BRAPA Epic Catch Up Part 9/14 .... Gullane to Dunbar via Balerno

Just to keep the football supporting analogy going from Part 8, I'd like to thank the 14 people who have subscribed to my Wix blog, we'll call you season ticket holders at BRAPA F.C.

Okay, so I'm one of them. Has a manager of a club ever had to buy their own season ticket before? And Pauline Sharp has two season tickets using different email addresses. And a bloke 'unsubscribed' on 30th Dec so we'll just assume he is disillusioned by our tika-taka style.

Welcome to tonight's equivalent of a Carabao cup group game at home to Gillingham with ten minutes injury time .....

The sun had set on Monday 28th November 2022, but I was searching for two ticks as darkness fell on the inhospitable Lothian coast. Having left Aberlady, this was my next stop on the bus route :

Old Clubhouse, Gullane (2214 / 4117) evoked memories of a pub era that any sane person would be happy to forget - I'm talking the 2020/21 season. 'Twas a bugger to find the entrance, and once inside, hushed audible gasps as I make my way to the bar. "Table service only" says the barmaid, a far too garrulous character to stay mad at for long. Then we have the old rigmarole of 'what ales are on?', 'I'll go and check' and 'please can I pay now?' A shame not to be able to wander around, for the taxidermy collection (including seagulls) and flora/fauna peppering each walls made for an impressive baronial hall style place. Like a Brunning & Price with no identikit chain feel. And three old blokes did top bantz with our spirited host in the most Scottish way ever. Beer was excellent. A pub stifling itself unnecessarily? That'd be my view, but as she explained on noticing my surprise regarding the set up "people like it, and it works for us".

Our final stop of the night took us to North Berwick, where although I needed three ticks, but was happy just to take the one tonight. The one with most difficult opening hours, by happy coincidence, was closest to the railway station :

Nether Abbey Hotel, North Berwick (2215 / 4118) didn't remotely try to disguise itself as pubby in any respect. A sparkling Christmas tree in reception was the first thing to greet me, followed by an army of pristine white-shirted waistcoated young staff. "I'm .... I'm just after a pint of real ale" I blustered apologetically, so the majority of the staff scatter, like silverfish when you turn on the kitchen light at 3am. Everyone was so 'cute' and 'smiley' it was a bit unnerving. But incredibly professional. Although I'm not sure 'professional' would be one of the key traits I look for in my GBG entries. Twitter then got cross because I shunned the Jarl for an ale called 'Born' I'd not seen before, topped up with expert precision. It was half decent. I had to admire the place, if not particularly love it.

The following morning, Tuesday 29th November, I decide to head west on a useful bus route which hosts three GBG pubs.

But we got off to a bad start. Gone 12 noon, and the pub wasn't open as advertised!

The windows were open upstairs. "Not open? How strange, they normally are!" says a lanky old local character passing the front door. He bangs on it with his walking stick. "If you're still here in ten minutes, I'll find out what's going on!" he chirps, and hops into a car and speeds off.

He's true to his word, and returns to find me shivering on the other side of the street. I'd tried phoning with no joy. "I'll ask in the chemist!" he tells me, and returns two minutes later. "Chemist says 1pm, I'm sure it is normally noon - maybe the landlord is unwell, he's had a bad back/leg/knee recently!"

Local knowledge, you can't beat it. He recommends the Balerno Inn whilst I wait. Nice chap. I realise immediately this is more restaurant the pub, but the staff are so lovely, they are happy to seat me on a high stool by the radiator next to the ladies loos. No cask, but a lovely keg Harlaw which I think is only available here.

I definitely stand out in a sea of lunching geriatrics, but the landlord spies my GBG and comes over. "I'm a massive real ale fan" he states ".... in fact, it is because I'm such an ale fan that we don't current do it. We simply wouldn't shift it and the quality would suffer". Wow, this was music to my ears. An Edinburgh & Lothians person who chimes in with the 'too many ales on / too many Tennent's drinkers' issue which has afflicted my holiday to date. He peers out of the window. "Looks like your pub is open now!" he gleefully exclaims. What a great little bonus this had been.

So, back to Grey Horse, Balerno (2216 / 4119), good things come to those who wait, one of my pubs of the week. A perfectly formed unaltered bar room, a superb pint of Stewart's (I keep forgetting the names but they were generally different brews, everywhere I went) A bit like Kent brewery, I'm thinking 'jeez how many different ales can one brewery make?' The landlady is lovely, chatty and probably the most I speak to / warm to a staff member all week. However, "nope, we've always opened at 1pm, 1pm it is!" she says, slightly defensively when I suggest the need to update their opening hours on all forms of social media! She is squabbling with her grandson Derek re the woodburner. He's telling 'Grandma' she's useless at lighting it, she's blaming his kindling prepping deficiencies. It is FREEZING. We've certainly entered a cold snap overnight. A perky local suggests they wheel out the emergency heater. 'Good idea' I agree. "Errrm, is it not warming up?" says local five mins later as I stand up to leave. Turns out no one had plugged it in! Leading to more recriminations between Gran and Deeky. Pubs eh, you gotta love 'em.

'Good job owls have feathers to keep them warm', thinks Oscar

Time to get back on track then after this slow start. Pub two ......

Riccarton Inn, Currie (2217 / 4120) didn't really excite me in the same way as Balerno. Climbing the steps to get in was the mildest peril during the next 25 mins. Oh, don't forget the stripy carpet. You know I love carpets, but ones which encourage you to prove that you can walk into a straight line are extra impressive. 8.5/10. Another new Stewart's beer, Kilted Kiwi this time, it went down well enough, but the youthful barman had a bewildered panic in his eyes which suggested being stood behind a bar was alien to him. The pub was warm, the wallpaper had fish on it, and the clientele boring posh elderly diners, recent signings from Ember Inns F.C.?

Next stop along the bus route brought me to a place which sounded more famous for gin than ale:

Kinleith Mill, Juniper Green (2218 / 4121) was a marked step up from the Riccarton, offering a hearteningly 'pub forward' atmosphere which you rarely get from GBG entries with references to mills, waterwheels and the like. Again, the barman looked like he was playing truant here, but this lad had a stolid Kevin Bridges / Jimmy Crankie demeanour, I reckon he'll go far in the pub trade. It was remarkable how pubby the place felt when you consider the shite Christmas tree, gastro claims and random logs doing nothing, but the punters, a gaggle of knock-off Billy Connolly's bullying the jukebox and fruit machines really made the difference. Qatar played Netherlands above my heid. Oh, and my pint of Orkney Dark Island was perfection. One of the best pints all holiday.

No Oscar, you ain't drinking that stuff - bad for owls

With the hard part of the day done, it was time to head back to good ole' Edinburgh to continue chipping away at the 1 billion GBG pubs I still need in the centre.

This one wasn't too far from Waverley, and with work done for the day, one of those 'dockers on shore leave' atmospheres was forming, if this brand of dockers were decidedly demure. Some people were confused and thought the blonde lady below was acting as bouncer (not the Neighbours dog) .......

Teuchters Bar & Bunker, Edinburgh Central (2219 / 4122) was my second Teuchters of the week, and I still can't say it! Having learned ages ago that Deuchers is pronounced 'Dookers', I'm imagining something more like 'Tookters' but that second 't' really doesn't help matters. I liked the mood lighting here (i.e. so dark, you can only see people's faces when they glow Stabilo green against a World Cup football pitch - Ecuador v Senegal now), Finally, the pint of 'Jarl' that Twitter had been imploring me to get .... still glorious after all these years. Whenever anyone walked briskly across the wooden floor, the whole foundations felt like they were about to sink, plummeting us to soily graves .... there'd be worse pubs to die in.

Edinburgh's Ecuador Supporters Trust (EEST) is in for this one

Another relatively central boozer followed, yes it was time for the week's second 'Spoons ......

What a stunner the Caley Picture House, Edinburgh (2220 / 4123) is, I can only guess it is because it is a Wetherspoons that it doesn't get more love, for no one had prepared me for this multi levelled giant. You enter high up, get served low down, and then climb 3,000 steps towards the back for the full experience - so many levels, it is a bit like being in a Nintendo platform game. And I sure felt like Mario when a big burly man with huge tattooed arms looked like he was about to throw a barrel of ale at me when I bumped into him on the stairs, McDonkey Kong. Titanic Plum Porter is always amazing, and being kept a degree or so warmer than is often the case enhanced the plummy flavours further. Okay, so the carpet was only a 7/10 (a bit dull) so, in the words of our Whitney on her visit here in '88, 'didn't we almost have it all?'

Multi-levelled joy in the Caley House

'Current Si' (that's me) can't quite remember why, but 'Former Si' returned to his Edinburgh Premier Inn Hub next. Hungry? Feeling tipsy? World Cup game I desperately wanted to watch? Possibly the latter.

Anyway, by 9:30pm I decided there was time to squeeze a late tick in. The weather had really turned. Sub zero now, and a heavy mist (not quite a pea-souper) had descended as I made my way into what felt both a posh and studenty part of town.

In Kay's Bar, Edinburgh (2221 / 4124), I find my overall favourite all-rounder in the city this week. Circumstances help. What with the atmospheric mist outside, it was so warm and cosy in here with a little fire bubbling away in the corner and red colour scheme. Being only Tuesday and freezing, it was quiet too, just a smattering of sleepy tourists - a Canadian lady is waxing lyrical about the place. My third borderline underage barman of the day serves me a cracking pint of Ossett Silver King. A student from Arizona (gosh, she must be feeling the chill) arrives, shortly to meet some fellow Arizonians here as part of some 'society'. The main man explains a strict ID policy means anyone appearing under 25 has to show it. She's okay, but her mates ain't, and after much gentle complaining and gentler apologies, they all have to move on! So I spread out even further, coat strewn in one direction, scarf and Oscar in another, I'm almost horizontal by now, Saturday's craziness in the likes of Bennet's, Roseburn and Dagda seems so long ago.

The Stockbridge Tap wasn't far away, but I'd had enough, and last orders may've been rung by now anyway, so I decided to call it a night and watch a bit of TV before bed ......

We'll end this part with my first tick on Wednesday 30th November, where the East Lothians required much attention If I was gonna get a fully Stabilo'ed Ed & L before Saturday.

And if it hadn't been for the icy morning temperatures, Dunbar would've felt like a Fowey, Mevagissey or Porthleven, and that is the one thing I hadn't been expecting! Up a hill past a gritter and a hi-vis man eating a deep fried Chelsea bun in an angry fashion, our first pub was rather striking ......

Volunteer Arms, Dunbar (2222 / 4124) wasn't unlike yesterday's first pub, the excellent Grey Horse at Balerno. It only fell short because I didn't get involved in any of the interaction in a Gran / Derek kind of way, but on the plus side, this pub had no problems getting its fire lit. The good thing about being first in a pub is that you get the best seat in the house! A lunching couple arriving shortly after and look gutted as I smile up at them from the hearth. That bloody Stewart's glass is back again, and I'm not even drinking their ale here. This bloke with a battered suitcase (they'll batter anything in Scotland - thanks, still as funny now as it was on Twitter at the time) arrives. The guv'nor vaguely knows him. "It has been 7 years since I was last here!" says bloke, who seems to be a travelling beer salesman, back in the area after a long spell in the chokey (maybe), gets out a list, and talks about what he could do to liven up the lagers, and leaves with a few half promises having being made. Fascinating stuff, but I have a bus to catch.

I'm off out with the lads tomorrow, so see you on Wednesday 9pm for Part 10. We're sucking diesel now fellas, the dream of being fully caught up before my first 2023 holiday, circa 10th Feb, is still alive.

Si