A 'Deft' manoeuvre across the 'Tone' (thanks!) and once again I'm in a hedgerow on an OS path in rural Somerset ....
To find a small cluster of pubs opening at 12 noon on a Wednesday felt like an achievement in itself, and as the crow flies I wasn't too far from Taunton which was good news because England's World Cup campaign kicked off against Croatia this evening and I want to be settled back in my Air B&B with snacks by then.
NOT that these were easy ticks, no siree.
A dearth of buses meant my OS App was again called upon, but after the success of Pitminster-Trull-Taunton yesterday, it gave me confidence. And with porridge, blueberries and one of the worst coffees I've ever made inside me, energy levels were high.
The OS dotted black lines weren't 100% accurate, but I applied common sense / went waist deep through some barley, and by 11:45am, I found myself chillin' in a churchyard waiting for noon pub opening, Neighbouhood Watch curtains twitching, WhatsApp village group all a fluster at this weird red fleeced interloper.
I wait patiently for the beer delivery lorry to do his stuff, and then I'm in. 12:03pm. Slipping!
Tarted up to offer highish end dining, Anchor Inn, Hillfarrance (3485 / 6275) ain't a lost cause and still has plenty of character to commend it. The barmaid's welcome is further reassurance that Mummy BRAPA will prove incorrect in her view of Somerset as the UK's least friendly county. The Exmoor Gold drinks well, she draws off the first pint for use in the steak and ale pies. A move I first saw in a village near Darlo called Piercebridge which I've never forgotten, despite even more gastro than this. I've found a plush line of bench seating, but a flappy elderly couple are soon flapping about the specials board. I'm worried they think I'm a kitchen hand with their searching questions "wot is in a tangine?", so as it is stuffy indoors, I drink the second half of my pint in a 7.5/10 beer garden, but it is muggy out here. No thunder or rain is forecast but by gum feels like it could do with a downpour. Red fleecy thing definitely coming off, why do I keep bringing it out with me, grrr? Deffo my security blanket.
I retrace my steps back to the bus stop in the middle of nowhere, straight across the main road, and up a winding lane.
It goes on for ever, it is so humid, glad I brought some water. I'm thankful for small mercies. A rare Somerset 'traffic free' lane, and the sun isn't even out. Apparently there'll be a heatwave from Sunday onwards, well in excess of 30 degrees, I'm praying the forecasters change their minds between now and then cos I won't be able to manage days like this.
FINALLY the village appears, and a few hi-vis ladz moving bricks are like "oi oi matey boy" and I'm all like "squeak".
The pub looks, how do we say this politely, gloomy as shit .....
An 'eat drink sleep' tavern so it was always gonna be smarter indoors, and I find it impossible to visit their pubs without recalling that pint of snot I drank in Mousehole several years back. But the New Inn, Halse (3486 / 6276) isn't a 'double dotter' for no reason. Serving up a fantastic pint of 'Hardings Double Hopped' (new tactic in this heat which RetiredMartin taught me - ask the staff to choose me their best seller, I'd done the same in Hillfarrance). It also serves up some of the warmest (not literally but probably that too) humans of my Somerset stay. Mummy BRAPA, you wrong! I obviously sit outside, and weirdly there's a shop in the beer garden. A crazy gardener dude with a jaunty hat and mad accent is spraying weed killer everywhere and I can taste it in this still air. I take a chance and yes, he knows the Wifi Code! Can't remember what it was but when he added "....as the actress said to the bishop" it didn't make much sense cos it wasn't like the password is 'StickItInMe69". Then a Dunnock sits next to me, which is ace because following the Pochard of Fen Drayton fame, this is the next flavour of bird I need to tick in my I-Spy bird book (I know I've seen them before, but couldn't tell you where). Next up, a Starling. Are they a winter thing? Might take me a while. Anyway, I return my empty and tell them what a great pint it was, and crazy gardener has removed his jaunty hat and is now a fine upstanding publican! I left feeling full of hope.
Just as well that I'm in a good mood because it's another killer walk to pub three, all foresty and gravelly this time.
Worth the wait though .....
Probably blasphemous but who cares? Chapel, Cotford St Luke (3487 / 6277) is a stunning conversion along the lines of that beauty near Middlesbrough transporter bridge. The older lady deals with my wide-eyed awe and questioning. "Is this place brand new?" "No, I take it you aren't local then, lolz?" "No, York actually!" "Where's that?" "Yorkshire!" "Oooh, you mean 'in the north'!" whilst a timid brunette mouse watches these fascinating exchanges from the sidelines. After I wander around gawping and spilling beer, I take my pint outside to the wood chipping'd garden out back, I'm still far too warm to be sat indoors however nice it is. Not a dreadful pint but our weakest today, she wasn't able to tell me their current best seller, and perhaps that alone explains why this established stunner hasn't been in a GBG before 2026. QPA by Quantock, which is apt because a QPR fan has just text me to firm up plans for a Sunday chauffeur day. Primary school kids are on their way home, and eye Colin Jnr. suspiciously through the fence. My phone has gone weird and reorganised all the Apps into different screens without me asking. And I've developed a rash on my right hand after a lime green and black creepy crawlie bit me on the way here but otherwise, despite some blurry vision and a painful right testicle, I'm feeling content. Decent gaff.
"Not bloody BRAPA again!"
Part of my QPR Sunday chauffeur exchanges had thrown up Combe Florey as a potential pub. So a good job he messaged when he did because I'd been originally going to squeeze this in today.
Takes the pressure off because it now means I could finish today with the two Bishop's Lydeard pub. So just one painful walk to go. Only question was 'can I cross the railway line from this angle?' Even O/S didn't seem to know but my rationale was that it must, otherwise there wouldn't be a path right up to it.
And thankfully I could.
And just like yesterday on my way to that Wyvern Club, I emerge from woodland thinking 'this place must be somewhere close by, now where the bloody 'ell is it. Somewhere near this massive leisure centre / Wentworth Detention Centre painted Motherwell? Oh, hang on, that's it!'
Quantock Brewery Tap, Bishop's Lydeard (3488 / 6278) is a contender for BRAPA brewery tap of the year. A low bar (not literally), but I've been to enough in 2025/26 to make it a worthy award. As we'll see in part 8, Cheddar couldn't compete. So rare to find such long spongy bench seating in such establishments, and cavernous enough to escape from the Strava gimps. And far enough away from everyone to get my manky feet out for the lads and redress my blisters with plasters I'd bought in Taunton first thing because I just knew. Twelve years of BRAPA experience right there. Apologies to the old boy who wanders over a bit too close mid redressing. No one needs to see that. And he looked like he'd just finished some pork chunks and cheesy mash before setting out. There'd been a pleasant World Cup chat with our sound barman, as I get stuck into my first of many WC themed ales over the next month. Tis' gorgeous. Does that mean we'll beat Croatia tonight? Who knows (well you do, but try and suspend your disbelief til the finale of this blog). He's then over photographing a stodgy group from West Yorkshire. How did I know they were West Yorks. Well, like vegans, they always have to bloody tell everyone.
SOCIETY :
FOLK FROM WEST YORKSHIRE "Ey up, I'm from West Yorkshire, aren't I interesting?"
York would've chatted less.
One downside is the distracting jumpy music, I think their WiFi connection must've been weak, was like ABBA were being covered by Norman Collier.
One pub to go then, a weirdly straightforward walk into Bish Lyd proper. One of my fave female followers (can I call them BRAPettes or is that weird?) tells me to look out for a pub she likes called the Lethbridge Arms but a huge banner advertising Thai cuisine and gourmet burgers puts me off a swift pre-emptive half, so watch it make the bastardo 2027 GBG now.
Instead, I'm ticking this ballsy bugger ...... shame the bird wasn't a starling or I'd have counted it.
The pub genre that today had been lacking ....The Great British 'BOOZER'. Bird in Hand, Bishop's Lydyeard (3489 / 6279) is jumpin' with pre-England tattooed legs, missing teeth, and loud voices shouting whatever the south west equivalent of "oi oi, lav a duck" is. I use my twelve years experience to get my elbows in, a strong hand to grasp the bar, and thrust my head forwards with my shoulders like I'm emerging from the birth canal all over again. Reborn, with a pint Adam Henson's Rare Breed served by a floppy Anthony Gordon, it drinks more punchily than usual, but everything about this pub was punchy so it is no surprise. No proper pump clip for the ale cos the pub is so bloody 'ard. "I actually really fancy a Cumberland sausage right now, but I can't stay, I've start at the Co-op at 8am" complains one lady dressed as a Charles Rennie Mackintosh piece, and I'm sure if I'd taken a dicta phone, I'd be able to offer you ten similar soundbite gems.
A straightforward bus back to Taunton (on a route I'd be using tomorrow so a nice little reccee), and with plenty of time before kick off, I decide to check out Taunton's most (only?) pre-emptive newbie Tap One .....
Cute but boring bottle-o. Absolutely stinks of a modern era CAMRA debutant so I have high hopes for '27, and I'm glad to see a couple of casks on. My Attic Mild is glorious chocolate but the temperature of the sun. I'd actually planned to go for a half, with a view to have half a crafty keg later but our dangerous Yank Riot Grrrrl took one look at me, thought 'cask slob' and pulls a pint with no words exchanged. That fact is notable because the young couple following me get all this "gee whizz, let me talk you through all our beers. Oh haha, isn't it hard to choose? Oooh how swell you both are" and this kinda thing goes on with every other customer! Possibly a subtle sales tactic because I'm so fuming that I've decided 'I'm revisiting this place before my hols are over, I'll go exclusively keg, gonna wear my shades and druggie hat, and see what outcome I get!' (stay tuned til part 9 to find out what happened). On the bright side, the locals are humourously po-faced, there's a lovely cool fridge of cans with a Lilt one I buy for the match (plus two non alcoholic ones cos gotta keep myself right!), and the music is proper 1998-2003 era classics.
Tesco snacks bought, and back at 'home' I decide to 'rest my eyes' before kick off but when I wake up, over half an hour has been played and we are 1-0 up with a Kane penalty. Bugger!
I start setting up my food but whilst I'm doing that, they equalise. Double bugger! And no sooner have I poured my Lilt beer but we're 2-1 up. Triple bugger! And then 2-2 just as I'm taking my Foccacia out of the oven. Quadruple bugger! And I was still half asleep. Most disconcerting.
History had repeated itself because two years before (plus a day), I'd had a Paignton day with two Devon lads, got back for the England game, rested my eyes, fallen asleep and woken up to find us 1-0 up v Serbia but that was Bellingham 13, not Kane 12.
Day two was my favourites looking back, and tomorrow to give my poor legs a rest, I decided to go for a busy day up north (which is actually west if you're a weird Somerset person).
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