BRAPA in .... ATHEIST PANDA FALLS INTO EASTER CHEESE COMA : OXON PT 1/5 (Bicester-Banbury)

Thursday 2nd April 2026

Even the cash machine at York station was getting into the Easter spirit as I tootle down to sunny Oxon for a full week away, with the intention of mopping up (most of) my remaining 19 ticks, with a view to getting stuck into neighbouring counties when I run dry.

I would've taken mini Jesus as a bonus pub mascot but Ivor Panda is famously atheist.

It has taken me FAR too long in my pub-ticking life to realise you can do York-Oxford/Banbury directly by train. The caveat being that you have to travel by DrossCountry, which was typically busy, stuffy and lacking in carriages, with every human in Christendom (sorry Ivor) getting away from early for the Easter break.

Reserved in the seat next to me from Donny onwards was fellow Hull City fan Chris 'Chris Douglas' Douglas, so we split the time nicely between cheese toastie eating, GBG chat, football, HS2, a craft can from Track of Manchester and Ivor reading his Richard Dawkins.

The Air B&B booking had been a trial. The central Oxford apartment which sounded too good to be true asked me to state the reasons for my visit, and when I did, they declined my booking!

My second attempt, close to Oxford Parkway station / Kidlington did accept me, but then hit me at the eleventh hour with '.... contrary to what we told you earlier, you'll have to share a kitchen'. Still scarred from Horbury, I'm not having my morning scrambled eggs with some hairy shouldered oaf, so I cancelled.

I settle on Bicester. Plenty of North Oxon churn this GBG, so despite it being an absolute wrong 'un of a town, it made some sense.

Turned out a better quality place than its modest 8/10 approval rating. Comfort could've been better. Carpet please, even a 7/10 would do. Oh, and I couldn't check in until 4pm (latest ever!) so got myself from Banbury-Bicester, did a food shop in a tiny Morrison's where a twat ate a choc hazelnut bun before paying (sorry, massive pet hate of mine), and went to tick off my first pub.

Replacing last year's abysmal Penny Black Wetherspoons which must rank as one of the rankest 'Spoons I've ever set foot in, Bell, Bicester (3349 / 6189) was always going to boost Bicester's pubby chops. 'Tis a more charming version of fellow Sheep Street entrant The Angel just a few doors down. I turn right, past half a pool table (the full thing may've existed, I never investigated) but not a handpump in sight. "Do .... do ... you have, any cask beer?" I ask, slightly panicked, knowing that in Oxfordshire, nothing can be taken for granted. "They're all around the other side!" "I KNEW I'd come in the wrong way!" "Hahaha" "Am I best going left or right from here?" "Hmmm, it is about equidistant" "Okay, see you around there in a few seconds". Sadly, we never built on this promising exchange and no more words are uttered as I order a very refreshing drop by Vale called 'Marathon Runner', an ode to a bloke from Derby called Steve. The music selection is highly impressive, and just when I think we've peaked at Public Image Ltd, the likes of Meteors, Demented Are Go and Mad Sin start thudding away. Someone here likes their psychobilly. You could say the pub had stand up Bass! (sorry, that was bad). In my sun-dappled window seat, Daddy BRAPA rings out of the blue. Change of plan for tomorrow, where he'll join me for Oxford Utd away and some chauffeuring, the diabolical details of which will be revealed in part two.

After checking in at 4pm, I unpack and re-pack a small BRAPA bag, race back up to Bicester North, where I miss the next train by a few seconds. "I missed it too, you're not alone!" says a dude seeing me out of breath. You know, if I hadn't unpacked my toiletries, I bet I'd have made it.

Half an hour later, I take the next train and again find myself running, this time to Banbury bus station but no worries here as the bus is delayed ...... well I tell a lie, the bus is here, driver isn't.

I get chatting to this gentle old lady. She thinks the bus might be haunted because it is moving on its own. She has a son who has fled to the Scottish Highlands. He's a good boy. And thinks I should pre-emptively tick three pubs in her home village of Deddington despite my protestations.

My destination (once the driver FINALLY turns up) is the village just north of Dedders. Nothing in the GBG last year, but now suddenly two. Which is kinda nice for me.

In an attractive leadty setting just across from the village green, the punchy innards are quite disarming at Coach & Horses, Adderbury (3350 / 6190). But I should know by now that just like milkshake, Wadworth brings all the vaguely south western #PubMen to the yard. The welcome is warm but I'm invisible enough for a local brown jumpered guzzler and barmaid to have a shouted conversation that (literally) went over my head about her driving lessons. "How are they going?" "Stop / start". The pun wasn't even deliberate. As I order my 6X, I skirt around a lonely half drunk Espresso Martini on the bar. "Don't worry about that mate, it belongs to the landlady, have a sip if you like!" I delegate the task to a braver man. Just as well. When she appears ten minutes later, bouncing and giggling her way around the pub in a very short flowery dress not that I was perving #WokeSi2026, the rest of the Espresso Martini doesn't last long. Btw, I know this Italian pub ticker who drinks a lot of coffee .... RetiredEspressoMartini. Many apologies once more.

In voice of D.Attenborough "And there, you see the Brown Jumpered Guzzler"

Around the bend in the village, but closer to the bus stop coming back, we find our scaffold-clad second GBG tick ......

In and out of the Guide like a 1940's Beamish washerwoman in baggy pants, Bell, Adderbury (3351 / 6191) is comfortably my favourite pub of day one, and it'd take some time before it was beaten this holiday. Like all unspoilt historic pub interiors, getting to the bar is half the battle. Especially when a self-satisfied bunch of loud Oxon snobbers are getting their second round in. "Do we need some more spicy rings Twiggy?" is the first thing I hear, and he ain't talking to the former sixties model cos she's a Chipsticks kinda gal. They then discuss the first pub on my agenda for tomorrow, and how Boris Johnson lives in the same village! A Hook Norton boozer this, so I go for the Oakham 'collab' and by 'eck it is 5* although the barmaid just beginning her shift confesses to being half asleep as (a) she didn't know it was on, and (b) she starts charging me for a Guinness. "I don't mind, as long as Guinness is cheaper!" I reply. But I'm told 'no it isn't, you sweet naïve summer child'. With a dog growling at me from afar, I ask a shaven headed lady and accompanying beard if I can sit with them, and we have a lovely ole' chat to seal the win for this fine pub.

My new friends (left), the spicy ring gang (right)

So that was Adderbury done. Bus back to Banbury for two new ticks there.

If anywhere symoblised my #CruelChurn last September in one region, it was North Oxon and in particularly Banbury. I ticked FOUR pubs here last April, only one (the excellent White Horse) remains, three were dropped, hence two newbies.

One is south of centre, hidden away in what appears to be some drab new build overspill estate for Banbury's shadier characters .....

Chatsworth, Banbury (3352 / 6192) leers at small boy me from over a hedge, like (as I said at the time) Scott Mills, which dates my visit. Large modern sticky fun pub, dreadful acoustics. Rotisserie chickens turn in my mind, the sound of cutlery clunks like Marley's chains as arse-dropping 21 year Dad's called Ethan carry their kids to the bar for a Fruit Shoots top up. Despite the cavernous interior, not one obvious seat is available, but maybe I'm happier perched at the bar anyway amongst the clutter of empties. Just the one ale on, Ghost Ship. All the flavour of a good Ghost, but fizzier than a Madri. A skinhead sidles up to the bar and orders a green tea. It is the unlikeliest bar order I'll hear in 2026, guaranteed. Bizarre GBG selection, I can only assume the Banbury CAMRA chairman was forced to relocate to a new build around the corner.

Back at my safety hedge, shielded from a bunch of tanned 40 year old Gran's who have taken their Prosecco to the Pergola (Pergoda?) for a vape and a scream, the last bus of the day out of the estate rumbles slowly around the corner like prostate cancer and drops me back in Banbury proper.

With the last of the light setting over Banbury Cross, I spy this fine lady with rings on her fingers and bells on her toes sitting atop a white 'oss, blaring reggae out of an 80's ghettoblaster.

I make my way t'other side of the station for tonight's final tick .....

Our third pub with the same name today, jeez North Oxon get some imagination! Bell, Banbury (3353 / 6193) is recently rejuvenated after a long spell in the doldrums, and I'm impressed with how enthusiastic, positive and happy (pissed?) everyone is, the likes of which I'd not witnessed even in Banbury's finest pubs. The Holden's Golden Glow doesn't even have a pump clip but a scribbled on bit of paper. This could go one of two ways, but by crikey it is only the best pint of GG EVER, and I've been necking plenty in Shrops and the Black Country of late. A bloke half apologetically puts a discarded Margherita pizza on the far edge of my table. Mostly untouched, still warm, I'm now a bit drunk and peckish. Smells amazing. I couldn't could I? I can. And I will! Locals nod over at me like 'don't blame ya mate'. Phew. I'd have known if the look had been 'bin dipping scrubber'. I don't overdo it, in fact Ivor Panda had half and fell into a cheesy coma. A 'character' in an ill-fitting suit has twice tried talking at me, the third time when I need to leave for the train. "You got something in stuck in your teeth mate?" I hadn't realised I was picking out melted cheese, but I tell him anyway. "Urrrgggh". He doesn't wanna know me after that. What a relief!

Back in Bicester, straight to bed, and ready for an early start tomorrow. Daddy BRAPA was in town for Oxford away, and I had some exciting 'hard to reach' pubs on the agenda.

What could possibly go wrong?

Join me next time to find out in Part Two, 'Daddy's Difficult Day'.

Keep it pub, Si