BRAPA ..... DON'T YOU K'NOW K'NOW CANOE, I'M IN SEATON CAREW CAREW CAREW

Brrrr, lovely day for it eh Daddy BRAPA?

Saturday 20th January 2024

From the near deserted First Class section of the Grand Central service from York to Sunderland, having just finished my complimentary coffee and shortbread, the train pulls into Hartlepool and the spidey BRAPA senses start tingling.

How about alighting here instead of Sunderland? I think we could get to Seaton Carew quicker this way. Surprised it hadn't occurred to me earlier. In fact, it is ONLY a 48 minute walk, mostly along the seafront. "What say you Daddy BRAPA?" I think that was a muffled 'I'd love to!' from beneath his hood, Kenny from South Park style. He won't get that reference. He's upped his Mr Motivator morning workouts recently. Healthiest 76 year old I know. So off we set.

The wind is Arctic, or is it Baltic? My face is numb. No wonder John Darwin preferred Panama. There IS a topless man on the beach just getting out of the sea. His friend gives him a towel to cover his extremities.

Our favourite part of town? The art deco bus station. Had a bloke on a Gondola sailed passed, I could've convinced myself this was downtown Venice.

Pub time was finally upon us as we hit 12 noon. The barman is smoking outside. Always a good sign.

9 Anchors, Seaton Carew (2606 / 4767)

Door is a bit sticky, so don't be shy, give it a good yank. I'd hate you thinking it was shut and walking away, because this is a gem of the ages. Don't miss out! RetiredMartin went recently and was so inspired, he wrote 9 blogs about the place, one for each anchor. A concept piece. 8 only available on his patreon. That's a BRAPA fact. One of those nautical carved wood masterpieces - I love a micro that goes full beans on the design. A photogenic dream. Part Sunderland Saltgrass, part Margate Fez, and I've never even been to the bastard latter! Barman is cellar man, not owner. A great guy. His grounding came in the mean streets of 'Spoons, he tells us. Great employers, great grounding. So stick that up your jumpers Spoons deniers. The worst type of deniers since Holocaust deniers. This place has been open a good few years but his ability to keep kwality kwask is the reason it is finally GBG ready. Samson in a nonic, ye can't beat it marras. Get yourselves doon today, that Durham Mocha Stout might be ready by now ......

Only four pubs were on our agenda today with Whitburn's Blues Micropub closed for the rest of Jan, so a good job we didn't have football to worry about too cos nee way we'd have managed to get them all done. And we didn't loiter. And nothing went wrong transport wise.

Just one of those days where everything took forever!

Next stop Seaham and I'm not surprised RM gets confused by all the 'Seas'. Seaton Sluice, Seaton Carew, good ole Seaton proper, Seaham, Saltburn, Jessie Seaton, Seahouses. North East just a little bit too obsessed by being on the coast.

The 'Boro to Newcastle train via Hartlepool and Sunderland was terrifying. Gargling loud tanned lasses off for cocktails til 3am, teenagers sucking blue lollies and vaping apple sourz meant it took the entire 13 minute walk from station to pub two before I can breathe proper fresh air again .....

Hat & Feathers, Seaham (2607 / 4768)

A boisterous motivated 'Spoons, Dad immediately goes to the loo but I then have to circle the pub twice before I find him hidden in the one quiet corner by the disabled loos, where a man with muddy trousers takes 20 minutes, eww. People keep wanting his seat, we have to keep telling them it isn't up for grabs. Never mind, this pint of Maxim Stampede is even better than the Samson, and the peacock feather inspired carpet is pushing an 7.5/10. But there's no time to lose, we have to get back to the station and cross the border into Tyne & Wear.....

... which we do via a Heworth Metro change and a wee almost as unsly as my Newark debacle, walk downhill in the direction of the Tyne, and hey presto, the pub appears under a railway arch on the right.

Microbus, Gateshead (2608 / 4769)

Oi mate, stop getting doggy distraction!

Not much sign of 'dryanuary' today, especially not at this packed to the rafters boozer of some distinction. After the triumph of Seaton Carew, here was further evidence that I really need to stop classing micropubs as micropubs, and just see them for what they are, 'pubs wot serve'. Still, not easy when the word 'micro' is embedded in the title. The bus concept makes sense, as the train one has been done to death. Care attention and money spent goes a long way here - ranging from real bus timetable, to a fake bus stop in the centre, and bar & edges carved into bus frontages, lots of trinkets and nick naks. As Dad jostles for position at the bar, I spy two available seats squashed in the corner. Apprehensive after my Hoylake Botoxed Wizadora experience, thankfully this lovely couple have been to the 'Thanet School of Micro Etiquette' and are lovely to chat to - whether it be jury duty, child sex abuse or BRAPA! They leave, I sing the Playdays/Playbus theme tune, recall Mummy BRAPA's terrible Whybird impression, and that is that. Quality establishment.

Back to the Metro where a lass is blubbering on the floor in the corner, whilst four station station staff form an unconvincing shield between her and some angry looking girls. "YOU'VE GOT A BIG FAT HEID" screams one of them, storming past her. Bit uncalled for. She was no Steve Bruce or Harry Maguire.

Down on the platform, an announcement over the tannoy "To those bully bitches who attacked the defenceless lass, we've locked all station exits so there's nowhere to hide. CCTV has captured it all, the police have been called, and you are in deep shit!" was the message in not so many words.

Heavy stuff! By contrast, Boldon is the poshest place on earth. Has it always been like this? Every business is a dog grooming or chakra meditation solutions centre. It seemed to be doing it's best Marlow impression whilst wearing a comedy wig.

The tonic is our fourth and final tick of this fun but difficult day ..... time to pose fruity.

Mid Boldon Club, East Boldon 2609 / 4770

It takes two firm presses of the intercom at this Fort Knox bricked building, but to my relief, a kind old lady opens it up, asks no questions, walks us past some pool players and a few other dudes who say 'aye' and 'canny' a lot, before presenting us with a crackin' stout by Allendale, before you can say Jim Robinson. Carpet an intriguing 8/10, the place is very well appointed and down some stairs so we can smuggle some homemade sausage rolls slightly out of view from the confines of a spongy leather settee. A battered old JVC plays Kylie briefly, and the landlady later wanders through to tell us she's gannin' home for tea but will leave us in the capable hands of a young chap in case we want anything else. A nice personal touch from a club I enjoyed.

We had to leap like Jumpin' Jack Flash to reach the far side of Boldon Metro station for Sunderland before the barriers came down and trapped us on the wrong side, but we make it.

It had all been on just to make our connecting train home to York but suddenly we were in a position to re-visit an old classic, so after a contretemps with a Bridges Shopping Centre Ozan Tufan (not a toucan), we end up at the Peacock (formerly the Londonderry when I went at Uni). Very lively, and a band called 'Caught by the Fuzz' are playing Britpop anthems of the day as we once again sit with canny strangers. The Lambton drinks better than Lambton ever did in the late 90's.

And despite a bit of train slowness meaning we miss our connection (no Grand Central trains home so we had to do it via Redcar/Darlo), we were soon home relatively sober and happy. Just the 4 ticks but excellent progress towards NE completion.

See you tomorrow, for Part 1 of my Kent-London-Leics long weekend.

Si