For this final part of my epic catch up, and thanks for your patience with this, we'll look back on two recent January trips. Firstly, a gentle four pub Saturday in East Lancs with Ian 'Beyond the Pale' Sutton. And then, an equally gentle Thursday in North Yorkshire with Daddy BRAPA.
Only four pubs were on the agenda on Saturday 21st January, and two of those opening at 4pm anyway, so there was no rush. Just as well as my morning train is cancelled, York Tap took too long to serve me so I gave up, and then I got I got stranded on Platform 7 with a load of blokes dressed as traffic cones bound for L**ds. Glad they weren't going all the way to Blackpool.
It was gone 2pm when I finally met Ian at Burnley Manchester Road, his skin itching and flaking off, a persistent cough developing - this is what happens when a Blackburnian is 'forced' to enter what they call, 'Dingle country'.
I'm surprised to see they'd had plenty of snow up here as we park up and trudge into pub one :
What a beauty the Crooked Billet, Worsthorne (2289 / 4193) is, with its central tiled corridor, circular bar, and rooms dotted in each direction. I can only assume its proximity to the Yorkshire border is the reason for such a fine East Lancastrian pub! Ever been to York's excellent Swan? A bit like a plainer version of that. The sun is streaming in, and a lively local throng had done the same. The Beachcomber from Conwy is an excellent shout by Ian, second only to Ginger Giraffe for my best quality pint this month. Complimentary beetroot too. It was like they'd known Pedro the Plum was getting a rare mascot outing today, and it'd confused them. Barry the Beetroot? Don't tempt me! In fact, the real reason for this Pedro appearance was because I was hopeful for Titanic Plum Porter today - Ian isn't a fan, I love it, though I admit, it is becoming quite ubiquitous! Sadly, we didn't end up seeing it once. A cracking start. Best pub I'd go to this blog.
Up next, a GBG debutant. Strangely listed under 'Blackburn' despite being closer to Accrington, I was expecting a small village with three farmers and a goat, but in reality, this tight micro seems to serve quite a sizeable sprawling suburban community.
A bench outside also allowed Ian to do his now trademark (well, he's done it twice) 'sit down BRAPA pose':
Bit of an awkward 'American Werewolf in London' start to my experience at the Knuzden Tap, Knuzden, 'Blackburn' (2290 / 4194), a thin place, and both walls are lined with 'tradies' (as we say in Neighbours) who all turn to stare as one. The landlady is a fabulous vision of Burberry and fake tan, and she isn't the only one. Crazy Frog is still number one in these parts. Their own ale from Burnley faves Reedley Hallows (where else?) goes down well, there's a fluffy duck sitting on top of a book exchange, and not one but TWO TV's showing 'The Sport' which of course was unheard of in the early micropub days but more evidence that the concept is merging into more traditional boozer offerings. The whole place feels like Knuzden was crying out for something like this until some enterprising local came along and opened this in some abandoned shop unit. We get talking football with the nice chap you see to the right, he doesn't really support a 'team' as such which means he can laugh at Hull City and Blackburn in equal measures. A grower this pub.
So, just the two pubs left and they both had the same name. Here's a clue:
We tried Colne's effort first, which also has a pub called 'Lord Rodney You Plonker'. Their new Belgian bar, 'Del's Delirium' opens next month.
Boyce's Barrel, Colne (2291 / 4195) was my favourite of the two Boycies, narrower, and more decorated with funny pics, bunting, brewerianananarama, and a cute little 'toilette' at the far end, which had it been glass, would've been like weeing in a human sized fish tank in sight of the entire pub which in a weird way, I'd have found delightfully novel. Three Mallinson's were on, you can't go wrong there, and the beer was, for a third time today, above average - incredible lacings. Like in Oswaldtwistle's Vault, you had to climb up an additional step, the bench seating was so high, they must either breed folk taller in East Lancs or I'm a short-arse. Don't answer that. Heaters warmed the backs of your calves, and that was that.
And for our last act, it was a third BRAPA trip to Padiham (enough for one lifetime, never mind 8.5 years) so that I was in striking distance of Burnley Manchester Road for the 19:11 train home.
A short day had really suited me today. I'd overdone it in Notts on Thursday, then there'd been Blind Monkey / Sheff Utd away the previous night, I'm getting too old for three day binges! (BRAPA holidays notwithstanding).
So, time for a game of 'compare & contrast' at Boyce's Barrel, Padiham (2292 / 4196). This was a wider, squarer Boycie, a bit more room to breathe you could say. Ian preferred it, but I found it a bit plainer. Both guv'nors had the same bright yellow t-shirt. Titanic Cappuccino was the ale for me here, as close as Pedro would get to a Plum Porter but the coffee goodness was immense. To be 'scientific', we sat in exactly the same position, on exactly the same type of high bench with step up. The calf warming heaters weren't so prevalent here, but the music was better - can't remember what, but it wasn't Kajagoogoo. Or Journey. Maybe Reynolds Girls or Vernon Girls. Loos less exciting, but at least there was a Bass mirror. Good stuff.
Absolutely freezing waiting on the station for the train, but I was home trouble free and slept til noon the following day. Cheers to Ian as always, great lad and cracking chauffeur. Now will he be brave enough to go as far west as Preston/Lancaster/Silverdale/Ormskirk for some springtime insanity? We'll see!
Fast forward to the following Thursday now, and Daddy BRAPA was, like Ole Gunnar Solskjaer before him, at the wheel, wanting to get his birthday celebrations kicked off in the best possible way, by driving me around some North Yorks newbies.
It all started with one of those 'world famous' pubs ..... always a joy (that was sarcasm by the way), I think we left North Yorks and hit both Durham and Cumbria before we reached it ..... the highest pub in England. Quite the drive, cheers Daddy B!
Initial impressions of the Tan Hill Inn, Tan Hill (2293 / 4197) are favourable. An atmospheric, olde worlde sort of place. Felt 'lived in'. I'd been expecting something blander and shinier. We've caught it at the right time too. Only a smattering of other customers. All with that guilty self conscious look about them that I know well in ultra-rural walking pubs. That look which says "I'm on the booze already but I've haven't worked for it". This is particularly true of a young lady in front of the roaring fire, her dog asleep on a blanket at her feet, she (woman not dog) is supping an enormous glass of red wine filled up to the brim. I'm not judging. I'd soon wish I'd gone red wine. Landlady seems a friendly soul. Three Tan Hill house beers are on, plus Wensleydale Semer Water. Dad gets a half of a different one to me, and a giant coffee to supplement it. "We've got a cake & coffee deal on at the moment" she tells him. 364 days of the year, Dad would snap up any cake offer. But yesterday he and Mummy BRAPA went for a champagne afternoon tea in a posh York hotel and he was gacked to the gills on cakey treats! In fact, the word 'cake' made him feel sick. I explain his reasons for declining the offer to mine host, but she certainly is less friendly to us after that! Imagine getting moody with customers just because you decline a coffee & cake offer. We sit at a 'rustic' table, by which I mean wholly impractical for use as a 'table'. The beer is dreadful, both our drinks taste the same, Dad isn't too enamoured by his coffee either! I can suddenly see why this famous pub hasn't featured in a GBG since 1990. Didn't smell off, but both were sharp and tangy. Wish I'd gone Semer Water! There's a helluva lot of signs telling you NOT to do stuff, and ain't it funny how a bad pint gets you viewing the whole pub experience in a more negative light? When we leave, about twenty army navy yoofs are smoking on the doorstep about to go in - they look rowdy and a bit knobheady. And as we reach the car, an army of walkers is coming over the brow of the hill. We were leaving at just the right time!
Oscar had a bit of quiche to get rid of the horrid taste in his beak:
And Mrs SatNav takes us the other way down the hill to Richmond, a town with a suspicious rotation policy when it comes to its GBG pubs - a different one in each year. Here's a thought, shave 2 or 3 off Edinburgh / (Norwich - TBC), and give Richmond a bigger allocation, as the beer and pubs are always strong around here.
Down a cute cobbled street, their 2023 offering was no exception:
I was a fan of the Buck Inn, Richmond (2294 / 4198) - plain, understated, but homely, and it felt like a real underdog after Tan Hill. A Tim Taylor Landlord 'champion pub' but although a tough choice, I swerve it in favour of Wensleydale Gamekeeper, and what a hearty drop that was after my last experience! We take our drinks beyond the pool table to the far end, which is obviously a more modern 'bolt-on', but unlike a conservatory, it is done all sympathetic like, merging into the original fabric effortlessly. And then we get engrossed in the Premier League Years 98/99. Richmond - the new Halifax .... well okay, that is poetic license.
A stones throw from Richmond is the village of Gilling West, where I bussed to in BRAPA's formative years before I realised Daddy BRAPA was happy to drive me about, and ticked off a fairly limp modernised pub called the White Swan. But for the first time in years, we had a new entry.
But as we arrive, it doesn't look too lively, and a blackboard reveals the awful 3pm truth that wasn't listed on social media. Grrrrr. It is 14:35 now, so we park up, eat a bit more quiche, plan a few future trips, that sort of thing.
Dad makes a good point when he says "just be glad it isn't a 4pm opener" which is true, you don't get many 3pm openers, most are normally 12 or 4, with a 2pm and 5pm a bit more common than yer 1,3, 6 and 7's.
15:02 and the Angel springs into life, 'all at once', as Whitney Houston sang on her visit here before she fell into Bath (sorry):
Angel Inn, Gilling West (2295 / 4199) was a slight step up on Richmond and a strong contender for pub of the day. Good things DO come to those who wait. Quirky barmaid character, kept breaking into high pitched song at random intervals. There were wicker baskets full of complimentary chewy sweets. Again, a champion Tim Taylor Landlord pub, well I wasn't going to decline it again and this was the best pint yet. This mangy pub dog comes over to say hello, manages to walk all the way around the wood burner, before settling in front of it, which also doubles as the darts oche. Big league game tonight, against errrm I'm not sure, Gilling East, is that a place? Pleasant welcoming place, don't be spooked by the Royston Vasey sign on arrival!
We took ourselves back towards York now for my nearest required tick to home. NOT on the A19 as we'd wrongly remembered, we were confusing it with Shipton by Beningbrough.
No, I tried to tick this on Easter Monday 2016, it was shut, and it hasn't been back in the GBG until now.
We arrive today, 16:30, it is shut again! Again, social media hadn't said this. I hop out of the car, cross the road, explore, peep in a few windows, rattle a few door handles, yodel up a drainpipe, you know the drill, try & 'apply a bit of pressure' as we say in the ticking trade.
On Mon-Wed it DOES open at 5pm, and with the lights all on, had they now applied this to Thursday too? Before long, we notice plenty of activity as staff arrive in cars. 5pm it was.
Daddy BRAPA made another good point .... "If Gilling West had been 4pm instead of 3pm, we'd not have hung around for that one, and we'd have got here an hour earlier, and we'd not have hung around for this either, and you'd have ended up with just two ticks!" He's right. Scary to think!
16:55 and the door pings open.
My 'scary to think' expression What a livewire place the Old Black Bull, Raskelf (2296 / 4200) proved to be! Big fan of it from the off, a blazing fire, low beams, plenty of dark woods and deep fruits, followed shortly by this madcap barmaid who's banging on merrily to us about how gluten free their Hambleton Stud Blonde is. The Tim Taylor Landlord was so nice in the last place ..... hmmm, we toss a coin to decide, Stud Blonde it is! Another barmaid arrives and smiles a lot, and then, this larger than life bonkers guv'nor comes crashing through like a whirlwind, followed by some teenage boy child who wants to know if he can have a Kit Kat before his tea if Mummy doesn't find out. The Scottish flag is merely Burns Night remnants, and I later hear the staff trying to decide whether their remaining haggis is fit for human consumption. Different from 90% of rural North Yorkshire pubs, I recommend it. Might've preferred the Angel at Gilling West from a 'pub sensibilities' point of view, but it was a close call for pub of the day.
No North Yorkshire day would be complete with a quick 'BRAPA after-party' pint of Ossett in the always wondrous Fox on Holgate Road, a 19 minute walk from BRAPA towers ......
Only a week behind on the blogs now, c'mon! See you all on Sunday night where I'll tell what Mansfield and surrounding area is REALLY like.
Si
