BRAPA in .... BOTHER IN CLYTHA (Gwenty was Plenty 9/14)

After another peculiarly elaborate breakfast, the second scariest roadwalk of 2022 took place on my fifth of eight days in Gwent, 5th October 2022. Certainly no Bransgore, but still a solid 9/10 .... it isn't just pub carpets I mark out of ten.

(Font update - I'm trying a 'Heading 3', which I think I've amended to Helvetica, which seems a safe option, font size 16, so let us know if this irons out any of the issues folk encountered with my last blog).

This horrific walk coincided with the first day of damp, grey, miserable weather too, just for an added layer of treacherousness, if that is indeed a word. It seems to be.

I press the bell on the 68 bus service slightly too early, at Llanvihangel Gobion but I was getting a bit twitchy and nervy. Thank heavens I had a luminous beanie hat and some fairly striking colours on, because within minutes, a procession of dirty great vans and lorries were careering around hairpin bends. The road was wide, that was the one saving grace, but totally pavement free.

I'd incorrectly assumed from Google Maps that once I'd passed Aberffrwd, I'd be past the worst. Perhaps a gentle county lane towards the pub? No such luck, the trauma continued right up until the building mercifully appears, set back off the road up a slope with a large car park.

It looks as grim and unprepossessing as the weather and surroundings, but do not be fooled. Everyone I'd spoken to had waxed lyrical about Clytha Arms, Clytha (2437 / 4001) and once inside, church style windows and carvings, a grand old staircase, and the crackling of a wood burner help me to feel that my effort to get here had been worth it. An enthusiastic black dog greets me as I clomp along the bare boarding to the bar, echoing as I go. "It is only 11:56am, but I suppose I can serve you" huffs the barmaid rather churlishly considering I feel lucky to have made it here in one piece. And why is the pub unlocked if they don't want folk in before noon? There's plenty of ales on, but the quality on the Cwrw Gorslas is good. I trudge over to the prime spot on front of the fire, and for five minutes as the only customer, this is a blissful experience. BUT. And it is a huge but. Rear of the year style buttage. The place quickly fills up, it is frighteningly popular for a damp Wednesday lunchtime. A group of old boys head to the room to the right and crack open the dominoes. But this side of the pub becomes a lunch/doggie fest. Most notably, a group of students (well, they're younger than me!) arrive, all flouncy posh fakery, mwah mwah darlings, three dogs, each dog has a bed and is given a bowl of water. Such fussing and faffing. The famous five crack open the board games and order lunch. One of their dogs howls so much, it has to be taken outside for a cooling down period/drowning. I never saw it again. A local lady has two dogs. Considerably better behaved. Her parents pop in to give her a lift back to civilisation once she's finished her Prosecco. Alright for some! Plus she gets table service, a smile AND kind words. A real 'tourist vs. local' pub. I can't relax anyway, because try as I might, not one of seven taxi numbers I try can help me out. Launceston-tastic. Thankfully, after 20 minutes, I work out that the next bus stop along is down a quieter lane, decreasing my walk length on this scary stretch of road. So I feel a little bit happier as I dodge dog leads galore and get myself a bonus half of that 'Feelin' Fowl' ale you see a fair bit of in Wales. Lovely malty drop. (All my photos were taken in that happy first five minutes).

The walk to the bus stop is considerably easier, it had been a poor decision on my part to hop off at the earlier one. I'm relieved when the (two hourly) bus service turns up, and it is a short ride onwards to the relatively bustling metropolis of Raglan for pub two - Raglan has another bus service too.

It might in part have been down to my sunnier mental outlook, but I enjoyed the Beaufort, Raglan (2438 / 4002) considerably more than the Clytha. It might not be as famously well-regarded, but it was a beautifully done place. Half posh boutique hotel, half relaxed lounge bar, it was warm, carpetted, unfussy and sells snacks. There are that many plants and leafy things jumping out at you in the corridors on the way to the gents, you didn't know whether a Day of the Triffids style encounter awaited, or whether a giant panda might leap out munching on bamboo. Pristine white shirted staff buzz around. It should've been annoying, and yet it wasn't even slightly jarring. The total opposite to the Clytha which on the surface, should've been a pub of the year contender, but became a depressing irritant. The barmaid is a understated bundle of joy with a dry sense of humour, and they have ales on from the local Untapped brewery, the 'Whoosh' is a cracker, and I say that as someone getting increasingly sick of pale ales. A local oldie keeps eyeing me expectantly but never talks to me. "Do you want your regular glass?" says the barmaid, when he asks for a refill. "I don't bloody care, as long as it leaks out of the top and not the sides!" he wheezes. A huge white husky style dog wanders around the limited floor space, I wish people around here would control their mutts! The local oldie is obsessed with it, talking about in the same terms you might about an A-list actress, iconic singer or scream queen. 'Get a room' I mutter under my breath as he tells his mate for the THIRD Time it is the most attractive looking dog he's ever seen in his life. A bloke on a Lenovo laptop appears to be working from the pub. Imagine. Even he breaks off to give Gwent's sexiest dog a snack. "Are you a teacher? I think I recognise you from last year's Christmas party" he calls over to me. I tell him he's almost certainly mistaken, we have a little joke about the 'Nightmare Before Christmas' (it was funny at the time), I give the barmaid a beaming smile as I return my glass, a parting scowl to our resident dog botherer, and set off for the bus stop.

At the bus stop, two strangers (a jolly Welsh elderly lady and a lycra tourist man) are exchanging stories about unreliable bus services in the area, so I join in by recounting by 'Caerwent Catastrophe' of yesterday, hoping either may be able to shed some light on what happened, but neither can. Neither has even heard of Caerwent.

Monmouth is a sizeable town and quite a key player in Gwent, being a transport interchange to link Abergavenny, Hereford and Chepstow. Very popular too, sloping, with plenty of mock tudor buildings and a rather twee outlook. Lacked charisma. A shit Saffron Walden, if you will.

It is a surprise then, to find it only has one Good Beer Guide listed pub - and not even a very good one.

I wonder if Bob knows his art is sponsored by Worthington's? None of the five blackboards I have to step around to get inside have any bearing to the pub itself. Punch House, Monmouth (2439 / 4003) is a Marston's house of limited character. Plain, bare boarded, uncomfortable, quite a boring place to have a drink. The seating is generally posing stools, there's plenty of dull prints on the walls, it feels like a drab local art gallery as much as it does pub. Even more tragically, the beams and shape of the place mean that you can mentally picture the pub as it was before being modernised within an inch of its sorry life. At least Hobgoblin Gold is one of the Marston's ales I enjoy these days, but this is poorly kept. The barman has a jaunty European villain edge, a devilish twinkle in the eye, a smattering of 'end of afternoon' shoppers are popping in for a drink now, a happy humourous lot, something of a saving grace. Birthday lady is determined to enjoy herself, cracking out the helium balloon, taking selfies with gay abandon. Shame her partner Mr Sligo doesn't share this energy. Thankfully her friend with a fluffy owl jumper arrives to compliment the enthusiasm. And the older couple opposite me give Brekkie the Sheep frequent affectionate glances. This pub has been de-guided from the 2023 GBG, so Monmouth now has zero listed pubs. Corby levels of poor.

And there we have it! Another three pubs reviewed. No chance of 'catching up' any time soon even with my self-imposed BRAPA winter break, but I'm enjoying Wix and I'm enjoying writing about just the three pubs at a time, feels less rushed and gives me more freedom to ramble.

See you tomorrow for part 10, it was time to get out of Monmouth and head to Chepstow via the English border.

Good night, Si