BRAPA in .... CHEWY LEWES & THE BOOZE

With Eastbourne done for the day, the only remaining question was 'where to go for two more ticks?'

I considered Polegate, I considered Haywards Heath, heck I even considered an elaborate manoeuvre involving Croydon / Clapham Junction, but on a day where temperatures were peaking at 30 degrees, we needed a 'minimum effort, high reward' solution.

And that solution was Lewes. I've been thrice previously, even stayed the night, but still had five current GBG pubs to go at, which I think we can blame / thank Harvey's for, being it's hometown.

And in a great slice of luck, two of the required were less than a three minute walk from the station.

Okay, so the uphill climb today felt like ascending Kilimanjaro, and I was dehydrated, sweating, and feeling like the previous four pints was gripping at me harder than they would've done on a winter's day, so I apologise for my lack of recollection about these two, I'll make the best of it!

Really liking the frontage on the Royal Oak, Lewes (2522 / 4417) ... wow, this is like visiting the pub for the first time .... we stride in and I order a pint of *checks contemporary notes* Burning Sky Aurora, what was it with me and 5% beers today? Well, at this point, I didn't think a Parcel Yard ESB would be possible so maybe I was compensating. I didn't like it as much as the 3.5% Plateau. Two blokes scowl as we sit underneath a TV showing women's tennis. Our heads weren't in the way. It wasn't Wimbledon. It wasn't even Eastbourne. But they looked wholly offended by our arrival, so we did the 'done' thing, craned our necks, picked a lady (so to speak), and cheered her on. Muchova she was called. Remember that name. Soon, I was getting Czech neck and had to stop watching. Pub not quite as nice inside as the outside promised, but not Crown Eastbourne levels of devastation.

Cresta! What the flip was I drinking?

'Twixt Royal Oak and station (which hardly seemed possible at this close proximity), we find our sixth and final pub of the day .....

Onto the Lansdown Arms, Lewes (2523 / 4418), and by now, the Grouch off Sesame Street could've jumped out of one of those bins, bitten me on the arm and I'd have been none the wiser. The Sussex Best finally wore me down, a bit like Madri, there's only so many times you can see the famous stuff before you rhubarb crumble. Of the below photo, a bloke asked me 'does that taste as good as it looks?' to which the truthful answer would be 'don't have a clue mate' but the answer at the time was 'yes, yummy my fave'. Different style from the Royal Oak. Cosier, going for something wooden and basic, sort of Crusades era meets Flapper 1920's Britain. It is possibly a bit self-aware, but I think that is a Lewes thing , and at least some rosy rotund blokes did their best to keep it real.

Back in King's Cross after a struggle, we're at our favourite kiosk buying a giant sausage roll and bottle of Oasis each. I glance wistfully towards the Parcel Yard as if to say 'sorry I can't make it' when I noticed on the scoreboard that our train is delayed, and getting more delayed!

Well Dad has had enough so hangs around on the concourse, helps a West Indian woman with her suitcases, but I saw this delay as a sign from the ESB gods to take advantage. so I do. Gives the day 'closure'.

Fast forward a week, there was no #ThirstyThursday but a fantastic beer festival (not my favourite things in the world, I go to three a year, which is probably one too many) at Poppleton Juniors FC, c'mon you Tigers, where my ticking gene had me trying to complete certain pages.

This moment was the highlight ....

I can't remember getting home, so it was just as well that the following day I was (a) being chauffeured around Lincs and (b) I could have a lie in because so many of today's pubs open late.

SatNav lady doesn't help by lengthening our journey severely, taking us the wrong way out of York. A situation we try to rectify between Ferrybridge and Sherburn in Elmet. Once in Notts/Lincs, a winding river with no bridge across means the road to our first pub never seems to get any closer.

When it does, it really isn't worth the effort ......

My first mistake at the Ship Inn, Morton (2524 / 4419) was turning right on arrival, the locals lair, plenty of horse racing, pool, lager, Guinness and bar blockers in full swing. Whilst a busy pub is always an encouraging sign, this bunch didn't seem particularly happy to see a stranger in their midst, and had no intention of moving for me, so I squeeze through a tiny gap to reach the bar. Tim Taylor Landlord appears to be the only beer on. Now I'm not the type to ask "is that ALL you have on?", I find it rude and ungrateful. But on this particular occasion, because I've already pitted this pub against me, and I don't approve of the barmaid's mirthless wan expression, I do ask. And it is. I take our ales to the other side, a drab dining area populated by the elderly. Daddy BRAPA has been moving the car, so has missed all this 'fun'. The TTL starts off a quality drop, but halfway down is becoming tired. An edited sign reveals children are welcome until 4pm. I wonder what time it used to be? An underwhelming start, but neighbouring Gainsborough had been one of the most depressing places I've visited in BRAPA history (save for the excellent Blues Club), so perhaps I shouldn't have been surprised. There was a real sense of 'YOU'LL NEVER LEAVE' as well. First a white van man boxes us into the carpark, and when we are finally ready to drive off, a frail zimmer crone crosses the carpark at about 0.0001mph. I'm a pub ticker, get me out of here!

Join me tomorrow/Tuesday when we'll see if Lincolnshire could improve.

Toe update - I survived Birmingham yesterday, but it was more painful than expected. I stuck to 4.5%+ beers as a rule and the pain diminished as the day progressed. There is a gap between it and the neighbouring toe, which was never there before, and the wind keeps whistling through it!

Thanks for caring, Si