BRAPA IN ...... ARTILLERY BRILLIE : RAMSGATE, BROADSTAIRS & OTHER STUFF-ON-SEA

Nicked off Wikipedia or similar

The first Saturday in February saw a first 2023 trip to Kent, a county I'm determined to have completed by September. I'm trying to do it without the aid of an overnight stop. An impossible ask, when you start noticing things like Coldred not opening til 5pm, Hastingleigh in the middle of nowhere, and Butchers Arms in Herne with its crazy 12 hours a week.

BUT, if you book yourself down on the 07:02 from York, and book yourself back home late, it is amazing how far you can get. And it doesn't get much further than Ramsgate, where today began, tucked away on that north east tip.

I downloaded a song about the town on the final approach, which to be honest wasn't reet good, even if the chorus does bemoan the lack of a 'Spoons (have they got one yet?)

An interesting town, I'm initially furious about no open Gents loos on the station, but then on the 17 minute walk towards the pubs, THREE different people smile, before an old couple stop me to point out the curious gravestone of a Victorian dog. "We've lived here all our lives and hadn't noticed this until recently!" they cry, before pointing out a Duke of Wellington blue plaque behind me. Yes, Ramsgate was making a good impression.

Ramsgate has some pretty charismatic cobbles, but there's a real sense of a rundown seaside town. The concrete Wilko's is an abomination, seagulls and pigeons jostling for position as I wait patiently for the first pub to open at 11:30am ..... the only pub out of about 20 'potential ticks' on my list that opens before noon. I wander down to the harbour and ring Mummy BRAPA to predict Hull City 0-0 Cardiff with the first goal coming in the 89th minute. Errrrm.

Anyway, don't overthink it, our pub has kept its 11:30 word, I'm going in ......

There's that many micropubs in Kent, I need to invent a tiering system for the things. I'd rate Hovelling Boat Inn, Ramsgate (2304 / 4208) in that rare category of being above average despite not having a bar .... something I'll NEVER get used to. I need bars to hold onto for security and balance. I hate floating around in the centre of the room, like an uninvited ghoul, waiting and hoping for service, blocking space like a fart in a trance, whilst 'beer people' line the perimeter, drinks in hand, staring in self satisfied smugness, silently judging my beer choice as I writhe silently in socially awkward cringe. I like the guv'nor here, very old skool, lanky but beer bellied, warm and jocular. After last week's drunken forgetfulness in outer Mansfield, I'd made a conscious decision to stick to ales under 4%, but when I see a 5% porter, my willpower crumbles immediately. A Gadds' and Devonian 'collaboration'. I've never understood why two breweries collaborate over brewing beer. Logistical nightmare surely? Feels a bit gimmicky, but I'm sure someone beery out there can explain the rationale. I feel a bit exposed as the only 'stranger in town', not sure how much to contribute so I just laugh a lot and remain semi-engaged. Guv'nor uses me as a constant reference point for recommending the porter to new arrivals .... and I'm feeling the pressure! What if they hate it? Brief intrigue as an impatient man hammers on the locked back door and gives Colin a wild look. Former RNLI is my bet. A decent start though.

Somewhat annoyingly, being against the clock (I was booked back on the 19:27 out of King's Cross, and should've booked later), I notice that I'm slap bang in the middle of my other two Ramsgate ticks. One is a decent stride to the east, the other is the same to the west. Neither discernibly closer to the railway station either! Grrrr. I head east first.

Sometimes, you know you are going to enjoy a pub before you go inside. Street corner local, little lamp above the door, mischievous little black cat called Fleabag trying to get in (or out), yes the Montefiore Arms, Ramsgate (2305 / 4209) was my kinda place. The landlord has the same yellow jumper as me, that wasn't why I let him do the GBG highlighting, but it helped. The only other customer, Pete, is a beer ticker, but a lovely chap and he uses a notepad with lots of alphabetical tabs - 'the pre-cursor to Untappd?' asks BRAPA fave Simon Dewhurst. Good point. NOT saying that makes Pete any better than the Untappders, but let's face it, it does. And I'm allowed to say that. There's an awful lot of Gadds' on in here, I hop aboard the HPA. Wye Valley-esque in its simplicity. After an enthralling tale involving a colostomy bag twist (which actually sounds even worse than it really was), it is time to thank them both and get on my way. A fine boozer.

Back from the direction I came, plus ten minutes further, my final Ramsgate tick comes into view, and again, it looms over me like the sort of place I'm going to enjoy.

And just when I thought the Montefiore had BRAPA pub of the day sewn up, along comes Artillery Arms, Ramsgate (2306 / 4210) to blow both it, and most other pubs in the UK, straight outta the water. What. A. Pub. The lady who serves me is amazing and the Plum Pudding ale is fruity (or is it the other way around?), the locals are brilliantly odd, there is sun streaming in through stunning stained glass to my right, the sound of a crackling fire to the left, which you get to up a small narrow staircase where I join the regulars. Someone is trying on a Hussar's hat and asking "how do I make it stand erect?" 'Go to the doctors' someone quips, but a military ranking expert bore who'd earlier admired my GBG, asks him to consider the fact that it might not be Hussar, and gives us a lecture, only punctuated when an angry bloke crashes in, complaining that the Six Nations isn't on. "But there's no TV in here!" the barmaid reminds him. "Oh yeah, well you concentrate on keeping that fire going then!" is his comeback. She whispers to me she has no idea about lighting fires and has just been lucky today, I tell her to feign confidence in her fire lighting ability. Then a bloke laments Steve Lovell's unfair sacking from Ramsgate, even though they are top, and if they don't see of Littlehampton today, questions will be asked. Some pubs remind you why you do this pub ticking lark.

Excellent stuff from Ramsgate, probably only second to Folkestone in best Kent pub towns I've visited so far. Maidstone has great pubs I guess, but you know.

Broadstairs is next up, and despite being just a couple of stops away (a couple old enough to know better sat next to me on the train couldn't stop laughing at the name 'Dumpton Park'), I find it a lot more well-heeled and middle class, a feeling that (unfortunately) ran through into the pub.

The garish pub sign is a bone of contention, perhaps linked to the 'retro games' sign at the bottom? It felt very Bridlington anyway and that can't be a bad thing, can it? Like the European Beer Guide folk said on Twitter, I quite admire any pub that tries anything striking in this world of identikit grey and beige. The Magnet, Broadstairs (2307 / 4211) didn't really work for me, I found the clientele way too toffee nosed, the lads in charge are nice enough, but that cheerful Kent conviviality which makes the Micros such a hit and infinitely better than those in SE London just wasn't in evidence. Dude and his dickish dog on the far side are just constantly starey and rude (and that was pre-Colin unleashing!) and when I try to chat to this old woman over some cider related incident at the bar, she talks through me. Eventually redeems herself late on when she takes a shine to Colin. Everyone else is either a posh family full of Tarquin's and Tallulah's drinking tanqueray and tango, or the ghost of an 18th century Irish poet. My Golden Acre drank nicely but the place irritated me from the off, and I can't wait until my new chums at the Royston replace it in the 2024 GBG.

Time to continue my very slight progress London-wards on this most magnificent of GBG train lines. I skip over Margate / Cliftonville because one of the pubs doesn't open until 5pm even on a Saturday which screams HOBBY PUB unlike nothing else.

Instead, I hop off at Westgate-on-Sea.

Approached from an alleyway, it'd be very easy to go in the pub/club across the way, especially when the arrow is pointing in the wrong direction! Narrow interior, no bar, busy, heady pong of beer, oooof this place was a lot to take in. Welcome to Bake & Alehouse, Westgate-on-Sea (2308 / 4212). I can't say I LOVE it, not even sure I LIKE it, but unlike the Magnet, I want to be kind because it had heart and everything was done with the best of intentions, I just think you'd have to be a special kind of beer lover or not too bothered about your own personal space to really embrace it today. The dude in charge, who everyone calls 'Steve' so I don't know why I'm doing inverted commas because it most likely isn't an alias, is so hard working, but he's doing EVERYTHING himself, deserves a medal, beads of sweat glistening on his manicured baldie head. Colin and my new orange rucksack have to give up their seats, so three of the four middle agers with weak spines can share my tiny barrel bench. I need fresh air!

But we finally got back to Ramsgate levels of pub quality at my sixth and final stop of the day, the next stop on the line, and hadn't time flown!

Old Bay Alehouse, Birchington-on-Sea (2309 / 4213) only opened at 4pm, so a nice one to get done, though it felt so well established and 'eased in', it could've easily been open since noon. A smiley warm welcome and an upholstered spongey bar front meant I was onto an immediate winner. Kirkstall 'Extra' Bitter was a nice change of pace from all the Gadds' and Tonbridge, just missing the word 'Special' for the ESB win. Generous heaters blow warm air around sporadically, there's enough room to swing a cat (I mean, I wouldn't, but a cauliflower maybe ....) and there is a lolling lounge lizard lull of an atmosphere. Obviously a micro, but with the spirit of something much older. All the remained was constant nervy refreshing of 'FlashScores' to see if Hull City could hang on for a 1-0 v Cardiff. We could! A lucky pub too. Always good to end on a high.

Note to self for future trips down here, I thought I'd been very generous re the time I was giving myself to get back into London, but I really didn't have too long before the 19:27 Grand Central. Shame as I was wanting to surprise fellow pub ticker Eddie in Parcel Yard for an impromptu ESB.

Well, the train home was HORRIFIC. Sunderland (and long term readers will know is one my favourite places, and a soft spot for the football team) had been at Millwall, and we'll have to blame their influence cos the Mackem fans were much worse than usual. Arrests left, right and centre, I ended up deciding to give up my seat and sit on my bag / Colin in the vestibule cos the slobbery man next to me kept saying 'gizza kiss!' (his best mate had been 'detained' in London!) and claimed Hull City were shite! I tried to tell him to look at the league table after today's games but no reasoning with some people is there? Well, two nice ladies joined me, both even angrier about it all than me, one had an 84 year old father in First Class but the football lads had taken over that too! Was glad Daddy BRAPA wasn't with me today. I had to fight my way off at York, as huge groups of pissed up fancy dressers were piling on. Gawd knows what the train was like north of York! Longest two hours of my life, nearly.

I popped into York Tap, had a nice pint of Orkney Best, didn't really have the above red wine and g&t too, tempting as it was. You could smell the toilets from the other side of the room, ugh! I held it in. Ever been to Rake in Borough Market? Nearly as bad. A bouncer came round and said they were chucking everyone out at 10pm, last orders rang about 9:30pm!

And there we have it, BLOG UP TO DATE for first time since 21st June 2022 when I wrote about the Yew Tree at Cauldon. Got a #WWWSI to catch up on tomorrow night on 'the other side', but other than that, see you all on Saturday over on t'Twitter!

Caught up Si x