BRAPA in .... CAN I TAKE THIS BAR-HOLM WITH ME? (SOUTH LINCS LOVE IN)

Saturday 30th September, and what a month it had been. 56 ticks and 5 more today made it 61.

And most pleasing of all, a generous new Good Beer Guide. You reap what you sow in this pub ticking game, although for years on end, the harvest is fruitless, with rains, droughts, pestilence and locust swarms leave you thinking, at your lowest ebb, 'What's the point? Waaaaah'.

And then, the County at Aycliffe Village and the Star Inn at Vogue reappear for the first time in years, food is back on the table, the pig is fat, cows are milky, and frumpy wife and kids happy. The ghost of Turnip Townshend waves from his fallow crop rotated field, and all is rosy at Farm BRAPA.

That was a painful analogy wasn't it?

And you know what else is painful. Bourne, Lincs.

I just don't get it maaaan. Through road between Peterborough and somewhere else (Sleaford?), where people have settled and tried to create some South Manchester high end cafe culture which just doesn't work here. No vibrancy, no yoof, no (Bourne) identity.

But it has a pub tick, and so does the village of Dyke, a 20 minute yomp to the north where it was easy to confuse their scarecrow festival for premature Hallowe'en celebrations. Round the Twist fans will know what I mean.

"Mi granddaughter's got skinny legs like that!" barks an old bloke from over t'road as I photograph Barbie, and as a Neighbours fan, I'm more qualified than most to say it doesn't do Margot Robbie justice, if that was the intention.

He's just given me coordinates for his favourite village scarecrow, which I was off to track it down, when I'm distracted by the sight of my pub door open, ten minutes before time.

Not much to excite at the Wishing Well Inn, Dyke (2447 / 4604) despite the above lengthy promise (ooo err) at the outset. Landlord seems a decent sort of bloke, confirms 'yes, of course we are open!' and this proves to be the highlight of my time here. The 8 Sail (Heckington bloke on Thursday told me they sold it here) is not very good quality, and there's too many flies around my table for it to be a pleasant drinking experience. Very much a dining pub, but some decent observation to be had. Weakling lady struggles with wine bottle screw top, barman rescues her, and she's then joined by her other half, who turns out to be our scarecrow assessor from earlier. Small world. Or at least it is when you live in Dyke. Ladies who lunch debate the number of Z's in Chorizzzo, and then psychically order a pie from Yorkshire which is available but isn't on the blackboard yet. One barmaid gets slagged off behind her back for being useless, but is then asked to cover an extra shift, and I leave feeling a bit depressed!

The trek back into Bourne doesn't take long, but what I hadn't realised is that my required tick was a further 15 minute meander into the backstreets. I didn't even know Bourne HAD backstreets.

Last time I was here, the weird pub I ticked at least had the decency to be on the main drag!

This one, however, was preferable .....

A fresh cask of Draught Bass, a characterful front bar, plush mismatched furniture, wonky lamp, dartboard, carpet offcuts for the purists, saucy seaside photos. On paper, or on electronic blog, the Anchor, Bourne (2448 / 4605) could and perhaps should have been a winning BRAPA experience. Maybe it was my own fault for deciding to remain in the empty front bar when I could hear a group of locals chattering in the back. Would I have been welcomed with open arms? Would I have been eyed with a 'we don't like strangers around here' suspicion? I'll never know, but if the barmaid's chilly reception was anything to go by, it didn't exactly encourage me to be sociable. But from the comfort of my leather armchair, half a gloomy hour passes without incident or interaction, and yet again, I'm left feeling that Bourne is just out of reach to folk like me!

Another 15 minute walk back to the centre, where the bus back towards Peterborough takes me as far as Langtoft. Note to bus company, Delaine, maybe best not to have the word 'delay' embedded into your name, asking for trouble!

I split the walk to Barholm down into stages, to make it feel less daunting. But when the new build houses and pavement run out, somewhere close to Stowe, it becomes a leggy slog by the time I cross the dramatically named Greatford Cut.

Still, this was the pub I was utterly determined to tick today, and I'd made it!

Welcome to the BRAPA hall of fame to the Five Horseshoes, Barholm (2449 / 4606) . The real reason it was the apple of my eye re today's ticking is because Barholm begins 'Ba', it is on the front page of Lincs in my Guide, gets in every single year, so has been living rent free in my head for ages, especially since I ticked Aby in the summer. I love that alphabetical aspect to county completion. I'm so impressed with this pub, easily pub of the day, and a strong contender for pub of the month, maybe even year. It felt very farmhouse, it had a sleepy village 'unaltered by progress' palpable atmosphere. With the exception of a couple of barflies who didn't seem to like strangers in their midst and would have preferred me to look intimidated than 'in my element', it was close to perfection. The two ladies behind the bar are so cheerful and welcoming, calling me 'luvly' like we're in Norfolk or Cornwall. An old bloke must see the desperation and exhaustion in my eyes, as he steps back to let me go first. 'Old Peculiar'. Perfect beer in the circs. I tell the assembled bar crowd about the new Chocolate Old Peculiar doing the rounds, and how I think it is important to remember what the original is all about! Old bloke says "you've sold it to me, I'll have a pint too!" Glad I could assist. I sit against the back wall after that, resting my legs and psyching myself up for the long walk back the other way. I think it was the great J R Dickenson who said her first ever pint was in this pub. Not sure BRAPA would ever have got off the ground if this was me, here, with OP!

Considering I'd underestimated the walk distance here, it was pretty darn stupid of me to also underestimate the walk back, and by Stowe, had to break into a jog to ensure I didn't miss the bus!

Next stop, 'The Deepings'. Whatever they are.

Last time I was down this way, I ticked the quite good Vine at Market Deeping which was just off the bus, but symptomatic of this leg shattering day, this one was tucked in a more obscure Deeping 25 mins walk, where the buses stop running about 4-5pm so another trek required.

Location wise, it had elements of Stafford's bod and that weird thing on the outskirts of Rugeley when I turn the final corner. A group of eight menacing kids on bikes are circling the grassy area in front of a precinct of tiny shops including this obscure micro. I skirt around the edge and try invisibility.

What is most impressive about the Peculiar but not Old Thirsty Giraffe, Deeping St James (2450 / 4607) is their total commitment to the giraffe theme. I hate micropubs (usually Peaky Blinders ones, or that dreadful Tombstone in Great Yarmouth) who come up with a theme and then fail to OWN it. No such problem here. A safari landscape covers one wall. Big giraffe head on one wall, and opposite, a snorkelling giraffe. "I need a photo of that so you'll have to be in it too!" I shout to this friendly lady in a rare moment of BRAPA photography transparency. Richard Couldwell would be proud. Place is packed, happy and bright. Think Hoppy Place Windsor meets Bumble Peterborough. The Moongazer is bottom of the barrel apparently, but it is still my second best pint today, which says a lot for both brewery and pub. In summary, not the Five Horseshoes Barholm, but deserves max respect.

Even better, as I leave, the previously menacing kids turn out to be lovely BRAPA fashionistas. "Love your jacket mate" says one. "Are those Converse mate, love 'em" shouts another, and as I walk away, I hear him telling the others he has FIFTY pairs even though he looks about 11 years old.

The walk back to the bus stop is a killer, but there's this couple striding out at surprising speed in front of me ready for a night out, so I use them as pacesetters and my knackered legs just about keep up with them all the way. Again, catching that bus had been touch and go but I made it.

As luck would have it, my one new Peterborough tick is on the north side in the suburb of Werrington, which the bus is passing close to, so I hop off here for a ten minute walk which in the context of today really is my shortest walk!

Recent outer Peterborough ticks have so often been micropubs, Blue Bell, Peterborough (2451 / 4608) took me by complete surprise despite the traditional name. Eye catching electric blue Elgood's and the most immaculate hanging baskets this side of Rawtenstall, colour me impressed! I hadn't even got inside yet. And once I do, absolute boozer! Yes. Piss off Bourne. Not one but TWO 8.5/10 carpets. THREE angry little yappers. Great pint of Cambridge Gold. Symptomatic of recent GBG trends including a lot more of 'this sort of thing' and not necessarily going with the newest Micro in town. And if you don't believe me, ask RetiredMartin. Don't understand Rugby Yoounion, never will. Colin the Cauliflower LOVES it. Must be their ears. At one point, I though a bloke was applauding a Figi try but he was actually slapping his mate's new funky buzzcut. What a world we live in. A drunk lady says "ARITE" and waves at me, so I decide it is time I caught my bus before I become 'ONE OF THEM'.

Back in Peterborough proper, a late messy pre-emptive in a new Spoons for me, the College Arms. My day had started with a swift pre-emptive half in Bourne Spoons. I will review them if they ever make a future GBG!

But you've read more than enough words, so thank you. 33K steps I walked today, ridiculous, even eclipsing my recent Memus crazy walk up in Tayside. And you now have a blogging break until early next week when I'll be back with the October Month End review.

Loved writing this one, take care, Si