Thursday 7th August 2025
#ThirstyThursdays are becoming more elaborate as we reach the business end of the pub ticking season.
Up at 6:30am, on a train an hour later, in Birmingham New Street before 10am. One coffee wasn't enough, despite Colin telling me to choose hot chocolate instead as too much caffeine is liable to mess up my insides. I didn't listen of course. And spent the whole day with messed up insides.
Then I dash from Green zone to Blue zone (or was it Red to Yellow?) to find the train to Stourbridge. Petition to go all 'Crystal Maze' on New St. and rename them Aztec, Futuristic, Industrial and Medieval (but NEVER Ocean, I hated Ocean).
I try not to tread on the station cat, and then take the cute lil' shuttler to Stourbridge proper, from where I the catch a bus to the termination point at Kinver.
Then, a longish walk which became increasingly pavementless and lacking in grass verges, the final A458 bit particularly nasty, I should've swung a left to miss that bit out.
The pub finally comes into view, shortly after noon opening - suddenly the early start seemed worth it.
Cat Inn, Enville (3275 / 5761) is clinging on by the tips of its claws to a semblance of olde rural pubbery, though let's not pretend anyone else is here for a drink only because it would be a big fat lie. Our barmaiderly host of impressive countenance pulls me a local IPA (B+) and having told her of my efforts to get here on foot, I hint / reflect "....what a shame there isn't a country footpath to save you walking along the main road" (I'm suspecting there is) but I get no help ala Lamb Inn, Sandford, Devon. She reminds me of Alan Partridge's long suffering co-host in his most recent chat show. I sit down, admiring the low ceiling and horse brasses, trying to block out the sounds of the thrice cooked chips oldies and the attention that Mr Cheeseburger's dog gets ahead of Colin. It finally appears that the great cauliflower has been noticed as the staff glance nervously at my table, but no, they're soon apologising because they'd forgotten my table is reserved for 'Robert' (pronounced in French like the former Newcastle winger, Laurent) at 1pm and I'll need to vacate this table quick sticks. I'm down to my dregs so good job I was going anyway, tsk! Wanted to love this place, but it didn't make it easy.
I KNEW there was a path if I looked hard enough (I really should download the OS maps app), the South Staffs Way no less, and despite a brief awkward moment where a gentle Ollie McBurnie farmer told me to get off his land, it was a pleasant stroll. Slightly too long, as it brought me out near Kinver Brewery, still a long walk to pub two.
I then made the controversial and probably stupid decision to shun a Batham's pre-emptive .....
..... to keep my eyes firmly on the BCA prize .....
One of the dudes outside follows me in so I apologise for cutting short his fag break /chat. A lovely chap. Cross Inn, Kinver (3276 / 5762) is one of those annoying BCA's which puts its own (inferior) ales front and centre and hides the guest ales to the right, so it'd be easy to miss a classic like Titanic Chocolate and Vanilla Porter (A-). After that walk, I'm starving so it is cob o'clock - he tells me the unlisted 'guest cob' is cheese n piccalilli, ooh fancy, reminds me of watching Bonanza repeats with my Mum in Saffron Walden circa 1986. More soft roll than crusty cob, but the cheese is thick enough and I wolf it down in one sitting .... rare for me cos I normally have about half and nibble the rest later on as the day progresses! There is far too much literature on hernia's in here, offset by some beautiful green leather bench seating. I cannot convince myself that another long walk to Caunsell is wise, do-able or dangerous, so I err on the side of caution and book an Uber. Worcs here we come!
Mohammed seems quite tickled by the BRAPA concept and only charges £5.90 which you definitely wouldn't get on a non-Uber ride (and no, they don't sponsor me ..... yet).
The M&B lantern is the first indicator of my pub of the day, Anchor, Caunsall (3277 / 5763) even if I failed to get a smile out of gloomy one man and his dog. For the first time today, I'm reaching for my cash not card to pay for my Hobson's (best quality beer so far), they tell me they're a cash only pub, I tell them I must be psychic because I 'instinctively knew' but they burst my bubble by pointing at an in-pub cashpoint right next to me. 'I promise I didn't see that!' I say, but no one cares anyway, and neither do you, I can tell by your expression. I should've hung on until here for a cob, they look amazing and the menu is delightfully basic, none of this woke piccalilli nonsense! Though having said that, these come with salad which is all sorts of wrong in my eyes. There's a time and place for greenery, proper pubs ain't it. And is that a muscly Karl Kennedy off Neighbours on the far wall flexing his guns? Whoever said canalside pubs were shite (me, 2017/18) was wrong but of the 10% which aren't shite, 8% are within 30 miles of Birmingham and the other 2% are anomalies. Cracking pub this.
I consider a bus but when I see how close Cookley is, anything other than a walk would be dreadfully lazy .....
In fact, walking the perimeter of the pub to find the entrance feels longer than the walk from Caunsall, but at least Cookley Village Hall & Sports Club, Cookley (3278 / 5764) is one of those open breezy large one roomers you can walk into guilt free, no intercoms, guestbooks or nervy questioning ladies, which I had in Stony Stratford on Saturday. The young lad behind the bar with the Callum O'Hare hair is pleasant but it has to be said, twitchy, as are the punters (generally middle aged men in trackies who've escaped Kidderminster for the afternoon although their ankle tags remain securely attached), giving an undercurrent of malice, but a gentle whimsy alongside it. The Billy Joel themed Mallinson's is a superb peppery drop, they really are the best thing to come out of Huddersfield since a certain Mr T. Dolan. Talking of football managers, the Sky Sports screens are currently showing Steve Evans in triplicate. The carpet is a Scottish shortbread 7.5/10 of which I'm sure he'd approve, and the loos are easy to find. You cannae ask for more.
A quick jog along the country lane back into Cookley Centre has me nicely positioned at the bus stop just in the nick of time, although with enough time to wonder if the Bull's Head is my second 'pub miss' of the day as paranoia grows in the run up to the 2026 GBG publication ....
Back in Kiddie, I have time for one of my two required ticks ..... and I probably chose the wrong one judging by RetiredMartin and Duncan's positive comments about the Chester Tavern in the pub tickers WhatsApp group the following week, but hey ho, I guess they all need doing (unless they close down before 2044 which this one definitely could) .....
I'm a big fan of bears, and partial to the odd wolf, so I was always going to enjoy Bear & Wolf, Kidderminster (3279 / 5765) to some extent, a sorta workaday Wacaday working man's (oops, and working women #WokeSi2025) micro with a great local fanbase, community feel and much jokey loud bar blocking conversation, breaking off the shackles of those electronic ankle tags (metaphorically at least) before they meet their community officers the following morning for a debrief, probably. Look, I won't overdo it on the praise, it isn't the most pleasant of interiors. Chipboard. Flimsy. Quirk over comfort, someone is wearing a wizard hat and talking about D20's and figurines. One of the loudest voices at the bar is a non-native, from Sheffield. I know because he keeps telling everyone. Mary's boy child to my right keeps saying 'hello' to Colin, and dribbling. When Colin says hello back in the voice of Butch from the Sooty Show, there is some confusion, so I go to the loo, finish my strange pint of 'Small Man's Wetsuit', and leg it to the station. Respect to staff and punters alike though, for providing a winning atmosphere in the face of micro adversity.
My train went back via Moor Street, and that could only mean one thing, swift one in Kilder, my current favourite. Not that I've shunned Craven Arms or the Bull, my two actual favourites, I'm just resting them so I don't get sick of them and end up resenting their existence.
Lemon Hooch it was, as promised on Bromsgrove day. And utterly glorious. Digbeth Lemonade next time?
A real morale boosting BRAPA day in terms of being able to achieve lots of tricky stuff on a Thursday without killing myself. Back in York, I studiously ignore both York Tap and KFC so that I felt decent at work the following day. No one likes a Business Loans Hangover.
Thursday options will get temporarily easier once the new Guide comes out mid September.
I'll aim to be back with you either tomorrow or Wednesday as the football season kicks off in Coventry.
Keep it pub, Si
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