Welcome back! We're seeing an upturn in pub quality already, which I think says a lot of the general standard of Glos et al ticks this holiday. NOT that I'd be rushing back to any of these.
Let's get straight into it ......
Brewhouse & Kitchen, Gloucester
First impression of Gloucester was 'a less pedestrian friendly Rochdale'. It did improve, starting when I reach the dockyards where pub #1 was located. I stand outside for 10 mins unable to fathom how come it isn't open when every online source says 11am. Well, it was open, I just needed to stop being a dick and push the door! The greeting is warm and breezy like a Sirocco wind in the Southern Mali. In fact, such is the camaraderie of our exchange, a kitchen guy pops his head around the corner expecting to recognise me as a local, brewhouse expert or supplier of hops. He's looks sad when he realises I'm a faceless pub ticker and vanishes into a plume of mash. Good ale is presented to me in an unnecessarily heavy handled jug. The giant bubble on the top is a satisfying pop, like a teenage zit. There's an empty bottle of Delirium Tremens on my table from last night, hammering home my early arrival. There's no other customers so nothing happens. I actually thought the B&K chain had gone bust circa 2020 but they keep plodding along, doing their own thing, much like Bob Dylan, Duckett & Crawley or Batchelor's Super Noodles.
Saracens Head, Symonds Yat East
It is so easy in this game to get all caught up and gooey about a pub's location, reviewing that rather than the pub itself. This was a basic wooden restaurant which just so happened to sell an excellent pint of Wye Valley Hopfather. Comparable examples would be the Black Lion at Consall Forge or closer to here, the Boat at Penallt. But in fairness, at least there's a basic pub aspect to both those. I perch outside in the extreme humidity with Colin and new BRAPA hero, Martyn FamilyRug, who has just parked the car having done amazingly to find the hairpin bend turning, joins me for his BRAPA debut highlighting. An announcement rings through the pub, the boat heading off to the other side of the river (Simmons Twat West?) is due to depart NOW. SYE is an astonishing place. A weird man made resort in the most unspoilt breathtaking scenery of the holiday. Sort of Matlock Bath meets Jurassic Park meets the beach in the Leonardo Di Caprio film of the same name. Had the Appleton sisters popped up to sing Pure Shores in my face, I wouldn't have been surprised. A must visit, but a bit bloody strange.
Falcon Steakhouse, Wotton-under-Edge
I'm conflicted by this meaty oddity. I enter through the door that says 'bar' and the young lad who greets me is one of the holiday's friendliest staff. And yet, I suffer 'square peg in a round hole' syndrome throughout, sat alone with my beef free pint (good, but not as good as the other two pints we've seen so far in this blog). "You may struggle to find a seat!" he claims. First thought is that he's been sarcastic because the place is empty. But the large blue leather bound menu and knives and forks on nearly EVERY table might suggest otherwise, especially when a huge group arrive to sit in a cubby hole just beneath me called 'The Nest' for a giant steak out. The bar room would be pubby if they kept it drinkers only. Still, the fan blows cool air on me, carpet is an 8, and the cool inner stone walls are good for resting a sunburnt forehead. They're proud of their place in the GBG too, which is always a good indicator. As are their 'bar commandments'.
How is it that when you're most in need of a wee, you get stuck behind a slow woman with a stick in narrow pub with the loos at the far end? The statuesque freckled barmaid with the countenance of a mid-ranking injury prone Czech tennis player clocks my frustration and chuckles. Sapperton is gorgeous, making nearby Cirencester look like war-torn Kyiv. Pub garden is full of poshos, I'm the only indoor drinker, but for a pub of this 'type', it has a surprisingly comfy attractive interior. Less said about the Uley Pale the better, 'farmhouse bitter lemon, tonic water and a hint of Lucozade' to quote my Untappd check in at the time. Our barmaid, the heaven sent beauty that she is, rolls her eyes at me shortly after because a spoilt grand daughter has just been in demanding ICE for the table. Her granny has dried up! Someone later orders a round of blackcurrant cordials. She thinks it odd. I tell her I 've a friend called Tom who drinks nothing else. We agree that due to potential tooth rot, beer is better for you, angelic #PubWoman she is. Time to get a rare bus back to Cirencester. "Good pint?" says the same bus driver I saw on the way here. It was that kinda part of hidden England.
Located on a particularly grotty main road just off centre, the above outlook had me expecting some right namby pamby gastro wankathon, but once inside, it is a proper fusty library book smeller with 9/10 spongey carpet, and a couple of lager drinking fag smokers out the back. One is the landlady, who runs inside to serve me. The theme of part three so far has been great staff, and she was one of those rough n ready diamonds who's been around the block, seen life. She's made for the hospitality industry, heart of gold. We have a lovely long chat, mostly about my airless Air B n B and having worked in that 'sector' before, it is her who gives me the final push to contact my host and ask for a fan ..... "You've paid good money, you shouldn't suffer in silence". By gum, she's right! It didn't work, but least I tried! Talking of things that are too warm, the Wadworth 6X is the temperature of a human kidney, but being a classic ale, it helps the flavours come to the fore.
Old Lodge, Minchinhampton
Out on on wild, windy moors, I pass a lady throwing a ball to her dog. I have a temper, with the bus driver, who didn't have a clue where 'Tom Long's Post' (bus stop) was, so just dumps me anywhere. "Same 'stop' on the way back?" I ask. "Errrrr, stand anywhere, hold out your arm, and he's BOUND to stop" is the unconvincing reply which means I'll definitely be catching an Uber back to civilisation. I dodge a few low flying golf balls and push the rusty iron gate. Some place this! Predictably not as exciting inside, though it has 'age', and 'depth'. The beer is Tom Long. Fitting. "Who is he anyway, some sort of Dick Turpin character?" I ask, peering at the pump clip design. He shrugs at me in a 'I'm Danish so I wouldn't know anything much' kinda way. It is all a bit boring after that, alone in the cosiest room. Atmospherically boring, the bitter decent. I must go to the loo about 5 times, earlier I'd necked a Jaipur in 20 mins after a coffee and a litre of Lucozade. At least it means I get to make friends with the pub hippo which looks like he's been stolen from an African tribe. #PubMan Sir Quinno relieves my boredom by sending an intriguing video about Stroud's mysterious meningitis cluster of the 80's. Talking of mysterious clusters, my BlueSky check-in gets an insane number of likes, possibly because some 'famous' author says I'm his new favourite account. Though I've not heard from him since! My taxi driver is here, as I dodge a final golf ball. He tells me I'm lucky he's bothered coming out here. He's lucky I'm paying him. End.
Horse & Groom, Upper Oddington
This 'Paul G. Cotswold chauffeuring masterclass' tick has done well to hold out until now in this unscientific countdown. Partly because the pints in the heat earlier that day mean my recollections of it aren't as good as the other 61 pubs this week. But perhaps also because it was a touch unmemorable, in a pretty Cotswolds way of course. Positives first. Cheeky bar chappie serving a fine fruity 3.4% ale called Pyoneer I'd been weirdly swerving all holiday until now. And the pub has its own shop / coffee / deli attached. Look, you can buy cream liquor and Haribo. BUT the pub stinks of lilies. And Paul announces he's allergic, uh oh! His symptoms present themselves in a strange way, as he starts quizzing the bar blockers on Neil Young's Glastonbury performance. I try to introduce a bit of Charli XCX to keep things relevant, but my 'BRAP Summer' joke fails to impress the old lady with angular shoulders. Yep, not a bad place. That was like regression therapy.
So there we go. I think you'll agree only three parts in and we are seeing some pretty solid pubs.
Join me in a day or two for part 4, I'm looking at the list ... looks quite middle of the road / dull but I'll try my darndest to make it entertaining.
Have a good weekend, and keep it pub,
Si
How is it that when you're most in need of a wee, you get stuck behind a slow woman with a stick in narrow pub with the loos at the far end?
Patience young man. Actually, I'd have jumped into those plants and gone round her, like Doku does.