Hi all, getting this one out early before our inevitable Vigintennial / Vicennial / Bidecennial disappointment against the Argies. Probably with FIFA input, who knows?
For a second consecutive weekend, it was up to the North Yorkshire / County Durham borderlands by car courtesy of BRAPA #PubMan of the decade Daddy BRAPA, or Bernard Gerald as he used to be known pre-2014.
Today had the added twist of being a Sunday BRAP, a rare phenomena found only in June so that (a) I can fully recover from a boozy Friday night at Poppleton beer festival and (b) there's always a pub I need to tick with silly hours like '5pm Sat but 12 noon Sun'.
Up first though, an alleged 11am opener in big Dom Cummings favourite town of Barnard Castle.
'11am non-Spoons on a Sunday?' hmmm, I was skeptical so we agree to arrive approx 11:30, sort of hedging our bets. And it didn't look too open. Maybe I needed my eyes tested?
"I tell yer what Dad, you pose outside looking unworried and then we'll worry about gettin' in" I says like a pro.
The personification of 'unworried'
But no sooner has the iPhone camera shutter clicked, the door behind Dad is unlocked and creaks open. Surprised, we dash to the bar, old duffers streaming towards it from different angles, the staff behaving as though they've been open since 11 like 'What kept you all?' But the main thing is we're in. Three Horseshoes, Barnard Castle (3474 / 6264). If, during the 2036 Ebola Pandemic, I'm stuck at home bored and decide to write a blog called 'The Ten Most Forgettable Pubs of 2026 : 10 years on' you can bet your rabid monkey glands that this will appear. You can scan Barnard Castle marketplace and see a dozen similarly appointed hotel bars. No doubt all with one or two handpumps selling average quality cask. Although 'average' is kind to this Darwin Evolution, as I accidentally keep this ape theme alive. Tastes of chalky fluff. The hotel bar is beige, grey and I could say a bit anodyne, but I'll save that word for later in the piece. Dad is one of the youngest whippersnappers here, but as we approach noon and the lunch bell tolls, some staff urgency finally kicks in. Absolute GBG filler, no killer.
A rare outing for O.G. Colin, who still won't officially retire like a Rolling Stone
But it is pub two that is today's creature feature. King Kong meet the Brain Eaters from Mars. The one that only opens at a sensible time on a Sunday.
Situated just back across the border in the beautiful serene North Yorks village of Ravensworth. As I described in the last blog at Middleton One Row, undulating swathes of green abound with handsome stone houses lining the village. We have to park a bit away from the pub and walk to it down a gravel track which only adds to the sense of occasion. M.O.R. looks like Northallerton by comparison.
I wrongly assume that the Bay Horse, Ravensworth (3475 / 6265) is going to be a Sunday dinner feeding frenzy, we'd be square pegs in round holes, probably forced to sit at the bar or outside and this is the only real reason they open before their normal 5:30pm. But I'm very wrong, it is a quite special independent pub with the warmest of welcomes and quite the commitment to ale. Easily pub of the day. The guv'nor spies my battered GBG (studiously ignoring Colin Snr, time to retire mate!) and is over for a reet chinwag. I'm not saying there ain't plenty of food going on, but that just makes the staff's attentiveness and feeling that we're in a 'proper pub' even more remarkable. The Wensleydale Arizona Sky is first class, and what a monkey off the back for me (why am I obsessed with monkey's today?) in terms of a tick I've been trying to get here for a few years. A must visit, IF you can make it work.
Speaking of GBG ticks with tough hours, I didn't want to leave this next one too late what with its alleged casual attitude to opening hours.
RetiredMartin nearly drove off disappointed, thinking she wasn't opening because it was gone 12 noon. And Leon (not the company I get my posh pollock fish fingers from) arrived before 4pm to find it already shut.
Found on the outskirts of Richmond. Thankfully not too far from home. One of those towns which manages to find something new to put in the Guide almost every single year - one of a few reasons I'm glad I don't wake up in Taunton every day of my life.
In huge converted former station premises (which took us a while to find due to my imperfect navigation) I finally spot the damn thing by dint of seeing a GBG window sticker from ten paces......
Dad says he'll sit this one out, go for a wander and 'come and find me in a bit' so I wander into Brewstation, Richmond (3476 / 6266) alone. A standard but larger than normal bottle-o. The weather's warming up nicely (a bit too nicely) for my main two weeks off work, and all the punters (including a Scottie dog in a pram) are sat on humid benches outside, indoors it's totally empty. Our trolllied hostess gives me bonus points for selecting their porter despite the heat, and I'm a bit worried it won't have been turned over much, but it tastes great. A trip to the loos is my abiding memory. Pardon my French but fuck me I'm never complaining about a Wetherspoons toilet trek ever again. All the way to the cinema I must walk, and retrace my steps to find Brewstation tucked in amongst an ice cream parlour and twee bakery, where a sombre ombre-haired woman says hello i.e. please come in and buy a northern tart. I didn't, and a breezy Daddy soon wanders into the bar with an air of the 'what-of-it'. He either ordered a coffee or loomed over me waiting for me to finish my pint. Look, it was too long ago.
Our penultimate tick had us swinging back into county Durham, good progress up here of late. But will I complete it before the new Guide 'drops' (ugh)? Sedgefield computer says unlikely mate!
Holy snakes batman! You sometimes visit a pub (and I use the term loosely) so bloody wrong that you wonder if the people who conceived and birthed the mutant bastard have ever actually seen this inside of a pub in their entire lives. That's the Spotted Dog, High Coniscliffe (3477 / 6267 ) that is! My description at the time went down well on X/Bluesky 'Anodyne Alien Autopsy Gastro Wank' although Daddy BRAPA gets 1/5 of any royalties for 'anodyne'. After the ale is pulled from a peculiar font resembling a proboscis monkey penis (photo at top of blog - what is it with me and monkeys today, seriously?!) I go in search of seating that isn't tortuous but the secret theatre style area to the back is taken up by a simian being with hairy feet manspreading his toes. Outside is the only thing that makes sense, and although the Golden Best is drinking really well (and I hate admitting that) piped Take That is coming through a speaker hidden in a hedge. There really was no escaping the misery. Fantastic.
One tick to the go and I'm glad it is back in North Yorkshire, because today's weaker pubs had been in County Durham.
Rare in this ticking game to realise how lucky (or I should say 'not unlucky') you are to NOT find a 'shut pub alert'. Got away with one here ....
And I mean is closing for a full week in mid-June really reasonable? And is the inner toilet wall the best place to advertise it?
So many questions, but let's wind back five minutes for a bit of long distance Daddy ....
After the AAAGW, we cannot get over just how northern and matter of fact the Black Bull, Great Smeaton (3478 / 6268) appears. "It just SOUNDS like a proper pub" enthuses Dad at the bar. "Reet good n proper!" I agree. The canny bar dude eyeing us like 'We've got a right pair here!' as he pulls me a very satisfying Pennine Hair of the Dog. So much pub talk focuses on sights and smells, sound can get forgotten about. A good pub clamour without the decibels. I might start rating it out of ten. Pub carpets are yesterday's news. Maybe it took the AAAGW experience for us to notice & appreciate it? The pub tables are far too wide for the space between the bench seating, unless they're expecting all of their customers to be 2D which I can assure you they aren't. We squash in awkwardly across from a friendly curious pair of woodland folk, and Dad's Moretti Zero drinks yummy.
Fun fact - I'm the first person to use the pub's full name & place on X/Twitter since they lost 7-1 to the Oddfellows Arms on the opening day of the 2015/16 dominoes season. Not even a BRAPA fact, but an actual one.
Back in York and unlike last week, the VAR call goes in our favour and there's time for a weird collaboration between Old Peculiar and Roosters Baby-Faced Assassin in our pub of the moment Volunteer Arms. Although our next visit here would be poor and we were saved by a Sam Smith's pub on the eve of Humph's death.
After that it was back to parents for tea, sleep, filling at dentist owwww, pack two big bags, sip soup, more sleep and train to Taunton for the beginning of my main BRAPA holiday.
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