Thursday 16th May 2024
I hadn't planned on BRAPping this particular Thursday. After all, the first half of May had been BRUTAL, what with Devon, birthday, Manchester, sister's birthday.
But when work asked if I could work the following two Thursday's (23rd and 30th) due to holidays and staffing, and I agreed because #TeamPlayer .... so, I thought I'd best make the most of my last May Thirsty Thursday hopportunity.
I'd set up my new Google Pixel 8a the previous day, so this would be a debut outing for the lad. After 1twelve years on Apple, switching to Android felt very strange indeed. Great camera though. Here was an early sighter as I walked to pub one, the grey drizzle not helping.
North Derbyshire the chosen destination. Changed at Sheffield. Derbyshire Wayfarer (what a ticket that is!) and the first required stop on the local line is Hathersage, where Little John (not Richard or Adrian) is buried.
But we appear to have a problem ..... I couldn't get in!
Opening times weren't exactly forthcoming for the Scotsman's Pack, Hathersage (2808 / 4968) but their Facebook said 11am, so I'd gone with that. 11:45am and nothing doing, though lights are on and people are at home. After a bit of scrabbling about, I manage to wedge my fingers into a fire door and force it open. I'm hoping the barmaid doesn't send me back out into the rain, and she doesn't, indicating she'd seen me out in the rain and was about to open up anyway. Not that I warm to her, very sulky. When I mention the 11am Facebook hrs, first she pretends not to hear me, then she just grunts. Correct response would be "Oh gosh Si, that's not very professional of us is it? I will arrange for that to be updated with the utmost urgency, thanks for bringing it to our attention, have a pint on the house, in fact, here's a free bag of scratchings too. Love your amusing blog btw lolz!". The place is dining drear - every table except two have knives n forks set up and it ain't a small 'pub'. Yet not one other sausage arrives whilst I'm there. At least the Pedi is drinking well, in fact this is my best Pedi in years. And my Google Pixel tells me Foo Fighters 'Lean to Fly' is playing when I hadn't even asked.
A few stops down the line we come to Hope. Now here was a place I recognised. Once for a trip to the pretty decent Cheshire Cheese a few years back, and more recently when I accidentally climbed a mountain near Edale to get between pubs and fell on my bum three times due to incorrect footwear.
Down that horrid busy main road which is impossible to cross, I come to today's second pub, first time in the GBG since 1990, as confirmed by Jim's trusty spreadsheet which I can no longer access since the phone changeover (something to do with Microsoft Authenticator) .....
What a difference a pub makes! Not only is the Old Hall Hotel, Hope (2809 / 4969) a warm homely pub which emits a gentle Hope Valley / Peak District radiation, it is also one for you dullards who are impressed by beer with festivals every bank holiday. Assuming it must only recently have become this GBGy. The carpet is an easy 8.5, 8.75 if you take into account the lolloping lab. A suit of armour spooks me near the gents. The walls are made from a nice crumbly stone, and the furniture looks pretty antique, well pretty anyway. The Old Peculiar does what I'd expect of the boy. Shame someone has left a soggy back door open, but I'm out of the draught. And as I return my glass and push the door, a kind man appears behind it and asks if I've dropped my hat, which of course I had, and a good job, it is widdling it down out there by now.
Next stop is Chinley as I have to change for New Mills Newtown .... or so I thought. Trainline changes its mind and asks me to change at Hazel Grove instead which I'm not sure is covered by my Wayfarer but I manage to get away with it.
Bit of a walk to pub three, not sure why there's so few New Mills Central trains. I was supposed to have two ticks here this year, but like a couple of years back, New Mills wildcard entry (Chalkers Snooker Club this time) hasn't survived the GBG year. Tsk, must do better local CAMRA!
I've always found New Mills an incredibly friendly place, and this was my first taste of a good old fashioned boozer in the town, so no surprise it is all "eeeey up, ow do, not sure where she's gone but she won't be long" at the Masons Arms, New Mills (2810 / 4970). Unlike in Hope, there aren't a lot of soft furnishings and warm fluffy edges, it is a basic stone-flagged boozer with fruit machines. Much of the atmosphere comes from the matter-of-fact locals, of whom they were many, all with their own specific supermarket branded carrier bag and tethered mangy mutt - a lanky white Gladstone Small unwittingly ruins every photo I try to take. How can one man with no neck be so tall? Barmaid smiles in a coquettish way throughout. 'Bitter of the day! (12-5) ' & 'Drink of the week' seem to be the same thing, Red Mist for £2.90. A winning drop from Storm. Speaking of which, back out into the rain, but after rubbish Hathersage, this was proving a good quality #ThirstyThursday.
The original plan had been to head home at this stage, but a motivational talk from some unknown TwXtter bloke plus my failure to do as much Greater Manchester as I wanted the previous weekend had me thinking about Bolton in a way that most people only think about Taylor Swift.
After all, from New Mills (particularly the closer Central station), it was far easier to get to Manchester 'Acun' Piccalilli than Sheffield.
I had a headache borne out of heavy rush hour footfall, but I take the upward escalator to that little M&S for some high-end snacks and a soft drink, take a few minutes sprawled on the benches, and soon I'm revitalised & ready for the 'Evening Session'.
Once in Bolton, a further bus was needed to get me out to the suburb of Deane. GMR wasn't coming quietly .....
.... but they say good things come to those who wait, and on a day where the pub standard was above the national average, King's Head, Bolton (2811 / 4971) was perhaps the fairest of all. It managed to combine Hope's softer furnishings with the rugged local attitude of New Mills. I squash in amongst the bawdy bar blockers and the landlord unwittingly becomes the first victim of the cruel Pixel lens (NB to staff everywhere ; never look up when pulling a BRAPA pint) ... and what a pint it is. Bank Top Dark Mild is my joint best Mild so far this May along with the always reliable Rudgate Ruby. And you just know Flat Cap and the Blackedge would be incredible too. At more winning prices, £3.30. If only the red and green swirly carpet was more widespread, we'd be looking at a 10/10 pub. Folk within earshot seem stuck in a time warp, reminiscing on Frank Carson's Blankety Blank appearance like it is Bridgerton or Pretty Little Liars. Lulu the Westie goes for a wander but is confused when a naughty man who looks like a Bolton Gandalf keeps calling her in the wrong direction. 'Awwww' says the entire pub. "That should be me, chief" moans Colin. I tell him life isn't fair but the Uber is here so chop chop.
Yes, I took a taxi to speed me up a bit. Today was now going to be a late finish , work tomorrow, but my main concern was being out of Manchester Victoria and through L**ds before their appalling football fans (only joking if you are one, I'm not if you are not) return from the playoff second leg against Naaaarch.
Cos am sure plenty live in Y*rk, ooops I mean York, it is catching.
King's Arms Hotel, Farnworth (2812 / 4972) is another strong boozery type on which to end, though it did have a looming menace about it. Not helped by my taxi dropping me in the centre of some scary teenagers circling the grassland opposite like BMX bandits. No wonder the sign says 'no over 21's', they've obviously seen these little bastards and erected it to hasten their entry date! Thankfully I'm a 45 year old bastard so I'm welcomed into the bastard fold with open arms, or as open as they can be in a moody gaff with subtle undercurrent of humour. The smell of pear drops, talcum powder and 70's aftershave further convinced me all was good in the hood. Torrside is a top drink, and it should be, I rolled one of their barrels around Clitheroe once. Should get a discount really. I'd even swerved White Rat AND Plum Porter for the privilege. The Pringle jumpered man opposite is on a never ending monologue , well apart from when he breaks off for some forbidden vaping. The lady with him sups stoically and does her best to ignore him. Wife, daughter or carer, it didn't really matter. The Gents loos are at the back so you have to tread carefully around the pool table without being speared in the goolies. That kinda pub. I liked it and would return if I ever found myself in Farnworth again, which I won't.
The bus made me sweat by being eleven minutes late, but just as a dude and his Down-the-road-Dad told me it wasn't gonna show, it did!
And we get back to Bolton in time for me to race from bus interchange to train interchange for the connection to Victoria, but in my haste, my new Pixel (still without a case which was on its way from Amazon) slips out of my grasp due to the slippy nature of a caseless phone, goes flying, and I end up cracking the screen! Day one! Only very minor though, a mere scratch, a flesh wound. You can hardly notice it. Well you can, but you can ignore it.
Main thing was, I'm through L**ds just as the second half is underway, I'm hearing they're playing the game of their lives!
One of the lovelier followers of the White Shite sent me a direct message earlier this week suggesting the whole country will be rooting for them in the final because Rishi is a Southampton fan. Optimistic? You have to be in this game.
Si
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