BRAPA Epic Catch Up Part 11/15 .... Mid Calder to Kirkby Lonsdale via Edinburgh
My final day in Edinburgh was here - Friday 2nd December and as long as nothing silly (or typically BRAPA) happened, a fully completed set of 2023 GBG ticks for Ed. & the Lothians would be mine!
Only five pubs needed, but they were dotted around so I needed a good start as I caught a Livingston bound bus as far as a semi-rural village called Mid Calder.
It wasn't noon yet, so I mooched around, scaring the neighbours who lived at the cottage at the bottom of this country lane ......
Then I popped into the local butchers, bought a yummy local Scotch Pie and bored the poor butcher with tales of BRAPA even though he hadn't asked.
12:01pm. A few folk who might be staff are shuffling about. Time to cross the road and apply a bit of pressure to the pub, I was feeling twitchy, Retired Martin must've been a bag of nerves in Orkney last September ......
The lounge door finally creaks open, hurray, relief, Black Bull, Mid Calder (2233 / 4136) I'm in. It is the most enthusiastically I've ordered a pint all week, and the barmaid smirks, it is perhaps the most enthusiastically anyone has ordered a pint in Mid Calder history. She was brandishing a sharp knife on entry too, I'm relieved to learn she was midway through a lime chopping session and wasn't a serial killer. Pub is decent, geared for dining but not too smart, doesn't leave a lasting impression despite some odd artwork. The Stewart's in THAT glass is decent. 4 to go.
The bus back to Edinburgh is painful, not least because I've got a burning sensation around my lower middle - uh oh, water infection incoming .... I know that feeling, only seems to happen when i've been on the ale for seven days straight. Who'd a thunk it?
Train out east for my final two ticks which aren't in the city. C'mon, we've got this!
Ignore the swanky restaurant sign, Stobsmill Inn, Gorebridge (2234 / 4137) was more about the defib and big red T sign. Friendly to a T too, the locals huddled around the bar greet me warmly, once they've instructed a woman to move a piece of wood she's left in the doorway, which is a trip hazard. Lime chopping knife first, now this. Pubs trying to kill me today? I can't see any cask. I ask. They do, one handpump wholly obscured by three bagpipe playing Santa's. You can see how much cask takes priority here! I'm amazed to find it a beautiful pint, I wonder what I was drinking? Anyway, these are the smiliest smiley Carol Smilie customers all week, the pub is warm, and now we're in the final round of World Cup group games, I'm like a gecko, eyes everywhere, trying to watch two games at once. I manage to miss goals in both games, flippin' typical! Nice place. Three to go.
One more stop on the trainline, and another one of those Gothenburg community social history style pubs ......
Dean Tavern, Newtongrange (2235 / 4138) is in my opinion at least, a match for its more famous and well regarded Prestonpans cousin. A square sausage fest, the place is rammed with bald men having a pint and a laugh, and it is a huge pub with a high but less ornate ceiling. It is warmer, that is why I'm inclined to consider my experience here slightly preferable to PP. The island bar goes on for what seems like forever, I start at one end and patiently walk the full length looking for a handpump. Exhausted by the far end, I still haven't seen one so ask the barmaid. "Oh, the pump clip has dropped off!" she says, brandishing it triumphantly aloft like He-Man's sword, posing as I take a photo, but sadly it came out blurry. Stewart's again, it ain't bad, average I'd say. And I just sit the middle of it all listening to bald men saying 'aye' over their Tennent's. Two to go!
Back into Edinburgh then for the grand finale. Closest to Waverley is this one.
The highlight of my 25 minutes in Mather's, Edinburgh North (2236 / 4139) is the bit where I get served. Mine host seems a very switched on sort of guy, and the long bearded bar fly joins in, recommending a 6.7% ale I need to look out for in the future- I'd been saying how all these 'wees', 'heavies', '80 shillings' are hard to get used to. I wish I'd stayed at the bar actually, because down at the far end, I feel more like a billy no mates than ever before this week. The Christmas Twumper brigade are out in force to my right, and two ladies straight ahead and a couple to my left all want the seats from my table. "I assumed someone was joining you!" slurs an unstable drunk lady next to me. "Nope, I'm all alone (apart from Oscar the Owl)" I say, with a tear in my eye. Not really. One to go!
A little bit further north I walk, and here we go ..... what a moment!
Stockbridge Tap, Edinburgh (2237 / 4140) is where my fantastic E & Lothians adventure comes to an end, and I'm contemplating a pint of Tennent's just for the laugh. But when I see all the ale offerings, I decide against it, but perhaps I've distracted myself because I accidentally get the murky Arbor keg offering, hidden the plain sight amongst all the casks! In the absence of beermats, I use the Times newspaper but it isn't long before some oily posho comes over and tells me he wants to read them. Oscar growls. Do owls growl? I get chatting with this lovely chap behind me, he has spied my GBG and is interested, like any sane person would be. He's like a svelte, slimline, well spoken Bill Oddie, and when I tell him that this is my final tick, and how I mistakenly missed the cask, but am contemplating Tennent's, he looks pained and goes to the bar and buys me a Windswept stout! The beer in here is really good and fitting I should have such a nice chat for my final pub experience. Edinburgh, you have been great and I'd highly recommend a week up here.
Very satisfying moment to finally 'green' Edinburgh
The following morning, Saturday 3rd December, and my holiday isn't quite over yet as I meet Daddy BRAPA, in his car outside Carlisle station. Plenty of new ticks in Carlisle, but gotta take advantage of those wheels when you are in a county as strung out as Cumbria.
Off we go .....
Obscure Cumbrian tick #1 was listed under Rowrah, although it was right through the centre (if Rowrah even has a centre) ......
Ennerdale Brewery Tap, Rowrah (2238 / 4141) did everything I hope (and never expect) from a brewery tap, having warmth and comfort - it was more like a bistro cafe at the back of a garden centre, and I mean that in the nicest possible way. A little bit twee I suppose, the fake stone wallpaper didn't fool me for a second. A nice old lady served me a honey ale, I'm not sure I like honey ales but I always choose them when I see them. A good selection of GBGs was a surprise addition, board games too. Slumped comfily onto a settee behind a partition, when we finally stood up to leave, we were surprised to see just how busy it had become, with much scones, tea and jam going on.
As we continue our progress down the west coast, tasting the Irish sea on the wind (maybe), one tick I was looking forward to more than any other was Calderbridge.
Stymied in the summer when I realised I couldn't get there on foot via the centre of the Sellafield complex, I'd decided being driven there was about the only solution. Now was the moment .....
....but foiled again!
Okay, no need for different weekend hours when the weekday ones are exactly the same, dickheads. Nothing on social media suggesting 3pm of course. Maybe I should've rung that number and begged, but I didn't see it until now, I just saw the hours and jumped back into the Daddy mobile in disgust! Only 2pm. Luckily, I had a pub in reserve not too far away. Fuming though. It'll be my 4,500th tick won't it?
Pennington Hotel, Ravenglass (2239 / 4142) WAS open. That is the best thing I can say about it. Ignore the above photo, it was incredibly posh. It had one ale on, a fizzy farty Wainwright's. The huge settees were swallowing and all encompassing. It lacked personality, although the Muncaster Castle mural was decent. I'm glad an old bloke had a coughing fit on the way in and was asked if he was about to cark it by his female friend, cos it added a bit of much needed pizazz. Then a huge group of southerners appeared from the conservatory door behind us and buzzed around in the most annoying way possible. I'm sure the local CAMRA know better than me, but binning off the 'Inn at Ravenglass' (one of my favourite pubs of 2022) in favour of this seemed an astonishing decision to this outside observer.
The contrast between that and our next pub couldn't have been starker.
My favourite pub of the day was the Brown Cow, Waberthwaite (2240 / 4143), old skool verging on terrifying. The guv'nor looked like an Alcatraz escapee, a long swim so a good effort. The other customers howled at a figurative moon, and the two kids playing pool by the bogs had me dashing past them like a timid mouse. I had no intention of asking if the tempting tray of sandwiches on the bar were complimentary. It was smoky, the fire had been lit but wasn't getting going. Yet, I thought this pub was brilliant, trust me. We settled down in the far corner amongst much taxidermy, or roadkill as they probably call it in here. Pray for Oscar the Owl! The Swan Blonde was a superb drop. And when we saw two huge plates of Cumberland sausage, peas, gravy and mash arrive on a neighbouring table, we were tempted. But the chill, scariness, and distance from York meant we reluctantly decided to crack on.
Now we could finally escape the western shackles and start heading east to York, via more tricky pubs of course. This was the first, parking was ridiculously difficult - Dad having to drive out of the village just to find a spot .....
If there'd been a chill in the air at the Brown Cow, then it was positively arctic inside Red Lion, Lowick Bridge (2241 / 4144), despite a fire in the far corner which had just been lit. "You with these guys?" says the landlord with a chuckle, eye-roll and shake of the head, indicating a group of six or so blokes behind me. "No". "Oh!" and his face dropped a bit. The Corby Stout drank well but sticking it in the microwave for ten seconds might've helped it further. The blokes were from West Yorkshire, how did I know? Because like all men in their 50's and 60's from West Yorkshire, they told everyone. Uncouth, rude, effin' n jeffin'. As Johnny Kidd and his Pirates nearly sang, 'cringing all over'. No need in a quiet village pub is there? No wonder York folk are superior is it? With a top carpet and traditional pub layout, I really should've enjoyed this place more than I did. However, I think we'd been very fortunate, snippets of overheard conversation and a vague sign in the distance makes us think it had only just opened at 4pm, and I don't just mean for the day, but following a period of closure. I guess you never really realise when you've actually been lucky re pub opening times!
The most direct route to a pub isn't necessarily the best. We learned that the hard way as we climbed the steep single track towards our next pub only a couple of miles away.
Posh dining mayhem at Manor House, Oxen Park (2242 / 4145). After two freezing pubs, the warmth was the one consolation of a pretty desperate GBG entry in my opinion. "We can give you half an hour at that table" chirruped the attentive staff (there you go, second consolation), indicating for us to sit down and stop getting in the way of the flowing stream of plates and dishes being brought through constantly swinging kitchen doors. Talking of flowing streams, I hope I'm allowed to get up and go to the loo! I was. About five minutes later, they bring me a pint of Coniston Bluebird over. An award winner and real favourite in my formative real ale days. It tastes like nothing on earth. Oh well, a tick is a tick is a tick.
Dad had been such a hero today, I didn't want to push my luck and put any pressure on a final tick, and I was actually nodding off into a piece of flan and flask of coffee when he suddenly turns the car into Kirkby Lonsdale and says "you need a tick here don't you?" HOW DID THIS MAN NOT WIN BRAPA PERSON OF THE YEAR? Recount!
He may've soon been regretting the decision, the town was in near gridlock and parking was a nightmare. He instructs me to get out, get him an orange juice, myself a pint, and he'll be as quick as he can .......
Not open when they were supposed to be the previous February, Kings Arms Hotel, Kirkby Lonsdale (2243 / 4146) was already in my bad books, and did little to improve its standing in my mind when a quick tour of the pub showed me that nearly every empty table was reserved for dining. I bond with this couple over how ridiculous it is, as we perch together on a side table in the corner full of information leaflets and newspapers. This tall, young barmaid intercepts me, explaining that it has been both the market and a town fair on today, hence the chaos in Kirkby L. She adds (and I hope she 'misspoke' at this point) that had they known how busy it was going to get, they wouldn't have opened the pub to DRINKERS. You mean 'diners' surely? But I never got chance to ask, for the silhouette of Daddy BRAPA finally appeared in the doorway so I had to give him the lowdown. Before long, an army of staff were soon moving all the placemats, knifes and forks off the huge reserved table, and a couple of others around it. "Not one of our table reservations have turned up!" wails one staff lady "....so you may as well sit down!" It was good job my pint of Hawkshead was immaculate, for this was a total farce otherwise.
The table reservation of much contention
Here he is!
And there we have it, back to York. Was nice to see BRAPA Towers again after a week away and rest my liver with a few days off the booze!
Join me tomorrow for another epic catch up, we'll visit Notts for the final #ThirstyThursday of 2022 before a trip to Folkestone.
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