BRAPA .... GETS A YELLOW CARD, PUB TICKING SHOULDN'T BE THIS HARD (from Chester to Liverpool)

Thursday 12th December, 12:30pm

Word up! Complacency sets in after last week's accidental late night Wrexham slippage, and I'm thinking "...this time I'm sticking to the Chester area, so it will be a much easier day."

WRONG!

It all started sensibly enough, as I take the short trip out east of Chester to Kelsall, where a GBG debutant brewery tap could be found lurking down country lanes outside the village.

Painted grey to compliment the overcast wintry sky, Weetwood Tap, Kelsall (2866 / 5350) lacked a carpet to rate, so I'm going to award it a 9/10 on the BRAPA Ambient Temperate (BAT scale) - new for 2025 (even though this happened in 2024). Always a relief when you wander into somewhere operating more as shop than pub. I'm the only customer early on who isn't buying Christmas whisky for their Scottish uncle. Kate Bush is squawking on the radio, and our pleasant barmaid is soon up on a high table tap-tap-tapping away at a laptop doing vital Tap work. An interesting piece on London boozers starts up on Radio Weetwood, but annoying loads of stodgy scarf blokes enter at this moment to drown it out with whisky queries. My chair has a fluffy bathmat on the back for added comfort as I enjoy my 'Old Dog' the darkest of the five cask beers they had on, only a standard bitter which is a shame. Someone asks for a beermat, I realise 'I could do with one of those', leap up, grab a few, and hand them out to any other beermatless customers. Barmaid sees and apologises, but I don't command a wage for my services to Weetwood brewery, I'm selfless like that. A solid if unspectacular start, with no clue at this stage as to how the day would unfurl.

With too much time to kill before the hourly bus back to Chester, I decide to pop into a Brunning & Price called the Morris Dancer and colour me impressed! I've been to plenty worse GBG listed B&P pubs, I can tell you that for nowt! Amazing cricket themed Caribbean Salop dark, some very lovely staff, and a man with huge beer gut with a Grinch Christmas jumper on walking around being fabulous. Not sure if this pub has ever been in a Good Beer Guide previously, but it deserves it on this showing.

My corner

Back in Chester, one of my two needed ticks doesn't open til 4pm (tsk!) so I can take my time in the one that is .... and I wasted a good five minutes trying to find the entrance door, and then the stairs leading upstairs to the beer section!

I've never been to Belgium so I wouldn't know, but I'd wager that Cavern of the Curious Gnome, Chester (2867 / 5351) is a fairly adequate representation. I enjoyed it anyway. From the toadstool bar stools, to the giant overheard gnome, to the wooden flip up seats arranged into benches like you're at Bloomfield Road circa 1995 when 'Spanner' Allison grabs you an unlikely 1-1 draw. Service is diabolically slow, not sure if that's an aspect of euro cafe culture' but I realise that if so, I'm too English and uptight to swoon effortlessly into it. When I complete the Guide / need a change of pace, I'll explore. Scandinavia's always interested me. This place is close to pitch black, yes I think that was the favourite feature of all. I really enjoy dark pubs. Darker the better. So long as no one with infrared night goggles nicks your mascot like in that dream I had after all that brie. I order two halves, it just felt right. A sessiony La Chouffe and this insane Damson Plum Cobbler - sweet n sour like pork balls in Upton upon Severn. The first couple who sit with me are quite awkward in their own skin, but the trio who follow spark some BRAPA chat which lights the blue touch-paper on a very sociable afternoon / evening. My epic day really came to life here in the Gnome.

4pm had crept up on me like you wouldn't believe, so it was time to make the 20 minute trek across town to my final Chester tick.

And my interest was piqued because when I'd told the Gnome Trio where I was going, they started explaining / debating between themselves re. what I'd find. "It isn't like anywhere else I've ever been to" "Sort of like a small warehouse cum industrial unit, but not a brewery". "Sparse and barren inside, yet very friendly". "Has some warmth though, not chilly like you'd think". "Plenty of beers on, ya don't need to worry about that". "Not a lot of the usual stuff you find in pubs like pool tables and TVs showing the horse racing!" "The strangest style of pub I've ever seen in my life, if you can EVEN call it that!"

Can you tell what it is yet? Sorry to quote Uncle Rolf. Oh, a MICROPUB! It was like the trio had been blissfully unaware of the concept, let alone having been in any others. Mr Hillier would be turning in his grave, if he wasn't still alive. Had me agog anyway. Bluestone, Chester (2868 / 5352) was a bit of an anti-climax after that build-up through no fault of its own. Just your common or garden micro situated in a precinct of shops with a tasty Yorkshirey beer range and some reassuringly smiley locals with a hint of the North Welsh dragon in their blood having an after-work laugh. I need say no more, or should that be Gnome-more, cos the trio had said it all!

Dark haired lady wins award for friendliest customer

The sensible thing to do at this point was make my way back Chester station and homeward bound for York.

But I don't really do sensible and instead I'm seduced by the prospect of two more Cheshire ticks, first Childer Thornton and then Ellesmere Port. 'North so sort of on the way home' I told myself not too convincingly.

Had I more Wirral ticks remaining, I might've paired them with Merseyside on another day, but as my only one is right up at Liscard, approaching them from Chester made some sense.

It did require a change of train, at somewhere I'd never heard of called Hooton, just to get another place I'd never heard of called Little Sutton.

Then I realise the pub is about as close to Hooton as Little Sutton, so set off walking. In the dark, on a country lane. smell of wet manure in the air, phone as my torch, eating through my battery, was this really a good idea?

At least I'm rewarded for my efforts because Halfway House, Childer Thornton (2869 / 5353) is a proper community boozer, the likes of which I hadn't seen so far. Eclipsing my previous visit to Childer Thornton in 2017 when I ticked the rather uninspiring dining pub White Lion, where the weird pub shape meant sitting outside seemed the best option despite the chilly late August breeze. The 2018 GBG had just been delivered to some lucky folk so I was cajoling a friend into telling me Cheshire's new entries. "I've got a 10 minute window while I have my coffee break cos I'm supposed to be gardening!" he grumbled, but did it. #NeverForget Anyway, back to present day and after a few "arites" and "ayes" and "oohs" and "grrs", I walk my Weetwood Harlequin around the corner and sit with this lovely couple. They've been here a while, chatting to whichever random waif & stray appears next, 'forcing' them to stay for extra drinks due to their fascination with the human condition (probably). And now I have a new BlueSky follower. AND he posted my BlueSky post onto the pub's Facebook. HOW LOVELY! Had to dash though if I'm to get this next Ellesmere Port train. The race was on!

C'mon Col, you're facing the wrong way, you need to be monitoring these guest tickers! (remember the Paul G incident on Saturday?)

I literally did have to run to some extent, or quick jog at least, to make it to Little Sutton station in time. But the train is on time, and soon I'm hot footing it through Ellesmere Port (never been here before, emotional BRAPA moment) to a suburb called Whitby, which didn't look anything like the Whitby you see on the postcards, but never mind that .....

...because precinct micropub Bondies Bar, Ellesmere Port (2870 / 5354) had the bonhomie you need when you've bitten off more than you can chew with regards late night pub ticking too far from home. The guv'nor is a fantastic human being, interested in his newest visitor (that's me, please try to keep up with this abysmal narrative), a fine sounding board re. 'how the flip do I get home from here?' No idea what stout I'm drinking by the way which is symptomatic of the way the night was going, but it was darn good on a day when dark beers had been annoyingly hard to come by. My only achievable route home involves a long bus replacement around Huddersfield, in York 2am, so a Liverpool overnighter makes most sense. Whilst I'm booking it, a friendly chatty man on the table in front of me is so excited by BRAPA, he keeps breaking me off for a Q&A session. He keeps trying to involve his other half in this, but she just grunts unimpressed, which is something of a relief cos I wanna book this hotel now! To help me along the way, mine host (Dave they call him, possibly because it is his name) says he'll momentarily leave his post to drive me back to the station. He introduces me to his regulars on the way out, and they're all lovely. Legend.

Above and beyond! Third time this has happened in BRAPA history I recall, could be more. Ockbrook in Derbyshire and a Northants village called Tiffield(?) Dave tells me he often does this for his locals too, incredible.

Chuffed I remember to buy a Merseyrail ticket AT ALL, but it is one of those codes you are supposed to print out, like it is 2010 or something - even though I'd bought it on my phone.

"Surely they won't care at this time of night" I'm thinking, but as we approach Liverpool, the ticket inspector says he's giving me a 'yellow card' for failure to print it off, and says it works in the same way it does in football and I'm like "yeah, I know the rules mate!" Seemed a harsh booking, but bloke behind me was getting a straight red for a two footed lunge in the Birkenheads so it could've been worse.

Well, as it ain't quite last orders and all I'm booked in, I may as well make the most of it and get another tick in before last orders. And there's one on Lime Street itself, so that's handy!

Liverpool Brewing Company Tap, Liverpool (2871 / 5355) is a blurry colourful swirl of shabby chic, fake art deco cutesieness. I decamp at the bar, shake my head in disbelief at tonight's events, take a big swig from a newly bought bottle of water, tell Colin 'STAY' and spend the next five minutes in the loos composing myself. Colin is guarding my pint when I return, Carnival Carmen, a pump clip as bright as the pub. Good hazy drop. Punters are all very scouse, woolly and bespectacled. It might be a John Lennon tribute night. I sit at the bar, untense my arsecheeks and chuckle, trying and create a relaxed illusion of a man who is purposefully here and staying overnight in the 'Pool was always my intention, but who am I trying to convince, them or myself? Or Colin?

Vital work you're doing mate (Colin I mean, but probably the barman too)

Least convincing John Lennon tribute night EVER!

I manage to buy some late night snacks from a Tesco Express, get a solid 5.5 hours sleep - stubbed my toe on the bed in the night and still have a purple line beneath my toenail a month later.

Hobbled to Lime Street for the earliest direct train to York before 6am, and was back in York 8:05am, told my colleagues I was signing on to my laptop, rushed home and did just that! Felt like a zombie all day! Was too much. #ThirstyThursdays were never supposed to be this thirsty, 3-4 pubs will suffice. Note to self for future ref. I just hope I listen!

And I hope I'm back tomorrow to tell you what's hot and what's not in Coventry.

Si