BRAPA Epic Catch Up Part 16/17 .... New Basford to Sheffield via chilly Bingham

'Baseford', the locals in Hucknall tell me Basford is pronounced. Is this official, or are Hucknall folk just incredibly posh?

Anyway, just to re-cap, it was Saturday 14th January and I was pushing myself for two more ticks. The unexpected closure of Roots in Kimberley had taken a bit of pressure off my day, as I was on a train home from Nottingham shortly after 6pm.

Trying to make a positive out of a negative is, I reckon, part of what makes a successful pub ticker.

I took my first ever Nottingham tram to this one.

I just knew that the Lion, New Basford (2281 / 4185) would be a cracker. GBG regular, 'burbs of Nottingham, standing alone surviving the test of time as all around it is bulldozed. The customer's are incredibly polite, "after you", "no, after you", "you were first", "I thought you were old chap", they cry from the bar, the staff wondering if anyone actually wants to be served. A good crisp range is another litmus test of pub greatness, and a board including Monster Munch, Scampi & Bacon Fries, Quavers and Scratchings warms the cockles. As do the radiators in here. A dog has a runny nose. Ashover are a great brewery aren't they? This continued my run of A* quality ale today. Only Kajagoogoo could spoil it now .... 'Too Shy' ugh, terrible song, everyone knows pop music wasn't invented until Stock, Aitken & Waterman gave us Rick Astley, Kylie & Jason. Even if you don't agree with that, you'd love this pub.

Another tram and soon I'm back in Nottingham with time to spare. I'd deliberately held onto my final Nottingham pub tick over for such an eventuality, and although I very nearly revisited the excellent King William IV by mistake (perhaps my favourite ever Nottingham pub experience), my intended pub was almost next door.

The beer must've finally caught up with me in the bright modern micro that was Partizan Tavern, Nottingham (2282 / 4186). All I have are vague recollections of a quick chat with the guv'nor, seemed a good bloke, maybe my card got declined, maybe I was straining to read the pump clip that said my ale was from the excellent Shiny in Derby. Something like that. Other than going to the loo, sitting against a cold wall, and the feeling of satisfaction from Stabilo'ing Nottingham in full, and congratulating myself on good progress to date, the whole thing passed me by. Blame me, not the lads from Serbia.

Progressing well eh? And I was back in Notts the following Thursday (19th Jan). You know I like to do these things alphabetically, and that meant Bingham and surrounding area were up next.

A nice local called Peter (solid #Pubman name) was going to come and meet me, but he had to go to London, so he sent me this little map to help me across the fields to Car Colston, obviously having more faith in my map reading skills than I do:

In fact, there was a rare bus service in half an hour so I decided to try a half in the hopefully pre-emptive Butter Cross 'Spoons, overlooking the market. It was market day, and Bingham was throbbing with activity and joviality.

It suffered from feeling brand new (though I believe it isn't THAT new), too many high up tables, and too much light streaming in, but the ale was decent and the staff were good.

The two hourly bus service went around the houses, but did its job, an old lady rescued my water bottle, and soon I was in Car Colston, a village with huge swathes of green like a fully highlighted GBG, which people use for grazing cattle like it is the olden days.

Royal Oak, Car Colston (2282 / 4186) was one of only two pubs on my list opening at noon today, and they'd capitalised in style, the place awash with elderly diners on nearly every table. Incredibly impressive that I find the place having a pub hubbub, helped immensely by the superb barmaid who greets me, bare shoulders, full of charisma, friendly to a fault. 'Had a good walk?' she chirps, inspecting my suspiciously clean walking boots. I feel obliged to tell her that I cheated and caught a bus, but I am contemplating the walk back. The best seat in the house is about the only one free. How often does that happen? A low down stool in front of the fire. "You sit yerself there and warm up" she says. Even the Wainwright tastes great here. The only black mark against our exceptional heroine is when she puts a food menu on top of my GBG, a real BRAPA no-no. Red card for encroachment. "Just against you get peckish!" she twinkles, and I instantly forgive her. Red card rescinded after VAR check. I calculate that I could order food, stay for another pint, and be just about right for the bus back to Bingham. But that would be far too sensible.

Moment of controversy

Perhaps guilt got the better of me, perhaps I didn't want my research or Peter's map to be in vain, but I decided to walk anyway. Putting the second 'A' into BRAPA ..... adventure.

I think I can pinpoint the exact field where it all went wrong. Early in the journey. Keeping right of the frozen lake, I don't think I found the correct kissing gate and end up in a farm I shouldn't.

Still, I'm making good progress south towards Bingham when a farmer on a tractor with a very angry dog stop me. "Woof woof woof, private land, you shouldn't be down here, woof woof woof" they say. I act lost and confused and a bit upset. It works. They spare me. And point me in the right direction.

I get lost again, before taking a chance on crossing a field - I knew I needed to be more left but didn't want to get shot. Finally, I find an opening through a hedge and a muddy track leads back to Bingham. My boots are caked in mud when I arrive so I spend five minutes outside try to make them semi-decent.

I needed a good pub after that trauma, and the 'pub of the year' sign didn't lie, I loved the Horse & Plough, Bingham (2283 / 4187), and for once, I'm relieved to find a pub without a carpet with my muddy shoes in mind. What a soothing mid afternoon thrum, just a few folk dotted around half-watching the tennis, an excellent pint of Bass albeit in a Castle Rock glass. Another boot clean with the aid of a bit of water and paper towels makes me feel a bit more human. Still nowhere near 4pm (when all my other pubs open), I stay for another drink, hoping I'd get a Castle Rock Vanilla Stout in a Bass glass this time, sadly I don't. It is quiz night at 8pm, and all the table reservations are being set up. 'Millan & the Kool Kidz' will be on my table. Hope they won. 'The Six Pistols' and the weirdly named 'Selby' are on adjoining tables. Cracking pub this, sad to leave but glad it is finally 4pm.

Here was the other Bingham GBG pub .... although I took the below photo before I visited the H&P.

What a difference a pub makes. Depressing would be the word I'd use to describe Wheatsheaf, Bingham (2284 / 4188). Can't fault the lads waiting at the bar, a sort of Tim Lovejoy-Jimmy Bullard-Simon Rimmer condensed into two individuals, or at least how I'd expect them to be in a pub! Trying to get some jolly 'bantz' going. But the barmaid ain't being drawn into any chat, in fact, could she look any more bored and less like she wanted to be here? The RedWillow ain't clearing and I'm not sure it is supposed to be a hazy one. And the pub layout is closed off, not conducive to being sociable, but yet the decor is very bland. It really is the worst of both worlds, and rare I'd ever say this, but think it'd benefit having a wall knocked through! I'd be sticking the 'Spoons in the GBG ahead of this for sure. A highlight? Errm, my table felt a bit antique!

I felt a lot happier about my day once I'd made the decision that Granby was better paired with something more Leicestershire, which I hope to make a start on soon. I've heard Loughborough has a few pubs. Again, being a 4pm-er didn't help its cause.

But all was not lost, as I had two pubs to do in a very Nottingham sounding place called Radcliffe-on-Trent. Buses were frequent from Bingham, so I hop off first at the 5pm micro of very limited hours .....

I enjoyed the approach play more than the actual being there, when it came to Yard of Ale, Radcliffe on Trent (2285 / 4189). It just didn't work as far as I was concerned, me having been very complimentary of Notts micros of late. I'm actually a bit surprised to find myself writing this when I think back to how warm and welcoming the local bar blockers were, and the amount of smiles I got. And the North Riding Chocolate Stout, I mean wow, pure heaven in a glass. Best brewery out there for me. I even treat myself to a bag of pork scratchings from Corby. Gorgeous. Knew something good had to come from Corby. No, it is the pub itself I couldn't enjoy. It felt so temporary. So hobbyish. Chilly, narrow stifling layout, not at all conducive to making you want to stay, uncomfortable seating, I was facing a wall learning about Patisserie for the most part. So pleased to leave, yet so glad I visited. "What a gorgeous pint!" I announce on the way out , returning my glass. "Don't tell me, you were on the North Riding" booms a local. He knew, good lad!

The night ended with slightly more traditional fayre, refurbed:

I warmed to Chestnut, Radcliffe on Trent (2286 / 4190) after a difficult start. I get a few looks on arrival, Oscar the Owl certainly did, and I'm thinking 'uh oh' when the landlady who looks a right tough old bird gives me the death stare as she pulls me a pale by Buxton, but then I say something like 'brrr, bit chilly tonight' meaning the atmosphere, and she starts talking in friendly tones about heating and then I turn around, and the previously staring locals are all doing these weird little giggles and stroking small super furry animals. What relief. A big improvement on my previous two ticks, not in the same league as Car Colston and certainly not the Horse & Plough, very much a mid table finish. It probably won't feature in my best selling novel "20 deaths in 20 pubs" about a pub ticker who gets murdered 20 times over in the best 20 pubs in Notts.

The worst decision I made all day (yes, even more than the walk from Car Colston to Bingham) was to pop into BeerheadZ on Nottingham station for a very swift strong black pint pre-train home. Note to self : stop trying to make this place a Parcel Yard of the East Midlands on a weekday, it won't end well.

Yes, I was suffering all day at work on the Friday .... and nowhere to hide either as I finished at 3pm to go and watch Hull City at Sheffield Utd, with the added bonus of a pub tick. Hair of the dog needed!

I was expecting nothing, sweet nothing at all, from Blind Monkey, Sheffield (2287 / 4191) situated in those unhospitable northern climes of the city, high altitude, goats grazing on the mountain steppe, low cloud, with a chance of bumping into a fellow pub ticker. I think the name 'Blind Monkey' put me off. It gives jokey, flimsy, micro vibes. What you have in reality is a delicious 'greatest hits' of Sheffield pubs, combined into one new, or at least seriously refurbished traditional style pub. Multi rooms, central corridor, glass screens, carved wooden artefacts from ancient lands like Rotherham and Barnsley, some pretty impressive beer from Don Valley. Yep, colour me impressed! Get the fire in and we're set (it never happened). Daddy BRAPA has the glint in his eye. "You doin' food?" he asks the pleasant guv'nor, giving him a virtually prod in the chest. "Not til 5 pal!" he's told at 4:40pm. The 'food' menu is a modern American mystery. "Nachos? Not that bollocks! It's not proper food" rants Daddy B, harking back to a Christmas argument with Sister BRAPA (not a nun) and her other half. "What is a Burrito? Is that a nacho too?" DB asks now, confusion growing. "No, it is like a wrap" I tell him, remaining patient. "A wrap? Not that bollocks!" he says. I can see a theme developing here. We reluctantly order two hotdogs. They come in a box, no cutlery, a serviette would be nice. Food wasn't like this in Hull's Olde Black Boy in 1964. What happened to bread n dripping on the bar? The HD's aren't even that nice. Retired Martin and Mrs RM have swooped down on us by now, a bit later than expected as Mrs RM had to clean the loos in case I popped in for an inspection and poo like Waterbeach '18. Alfie Baaland is worrying Oscar like he did Colin in Chesterfield. #MascotToxicity2023 Mrs RM orders a pizza. Sensible move. We are jealous. It looks great. But I'm too full to have a slice. At the bar, a young lady admires my woolly green hat. She tells me I've inspired her dig out her lime green bobble hat and wear it this evening. BRAPA : Trendsetter .... even in cool funky Sheffield. Back at the table, I notice Daddy B. is speaking in great detail about his water meter issues. He's on form tonight. Brilliant polite concentration levels from Martin and Mrs RM who don't even look close to falling asleep. Right, we've got a tram to catch and a game to get to. Nearly forgot. Great pub this, Sheffield really is a top tier pub city. I HOPE Norwich will be as good .......

We'll call it a night there, I've waffled long enough at it is 10pm.

I think I'm out in York tomorrow, Wednesday I'm on #WWWSI duty, so I'll most likely be back Thursday for the month end blog, and Friday I'll try and bang out the next catch up.

See you soon, Si