BRAPA ... GLOUCESTERSHIRE COUNTDOWN : PT 6/9 (WHAT'S IT LIKE TO SEE A STROUD? - PUBS 31-25)
Si Everitt
2 minutes ago
6 min read
These lot are actually good, and we've still got three parts to go after this one. Gloucestershire - better than Oxfordshire, Norfolk and the Lothians.
Inferno Brewery Tap, Tewkesbury
With the weather so boiling, the last thing you want is a tick with a hot name like 'INFERNO'. What's more, the fire station opposite is having an 'open day'. I ask our genial host if the fire station was the inspiration behind their name. No. In fact I'm the first person to ever make that connection. Because I'm cleverer than most people (he didn't say that). I order a pint of 'Cinder'. I assume it is a Cinder Toffee stout .... Crunchie in a glass, beautiful like that New Bristol one. But no, it is just called Cinder because that is another fiery word. I just CANNOT imagine this place in the winter. Maybe it shuts for six months. The 'bar' is a small out building. The outdoor loos more resemble a pub. Wanted to take a photo but there's a kid playing in front of them throughout and even in the spirit of BRAPA, ya can't photograph children! His parents are setting up some Inferno music festival at the marquee out back so that's where I rest my pint. Kneecap probably heading down later. A couple with untypically (for this holiday) northern accents join us and try and get their dog to make friends with the kid. It doesn't work, the kid is bundled into a van and everyone disperses. I return my glass, bloke asks if I want another. No, I'm off to Bredon which I mispronounce, which is rubbish by comparison.
Star Inn, Wotton-under-Edge
The contrast between front and back bar was like night and day after the most painful bus ride of the holiday ... a winding rural one from Stroud made worse by a road closure near Dursley ... NOT that anyone told me we'd be going the long way around and arriving 20 mins late. Bus drivers aren't the most helpful creatures. Anyway, I walk in and boom, hit by giant Pride flag (the gay thing, not the London beer) and a bunch of sycophantic twentysomethings obsessed with drinking shit fizz in skin blistering heat - good riddance as they toddle off to their dire suntrap. The back bar is a grumpy codge hole - perfect, I know MY kinda people when I see them. They scowl as I order a beer called Bob, ask for a WiFi code and sit down in their area. Three blokes all called John are present. I know this because a Colin wanders in and says 'all three John's together!' Two Colin's, three John's and a Simon. Next, a jokey nameless guy (we'll call him Bob to match my ale) arrives, he has an asthmatic wheeze and a gammy leg. They talk carrots and stuff. Lovely stuff, sometimes misery actually IS company.
One Colin, three John's
Jolly Brewmaster, Cheltenham
A month ago today, cor I really am behind on my blogs. This is without a doubt one of Cheltenham's strongest pubs. Dark wood panelling and sunny stained glass give it a 'touched by God but not in a dodgy way' atmosphere, especially if you are on the way to pissedness like I was. Staff are very chirpy, and because people are generally herd mentality idiots, they migrate outside preferring stifling 30 degree heat to sitting under a cooling fan in a delightful dark church of booze. The ale is fuzzy goodness, Good Chemistry whoever they are, and Kelly from the brewery can see I'm having it despite the blurred photo and hopes I'm enjoying it which makes me enjoy it more weirdly. Then Savannah from my arid Air B n B rings to see how I'm settling in, giving me the WiFi code of the hottest property in Sweltenham. Pub five wasn't the best time for this chat, but I hope I feigned sobriety.
Forge Hammer, Lydbrook
Peculiarly enjoyable space oddity deep in the Forest of Dean, once a thrumming hub of mining, now the only sounds are birds twittering, wind gusting through the trees, and the whirring of a Grade II listed burger van. Mine chauffeur Martyn has been here before, and warns me about the grumpy guv'nor. True to form, he's giving the guy at the bar next to us a hard time, poor guy gives me the side-eye for reassurance. There's no carpet but a 9/10 curtain blocking out the sunlight, I suspect he's a curmudgeonly vampire, he certainly has a Lucius Malfoy hairdo and aura, but not Auror (that's the only BRAPA Harry Potter joke I'll ever attempt, sorry). But as time goes on, I realise it is just one of those 'endearing schticks', the long suffering publican, and he's secretly 'heart of gold'. He just likes people to order a pint, sit down, shut up, no daytripper bollocks like the hi-vis canoe cockney mafia who arrive next. I'd be the same if I ran a pub, god help you all. Place does its own ales too - refreshing, meaty AND malty. The place is cool due to ancient thick walls, and smells of Louis XIV armpit. I recommend.
Red Hart, Blaisdon
Rustic lived-in motherfucker which balances the tightrope between "Si, welcome to our humble abode, we adore you, make yourself at home" and "Get out of our village, we don't recognise your face and we don't much care for interloping ticking scum". I'd arrived well before noon so I'm forced to lurk in this narrow one-lane village, which had curtains twitching. By 11:55am, I decide to sit in their beer garden and soon find two ladies peering over at me. "Just checking you haven't got a drink yet!" one shouts. Stringy Bob appears through a gate in the fence just behind me. This man on a mission makes a beeline for pub entrance so I follow. I'm astonished it is open and already bristling with old blokes in their tweed and wellies and long white Santa beards and fox shotguns looking almost identical, ruddy cheeks, frothy metal tankards in hand. They're talking about bell ringing. OF COURSE THEY ARE, 'twas either gonna be that or Morris dancing. Glastonbury beer is on for the first time this holiday, just in time for the festival starting today, it is called Love Monkey, I ask for LoveHoney. Ooops. think I got away with it. High quality pub, I secrete myself in a wooden inlet and drink quickish. A few more awkward glances and peering, but all good. Back up at the top of the main road (about a 15 min walk), I don't think my bus is going to arrive (not tracking on live bus times at all) but because I've been watching a BBC tennis documentary most evenings, the (slightly whiny American) voice of Serena Williams tells me "don't give up hope Si" and right that second, it arrives. Ace!
Railway, Cheltenham
This perky pinky backstreeter was a fine way to end my Chelt-numb tickathon, 7pm one muggy evening. The hot news is that the pub recently broke their beer tie with whoever they were tied to by proving they were under filling the barrels (thanks Ian off of X), and oh boy did they like to remind you! I must've only heard it about five times whilst I was there, which for a 35 min stay was quite impressive as I nurse my final pint. Suffice to say, my "Almost as good as Wetherspoons!" comment when the barmaid tells me how cheap their 'discounted' beer was (£4 so it really wasn't!) earns me a mild rebuke. "Don't mention the W word in here .... we are an independent craft beer bar" she says. One 'W' word more acceptable may be 'WokeSi2025' because for a traditional back streeter, it was very 'progressive'. Nose rings, bodgy tats of Frida Kahlo. Wistful gig memories of Korn and Deftones are recounted as if they were bands from the Renaissance. A potentially awkward Open Mic night act is setting up near me so I drink the second half away in their semi-leafy 'garden'. The ale is by Tiley's (my brewery of the week), utterly superb. And the pub shimmers in places, I'd recommend a visit.
Prince Albert, Stroud
And we end part six with another impressive quirky twist on the traditional inn, youthful, colourful and full of life (eventually) - a style which much like my favourite Rutland Arms in Sheffield I reckon will be the saviour of pubs. Shame I was pissed off with the gaff before I'd arrived, due to contradictory opening hours on their social media. They'd not answered the phone either so I hung around til 4:45pm to be on the safe side. It is a killer of an uphill climb, and despite stopping halfway for a breather, I'm a drippy mess when I arrive. The kind landlady offers me a pint of icy tap water to accompany another amazing Tiley's (red ale, whatever that is!), and although I learn they really have been open since 4pm, I've literally had cold water poured on any pre-pub resentment I'd felt! I sit in the far corner because I don't want to catch 1980's meningitis or modern day Hep C. A move which suits the Stroudians too, who are much more comfortable smiling at strangers from afar than dealing with them at close quarters. And the fact they've kept my fellow pub ticker's graffiti in the gents was of some comfort .... I WILL complete the GBG one day (if they keep publishing it!)
RetiredMartin's 'Execute Order '66' was less sinister than you might believe
I'll try and bang part 7 out on Wednesday, I've just received an email from CAMRA saying my GBG 2026 GBG privilege direct debit is going to be applied, shit's getting real!
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