It made more sense as a #ThirstyThursday on paper. But then I looked at the opening times of the seven pubs I had on my list.
One didn't open on Thursday at all, and a couple not until 6pm! And then of course, you have the fact that York to Mansfield on the train takes longer than a trip to King's Cross, and is about the same price!
So on the Saturday 28th January, I booked an impromptu trip ..... impromptu because Hull City and QPR had both got themselves knocked out of the FA Cup 3rd round at short notice, meaning the league game was back on, Daddy BRAPA was off to it, and I needed to entertain myself!
Stags on sticks and shady blokes in cars made the below photo a challenging one:
I think it was popular beat poets of the past NSYNC who said 'this is where the party's at' and although that sentiment is true of any Lloyds No 1 bar (if you've been to the Rodboro' in Guildford, you'll KNOW), it is particularly true of the Stag & Pheasant, Mansfield (2297/4201) at 11am on a day the football team are at home to Doncaster Rovers. Oooosh. Loitering on the far right of the bar, I nearly get lured into forming a dreaded queue. I see just two chaps manning the bar, uh oh. Eff this for a game of soldiers, I dive right into the centre, almost crowd-surfing, and before long, despite twice waving away their attentions for blokes who were clearly before me, I get served with ease. Give these two lads the Victoria Cross. Now, because I know Lloyds Bars are known for their spiral staircases leading to upper echelons, and because people are generally sheep, and thick as sheep shit ones at that (a queue WAS forming by now), I managed to wrestle free of the congregating ground level throng and locate the staircase ...... result! Only three tables but two of them were empty. A father & son combo enjoying breakfast at the occupied one. I neck my fizzy Gadds' Seashells with ease, and make a swift retreat for the bus station.
Bus driver and chatty passengers seem in no hurry to get to the nearby village of Rainworth ('Renneth' if you want to impress the locals) but then as soon as we hit lengthy roadworks, it is all huffs and puffs and gripes and grumbles. 'Well, if we'd departed on time, maybe we'd be through them sooner' I can't help thinking.
But the garden shed, sorry pub, soon came into view, and just gone 12 noon, was happily open ......
Inkpot, Rainworth (2298 / 4202) is a decent little place. The guv'nor is apologetic, noting how uncharacteristically quiet it is early on, but after the last place, isolation is bliss. Regarding the beer I've ordered, "I'll warn you, it is very sweet, do you want a taster?" No, tasters are for wimps, you're buying a pint, not a car, I've made my bed and now I'll lie in it. Consdering it is a Toffee Milk Stout, I didn't actually struggle with the sweetness. He pulls up a pew and asks if I'm a first time visitor. I wave my GBG in the air, and explain BRAPA. He refers to their limited opening hours and basically tells me it is a hobby pub without telling me it is a hobby pub. He and two other local blokes run it between them when they've got the time. Hours are 6pm Thursday, 12 noon Fri-Sun, I've encountered worse! Our chat was cut short as discerning Rainworth based Stags arrive. I sort of enjoyed this place, slightly quirky without having any discernible quirk factors!
I take the bus back to Mansfield, where having ticked the Brown Cow and the excellent Railway Inn many years ago, I just have one left (the Priors Well Brewery went under back in August). I'm surprised to find it situated in a central pedestrianised area .......
Another GBG year, another vaguely Peaky Blinders inspired micro, although Garrison, Mansfield (2299 / 4203) felt more like a cheap 'n cheerful town centre grot hole in many ways. Let's just say I'd be surprised to see handpumps if I hadn't known it was a GBG pub, and home of Moody Fox brewery. Felt a bit like one of those town centre amusement arcades too. Long and thin, but about three quarters of the way down, the seats run out and it is all beer barrels, tat, toilets and general pub mess. Not a great use of space, and with not a seat available in the place, I had to perch until something became free under an FA Cup match between L**ds and Accrington. The 'Guardians of the Garrison' was a decent drop, but I wouldn't say this place was particularly out of this world. If you want a pub that captures the true Peaky B spirit, try something in Digbeth or the Old Moseley Arms in Balsall Heath.
A bit like the above photo, I was conscious that I was really struggling with the beer from the very start today. Lack of sleep? Not eaten enough? Too many strong beers too soon? NOT that the latter was particularly true, no I don't know if you have this problem, but I occasionally have these days (and this is the first time in ages) where I just cannot handle the ale anywhere near as well!
I take a bus to Sutton-in-Ashfield for three ticks, having already done the Scruffy Dog many years back.
"Gee , are they Converse? They are bootiful!" says an American accent in my ear (or was it Bernard Matthews?) admiring my new shoes. This dude, a missionary from Utah has been spreading the word in Beverley, and is now making a start on Mansfield and Sutton-in-Ashfield, a tougher nut to crack.
Whilst it is true that Jesus fucking hates pub tickers, the nice lad gives me a cute little calling card anyway in case I see the light, and overhearing our BRAPA chat, an old lady sat in front of me warns me that one of my other ticks the Duke of Sussex is well out of town and I'll need another bus! Well, this bus journey had been eventful but I was glad to get away to be honest.
Our second 'Spoons was looming large like a sexy crucifix:
Ah yes, the best 'Spoons are always those old cinema Art Deco efforts, and this one with the highest ceiling in Christendom, images of Christ / Jeff Stelling projected onto the walls, about 15 TVs behind the bar, well there was something quite religious about Picture House, Sutton-in-Ashfield (2300 / 4204). Packed out too, yet with enough space to avoid those Stag & Pheasant feelings of suffocation, and you can't blame Mansfield or Donny fans this time as it was gone 2:30pm. 'Last Porter Call' was a Titanic I'd not had before, and what a drop, I even remember to use a Mudgie voucher on this occasion to get full value for money. I think I sat near some bins and the coffee station, the quietest area of the entire pub!
Before I tackled the 'now difficult' Duke of Sussex, I head to my more central Sutton tick ..... and it has only just opened at 3pm - in fact, it's hours (closed Mon-Thu, 5pm Fri, 3pm Sat, noon Sunday) make the Inkpot at Rainworth's look positively generous!
FireRock, Sutton-in-Ashfield (2301 / 4205) failed to get my juices going. A friendly welcome from a bloke with a beard, and a cracking pint of Brew York's Tonkoko ..... one of those all time great modern beers, and I'm not really a huge Brew York fan. But it wasn't enough. An open plan place for one quite small, I take my Tonkoko to an astroturfed area with those awkward barrels for seats and tables offering very little in the way of comfort. There aren't really any customers present, and with my quickly deteriorating state of sobriety (this was my last Twitter check in of the day which tells its own story!) , there's really nothing else to say.
Well, a bit of phone research proves that Old Bus Lady wasn't kidding, Duke of Sussex is on a main road, a 20-25 minute walk away.
So with time of the essence today (I was booked out of Kirkby about 6pm and really wanted to get all seven pubs ticked), I manage to catch a bus, realise I have no idea what to say, so slur 'Dookie Shusssssusckx' and amazingly, the driver knows what I'm on about a the other passengers nod at me like "ahhh, he's one of us!" Nice to be accepted in unfamiliar climes.
A handsome old pub, I reckon I'd have quite enjoyed Duke of Sussex, Sutton in Ashfield (2302 / 4206) if I could remember it. The landlady is friendly, I think it was a landlady, my pint of Excitra is 4.5% which is about the best I could do, low percentage wise (or did I order John Smith's Smooth by mistake?) Hmmm, this is a struggle. Let's see if my photos trigger anything? Oh yes, fussy fluffy black dog on floor. Random mean looking locals with scars. Normally intimidating. Not for me at this moment in time. Fruit machines. Bare boarded. Bit of humorous banter. Not with me. Open plan, quite basic. Then I have a moment of realisation. 'How the heck do I get to Kirkby? Would require two buses again! Not got time for this.' I ring an Uber, exactly the circumstances for it. Gosh, he's approaching at a rapid rate. 'Taxi here!' some voice cries. 'That's mine!' I gurgle through giant gulps of Excitra, stuffing Col and the GBG in my bag .... owww, my stomach hurts, but no time to think of that now.
A nice chap is my Uber driver Ahmmed, didn't even mark me down for letting off quite a big burp. £6.93 I'll take that. You could argue the walk would've sobered me up, but like I said, time was of the essence.
I get the sense, from the deep recesses of my mind, that the Dandy Cock Ale House, Kirkby-in-Ashfield (2303 / 4207) was an above average micropub, warm comfortable with leather/upholstered sofas, mood lighting, plenty of folk present. Have you been? Am I right? My photos tell me I got a peculiar ale called either 'Plennus Farago' / 'Ordo Templi Orientis' / 'Illuminati' with an all seeing eye on the pump clip and an unknown percentage. How did I order THAT?! How did I forget to nick a Dandy Cock beermat? Considering the number of people here, I get a real prime seat overlooking all. Next thing I know, I've woken up 15 minutes later! Ooops. How has no one noticed? Or are they just too polite? We'll add it to Chester, Caversham and Leighton Buzzard for famous BRAPA falling asleep incidents. I've been here 30 mins and drank about an inch of ale! I go the loo, splash my face with cold water, put my headphones in, loudly listen to rousing 'Spanish Love Songs' and try a bit of 'mind over matter'. This 'anxious dog' is looking me with "I know what you did last summer" accusatory glances. Luckily, the Uber meant I had loads of time until the train. I'd left my weak lemon drink in the fridge at home - that didn't help, but I smuggle some quiche and cheesy snacks. My table was full of menus and lamps I can hide stuff behind! Feeling a bit better, I totter off to Kirkby in Ashfield station.
And I didn't wake up on a beach in Oban or Arbroath, so judgey doggie, how d'ya like them apples eh?
Oh dear. See you tomorrow for soberer Kentish tales.
Si
