Thursday 25th July 2024
After the previous Saturday's Notts horror show, it was important to bounce back quickly, which as any decent football manager will tell you is the benefit of an impending midweek game, or to quote Nigel Adkins "Saturday, Tuesday, Saturday, Tuesday, Saturday, Tuesday".
But Positive Nige obviously doesn't know BRAPA, because it is "Saturday, Thursday, Saturday, Thursday, Saturday, Thursday" in these parts.
And if there is ONE area of Notts which is more reliable than any other for solid pubs and friendly folk, it is those within a small radius of Mansfield. And although I only had seven Notts ticks left in my Guide, five of them were in this little cluster, the first slightly further north.
It started with this strikingly beautiful Wetherspoons in Worksop called the Liquorice Gardens (2920 / 5080). So striking in fact, I'd pointed at it accusingly on last year's Worksop trip (that Chapter Fuggles place) and said "don't you be getting in any future GBGs ya bugger!" But here I was. Early tension as the staff are forced to admit that an issue with the extractor fans in the kitchen means breakfast is limited to eggs/beans on toast. Old Greg isn't happy, but that's his fault for sounding like a Mighty Boosh character. The sausage paucity his biggest issue, he tells a bewildered floral blouse. The carpet is an exciting 8, enhanced to 8.5 with phone filters, but the Mystic River drinks a degree too warm. The shallow wooden booths are a cute addition, offering privacy yet sociability for the longer necked crones, a group of whom assemble just above me and do a lot of cooing, which Oscar the Owl can appreciate to an extent.
Time to take the magical train line down towards Mansfield, and aren't they strict? Two guards at every train door, security staff too, some serious gripping going on. No one allowed to board without a ticket. One old bloke has to rush down the platform, use an automatic ticket machine he says he doesn't trust, and rush back. I'm pretty sure that delayed our departure time!
One young lady admits to fare dodging (bit of a faux pas) and she's fined £100, though she gives her name as Gertrude Aviva. "Oooh all these years working on the railways, and I've never once encountered a Gertrude" replies the conductor, trying to keep the tone light.
Stop #2 was at a new place for me, Mansfield Woodhouse. I didn't spot the modern cut through path (not at all signposted!) into town, so walked a 30 minute route around, gah!
Bingo! Like literally dude, at the homely Greyhound, Mansfield Woodhouse (2921 / 5081), the main bar awash with the blue-rinse brigade, coins and fivers litter the bar, and a small electronic display flashes up numbers like (legs) 11 and BRAPA's only half alive (45). The reassuring presence of several mobility scooters parked outside makes even more sense now. I bob down a bit, not wanting to disturb the game, and in a Woodhouse Whisper, order another A* beer courtesy of Welbeck. The two ladies behind the bar running the game seem appreciative of my efforts. Not enough time to admire the 8.5/10 carpet, before heading out into the garden to sup. The other bar was a hidden noise of manly clanking pool balls. I'm not surprised to read that this pub has had the same owners for millennia. Sadly, I'm uncomfortably cross-legged after that, desperate for wee but not daring to re-enter THAT cauldron of activity to look for the Gents ..... and it is only when they start to disperse that I realise they were in the main entrance ALL THE TIME .... the one place which would've meant I didn't have to walk past ANYONE! Gah x2! With pained bladder relieved, it is time to trot back to the station.
Our next and furthest train stop on today's adventure takes me to Kirkby-in-Ashfield.
Both ticks required look so familiar, I had to check three times I hadn't made a GBG spreadsheet error, fearing a pointless revisit.
But I was thinking of nearby Sutton-in-Ashfield where I'd visited a doggy themed micro and an art-deco style Wetherspoons. And now Kirkby was asking me to do the same. You really do need to have your wits about you and your records up to date in this game.
'When is a Wetherspoons not a Wetherspoons?' was my conundrum at the Regent, Kirkby-in-Ashfield (2922 / 5082) for if it looks like a Spoons, smells like a Spoons, feels like a Spoons, and charges beer at £2.80 a pint, it is probably a Spoons. But no, I was wrong and you are too. As I innocently pull a Mudgie voucher from my wallet, Miss KIA says "BRAPA : declined ..... we no longer identify as a Wetherspoons .... in fact we've only just reopened". My jaw hits the floor. Same thing actually happened to me at the Picture Palace in Ponders End, Christmas 2018. And just like on that occasion, it leads to an amiable lively chat with Miss KIA. So much so, I can see other barmaids on their meal breaks glancing approvingly at me like "he must be a guy who gives good bantz". Maybe. Must start wearing a badge like they do in Tesco, saying "Ask Me About My Plushie". Over an hour to kill here until the bus I need, so plenty of time to scrutinise the surroundings. And look at the above photo and menu. Spoons branding all gone. Despite my attempt to nurse my pint, I ended up 'HAVING' to get a second. My stout settles in the weirdest way I've ever seen - like a silty lava lamp in a geological time lapse video. I'm gonna say it ..... it would never happen in a 'Spoons!
Time for my Kirkby interlude then as the 15:57 is on time, and takes me to pub #4 at Selston on the Derbys border ..... and there was no point getting impatient about the long wait in the Regent because this next pub didn't open til 4pm anyway.
Already bustling with an after-work local throng in attendance, Horse & Jockey, Selston (2923 / 5083) is pub of the day, just a shame I'm not here long enough to fully appreciate it. "Let me just move to one side!" says the spirited barmaid, as she sees me photographing the pump clip of my Doctor Morton Abbeydale spin-off brew (and definitely not her!) I tell her she's very wise as she'd know if she reads BRAPA (hint hint) and she expands on the theme, sounds like she's ready to declare bar photo avoidance an Olympic event she's become such an expert at it over the years! Well, at that moment, a local elder who sounds like he has a false teeth fixodent issue calls her over, and I don't see her or anyone else after that. What's more, I've decided to go for the 'Uber cheat' back to KIA as I'm aware the clock is ticking and it is a double change train back to York. And he's too efficient! Only flippin' 7 mins away. So I have to neck mi bitter with a real gusto, rest my face against what I hope is some original 17th century oak panelling, admire a nice clock, and dash off.
Our main man Adil drops us at our final tick in no time, I'm so surprised I forget to take an outdoor photo of the pub (it wasn't heritage or owt so don't fret) ..... here is the beer I chose instead:
"Oooh popular one that isn't it?" I say of the Infinity IPA, to which friendly landlady replies "Popular with our locals that one" which has me wondering if she didn't hear me, or is just agreeing. Welcome to the Dog House, Kirkby-in-Ashfield (2924 / 5084), and although these early exchanges promising much, it soon descends into a 'Slog House' as far as I'm concerned. Just cannot get on with this beer, dry, powerful like it is 10% in disguise. Doesn't smell or taste off, just really difficult to me. I find a stray bag of Mini Cheddars in my bag, and decide to ration them like I'm in the Second World War, one MC for every big sip, so I don't eat them before I'm done with the beer! The sparsity of any customers in what is a bland modern bar just has me feeling depressed before long. I'm considering plant-potting the final third of my ale, and had it been a real plant with soil and no threat of electric shock from the fairy lights, I'd almost certainly have gotten away with it. I start thinking wistfully about RetiredMartin, and THAT pint of York Guzzler we both had in Llansillin, a week apart, summer 2016. Hope he's well. Not sure why this was such a harsh pub experience, but I really disliked it. Who'd have thought the Dog House in Smeeth Kent wouldn't have ended up being my worst July Dog House? Not me!
First leg of my journey from Kirkby to Worksop goes to plan, but then I notice a problem on the East Coast Mainline means all Retford to York trains are cancelled. Noooooo!
Thankfully, Worksop station has exactly the right kind of pub where you can go and take stock, a devise a new plan, all in the company of great beer and surroundings. Mallard, Worksop.
Third time here, and it hasn't changed I'm glad to report. One of the two blokes behind the bar recognises me and tells the other one about BRAPA. Hurrah! Sadly, in the excitement, I forget to photograph the bar so can't remember what this amazing stout was but easily my best beer today.
Perched outside awkwardly on a wall (lack of seating, busy here tonight, world away from Dog House) a nice lady sees my struggle and beckons me over to sit with them. I tell them my train conundrum. One of the perky blokes reminds me that trains go direct from Worksop all the way to L**ds and I can easily change for York there! Hurrah x2.
Hang on, I KNEW THAT! In a more sober state at least. I thank him and he raises an arm aloft like Pele in his New York Cosmos prime and takes the plaudits like he's some kinda startlet. I let it slide! And there's a nicely timed L**ds train too, so all's well that ends well. Thanks to Mallard and the friendly gang, I'm home only a little bit later than I would've been.
Thanks for reading. I decided to forgo our Carabao Cup defeat to Sheff Wed (probably - 19:44 at time I'm writing this) to write this so hope you are grateful. Daddy B is there #PrayForDaddyB
I'm back on Thirsty Thursday duty tomorrow with a lovely chap from Blackburn.
So see you back here on Friday where I'll tell you about the time two lovely chaps drive me around a bit of Derbys!
Si
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