BRAPA IN .... CREEPY CRAWLEY, HELLO KITTY, HASSOCK TWAZZOCK : PART 3/3 (TICKS 22-31)
Si Everitt
Jan 13
10 min read
Thursday 27th November 2025
With Blackheath, Charlton and Plumstead tucked nicely under my belt, it was time to head more central for today's remaining three Good Beer Guide ticks of the evening.
And I had the added twist of being joined by birthday boy and recently inducted pub ticker, Derby Rich. He'd just arrived in t'smoke for a long weekend of ticking, and before checking in at his East London digs, agreed to lug his rucksack around a couple of pubs we both needed.
Excuse the slight blurriness, I was running because Rich was already there and I didn't wanna keep him waiting any longer. Confession time - I tried to tick this pub a few years ago. Ordered a pint, took a sip, tottered to the downstairs loo, felt woozy and realised everything was blurrier than the above picture, beer wasn't a good idea so I left and had a sobering coffee at London Bridge. From memory, that one sip had been 5* NBSS, but this pint was utter bab, like it has been dredged from t'Thames. Vocation too. Imagine getting Vocation wrong! No wonder this pub is in and out of the guide like a washer woman's knickers on the line. If that's a phrase. Rich reports better beer from his end. We had a fun chat about our Dad's. My bag was sticking out and I nearly tripped up a man walking past and broke his neck, but thankfully he stayed up right. It wouldn't be the best pub to die in, though it has character and olde atmosphere to a London extent.
Time for our other pub as a duo but en route on the Underground, I get 'toxic Tube fingers' and spend the rest of the evening worried they might drop off. They were tingling, but I think it was psychological looking back.
Rich authoritatively points us inside this GBG newbie. The weekend begins on a Thursday evening in SE1, and this gaff is in full swing. You could sense the Christmas build up beginning, a cacophony of young Londoners, cutlery being dropped on wooden floors, and clinking glasses echoing and reverberating off the high ceiling. If I could've picked one pub all week to be glad of some company, it was here so cheers Rich. Some very casual Celtic fans cheer their first goal, but have forgotten the game is still on by the time their second goes in. Owner Owen (an anagram of 'owner' if you call him 'r owen') spies us thru through the crowd, overlooking poor Ivor Panda and honing in on our GBGs. Says he's proud he's made it in, and 'tis true the Hophead is drinking exceptionally well (I'd have a pint in Parcel Yard a few weeks later that'd taste of cat wee). For a pub of its ilk, yep, made of the right stuff. But one visit's enough.
Sorry Ivor mate, no one cares
Farewell to Rich who needed to check in and plans tick about ten East London pubs before midnight, so whilst I was up here, I head to W9 for West London completion .....
A stunning pub reminiscent of the nearby Prince Alfred which wowed me back in the '25 GBG, the experience here sadly marred by lackadaisical service (I had to ring a bell, but still took ages for someone to arrive) and a woeful pint of Naked Ladies. Twickenham such a safe pair of hands normally on my trips down south, but this holiday I just couldn't get a good one. My second worst pint of the week had also been Naked Ladies, over in Whitton, normally a beer I'd class well above average. Which I guess explains why this stunner doesn't often feature in the GBG. Football is on here too, old men are cheering for Young Boys under a Christmas tree which is patiently awaiting decoration. A frustrating experience which could've been so much more!
It hadn't been the greatest beer or pub evening and it ended with a dire pre-emptive Wetherspoons by Clapham Junction called the London & South Western which I cannot see making the GBG any time soon, but helps me to understand why the Falcon across the road is such an enduring entry cos it feels like the Blue Anchor in Helston by comparison.
Friday 28th November 2025
My final full day and I'd whittled my London entries down to nine. As previously mentioned, I need to hold some over for Millwall away so I decided to maximise my tick count, and for a nice change of pace, an 'easy' West Sussex day was the way forward.
Yes, this certainly was cleansing when you've woken up in a Croydon Premier Inn for a fifth consecutive day. Two hourly bus ride from Crawley, picturesque village and a pub which closes from 2pm which gives you an indication as to its foodie pretentions. But highly impressive. FOUR different staff members apologise to me for my wait at the bar, seems there'd been some miscommunication where they'd left me for each other ..... but after Wibbas Down, I was immune to such lag times. What's more, sitting empty is a distinct drinkers area beside an ancient fireplace, which was bubblin' hot just like de soup in the pot, mon (just call me Rankin' Roger). The guest Plum Porter from Long Man (the most Sussex brewery outside of Harvey's) is such a bloody challenge, I'm wonder if it is really supposed to taste like this. Tart and zingy. Maybe Titanic have babied me, and now I can't cope with other PP's? With the staff's ongoing checks on my welfare, and blokes straight out of 90's Midsomer Murders comparing muscular strains, I was glad I'd made the effort to get out so rural.
Bus back to Crawley (I was tempted by East Grinstead but I'd have had to hang around an extra hour) ....
Finally! A tick so 'easy' on paper, I've overlooked it for 11 years straight. In my bad books early doors on account of its failure to open at the advertised 11am, I'd sensed a staff meeting which had overrun from my loitering about outside. Asked a guy at 11:10am setting up outside, but he said 'gimme another 10-15 mins', and my West Hoathly bus was due before 11:40am, so no chance. But all was soon forgiven. Beak are a brewery from Lewes who offer an alternative to Harvey's, and they had a 'takeover' in here, full of their pumps. Beer menus on each table. Shame the atmosphere is 'Firefly, Balham' levels of miserable old bastard dross in the bar room, so I explore the nooks and crannies further down, full of ghost stories and plaggy skeletons, where warped beams mix with a pink backdrop. Think 'haunted camp'. Easy to have the willies put up you here. Seriously though, felt its age, the beer was stunning, and I can see why this gets in every GBG. Just kicking myself for forgetting there's a pre-emptive 'Spoons opposite.
Time to work my way south and after a ten minute train delay which had the southerners in a spin at the inconvenience (don't know they're born that lot), and I never thought I'd see the day HH had a GBG entry. What next? Corby? Something new in Scunthorpe? A Motherwell Micro? Anyway, I'm a bit irritated by it before I've got inside because they have a 'Happy Hour : Mon-Thu 4-6pm' blackboard outside, yet today is Friday! I ask if I've got them on a technicality, alas no cigar! Barman nice, as is Miss Lockhart, doing some important pub work on her laptop at the only low seat in this flimsy bar. Dreadful seating. But good warmth. Very much the opposite of Balham Bowls Club, it photographs badly but benefits from actually spending time here. A grower. Like ringworm. Though having said that, my Battle beer tastes all types of wrong (though looking at Untwappd, I had the same experience of it last time so maybe a beer thing). As in Stockport's new entry, Ivor Panda intimidates a tiny dog with some intense staring, and that was that.
Doubling up as a dental surgery which is an inspired idea, this was a jolly friendly micro ..... as long as you are a known person of Hassocks who comes in here regularly. Hear me out, but this is why all micros in Greater London, Herts, Beds, Bucks, East & West Sussex and East Berks should be eliminated from the planet. I know there's exceptions. Warm lovely folk. Ali Taffs in Hornchurch, Jimmy Two Shoes in Potters Bar, Roland Ratzenburger IV in Cookham, Don the Brush in Welling, but we must take a stand here. Too many lack the northern minerals, and eschew (bless you!) the Micro values which Mr Hillier's blueprint set out so clearly. And no, York's Blue Bell isn't a micro ya feckin' weirdo! It's a small pub. They DO exist. Kent and Essex escape cos they are northern counties in the south by mistake, freaks of nature. And Cambs, Ox and Northants escape because they, well do they really exist? Or are they like Rutland? A small town in Leicester throwing its toys out of the pram if it doesn't get county recognition? Right, now that I've alienated 80% of my readers, I'll go on. My 4th black pint today, arguably the best. Place is too darn chilly in an oddly spartan back room. Yet I'm centimetres away from the Daddy daycare gang to my left foot. If I dangle it out, I brush against them. Meanwhile, my right elbow is pushing gently against tea cosy woman behind me, and yet I'm still somehow invisible. Even with a table panda in plain sight. Depressing verging on funny. Twirly moustache man grins twistily on his way back from the bogs. It was too little too late.
From here, I should've walked to Ditchling or that Hassocks club that was in last year's GBG, but I was feeling lazy and had two on a train route to bring me up to my daily quota of six.
Now this was a micro I could get behind! Although my behind was getting the better of me (it's that Sussex yeast strain, I tell thee - Long Man, Harvey's, Beak, and now here 'Only With Love', I cannot cope) hence me forgetting to take an outside photo and rushing straight to the throne of contemplation. A far more convincing gaff, mood lit. And it has, as our project team at work would say, 'the joined up approach'. A mindbending place. I exchange nods with Cider Jesus, tell Potential Reservation Sarah (PRS) that I'm keeping her seat warm, and there's a dog who has a bark like recycled metal. Like something you'd buy on Etsy for £700. And it takes me ages to put my finger on the unique pub smell, but it is definitely blue cheese and spanners. My Stardust Stout is too cold, but good in every other respect.
Should've made this pint a 'swift one' because Martlets are mythical birds a bit like swifts, and you'd have thought how funny and clever I was. But the reality is, the five dark Sussex beers had caught up with me and it was with painstaking sips that I 'swallow' (thanks) down this Titanic Plum Porter. With hindsight, not the best choice in the circs. Ever watch the American sitcom 'My Two Dads' back in the 80's/90's? The scene on the table next to me is like that, except there is one Dad, the girl is a toddler who likes destroying crayons and is being encouraged to eat a plate of gravy and mash potato - which probably never happened in any episode. Fascinating stuff anyway. I don't like the carpet at all. Might be causing me a mild outbreak of Trypophobia. At this same moment, across the Sussex border in Mayfield's new GBG entry, an in-'House Martin (Taylor)' (thanks) was enjoying a pint in front of the fire. Wonder if it was happy hour? I needed my Croydon Premier Inn bed.
Saturday 29th November 2025
Croydon hit new levels of grey mizzly misery as the rain wazzed down on Saturday morning. Checking out of my Premier Inn for the final time (no one on reception to say 'farewell Mr Everitt, go safe'), I walk in the opposite direction from every other day, to reach West Croydon station.
My train back to York is about 12:30, but I'm up early hoping for one more tick and a couple of quick pre-emptives (all 'Spoons). The original plan had been Euston-Stoke to meet Dad for the match, but he'd had a trying week/month so we shelved it. Not like we'll win anyway is it .... oh hang on!
Coppers line the Tube station exit, bouncers are on the pub door, a quick look at FlashScores tells me this might be Meewaw v Southampton related behaviour. Although no one says anything, I'm pretty sure my Hull City badge got plenty of confused clockage. The staff are useless. Unable to command the bar. No one knows where to stand. Leading to an awkward incident when one of the big group of ladz behind me tries to get served just as I'm barking my order. Perhaps due to his jaunty hat, he thinks I'm going to back down but I hold my ground, even his mates try to tell him I was first. Thankfully, a second staff member is freed up just when it seemed like pistols at dawn! Beer isn't worth it. Maltster Mash. On since Hallowe'en? Tasted like it. What slop. Portobello officially now overtaken Twickenham as sloppiest brewery of my week. Not a bad 'Spoons once I got sat down, but edgy atmosphere and I'm relieved to leave both here and Rotherhithe.
I manage to squeeze in two more 'Spoons. One I enjoy at Mile End. One that bored me to tears at Tower Hamlets but at least it was clean and the beer was ok. The Tube line I needed was closed so I had a brief panic on to get my York train, but I'm safely home for mid afternoon and much rest.
Hope you enjoyed that. Got bit between my teeth with this blog catch up now. See you Wednesday or Thursday for the HCDH (Home Counties Double Header) or a smaller St Albans blog.
Thankfully, I'm writing this 18:13 on Monday night so I'm keeping ahead.
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