BRAPA in .... CRAZY LITTLE SLING' CALLED PUB (Fun in North Yorks, and a bit of cheeky Leics)
Yo! You know pubs are boring to look at (or I'm drunk) when I resort to taking selfies.
Daddy BRAPA had come up with a pre-emptive shout where he'd had a nice meal a few months back, and he kindly drives me there on Wednesday 9th August, 3:30pm, because I have a random day off work):
The Crown & Cushion, Welburn , though well run and professional, was all restaurant. And very quiet this afternoon. The Theakston's XB was 'fine' but not above average quality, and with better pubs close by, I don't think this will be troubling the GBG compilers in 2024. Still, I'm glad I've been, though I'd say that about pretty much any UK pub I haven't been murdered in.
Down a long straight road, through the Castle Howard estate, close to Hovingham where I'd come for some surprising live comedy once upon a time, we hit the village of Slingsby, and you know when you can just tell from the blackboard that a pub is made of the right stuff?
Couldn't have put it better if I'd tried! 5pm Wednesday was the pub's first opening of the week, and it showed. As we stepped from the Daddy Mobile, villagers were flocking towards the pub with a slow lumbering unerring accuracy, you know that scene in Shaun of the Dead where the zombies descend on The Winchester, it was uncanny. I had to hold my nerve for the inaugural shot, say hi to the cheeky monkey!
The biggest thing running through my mind for the ensuing 45 minutes was 'how the 'eck had I never been to, or at least heard of the Grapes, Slingsby (2613 / 4508) before?' It is a modern classic. And in GBG terms, right on my York doorstep. If it has been in a GBG before, surely not since at least 2014 I'd wager, so either the local CAMRA have been sleeping on it, or it has only recently 'been made great'. The 'quirk' is off the scale. Cracker eating parrot, weird glitter ball light reflection coming from a side room (bordello?), historic Guinness bits galore, the soap dispenser in the gents is a globe you twist upside down, all very fascinating and not overwhelming or irritating. Still felt like a boozer. Oh, and don't get me started on the rubber rat which appeared in the piss trough between wee one and wee two. Scared the bejeezus out of me. Thought it was gonna bite my nob off. "Oh yeah, I noticed that too, ho ho" said Daddy BRAPA calmly, when I return from Piss II all a fluster. The Ossett Yorkshire Blonde is drinking leagues beyond the XB in the Crown and Cushion, and a smattering of locals have already set up base-camp at the bar - set in for the night I bet. I'd call them blockers but they have spatial awareness and contribute to the general atmosphere, so I don't need to. The floor surface is weirdly slippy if you have a certain type of shoe on, but that just adds to the fun feel when you are drinking beer. I'd been asked by local pub legend Victoria Wells to let her know when I was visiting, so I did. But she did what all wise X/Twitter people do when I announce I'm descending on their local, and absconded to Devon post-haste. Amazing how often this happens. "Look out for the blonde barmaid Poppy and say hi from me" she says. If you've followed me for five years, you'll understand why I wonder if she'll turn out to be an ombre haired business owner! Well, there's not just one, but two potential Poppy's! It's like remembrance day. And both seem rushed off their feet as the zombies, sorry lovely kind happy locals, continue to arrive. They are all roaming about ordering pizzas from an outdoor van/shed thing now, I always wondered what zombies ate. I thought it was brains, shows you should never lazily stereotype #NotAllZombies . Of course we stayed for another, and even then I felt like I was left wanting more - not booze necessarily, just more of the pub experience. Pizza, overnight stop, make friends with the pissy rat? Not often I wish I could stay cos doing BRAPA has trained me over the years to be happy to move on swiftly. This is one pub I visited this August that I'd consider for my 'year end awards' when we're sat here drunk on NYE. On the way out, Dad takes a chance on 'probable Poppy' and she confirms yes she is. Closure. Phew. Back to York, satisfied. Great pub.
Pissy Rat (not a beer from Huddersfield)
Possible Polly
Perfect pint, probable Poppy, pinging Pipers
Dignified doggy
Fast forward three days to Saturday 12th August , and you find me and Colin, heading down to the borderlands of Leics, Notts and Lincs for a chance to get five tricky ticks which aren't really an option on my #ThirstyThursdays due to funny opening hours and odd locations. I'll tell you about the first two today, the other three next time cos I've wittered on long enough already as per usual.
Got the morning snacks in ladzzz
I started with the joint easiest, at Bottesford which has a railway station which is a short sniff from Grantham, AND opens at noon on a Saturday. Oh North Leics, you are really spoiling us ......
A cheery chappie is pulling me what turns out to be a pitch perfect pint of Oakham Citra, here at the Bull, Bottesford (2614 / 4509) when about three groups of twentysomethings and two old couples clatter in all at once. It is barely 12:05pm. What's goin' on? There's plenty of plasmas in here and I'm just about to ask If I could get an England Women's semi on (fnarr fnarr), when it suddenly twigs. Arsenal v Nott'm Forest is about to kick off. A young lass asks if we can put it on for a bit anyway, I nod, but request denied. Watching Declan Rice warming up for 20 mins is obv seen as preferable. I should've known all this, I was supposed to be meeting local Twitter/X legend Pete Blackburn who was gonna drive me around these awkward pubs, and whilst he hasn't absconded to Devon, he has been given a free ticket to watch his beloved Tricky Trees down at the Arse. Emirates 1-0 Everitts. Well, I soon realise EVERYONE is eyeing my prime spot next to the giantest plasma so, being not at all bothered, and because I'm feeling kind, I move. And go a-wanderin'. Like what RetiredMartin would do. Well, I stumble on this much more beautiful, smaller, olde worlde room to the left, piano and old furniture and no TV. Perfect. I could now get more of a sense of a pub that Stan Laurel's sister ran back in the 50's. And bar staff keep popping their heads around the corner and smiling at me like "the boy done good, massive respect". Or so I told myself. Good pub this.
Today's second pub, and the final one in this high octane blog (I'm drinking G&T on my balcony in the sun after work which might explain it), sees me taking on the walk from Bottesford, south along a dirt track, a wet nosed dog leaping up at me, across a busy main road, down another path, turn left and finally I arrive in the village of Redmile.
I quiz a terrified old lady on village bus times and once I'm satisfied I won't be stuck in Redmile for eternity, I'm ready to enter the pub, which is hiding not too convincingly behind a tree.
The Barley Mow in 'Auf Wiedersehen, Pet', I don't perhaps see the Windmill, Redmile (2615 / 4510) in its best possible light because I enter through the left hand side, which is the restaurant. The reason for doing so, the narrower and a pubbier right looks very squashy, with more football fans, who give me a welcoming smile, but I still decide against it, a decision I'd later regret. "Who's winning then?" I ask the barmaid who seems a good sport. "WE are" she says. I'm surprised. She is surprised I'm surprised. But I thought the 'WE' in this piece was Nottingham Forest. But no, I later discover it is England Women. Had I known, I probably would've squashed into the right. Instead, I ooze down into a leather settee, a sort of waiting area before you eat, and although the Lenton Lane is drinking very well, I expect to be bored fuckless for the next half an hour. My saviour, a jolly blousey lady who wants a drink before her meal. Soon, she's chatting away to me, and her railway enthusiast hubbie joins us and does what they all do, starts talking defunct train lines and Beeching's cuts. I try to concentrate. Their daughter works for Vodafone and enjoys WFH since lockdown like me. Soon, their lunch buddies arrive but not before they tell me "if you are off to the Grantham Railway Club later, look out for the colourful haired loud lady, that'll be Kirsty Matthews - say hi from us!" Oh no, another Poppy moment incoming. I make a note in my phone notes section cos no way I'm remembering otherwise. And then I go to catch my bus, and pray it arrives.
Chatting to my new faceless friends
It does arrive. But why does the bus driver tell me off? Who are the two lads in the next pub who seem to know me? Why are the Forest fans roaring like maniacs? What went wrong in Granby? Why am I back in Bingham Wetherspoons? And did Kirsty Matthews transpire? Oh, and where's mi coat?
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