given St Peter's Tav a go. Watch it get in 2026 GBG! But I'm enjoying the back lounge even more than the front bar, and it was here where I sat with Daddy B. on our 2008 Crowning debut.

I have to change at L**ds which always makes the skin itch, but I'm back in time for a late tea and Traitors iPlayer catch up. For Ivor Panda, a cup of bamboo tea and straight to bed, he's got a busy time in Sheffield this weekend!

And I'll tell you about that on Wednesday.

Thanks for reading, Si