BRAPA Epic Catch Up Part 10/15 .... Gifford to Leith via North Berwick
Hello! The eagle eyed of you might have noticed I've shoehorned a part 15 into this epic catch up. See it as a sign we've ended up in the relegation playoffs (NOT that I'm labouring this football theme or anything). The BRAPA winter break is officially over. After a slow 2023 so far, pub ticking is about to ramp up.
But I'd LOVE IT, ABSOLUTELY LOVE IT (Kevin Keegan style) if I fully catch up on blogs before my jaunt to Norwich in Feb. If I fail, I will resign from my position as manager at BRAPA F.C. And YOU can do my remaining 2,218 GBG pubs.
Thanks to my six new season ticket holders for subscribing .... and the tips about the page layout issues, I've been tweaking stuff in the background so I hope it makes a difference.
Right, where were we? Wednesday 30th November 2022. Dunbar? Completed it mate! Next stop? Potentially the trickiest of all E. & Lothians ticks. Bus to Haddington. Wee in Waitrose. Change onto a circular bus (the route, not the shape) to this icy little village.
Tweeddale Arms Hotel, Gifford (2223 / 4126) kept up my Scottish run of excellent quality hotel bars. Unique experience for starters. Barmaid is laying down on the carpet in front of the wood burner! I make her jump. "Sorry, I lit the fire, got comfy and thought I'd just stay down here!" she tells me. I apologise for disturbing her, which probably sounds insincere, because it was. Two other barmaids, not working today, appear from another door. "Oh, we meant to make youse jump!" says the raven black haired one. Poor barmaid getting jumped from every angle today! I shun Summer Lightning for another Stewart's in another annoying Stewart's glass, then this crazy chef arrives with pie and peas for the barmaid. Their accents are so strong, I've no idea what is being said but laugh along anyway, but we do bond over Kate Bush's resurgence, before Andrew Gold (who?) brings her into disrepute. Then they go outside to smoke in the freezing cold and leave me in peace to finish my pint! Cosy excellent place. Proof that being the only customer doesn't have to be a depressing experience.
Time to say goodbye to lovely Gifford, it can't have been much over zero degrees today, one of those days where the sun thinks about rising, but doesn't even get dressed, grabs some toast and tea, yawns and goes back to bed with a real 'fuck it' attitude.
Back in Haddington, I had a 'pub' to tick off here too:
Not the pub
The pub. GBG sticker proudly displayed, always a good sign
Waterside Bistro, Haddington (2224 / 4127) competes with Gullane yesterday for poshest Lothian experience of the week. A fabulous small bald pristine-shirted camp whirlwind, reminiscent of that Tom Allen chap off the TV buzzes around me like I'm royalty ..... and no, I don't mean he shouted 'oi, nonce!' Again I feel apologetic for simply wanting a pint of real ale rather than the pheasant & lobster tagine. "And would sir like to drink that inside or out?" he adds without the merest hint of irony. They're made of hardier stuff than me these Scots! Even the dog blocking the floor space nods at me demurely. "He likes you!" say his two women keepers. "Great, cos I'm more of a cat person" I reply, and they resist the urge to spit on me. The Barry Swally drank well, just as well cos Tom must've checked with me about eight times that I was enjoying it! Again, a pub I hugely respect ....but I'd never choose to return.
Judgey Santa and my new canine friend
Hard part of the day done, it was back into Edinburgh to continue to chip away at those more central GBG entries. A bladder busting bus ride wasn't ideal, rush hour slowing me down further. This pub was up next ......
And the award for the most stereotypically Edinburgh pub of the week goes to Sandy Bell's (2225 / 4128), a throbbing musical heartbeat of a corner bar at the heart of the city. Bitter & Twisted is the ale, which is what I'd end up being if I simply gave up on trying to find a seat like the majority of the droogs in here, and stood in discomfort for 27.5 mins. No, BRAPA is made of sterner stuff so I make my way down to the far end, where I find a small table between a piano and guitar. A sign says it is 'reserved for musicians' but I can sing a fine rendition of Anarchy in the UK, 4 pints in, so sit down. A shaggy dude called John peers at me, and he reassures me that the music doesn't start til later. He insists on talking directly into my earhole, far too close. He's lived in most places in the UK, and wants me to go pub ticking in Fife for a different type of experience! But before long, this young lad sits opposite me, picks up a guitar, and starts playing this old time American folk music. It feels like a private serenade, but isn't. "Riley Puckett & Charlie Poole" he explains. He's very good. The pub applauds. "Errm, I've heard of Woody Guthrie" I reply, and he looks disappointed in me, as does the ghost of Bernard Cribbins. Nice chap. Interesting place.
I want to get my 'Edinburgh (South)' ticks completed by the end of the night, so next a fair ole' yomp down to the next pub, which like Artisan a few days ago, has a fabulous old clock masquerading as the pub sign:
John Leslie, Edinburgh South (2226 / 4129) is known as Leslie's Bar on many online sources, presumably to prevent its association with the sweaty octopus sex pest former Blue Peter presenter of the same name. In a city of highly ornate pub interiors, this is perhaps the most stunning of all. A fab photo opportunity from every angle, it even has those tiny hatches to get served through like Barton Arms, Aston Villa and I suppose vaguely the Blue Bell in York. I was at window four, and was in awe. Jaw dropping. Unfortunately, it wasn't all sweetness and light. A real 'us v them' atmosphere dominates. And I was in the 'them' (tourists and visitors) section to the left. Through to the right, old locals and the staff laugh uproariously in harmony, and love life. But whenever anyone wanted serving from my side, the staff set their expressions to po-faced and gave absolutely nothing back! Fascinating to observe. The issue of poor beer quality raised its ugly head once more, I was on the house beer, nearly everyone else of course on the big red T. A pub that should've been top tier, but decided against it.
My final pub of tonight, November and Edinburgh South was actually not too far from my Haymarket Premier Inn:
I was all steamed up, or at least my phone lens was as I stepped inside the hazy atmospheric fughole that was Cloisters Bar, Edinburgh South (2227 / 4130), a former parsonage. Six ales adorn the bar, and not one of them a Stewart's. Couldn't even see Tennent's. What was going on, highly irregular! I got on the Orkney IPA, it never fully cleared and had a weird aftertaste but was still better than the last pint. But my abiding memory of Cloisters was my bad luck / incompetence in trying to get a seat. I perch on a side ledge, acting as hand sanitizer monitor. People regularly come and go, but every time I make a beeline for a vacant seat, someone swoops down and beats me to it! First, a silent priest. Then, a young Lady Di. Eventually, two men take pity on me and shout "you can come and sit here if you like, we're off soon". But I don't want pity at this late stage, so I stand it out like the martyr I've become!
December dawned bright, chilly but full of hope. Two days left up here, and I calculate over breakfast that I only need 10 ticks. Unless something went wrong, I was going to achieve my goal.
I couldn't be complacent though, and took the early train from Waverley to North Berwick where I had unfinished business in the shape of two pubs, this was the first.
Ship Inn, North Berwick (2227 / 4130) looked a gem from across the street, but perhaps the ropey, paddled entrance should've been a sign, as it opens up into a sparse, identikit, foodie overly modernised bar. Just when I'd been hoping for a repeat of the Shipwright's near Faversham! The one bright point, quite literally, was the barmaid - pink hair, cool cardigan which I'd wear, tattoo which reads 'thank you for ....' didn't wanna stare! (not staring?) Welcoming, friendly, tried to inject some life into this place, and I must add that the Bellfield ale here was a darn sight better than the one I'd had in their own brewery tap which is kinda embarrassing. The one I had in York Tap, better than both! Then, a load of miserable geriatric zombies crawl in and sit in booths - while I blink out happily from a posing stool, thinking positive thoughts, like nine ticks to go!
Just around the corner, my final North Berwick pub tick, fat grey and unforgiving, looms over me ominously like old uncle Nobby.
Auld Hoose, North Berwick (2229 / 4132) is a pub if ever I saw one, to separate the true pub lovers from the people who claim they love pubs, but are really just here for the beer. Yes, I know so many people who'd eye up that beer range of Tim Taylor Landlord or Abbot Ale, and simply dismiss it as a rubbish pub. Well, I have news for you, it was BRILLIANT! I see the perfect seat by the fire from the bar over my shoulder, but staff indecision over my Abbot means a San Miguel lady sweeps in and gets this prime spot. Shades of Cloisters last night! I sit between her and a young couple drinking Tennent's and discussing Tic-Toc strategies or something 21st century. MTV is glowing above me, showing all the Christmas videos (December now so I refuse to get mad!), nearly had a dance when Shakin' Stevens came on! The crisp range is epic, the pub is cavernous yet beautiful, and the Abbots, believe me, is one of the best kept ales I've had all week. Eight left!
Clinging to that north coast, I make my way to Prestonpans where I have unfinished business after Monday's failed attempt.
Scrolling through their Instagram all the way back to September reveals that yes, they are closed Monday and Tuesday these days, hardly made it clear did they? Anyway, it is time to forgive them, it was Thirsty Thursday so no excuse not to be open.
Prestoungrange Gothenburg, Prestonpans (2230 / 4133), again I'm panicking with no access from the street. Luckily, a lady who I think might work here directs me around the back, past a load of weird concrete cows in an unlikely nod to Milton Keynes. The foyer reminds me of taking my blind and deaf cat Jasper to the vets in York in the 90's, but I finally find the beautiful bar, a stunning painted ceiling is the highlight, and a huge imposing island bar of extreme curvature, phwoar! A grand place, these Gothenburg pubs are few and far between but I had one on the list for tomorrow too. It is too cold to be comfy, must take some heating this place, but the ale, brewed on site by 'Faking Bad' is a 6.8% treacly beast - not an easy one to neck when train times are tight so I had to employ mind control! Delicious and warmed me through. Some real jolly characters in here too, most notably a lady carrying around a dog (dressed in a Christmas pudding jumper). She orders macaroni cheese and chips for herself, and then to much astonishment, adds "and some checken bites for ma wee dug .... but I'm going to take the skin off for him." Perhaps the best thing I heard all week. Staff perplexed but amused. Seven left!
Oscar not up for a 6.8%er
Christmas pudding dog lady orders food for both
I jog back down to the station, hard when you've got 6.8% treacle sloshing around in yer innards but I made it. With the North coast tidied up, it was time to head back into Edinburgh where four of my remaining seven ticks were listed under 'Ed North'.
This was the first. Blurry photo, we'll blame that last pint.
Clark's Bar, Edinburgh North (2231 / 4134) was probably one of the pubs to leave least impression on me this week. It wasn't poor by any means, good actually, a typically Edinburgh smart, mirrored, dimly lit corner bar offering the highest quality bench seating. Uncharacteristically, I was about the only customer here, a sleepy atmosphere engulfs me, and also unusually, there was only one real ale on. The quality of it was superb. Go figure. Brief moment of excitement when a staff member bursts into the bar to announce he's just seen Gordon Ramsay's car .... but no one really flinches, not enough to take their eyes off Belgium's latest World Cup failure (ha!) anyway. Six to go pals!
Oscar gets his second wind
For my final act this evening, I decide to take myself back up to Leith which after my bus fiasco back on Sunday has me feeling nervous. Takes AGES for it to arrive, rush hour traffic. "You are definitely going to Leith?" I question the driver, who seems a bit taken aback, but I'm scarred for life!
The bus crawls painfully north, the pub is off centre, awkward location, freezing wind, sleety rain, but I know I'll feel a lot happier when I wake up tomorrow knowing I don't have it to do, what with my remaining pubs are already scattered.
Curious place this, Dreadnought, Leith, Edinburgh North (2231 / 4134). I'm initially impressed as a fusty old smell hits me, normally the sign of a fantastic centuries old boozer! The barperson with mullet pulls me a decent Squawk from Manchester, the woolly jumper possibly even beats our cardigan heroine in North Berwick's Ship Inn earlier. But the longer I sit in this pub, the more it starts to irritate me. Open door and arctic airy blasting through. The 'quirky' features like portholes and disembodied Mr Blobby head don't make smile with affection. The unisex loos make me feel down right uncomfortable, I can't wash my hands and get out quick enough for fear of a lady appearing from a neighbouring cubicle! A big dog chases a tiny one with a red LED collar around the pub, no one seems to own them or care. The clientele are a tad aloof and full of self satisfaction. It is a 'no' from me, just couldn't get on with the place. Just confirmed in my mind that Leith was my least favourite pub place this week.
So there we have it, I think this one went to extra time! I'm on BRAPA duties Thursday and Saturday, and I'm off to football on Friday, so I'll be back for part 11 on Sunday where we'll hopefully complete Edinburgh, and head south for some tricky Cumbria.
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