BRAPA .... EASTER SUNDAY SPECIAL : JESUS IS RISEN, TELFORD IS A PRISON

Sunday 20th April 2025

My final day of this septic Easter epic would prove the tickiest yet, as I hop over the Shropshire border - a county I still have to wear my 'L' plates in.

The sun was bright, the sky a brilliant blue, and as I predicted exclusively in yesterday's blog, every hangover was cured and everyone was back on the lash - the Stafford to Euston train was heaving.

I nearly missed it as I complimented a funny woman on her bunny ears. She in turn complimented my Count Duckula tee shirt, then ranked her favourite 'holidays' as (1) Hallowe'en (2) Easter (3) Pancake Day. She thought pub ticking sounded 'groovy'.

Squashed in a vestibule, I had a meaningful chat with a lady called Kate. She knew a bit about North Wales, as you'd expect from any lady called Kate. She thought pub ticking sounded 'a fascinating hobby'.

I change at Wolverhampton, and after a slight delay, I'm in the Telford area for the first time since 2007 when I accidentally ticked that lovely All Nations brewpub thingy. Had I known #PubWoman Laura Hadland was passing through on a bus at this very moment, I could've completed a rare BRAPA female hattrick before noon.

<Pub one looking vaguely promising>

Old Fighting Cocks, Oakengates, Telford (3073 / 5558) lit the blue touch paper on a day of astonishing pub quality and has me rushing to book a week in Shropshire this coming autumn. Plenty of folk are in bang on noon which always bodes well. Obscure beer ordinarily doesn't .... but this brand of 'local slop' is tres magnifique, Rowton they call it, they have a funky outer space theme. As I'd find in West Sussex, cash is still king even when card readers are casually shoved in your eyeline! The folk are nice. This was a relief too because at Oakengates station, everyone hopping on and off was a toothless topless tattooed urchin who'd flown in from Tatooine. One man does have incredibly long skinny arms, but he's not trying to tickle me / nick my wallet so that's fine. The quiet back room has a nice cool breeze, and I discover an even smaller cuter back room near the loo, yes I could live here.

<photo of inside - bit of wood panelling, cheeky leaded window>

Just across the road, Oakengates delivers again, bang!

<a very yellow pub in the sun>

Blinded by the brilliance of Crown Inn, Oakengates, Telford (3074 / 5559), this was a match for the OFC, you might say better, I couldn't separate the two. All I could see as I approached the bar was yellow, and a shiny Harvest Pale clip hardly soothed thine eyes. I don't drink HP enough (HP sauce is another matter), but when I do, I generally think "why don't I pick this more?" The pub has its own sticker below the pump, helpfully marking it as 'pale' in case you thought it might be an elaborate trick and Harvest Pale is actually a stout. More 'cash is king' chat went down well, Telford loves cash, pass it on. A bunch of nerds are playing one of those amazing board games with 20 sided dice and figures of orcs & goblins. "My tactics are block, block, shadow, nothing" says one lad, with a dreadful nasal guffaw. On the far table, a lady applies eye shadow in a dangerous manner. Her husband looks fearful. Closer to the loos, someone gets excited about cider.

<Half of Colin, a stunning HP, the back of some nerds, distant eyeshadow lady pre-eyeshadow application>

Oakengates had been glorious, could Shifnal follow suit?

I'd had one of my best ever pub pork pies in Shifnal a few years back, lashings of English mustard. I tried to recreate a 'Withnail and I' pose so I could call my blog 'Shifnal and Si'. It wasn't really worth it .....

<Pub three looking promising from a tight side angle>

Probably the least Black Country Ales BCA pub I've EVER been in (and there's been many this past couple of years), Anvil Inn, Shifnal (3075 / 5560) felt more like that ole' stereotype "walking into somebody's front room". Family fun, I felt a bit wrong just being there. One young lass has a hot water bottle strapped to her stomach and keeps being told to lie down, though she never quite manages it, instead roaming the floor like a blob zombie with period pains. I never see the pet cat, but I can smell cat food. Hang on, if all that Wellington Brum furore was anything to go by, maybe the cat food IS the cat. Let's not go there! There's even a unique carpet, a spectacular purple blancmange explosion. Barmaid is fully onboard with my 'lowest percent beer in every pub' tactic. I think she's Mum. The 1993/4 era music is a lovely throwback, but also a reminder why Britpop had to happen. I'm eventually asked if I'm studying! I explain it is just a Good Beer Guide, like that's more normal than string theory. There's probably a joke in there somewhere.

<Colin, stout, possible Dad n 2nd daughter in background>

I had another tick in Shifnal too, meaning I really was progressing well early on - just as well as I had SEVEN ticks in mind today. MUST remember to eat. MUST remember to order the lowest percentage beers.

Surely Shiffers couldn't produce again? Not with something that sounded like a micropub?

<Pub four not looking like a pub that would produce much from behind the bushes>

But it only bloody did! King's Yard, Shifnal (3076 / 5561), you truly are all that is great about micropubs. We don't say it enough, because not enough of them are. EXACTLY the same type of atmosphere I'd been lucky enough to witness in Johny's of Burslem yesterday AKA old skool pubbing off the charts. The Wye Valley HPA is sensational. I don't always say that either, but on top form, it is a leading beer. Highlight for me is the delightful frail bloke gently zimmering his way in. They really look after him. His stout is brought over to the table, and he puts his chunky cheese & onion cob on the zimmer, wheels it over, and carefully deconstructs it at my table, eating it one layer at a time. Now that's how to eat these jaw defying cobs! A bloke with a limp, who I'd overtook getting here, still manages to get served before me, a whole bottle of Casillero del Diablo, the Devil's red wine. A great drop as I learnt in #WWWSI. He props himself on a posing stool. Wonder how long he stayed on it before sliding off?

<Old man, cob, pint, and my excellent HPA, plus GBG, all on same small table>

Shifnal had (somehow) outperformed Oakengates, yet recalling a stronger successive four BRAPA ticks has me delving deep into the recesses of my ESB addled mind.

Pub five wasn't quite so memorable. Fifth pint syndrome probably a factor in fairness to a solid pub.

<Pub five looking very handsome in the blue sun>

Ain't it nice in 2025 to see everyone converging on the bar at the same time, knowing their place, staff being bright and switched on, and knowing you are going to be served in your correct position? Welcome to the Harp Hotel, Albrighton (3077 / 5562), today's second Black Country Ales inn and a more common or garden one than we found in Shifnal. Sleepier too. Quite literally in one case as a Wolves fan has fallen asleep, exhausted from their early kick off. He wakes up and immediately starts reeling off Premier League MOTD style soundbites. To my left, an old lady sings loudly to the hits of 1992 like a fishwife Annie Lennox. Carrying on my lowest strength ale quest, I describe my Mallinson's Citra on Untwappd as sensual, musky, peeping through the cracks, pulsating, gagging, wet and thirsty. Sounds like I enjoyed it.

<Barmaid laughs like a maniac in front of the pumpclips>

It was time to say farewell to Shropshire, it had been a timely reminder of the quality it possesses. Shrewsbury October or November? See ya there!

The gravitational pull is strong, and I re-enter the Staffordshire atmosphere by late afternoon, kissing the pavement in delight like Katy Perry before me.

Pub six was busy outside, but with all inhibitions gone from the booze so far, I have no qualms about taking a photo of the most jolly scene today .....

<the most jolly scene today>

The lady who stood out the most i.e. posed with the widest smile, gets the BRAPA thumbs up for her efforts .... as I walked past her, she announces "this is my gaff!" to which I tell her I'm not surprised considering her bright aura, which she probably appreciates. Love & Liquor, Codsall (3078 / 5563) is a name which suits this impressive micro well. The barman claims I should choose the 5%er even though I've explained my rules .... I think he was being deliberately contrary. I step over a friendly little mutt called Kasparov, because he likes to eat chess pieces. I've been feeling a bit blocked up myself, but whilst Harvey's Sussex Best hasn't been on today's beer menu, I can feel a 'durchfall' effect stirring and rush to the loo. I HATE an enforced micropoo, but when you've gotta go, you gotta go (unless you're in Whitley Bay of course - never forget). To my relief, they have an Air Wick spray called Barcelona (what a pootiful horizon!) Back to my Bishop's Farewell which at 4.6% is strongest today, but I'm clear headed n clean bottomed enough to feel I can handle this late percentage upturn!

<Kasparov glares at his owner in the hope of treats having been denied by me>

My seventh tick requires a further change at Wolverhampton, but at least I'm closer to my Stafford digs. Can you guess where it is yet?

<Encouraging BCA pub front, not unlike the Harp Hotel>

Horse & Jockey, Penkridge (3079 / 5564) is where my epic Easter break ends. Ah, Penkridge. Just as bonkers as I remember. Last time here, the locals were admiring a mural of that Captain Tom bloke before his dodgy daughter sullied the memory. And the pub had a a barbecue/music fest on which I thought was classics done in a 1977 DIY punk but it just turned out no one could sing, oh and spat a lot. My kinda thing, but I kept a wide berth. I prefer today's open plan standard BCA offering (today's third). Okay, so less eventful on the surface but my decision to choose that bright green seasonal beer, 'Signs of Spring' by Stonehenge, made me the talk of the pub. Everyone from curious staff members to old Guinness drinking curmudgeons to 20 yr old tarty party girls were over at my table, having a sip or looking at it nervously. Despite my claims it just tasted like a normal pale ale, no one believed me. But the interaction was appreciated, Penkridge folk don't stand on ceremony, and that's a compliment!

<Local graveyard at sunset and holding my green pint up>

It was home to York the following morning, no Thirsty Thursday the following week due to a dentist appointment (but I needed a beer break anyway!) before I was back in the West Midlands on the Saturday.

I'll try and tell you about that on Friday, but it could be Sunday.

Take care, wish me luck with Google Photos, today I spoke to Dani (not her department), Aaron (connected to my laptop, then reckoned the issue lay elsewhere) and then Sasha who made me 'screencast' my issue. She then sent it to the 'Tech Team' and says they'll email me. Hmmmm.

Right, back to the semi's (Eurovision, not Sunderland v Cov).

Si