BRAPA in .... (BROMS)GROVE IS IN THE HEART : DEE-LITEFUL TICKING IN WORCS

Saturday 2nd August 2025

Blogging in the same month that I actually pubbed in? That's novel. I'm slowly catching up. But with a crazy September incoming, it won't stay that way for long.

Back on the Dross-Country trains, and you might think I'm a glutton for punishment, but seeing as Bewdley had been Daddy BRAPA's favourite summer day out, we were keen to repeat it with more ticking in a Worcestershire Wonderland.

How is it that you can book two tickets together, using a two together railcard, and don't end up seated next to each other? Only on Dross-Country. It isn't like the trains should be that busy. Yes granted League One and Two start today, but the Championship was still a week away, Prem two weeks.

We were in Brommers devilishly early. But much like Tring (well, not quite THAT bad, nothing is), they've decided to build the station a half an hour walk from the centre. Tsk.

We're still in 'Spoons before 11am though, so often the key factor to herald a great day ahead. Golden Cross Hotel, Bromsgrove (3269 / 5756) combined wood panelled former glories and an overpowering smell of fried eggs on every table, scattered sauce sachets and an oiled up bloke in a Villa top wrestling with the coffee machine. It was like a Wetherspoons Greatest Shits under one roof. Today marked one of the first occasions I notice the absence of 'Spoons Jaipur (sob!), but we needn't worry because the local blonde from Silhill is a quality drop, far superior to their questionable beer I'd had in Blackheath / Old Hill last year. £2.06 with a Mudgie voucher. The carpet a steady 7.5, the rooflight a York Tap-esque 9.5, yes this an above avg 'Spoons and I'd be going to some turkey's over the coming weeks (Banbury, Bicester, Bedworth) which really hammered home how good this one really was.

It was time to catch a bus, get the 'difficult' part of the day done before my bladder gets too full and my brain gets too swimmy and ill-disciplined. Two pubs on the road out to Redditch, where I need to tick the Black Tap but I decide to make that one a 'tactical leave' for another day and combine it with Alvechurch. Honestly, the strategic brain power required in this game shouldn't be underestimated.

First up, a peculiar development out in the sticks also featuring a gents barbers, arts & crafts joint, cafe and 'physical practitioner'. It had all the hallmarks of potential shiteness (see Dog House, Smeeth, Kent), but against the odds, we ranked it our favourite tick today despite some strong competition .....

Because Alestones, Tardebigge (3270 / 5757) is beautifully done. Nothing like you'd expect, Tardisesque opening up into large back and side room ('The Chapel'). I feel almost dirty calling it a micropub. So we'll let Daddy BRAPA do that. "Coo, I'm sure you won't agree because you've been in so many but this is the best micropub I've ever been in". But no sooner has he begun to enjoy it, when he receives an unexpected phone call for one of his mates, Brian. And it might be the chappelly surroundings, but I'm thinking 'uh oh, this ain't good , someone's died' (old men n all that) and Dad disappears outside to take the call. The Orkney ale's just gone but the stolid guv'nor recommends the Welbeck Abbey. I enjoyed it in Kimberworth on Hallowe'en (best time to do Kimberworth - BRAPA tip), crystal clear peppery dry perfection. He's a top guy, barmaid is gorge, and the elderly couple have very 'open' expressions so I feel brave enough to ask if Tardebigge is pronounced Tardy-Biggy but sadly, just Tardy-Big. Fair. Dad returns, I'm anxious .... but all good, Brian just wanted to chat Scarborough, burglar alarms and the cruel Chansiri regime (he's a Sheff Wed fan poor bloke). PHEW! More exploring reveals a few pub cats, but they are all wooden, stuck to the chairs and asleep. Had they been real, I really may've been declaring this a pub of the year contender!

(Saint) Bernard ..... (thanks to our Rich for that one!)

Back along the bus route from whence we'd came, and pub three is towering over us from a slope just off the main road .....

Cross Inn, Finstall (3271 / 5758) is a Black Country Ales pub - of course it is, they get everywhere down here. We're not complaining, in fact Daddy B. plans to write them a strongly worded letter asking them to branch out into the north - possibly under the name 'North Country Ales'. This is a fine example of the West Mids third favourite real ale pub group. I'd remembered not to pack any food, knowing cobbage (not cabbage) would be prevalent, and the clock is indeed chiming cob o'clock from the depths of Bernard's tummy. Cheese & onion x2. "Do you want it in a tiger roll?" asks the barmaid, who I must say is an enchanting and exquisite host. I reply 'most definitely, for our football team Hull City's nickname is the Tigers and this could be a good omen for next week when the season kicks off'. She understandably looks utterly perplexed, but recovers herself and I wouldn't be surprised if she's Googling Hull City under the counter so she could later remark 'I believe John Lundstram will be a pivotal figure in the midfield this season'. This place even has laminated pub menus. Lah-di-bloody-dah! You could tell this was Worcs and not Dudley. But wet-led food menus (if that makes sense! You know what I mean). The stout pinged like a bike bell, and all was right with the world. My Springtime BCA wobble has subsided, I'm fully back on board.

Back to Bromsgrove for a dose of tough reality. It had all been rather too nicey-nice in these last two pubs, and the Grovellers wanted to demonstrate that not everything in North Worcs was candy canes and roses. Grarrrrrr.

Uncompromising music dive bar nitetime nasty at Hop Pole Inn, Bromsgrove (3272 / 5758), which earns much respect from us by dint of being a daytime boozer so honest, free of frills and totally lacking in any pretence. My brain is still in Tardebigge / Finstall mode, I'd not had chance to reset, so I fail to read the room when our laconic goth says "alright?" and I start gushing "AMAZING! Always better for being in a pub, how are yoooouuu??" and her and the locals are like "deary me, we've got a right weirdo here" and it is too late for me to reign it in so I just stand in awkward silence to complete the transaction on a pint of HPA which tastes of onion, but I'm blaming my cob for that. Over in the loo, I find myself washing my hands next to one of the bar regulars. More silence ensues before he frantically washes his chin, grasps aggressively at the paper towel, and blows his nose in a blatant power move. I try not to quake, before rushing back to Dad who wants me to help him WhatsApp the 'Let's Get Drunk & Talk Shite" sign to his mates. Proper sorta place this.

Still in the centre of Bromsgrove, we find pub five ......

Despite being a different pub genre to the Hop Pole, the Little Ale House, Bromsgrove (3273 / 5759) had an almost identical atmosphere. Our main man may've been wearing a bright tropical shirt, but his demeanour was very much on a par with our gothic heroine. But at least this time I was poised. Finstall and Tardebigge felt a long time ago. Dad finds a non alcoholic bottle of Hobson's IPA, and blow me down, it is only flippin' better than my full on alcoholic Golden Glow. I was getting the impression that Grovellers have a 'speak only when you are spoken to rule' and after 25 minutes of silently suspecting that this pub had a latent heart lying dormant (incidentally the name of my 2013 Emo solo release), as Dad goes for a final push in the loo, our tropical shirted friend and his table of mates call me over, having realised I'm a pub ticker, and ask where I've been to, where I'm off to next, and it leaves me with a glow so golden, I'm revising my opinion of this unlikely cuddle bunny.

Thankfully, today's final pub tick was out of the centre, right beside the station. We'd proved earlier that we could walk it quite comfortably, but as there's a bus shooting past us right at this moment, it'd be rude not to stick a long arm out and hop on.

Dad has two long arms, or had I asked him to pose like a ladybird?

I was expecting something rather more parloury and genteel and I can't think why, other than the name Ladybird Inn, Bromsgrove (3274 / 5650) but it was once again pretty belts 'n braces. Having said that, it was my favourite 'inner' Bromsgrove pub of the four. A fact lost on one of my BlueSky followers from Birkenhead who misread my post in two different ways, making it sound like I hated both the pub and lower league football! Because the return of leagues one and two really gave this pub an atmosphere, Soccer Saturday results flashing up was the focal point of the echoey back room, one of those pubs like you find in Uxbridge which is impossible to imagine existing outside of a Saturday afternoon during the football season. The beer list (see below) was brilliant in its simplicity, and the folk stood next to you at the urinal trough are always going to chat to you in amazing local accents. Maybe not a pub for everyone, but I'm not everyone, and neither is Daddy BRAPA.

The pub was packed, so I can only imagine they were all vampires

Brum ain't far from here, suddenly there was time to dash over to Moor St. for Daddy Hipster's favourite railway arch tavern, Kilder.

Our Derby mates Rich & Steve were in the vicinity, having enjoyed their own day ticking in that rewarding Shifnal corridor. Rich has recently achieved his 1,000th GBG tick and has been inducted to the official pub tickers WhatsApp group as penance.

They were there before us, and 'joke' I should get on the Lemon Hooch, and because I'm impressionable six pints in, I compromise and get a sour lemon Vault City thing which I didn't love .... but I WOULD be back for Hooch soon enough.

Photo courtesy of R.Birley (don't sue my ass)

Was great to see the boys anyway, however brief, and then it was a mad dash back to New Street for the no doubt abysmal Dross Country experience home which I was thankfully numbed to.

There we go. Thanks for reading. I particularly enjoyed writing that.

See you shortly (Monday maybe, hangover dependent as I'm off to a housewarming on Sunday) for one of my best Thirsty Thursday's so far this year straddling Staffs/Worcs.

Keep it pub, and if you're on my X/Bluesky, see you tomorrow in a town that no one likes,

Si