BRAPA in .... FLAM 69 : HURRY UP DADDY (EAST YORKS MOP UP)
Saturday 14th October, 11:43am
It wouldn't be the beginning a BRAPA pub ticking season without an excitable phone call to Daddy B. about the county he knows better than any other ..... EAST EAST EAST YORKSHIRE.
Me : "Dad, I've finally got the new GBG!"
Dad : *Muffled sound of shortbread munching from an outbuilding* "Ey up. Anything decent?"
Me : "Flamborough!"
Dad : "Wow really?"
Me : "Yes, and Bishop Wilton".
Dad : "The Fleece? By gum, I've been there with yer mother"
Me : "I thought you'd say that. South Cave too!" And summat new at Snaith can you believe? New Beverley one too annoyingly.
Dad "By 'eck"
Me : "Chauffeur day soon?"
Dad : "Absolutely" *Muffled sip of instant coffee and further shortbread crunch*
Me : "AMAZING! See you soon."
It took a month or so, as we needed to wait until Hull City weren't sullying our weekend (thank the lord for international breaks!), and we were in beautiful Flamborough early doors for the first of five ticks. If the village looked great, the coastline looked even better.
Not quite the 25 degrees we'd had in Bermondsey a week ago, but the sun was out and the air was arguably, well no arguably about, fresher!
Our first pub did exactly what it was supposed to and opened on time.
You could also argue that being named the Viking Hotel, Flamborough (2465 / 4622) and being vaguely Viking themed like these two oddbods above (three if you include me), it was spooky enough without festooning the place with Hallowe'en tat, but with only two weeks to go, in a tourist location, half term approaching, kids coming in for lunch, it was perhaps inevitable. Don't get me wrong, I love the spooky season, I'd be having my blood red wine, cheesy witch fingers and watching Count Duckula with as much vigour as the next man, but I've always been of the opinion that the harder the pub goes in with the decor, the less confidence it has in itself. I'm forced to revise that opinion as of now, because this was a quality hotel bar, loving the stained glass bar top especially. 'Real', pubby, not too polished and inane. The staff are so nice, tis a good pint of Wensleydale (beer not cheese) but a bit fizzy, Dire Straits on the jukebox (the equivalent of an 8/10 carpet), and around the corner to the loo, a witch jumps out and terrifies me, and she wasn't even part of the decorations. With crustless veggie quiche and cauliflower curry(!) on the menu, Daddy B comments "I could bring yer mother here" which would certainly feature if there was a Daddy B pub bingo card. A surprsingly strong start.
Next up, the one East Yorkshire tick that had eluded me the previous year, and at this point I was kinda glad I'd left it alone because it helped to join up Flamborough with Bishop Wilton.
I'm talking about the lovely market town of Driffield, think underrated Beverley without the tourist bells and whistles.
Daddy BRAPA takes this opportunity to find a postbox, browse antiques and have a coffee so I tackle it alone ......
I visited a Butcher's Dog, Driffield (2466 / 4623) way back on 3rd January 2015, a pre-emptive at that time. Then it appeared in a GBG a couple of years later and I was feeling well pleased with myself for being so darn clever...... until they moved to a different part of town! And I only discovered this fact ONE DAY after I'd ticked Kilham and Rudston, in the same part of East Yorkshire, last year! Oh yes, pub ticking is cruel at times. Anyway, I'm far more impressed with this Dog than the original. Larger, less like you are standing on a postage stamp with your face in a coat rack, and more like you are in an atmospheric wooden and red 'general store' style micropub with enough room to swing a cat. It has a companionship to it too. The train bore bar blockers seem nice blokes. A guy who screams 'visiting ticker' (not literally, that'd have been terrifying) smiles at me from the window. Even 'bereft candle lady' cheers up when joined by her husband. Barman makes an impact, upset that the ale I order 'Sleepy Badger Oat Meal Stout'' doesn't have the actual pumpclip on display, because his clever father designed it. Hallowe'en themed scratchings help it go down, and I text Daddy B to say I'll meet him at the car. Job done (until they move again!)
At the foot of the 'dangerous hill' (Garrowby Hill, but this is what me and Sister BRAPA called it on our trips over to see Granny BRAPA in Bridlington), you can turn off to the sleepy little village of Bishop Wilton. Not a soul about as we step out of the car for the inaugral photo opportunity ......
Times like this you are especially grateful for the chauffeuring shenanigans. Not a lot of buses out here I'd wager! As mentioned earlier, Daddy BRAPA has been to the Fleece, Bishop Wilton (2467 / 4624) before, with Mummy BRAPA just before lockdown in 2019, and was aware that in 2020/21, like so many pubs, they took that period of closure to have a big refurb. Well, Dad is pleasantly surprised to say the least! Because what was then very much a restaurant, has been transformed into something cosier and pubbier. Not often it goes that way in the modern era is it? Pink jumper barmaid is a superstar and welcomes us in. The guest Great Newsome is the best guest Great Newsome I've had in years. Pheasant wallpaper and an autumnal colour scheme offer a more understated seasonal alternative from all the Hallowe'eny shizzle, and although a chunk of the pub is still kitted out for dining, there is a designated drinking area / games room - they've even wheeled in a repurposed pool table for the bantz. Dad spends the whole 27.5 minutes with a happy look of astonishment on his face. Dining pubs going pubbier, I hope it is the future.
Go on Col lad, rack 'em up
Now for the awkward drive of the day, away from this remote part of East Yorkshire towards that little Goolie pocket bordering North Yorkshire at the south western tip.
It takes a while, but as some wise beer once said, good things come to those who wait, and flippin' eck if the standard so far had been surprisingly fruity, we were about the go the full punnet ......
I walk in through the back gate, and admire the outdoor bench seating tucked into these little alcoves,. Then have a little black kitten jump out of nowhere for a stroke. It is fair to say I was more impressed with the Plough, Snaith (2468 / 4625) than 80% of all Buckinghamshire pubs ever visited, and I hadn't even made it inside yet! A Don Valley vehicle, saving pubs since errrm, quite recently. Blind Monkey Sheffield showed great promise. Coach & Horses Bamburgh was a 1930's Art Deco thriller. And now this, my favourite of the three. Warm and spangly, all deep mahogany and gleaming pub mirrors. Ashover beers too, one of my favourite breweries. Our only gripe is a moody barmaid, not a patch on Miss Bish Wilton. I hadn't been impressed with the Bamburgh Botoxers either, but I'd loved the Blind Monkettes, so I don't think it is a Don Valley problem. I hear they have a 4th pub squirreled away in the Yorkshire countryside! One for the 2025 Guide perhaps. But what a joyous 27.5 minutes this was.
One tick left then, and this time it was over the North Yorkshire border to the GBGs infamous 'inset' section covering that Selby area. I don't live far away but even I hadn't heard of 'Beal', hence why I'm putting it in inverted commas cos I'm not convinced Beal is .... real!
But it seems I was wrong, and so are you. Shall we go in?
Probably the weakest pub of the day ..... no, that's unfair, I'll rephrase that ..... the weakest pub experience of the day due to circumstances beyond mine and the pub's control, Jenny Wren, Beal (2469 / 4626) is actually another fine example of a never before seen GBG village pub that obviously has been standing in the same place for a long time serving Bealites for centuries, and if this pint of delicious Rudgate Ruby Mild (a multi award winner, I may add) is anything to go by, fully deserving of its place. The only issue was, the front bar was absolutely packed, and it transpires they are Wigan Warriors, heads shaped like pies, voices like foghorns, on the way to or from some rugby league jaunt no doubt, but I couldn't be sure where, or why, but well oiled certainly. It forces me and the Dadster through the brick archway, past the old grandfather clock, to the far end which left us feeling a bit remote and detatched. Only diners would ordinarily stray this far, so well meaning staff peer are quick to peer in like 'are you ordering scran or what?' But like I say, the pub is perfectly homely.
And that's where I'm just a little bit better than most pub reviewers, I probably just have a few more pub genes, a few more past lives as a 16th century publican than the rest, because even when I'm in a pub situation which doesn't go my way, I can recognise a decent pub when I see it. Some pubs are beyond redemption, but the majority, there is always something positive to be found.
That was meant to be partially tongue in cheek by the way.
Anyway, I thought that was that on a great day of ticking but I glance over at my driver, and he's got this cheeky glint in his eye like "I have a late trick up my sleeve, son" and next thing I know, we're turning into the village of Riccall for the revisit of a pub I know, or used to know, quite well!
The stance of a man who's had a trick up his sleeve
Well blow mi down and shiver mi timbers, "how long have been reopen, I thought you shut down for good?" I chirrup to the staff, not the couple who used to serve me chilli and rice after a round of golf circa 2001, but they seem perfectly pleasant. They tell me they've been open for years. "Coooooo!" I coo, and order a beer, so startled, I have no idea what it was but it tasted nice, Daddy B put a tea light on Colin's head for a laugh, the atmosphere was bouncing like a buoyant Baggie baby, and it just topped off a themed day of 'old pubs being revitalised'.
Don't let the doom bar and gloom bar merchants convince you that pubs aren't what they were, taking twisted satisfaction in it, pubs are back baby and it might spoil the narrative of the negative ninnies, but you gotta face the fax (facts), then book yourself a trip to 'Fax.
And that really was it! * And breathe*
Join me on Sunday where I go on a crazy overnighter in Bradford because the GBG has unhelpfully put new ticks in THREE neighbouring towns and villages.
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