Wednesday 24th June 2026
We've all had pints of Tribute like that, haven't we?
Outside of Luton's Great Northern, somewhere near Llanelli with even more L's, and a curiously good one in the weird Seven Red Roses in Lower Earley near Reading, it ain't a beer I'd choose.
I'd escaped to Cornwall for the final day of my Summerset Special .....
With a temperature of 28 degrees (5-6 cooler than Taunton), the £60+ train ride seemed worth it considering I couldn't do any more Somerset without serious walk/bus efforts. Bath & Bristol were even hotter, and I'm due there in October anyway.
Hicks' Bar, St Austell (3521 / 6311) was my first destination. Here it is, the home of St Austell beers as you might've guessed .....
Despite many Cornwall trips in BRAPA past, I've never had a GBG reason to visit St Austell before. Although I did pre-emptively tick the crazy 'Spoons at the recommendation of RetiredMartin and with that fellow and his dry humour, you never quite know how serious he is or whether he was leading me to hell for the giggles. Found it entertaining regardless, and ticked a rare Cornish micro whilst I was in town, which swiftly shut down, proof you can be too clever when it comes to pre-emptives.
Science people say hot air rises, and so it proves. Situated at the top of a couple of flights of stairs and with struggling air conditioning, no surprise the staff are rather robotic. The punters incidentally are total 'pick me's' strange behaviour for mostly sixty year old non-botoxed Northern holiday blokes. My 5.8% Panoramic Ridge is a deliciously unwise choice, but it holds up well. NOT that I'm gonna go praising a brewery tap for keeping their own beer well, I'd expect nothing less. After a brief spell outside (even more scorching) where I have a delightful chat with a hot young lady who must be waiting for something, but what I'm not sure, I retire to their cool mid-level shop and pretend to browse their merch. I didn't buy the socks, but if I got a pair for Christmas, I wouldn't cry. Hint, hint.
I check my BBC Weather App and it says 31 degrees already, I'd been lied to! Four words - Sarah Keith Fucking Lucas. And I'd forgotten Cornwall loves hills, even in town centres, making my walk to pub two sweatier than it should be.
The sleepy White Hart Hotel, St Austell (3522 / 6312) felt like a "if we're sticking Hicks' in, let's put another in, two for the price of one!" random CAMRA decision. If you've read parts 6-8, you'll know my beer scrutiny has increased with the rising temperatures, so when mine host with Tim Vine's hair but fewer puns cannot assure me that the cask is holding up (he could've said 'I saw it robbing a bank earlier') and actually recommends me a bottle (yes BOTTLE!) of Arctic Sky Cold IPA by Harbour, I invoke BRAPA Clause 13.1b (thou shalt not force yourself into warm cask on 30+ degree days) and agree with ole' Viney that it makes sense. The 7.5/10 checked tablecloth takes the edge of the gastro-hotel and has me thinking of rural North Essex, which loves a tablecloth. I can feel a wet patch on my arse and leg. Uh oh. But it could be worse, my water bottle has leaked. A tattooed child smiles mockingly as I go to the loo to sort myself out, refill, and tighten my lid. Then I have to shield the damp area of seating from some arriving tourists before making a swift soggy exit!
I'm noticing on my live trains App that the heat is already cancelling so many services, so to find mine only two mins down is a relief.
Liskeard is another town I've never needed to visit, but now suddenly there's two in the GBG here too. I've changed here for Polperro or something obscure, and by gum how I wish we had the rain I'd had that day!
Still, my fairly damp arse and back right thigh is proving quite refreshing. Cheers crappy water bottle! Have you noticed the word 'crap' is on the wane? It is all 'shit' these days. I miss a bit of crap.
A needlessly long walk from the station brings me, however, to a late contender for Pub of the Holiday, or POTH if you wanna be all real ale about it. Looked unassuming as crap, always a good sign ....
'A local pub for local people' or that's how this League of Gentleman-tastic Red Lion, Liskeard (3523 / 6313) presents on first glance. The landlady glares, the bar blockers turn around and howl at the moon, a hairy baby in a pram gargles, the plump tattooed Mum and Grandma bare their teeth and arms. I do a lot of smiling and 'oohing' and 'ahhing' and plump for the one cask available, Bays Topsail. Now wasn't a time for geeky cask questions. Seems I'd chosen right. "Don't you go drinking all moi beerrrrr" chides a vested bloke. So I laugh. Then they all laugh. I'm even brave enough to comment that its nice to know it's being turned over in the heat, a proper geeky remark. Landlady seems to approve, tough old bird she is with heart of gold, working here since 1748. The pub is cool and fusty, the beer is of the highest quality. Bet their cellars go down to a tin mine. I wedge myself between a library snug and the main bar so I'm not too out of earshot / anti-social. Proper boozer. A dorky tourist boy comes in and asks if they've seen someone who could be his friend, and how he's going outside to check, and suddenly I'm not the biggest outsider. I stretch gingerly through the blockers to return my empty, telling vested bloke "I won't drink any more of your beer". "I was only joking mate, stay for another!" . I'd gone too deadpan. So I reply "no, I'd better keep moving" and leave with what I hope was an impressive mysterious flourish.
Just around the corner, but obviously up a hill just to piss me off, our other Liskeard tick is a 'Spoons and I remember being in the rubbish St Ives 'Spoons (Hain Line) when this was just opening .....
The air con is the highlight of King Doniert, Liskeard (3524 / 6314) , in that "I'm Tim Martin, I can afford to put it on full blast cos my business model is awesome and fuck the haters" kinda way. Otherwise, it is a bloody weird 'Spoons full of bloody weird south western folk - Kernowyons, Grockles, Emmets and escaped Janners, they're all here. The lack of humanity early on is jarring. Staff about as responsive as an ICU patient. Too busy chatting to their colleagues on earpieces to focus on who they are serving - he's actually pulling my pint, staring at me, but talking to someone else! Rude and weird. Julie is an utter dweeb too, why's she trying to queue on my shoulder when the bar is this vast and wide and there's tonnes of staff? She gets called forward like someone in a post office. The carpet is a sanctimonious 6/10. And very sketchy. But things improve. Lovely long swathe of bench seating. At £1.49, the Ruddles is cool and crisp and clear. Like Tribute, not a beer I'd choose but I just fancied it today. And two long distance chats late on, one with a Hawaiian shirt about Colin Jnr. And one with a tall Heather Small about a confusing food order / table situation. Feeling happy again, a check of the live trains brings me back down to earth. Ouch! One of those situations where all you can do is get back to the station and 'do what you can!'
I'm incredibly fortunate that just as I'm coming down the ramp onto the platform, an unexpected train not showing on the timetable is waiting and the lady with a whistle in her mouth holds the door and tells me to run! I shout "TAUNTON?" and she replies with a pointed 'aye' like some Byker Grove baddie.
I'd already ruled out Saltash (two ticks but too complicated), deciding instead to play it safe with two out in the Stonehouse area of Plymouth, but now I'm even having doubts about that.
Especially when our train stops moving altogether and we're given free bottles of water and a doom (not bar) announcement.
We start moving much sooner than expected but are told the train is now terminating at Plymouth because 'reasons', but there will be a replacement on the platform opposite (though the doors take an age to open so we're baking in the sun).
Right, that does it, definitely just aiming to back to Taunton now. Off home tomorrow, can't afford to get stranded at this late stage.
I'm not allowed to sit in First Class despite the exceptional circs which is a bit tight of GWR, but all good, we stagger back to Taunton at reduced speed, I'm glad I've played it safe.
Time for my crafty-centric return to the pre-emptive Tap One which I'd promised myself earlier this holiday? Definitely!
Although I quite enjoyed my initial visit, I was left annoyed because our Yankee barmaid was friendly and helpfully beer-chatty to everyone but me. So I vowed to return in a crafty frame of mind, druggie hat and shades, see if I get a different more positive reaction .....
I didn't!
(No-one likes a try-hard Si).
Anyway, my 'Captain Fathead and the Nectarons' goes down nicely but had to nurse it, a tough drink. The music has gone Green Day - Red Hot Chilli Peppers - Supergrass - Oasis. What will be next?
Original Prankster by the Offspring. Made sense I guess!
I only stay for one, I know when I'm not wanted and besides, I have a huge fridge full of food I've really got to eat up tonight as I don't wanna lug it all the way back to York, so I buy a couple of non-alcoholic cans out of their fridge to drink with the World Cup.
Scotland tonight, versus Brazil, they probably need to lose by less than 3 to give themselves any chance of qualifying. As long as they don't make any silly mistakes early on ..... OOOOOPS.
As you can imagine from the trains today, I was paranoid about my direct Taunton-York the following morning but not only did it run to time throughout, I was able to keep a two seater all to myself for the duration of the journey. Incredible! Taunton was the hottest place in the UK at 36 degrees that day too.
It had been a great holiday, Somerset easily surpassing my expectations. Made a decent dent into it, a tiny bit of Cornish progress was an unexpected bonus, but the South West will need to be one of my three key places (along with Wales and East Anglia) over the next 12-24 months if I'm going to keep making serious GBG strides.
Thanks for reading, and next time we can skip ahead to July for two Northernish counties beginning with 'D'.
Keep it pub, Si
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