BRAPA in .... HORRORBRIDGE BOROUGHBRIDGE / IN THE BRUMMIE CRYPT (Hallowe'en Special Pt 1/2)
Boo!
Prepare to be terrified as I take you on a journey (probably in a hearse) around the new GBG pubs I visit at that thrilling time of year when the veil of life & death is thinner than that wafer thin ham you get in Sainsbury's. Oooooooh.
We start on Hallowe'en itself, a #BloodThirstyThursday where I want a curtailed one-pub-stop BRAPA trip out.
I'm desperate to celebrate later that evening in the only way I know how - horrifying obscure 1950's and 60's rockabilly played on scratchy TDK tapes. Pumpkin carving. Blood red wine. Cheesy witches fingers. Round the Twist, Eerie Indiana and Count Duckula on DVD.
I had the perfect pub in mind. It could be achieved on a bus journey from the top of my road.
Boroughbridge is the chosen destination. A surprisingly difficult place to reach as buses are only two hourly, and go around the sort of obscure villages that even this York resident hasn't heard of.
When I arrive, I'm not the only lost soul waiting for 12 noon opening ......
Flippin' frightenin'
Us pub tickers have to be made of stern stuff at times like this, but I am a brave boy, or so I tell myself. I take a deep breath, 12:01pm, and go inside this handsome imposing rambler ......
Tap on the Tutt, Boroughbridge (2785 / 5268) isn't a name that particularly suits the pub. Nor is it one that does it justice. Three Horseshoes originally, ah yes, that suits it far more, in fact it was last in the GBG as this back in 2003. Our barmaid is bright and breezy, and if four handpumps weren't enough, she directs me to three more, a long walk across the bar and around the corner. And if seven seems too many, it probably is. 'Eggy' is how I described what should've been a winning stout from Northern Monk / Timmy Taylor's combined, or as the kids say 'collab'. I'm surprised to learn the pub has been cask-free all summer, I wonder if they realised GBG publication was nigh and thought "ah shit, best get the ales back on!" In happier news, the pub itself is a joy to be in. 1930's, largely unspoilt, funny how often it is a trip to the loo which hammers home the true depth of a pub. Nice vintage brewery cushions too. And a warning not to stick to the newly varnished bar - I had to prise off my phone, pint & elbows. Almost a classic, but may I boldly predict it won't be an enduring entry.
With no bus imminent, and no desire to risk another below par cask, I retire to the more commonly GBG listed Black Bull which I ticked way back in my debut BRAPA year 2014. With more room to breathe today, it is even better than I recall. "Like walking into someone's front room" is an overused pub phrase, but I'd make an exception here. Very friendly too. There were plenty of people to chat to, they just didn't photograph. Vampires?
Back home via the wonderful Fox which is a gentle 19 minute stroll from BRAPA towers. Some sad news though .... it was time to say farewell to Staedtler III, which had run out of green ink.
Farewell loyal servant
Home, lunch, rest and recuperation follows, ready for my Hallowe'en 'party' that evening.
Now I'd not had one BIG SPIDER invade my home this autumn (possibly because I dabbed peppermint extract around the doors and window frames) ..... until now, Hallowe'en itself and it was like this fella wanted to join the festivities.
Werewolf wig if you wondered
Fast forward two days to Saturday 2nd November and I find myself in that most horrific of stations, Birmingham New Street. I'm here for 10am so could really do with an early opening pub. Thankfully, the new GBG had provided one, almost UNDERNEATH the station.
Nicholson's houses don't often get my juices flowing, but the sheer majesty of its 'boozing Roman God' theme at Bacchus, Birmingham (2786 / 5269) must be admired. And judging by how busy I'm told this place gets by early evening, arriving as first customer of the day was the right way to play it. "You are open aren't you?" I call to a sprightly young lady in a distant corner chopping limes. "Aroite bab, I'll just find someone to serve yow" she bellows. An equally sprightly lad appears, it'd herald a great day on the pub staff front. West Mids - some of the nicest folk in the land in my experience. My 3.4% Fierce Beer 'Go Easier' is perhaps a touch off the required GBG standard, but something would have to explain how come I'd not seen this astonishing pub in a Guide in my previous visits down here.
I trot to Moor Street station, probably my favourite of the main Brummie three, and take the train to Old Hill, which is sort of Blackheath, Rowley Regis but also Old Hill! Even more key to my day, as we'll see in part 2, a short bus ride from the surprisingly trainless Halesowen.
Only 11:50am so I'm required to do a bit of car park loitering. One young lad seems even more desperate to get inside than me, racing around like a madman, ringing the pub, banging on doors, crikey! We're forced to sweat til 12:05, when the door finally pings open ......
Black Country Ales pubs are taking over, or that's how it feels! I used to think they were a small group like Batham's, but it feels like they are taking up 50% of West Midlands GBG entries these days. Not to worry though, as the kids say, "they are a bit of me". Old Bush Revived, Blackheath (2787 / 5270) is no exception. And what a welcome from the main man! He's apologising for the late opening. Seems the young lad was helping his set up but had got locked out! He explains the testing combination of factors - a late finishing rowdy Friday night, required cleaning, having to make a fresh batch of pork cobs, not to mention making sure the beers are in order - I confess I have no idea of the effort that go into maintaining a pub, I just know I like drinking in them, massive respect to those who can be arsed. And within five minutes of my arrival, the place is filling up with locals. Poor lads had no respite whatsoever! Those hot pork cobs sure look and smell tempting, but I'm saving myself for now. Watch this space. Otherwise, I just enjoy my Jubilee (25 yrs of BCA) in the warm bench-seated, carpet, glittering mirror, fireside splendour which I associate with BCA pubs.
A 20 minute walk across some surprisingly thick greenery possibly a haunt of doggers called 'Bunker Woods' (I nearly get lost going the wrong way over Dudley Canal) brings me out in Old Hill proper for the last pub of this chapter .....
Yet another warm welcome from mine host at Wheelie Thirsty, Old Hill (2788 / 5271). Probably because I'm a non-native, but I get a thrill every time I'm called 'bab'. In fact, I got 2 babs and a darling here. Love her. I comment on the toasty temperature. "I've caught a chill so I've ramped the heating up to max!" she tells me. I wasn't complaining, I've been in enough baltic micros to last me a lifetime. And I'm coming to an age where pub temperature is as important as beer quality. I missed the two dark beers because her two mate's heads were in the way. Sovereign and M1 Red. Oh hang on, that's actually the brands of ciggies they all go outside to smoke shortly after. Otherwise, they compare stories of inappropriate behaviour of some of the older blokes who come in. Very on trend! I wouldn't mess with this trio, I tell ya, lovely as they were. A basic interior but pleasant pub experience.
Time to catch a bus to Halesowen, mainly because it rhymes with Hallowe'en.
Join me in part two for that, hopefully on Friday but possibly Sunday depending how much energy I have at the end of this freezing winter snap of a week.
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