Three more fixtures from arguably the second best pub/football/dice themed competition in the world ....... (the first being @DicePub on X/Twitter)
Mountain Hare (Brynnau Gwynion) v Whitcombe Inn, Aberdare
A difficult place to go and get a result, up in them thar hills but at least we're on a bus route, and as predicted by the windscreens van, this was a very 'able' pub. I've done my research so my opening gambit is "this pub has been in the same family for 40 yrs" to which the barmaid / landlady replies "I know, I am family" and I thought we were gonna break into Sister Sledge chorus, but a very nice Bristol Beer Factory brew will have to do. A GBG regular and it feels it. One of those pubs that just 'is', no bells and whistles, unshakable, groaning with centuries of pub spirits, an atmosphere speaks for itself. Long and Welsh, a small boy in a penguin suit in the backroom is pinching sandwiches from a giant buffet table, a Welsh flag flaps against the ceiling, and some Scottish old boys lean against the red and wood panelling transfixed to 'The Chase' like the Glasgow derby. I show them up with my superior Bittern knowledge. But had this pub done enough to make it through to round two?
Cruel first round fixture this one as these were two of my strongest pubs all week. LOVED the Whitcombe. It gave 'friendly' where so many other Glamorgan pubs fell short. Ignore the horrid grey exterior blending in against the grey Aberdare midweek drizzle, the general attitude is as colourful as anything I've witnessed down this way. Welshest accents of the week too. Pool playing scally lads in the back ask if the cobs (or whatever the South Wales word is for them) are free, and get short shrift - then they put a bit of Linkin Park on when I was at least expecting Goldie Lookin' Chain, Tom Jones or Crazy Frog. Pint of Butty Bach, a beer I find sweet like Doom Bar, but it has a better reputation presumably because it is less common, and half a Sea Fury for mascot of the week Brekkie the Sheep, doing sterling work in Col's absence, not far from his Brecon birthplace. Although I'm sat behind the barflies (don't wanna call them blockers because they aren't only contributing to the cracking atmos, they MAKE it. My fav lady agrees that Amsterdam is grotty, and folk turn around at regular intervals to make sure I'm enjoying myself / laughing at their terrible jokes.
Full time : Mountain Hare 3-3 Whitcombe Inn ( Whitcombe wins 2-6 on dice roll / pens)
Little Penybont Arms (Pencoed) v Butterfly Collector (Barry)
A Micropub derby awaits us for game two, and the atmos is building. Sadly I can't find the turnstiles / entrance, what a strange little gate / raised area ... impossible to work out on sixth pint of the day! But what a reception from the crowd. Joint friendliest pub all week with the Whitcombe. Manager is a right livewire. Think a younger friendly Welsh Jim McLean without the fists. Stood at the bar, equally excitable puppy dog style couple, where my explanation of BRAPA is the equivalent of throwing them a squeaky ball. The Thornbridge Market porter drinks very well considering they hate me in their pubs, but we must learn to forgive and forget. I kinda wished with hindsight I'd gone 'Fallen Hero' by Buxton because I had it in their poxy Cellar Bar and it didn't taste anything like beer! Puppy couple are determined to stay standing, and are close to leaving, I'm desperate to sit, so we part, though they are so nice, they introduce me to a professional Welsh singer. He doesn't sing but his voice has great timbre. He's been all over the country. Like me. I don't sing unless I've had ESB. "I've even been to Hull" he projects, impressively. Sadly, there is just no clickage between us and when I need the loo, you can tell we are both relieved to get away from each other. Few mins later, he spies a couple he knows on a high stool and asks if I mind if he joins them. It'll be a relief to us all (so I say yes) and chat more freely with Brekkie the Sheep who has some interesting views on Israel and pot holes in West Lancs. It is pissing it down when we leave, so I'm glad Pencoed train station is just round the corner.
But when you can bring Daddy BRAPA off the bench in the 66th minute, ooosh, the Liam Delap of pubgoers, I think that is what you call an emBARRYsment of riches. And the Butterfly Collector didn't need much help, it is a gem. Upside down brollies on the ceiling, is that how you catch them? Quirky, colourful, relaxed with low leather settees enveloping a couple who have almost been swallowed up, or swallowed each other, but best we don't to overthink that one! Lady in charge is a natural, born to butterfly. When she's sorted the drinkers out, she gets Mr Butterfly and the young boy Butterfly around a table at the far end for a family dinner. This is what pubs should be. One slight gripe, apart from having left Brekkie the Sheep in the hotel, is my Grey Trees Stout which was so fab in Aberdare's National Tap the day before is just not quite of the same standard here. With dusk falling and Storm Kathleen paggering the Barry coastline, this was a cosy place to complete my 22nd and final tick of the week. Shame we had to leave!
Full Time : Little Penybont 1 (YJ McLean 23) Butterfly Collector 3 (Lady Butterfly 46, D. BRAPA 71,87).
Final fixture tonight ......
Barry West End Club (Barry) v Owain Glyndyr (Cardiff)
And now we see Daddy BRAPA starting a game for his new loan side, Barry journeyman extraordinnaire! Fresh outta mauling Cardiff, we arrive euphoric at this cute little Barry club and although the two young Bluebirds who arrive just in front of us are given a good grilling re their club credentials, our old skool hostess surprisingly gives us a free pass just as I'm flexing my CAMRA card. The HPA is drinking with an extra citrus punch this evening. Bonus point for the green Stabilo rattling around in the bingo tin, and much respect to the local CCFC fans who have managed to change their shirts into Liverpool and Arsenal replicas, and are now settling down in front of the Gooners v Seagulls like all they were ever interested in was the Premier League. Solid clubbing this. "In a West End club, a dead end town, the east end boys, and west end girls" they chant from the terraces, as I manage to find the loos in injury time.
Rewind to the start of my Glamorgan tick-a-thon, and like Messi before him, Daddy BRAPA can't do it on wet Wednesday night in Cardiff - just me and Brekkie the Sheep for this one. Almost literally. "They're here, they're there, they're every flippin' where, empty seats, empty seats" chant the Barry West Enders as I order a Cwrw Gorslas, overpriced and not a patch on the quality it was in the Clytha Arms up in rural Gwent. The pub is a touch bland, spartan, bit of a try hard Welsh Nationalist, the ghost of Owain Glyndwr appears at my table. Uh oh. But he's a sound lad. "I'm not a fan of the English, but you're one of us as far as I'm concerned" he tells me. Reassuring. When the crazy far corner group and cricket trio leave, it is just me and two lasses I unwittingly (honest!) followed in from the Head of Steam - they too must be trying to tick the Cardiff GBG entries before midnight! Just when I think there's zero chance of drama occurring, a barmaid trots over in a flap. "Have you used the disabled loo recently?" she asks. I protest my innocence, but obviously look the type, and I am! But not here. Has she tried Big John? Curiosity gets the better of me and I later ask her colleague what's going on. Someone's 'accidentally' nicked the key. Could be the ghost of Owain, might have mistaken it for one which opens a treasure chest, bursting with a Celtic hoard of riches? She doesn't seem convinced. In fact, I just look more guilty now, oops.
