Ever since my return from Glamorgan, I've been listening to Kate Bush. I don't know why. If you are aware of any scientific reasoning behind it, please let me know.
Anyway, three more fixtures tonight, as we try and discover which was the best out of 22 pubs I visited on my recent Welsh rare-tick.
National Tap (Aberdare) v Gatekeeper (Cardiff)
Back in the good old days, chicken n' beans was the standard pre-match fayre for the footballer, but times have changed. BRAPA Sports Scientists here have me on vegan jaffa cake and coffee as we wait patiently for the 4pm kick off time. Bloody Si Sports! The drizzly rain doesn't help, & there's a further pitstop required at a card shop to buy BRAPA a 10th birthday card. But good things come to those who wait (unless they are going to Buxton Cellar Bar) and this was a strong effort from the local Grey Trees. Our gaffer immediately has me pinned as a Hull City. I'd not even ordered haaalf a laaager for one narnty narn! Swansea fan he is, amazing selective memory helps him remember their win at our place, yet has no recollection of them effing up a 2-0 lead to draw with us at the Liberty. The stout glides across my palette like prime Wilfred Bony, and an old man with dementia sends his wife into the rain to make sure the car is locked. A jealous boyfriend gets huffy cos his gf smiles at Brekkie the Sheep. G'wan Brekkie lad! I return my empty glass to pleas of "you WILL win on Saturday won't you?' I promise I'll try.
Who doesn't love a blurry 11:35pm City Centre 'Spoons? That last orders ref's whistle hasn't sounded yet, so I'm in luck. £4 off the 'manager's special Sausage, Chips and Beans' emblazoned across the bar, now that's a pre-match meal the likes of Wally Downes and Micky Gynn could get behind , but were they really still serving scran at this hour? The Exeter Darkness is off, but the Coach House Blueberry is a lot juicier than my previous pint of it in Padiham's Stabbers Arms. The carpet is an excellent 9/10, a wispy flame pattern, fire breathing dragon? The remaining clientele are unsurprisingly odd. Especially when I climb the 50 steps to the loos, an old man is singing to himself in a cubicle, then a gang of six lads race around the building drinkless, and I'm not sure why they are here or what they hope to achieve. 00:01 and a barmaid tells me they are closed now, an interesting take on last orders / time at the bar. But I can sit here and proudly glow. Train arrived into Cardiff 21:53. I got checked in at my hotel, bought a Tesco bag of food, and STILL got 4 ticks in. Top BRAPPING.
Full time ..... NATIONAL TAP 2-1 GATEKEEPER
Tonight's second fixture takes us to the outpost of Penderyn, one of the trickier places to go and get a result, as we can see from the below pre-match snapshots ......
Red Lion (Penderyn) v Sir Samuel Romilly (Barry)
Plenty of activity outside so I've got no qualms about following the arriving staff inside at 11:50am, ten minutes before official opening which was great news because it means I can get the hourly 12:27pm bus back from Penderyn centre (if Penderyn does have a centre, it isn't here!) The staff are brittle but cutesie, all Chloe's, Ella's and Myfanwy's and when I confess I'm not eating, they look heartbroken and funnel me around to a smashing front bar, roaring fire - two blokes and an old lady are discussing Pendryn 'mysteries of the past', tales and fables. Surely paid actors for the benefit of the gullible pub ticker? But they seem genuine, and take it in turns to pop behind the bar for drinks, or to stoke the fire, or welcome a diner. I just cannot fathom whether they work here or not! I'm barely noticed, certainly no chance of being included, despite my close proximity, but the Bass and atmosphere are so good I don't care. When I return my glass, they chirp (somewhat pointedly) "please come again!" which sounds more like a challenge than an offer! "Errm, I'll try" I lie, but actually, in retrospect, there's a tricky tick near some waterfalls in Mid Wales and this might actually be a decent staging post!
Named after a former local rich bastard, you can barely move in Barry 'Spoons circa 6pm on this Saturday evening ...... Sir Timbo will be rubbing his miserly hands with glee as Sir Sam used to. Firstly, we must praise the staff. Bar area is amazingly clear, and as we cautiously step barwards, three staff are immediately on us. Great man marking. No idea what my Elgood's Gold Newt tastes like, all my other senses are pre-occupied, I can't think about taste. 7/10 carpet has me craving a pint of John Smith's Magnet. How we get sat down is something of a miracle, a Welsh blonde nomad is determined to take what chairs she can, but then refuses to sit at any of them. Although you can appreciate a level of ornateness and beauty, it is impossible to remotely enjoy the pub experience this evening, victim of its own success! Bouncer on the door as we leave (not the dog from Neighbours) sums it up.
Full time - Red Lion 2-1 Sir Samuel Romilly
Our final fixture on this chilly Friday evening takes us back to the signal free land of Cowbridge, a town that doesn't even sound Welsh. Not a fan. The visitors come from the hills outside Cardiff.
Vale of Glamorgan Inn (Cowbridge) v Gwaelod Y Garth Inn (Cardiff)
I'd doff my tatty old man's cap to this pub out of respect for its attractive curmudgeonly old school ways, but it doesn't mean my time in here was an unequivocal success. I nearly ended up grooming dogs next door, but with the phone reception in Cowbridge as it is, I don't know how you could do any grooming, at least in modern parlance (that was an attempt at humour, try to keep up). Part of the problem was my ongoing Friday quest to pick the weakest percentage ale in every pub. Hancock's HB was the chosen one here. YUCK! If its supposed to taste like that, which I have no doubt it is, so bland it made Greene King IPA taste like Ossett White Rat. No WiFi, no point asking, so full of gnarly old folk you'd only end up looking like a 21st century wanker. So my Hancock's half hour quickly became a Hancock's 25 mins as I neck it, one last trip to the rugged outdoor loos, and then to the bus stop where I chat to a few old dears and am relieved to escape suffocating Cowbridge.
Out of Taff's Well station, over a river, through some hilly woodland, they've put a bench at each incline for folk even less fit than me. It's peeing it down as usual, late afternoon turns to early evening, and this pub is proving popular despite the location/weather. Judging by my X/Twitter, the best supported pub I visit all week. As the old saying goes 'Gwaelod Y Garth would've taken more'. Barmaid notices my puffin' and blowin'. "You come up the hill or down the mountain?" Yes, this is only the foot of the mountain, which was actually a hill itself til recently when they built an extra bit on the top so they could call it an official mountain! My beer is called 'Strange Lights over the Garth'. 'UFO sightings?' I ask. She says maybe, but most likely motorbikes. Anyway, nice little chat. If one thing was lacking from my Glamorgan holiday, it was random chats with staff/punters. Pub smells beautifully of woodsmoke, yet in the chaos of the main bar, it is more restaurant than pub. Shame, especially when a trip to the loo through the saloon bar reveals 'what might've been' as a few locals play pool - but sadly no seats are present. Some after work white wine snobbers end up perching on the end of my table, forced to stand due to the reservations.
Full time, this had been real tough one to call. Good and bad in both.
Vale of Glamorgan 2-3 Gwaelod Y Garth
Just two fixtures left, which we'll take a look at on Sunday/Monday, and try and pick an overall winner from the 11 successful pubs.
Enjoy your weekends, Si
