We'd reached the halfway point on this Daddy BRAPA car day, and we leave Fernwood up past evil Newark along the A616 to a tick has been living Renfrew in my head for the past three seasons.
My public transport plan had been to walk from a bus stop at Ollerton .... but with a Daddy B. in your corner, this made much more sense.
Sitting merrily atop the village green, Olde Red Lion, Wellow (2816 / 4976) is a jewel that screams 'GBG regular'. Did you know Santa's little helpers come here every Christmas to sing seasonal songs together on the green? Yes, they wellow in elf ditty. (Thanks, that was terrible). The beer might be kicking in because I'm wondering why Dad seems so excited about the gastropub opposite, The Maypole, until I finally glance out of the front window and realise he's talking about an actual maypole what super English folk dance around. The 'hidden' ales at the back hatch are from a Maypole brewery close by. The Pale tastes ultra local, but I'd have worse, and would do later today. But more power to its GBG inclusion, CAMRA love supporting unusual local brews, regardless of taste IME. Only one sane place to sit indoors, and that is the comfy red front lounge. Rest of the pub is a warren of clunky woodenness with kids on tricycles being pushed through narrow corridors by Twaddies. We'd been chatting about the horse racing, and in the second sonic bat-like hearing incident of the day, a bloke with huge Lassie dog stands up and asks 'Did you work out which racecourse you were thinking of?' The answer was either Newmarket, Newbury or Newton Abbot, but definitely not Newark, or mind-your-business.
'Why the long face?' or something
A funky five pub ticking day had always been the intention (I don't like to take the micky when Daddy B is being generous enough to put in the mileage #GoodSonAlert) but when we saw his SatNav bloke taking us straight through the heart of Retford, and me needing a tick there .... well, it'd be a crime not to, eh? I'd been drinking fairly quick too , sun's still high in the sky, Dad is happy, why not?
(I'll confess now that Google Pixel Sat Nav lady actually had us going a non-Retford route, but no need to mention that bit to Daddy B).
We park in the Home Bargains car park opposite with no intention of paying but plenty of willingness to display, and head across to this plain looking boozer with a weird strip of astroturf half way up. They must slide this on when there's live football, because Oxford and Bolton were battling for the right, nay honour, to play Hull City next season. Could only see half the screen for the bar edge, and human heads, so a bit like an away game at Hillsborough or Goodison. Anyway, point is Black Boy Inn, Retford (2817 / 4977) is today's busiest and most hurly-burly pub as you might expect from our one townie offering. This surprised me, every other time I've been to Retford, every other pub I've visited, every person I've encountered - crashing disappointments. Today it was like every Retford chicken had come home to roost, and didn't it taste good? Dad's 'warm greasy sausage roll manoeuvre' was a lot more family friendly than it sounded, and adds something to my pint of the day from Pheasantry (not something I'd expected to say). Oxford score to complete the jubilance, I'd not even considered the possibility of going there for football when I'd decided to focus on Oxon for my 2024/25 pub ticking season, actually thought they were League Two. Don't you love it when a plan comes together?
Barmaid contemplates how long it'll take to change her top, race us to West Stockwith, win, and serve us there...
Tucked away on the Notts/Lincs/South Yorkshire border by an exciting flood barrier in a beautiful location to match Hickling earlier, we found our sixth and final tick.
The BRAPA default poser question on glorious sunny days such as this is 'Can I sit indoors and enjoy the dim dank gloom more than a pub garden, even if it means looking like I've crawled out of a Polish second world war bunker come September?' A wordy question, but a worthwhile one. A friendly pub, a motivated local sees above pose and asks if I'm ticking off every White Hart in the country! Which leads me to believe he has previously met someone doing just that. Sometimes though, outdoors really is best, like here at White Hart Inn, West Stockwith (2818 / 4978) ... even the staff knew it "We've got a lovely sunny garden out back, far better than our dull interior" wasn't a direct quote, but it may as well have been. More homebrew, this time from the local Idle, not to be confused with the West Yorkshire vehicle. It was dreadful. I can't lie. Dad's coffee made me jealous. That should never happen. But a fabulous setting, and summer was finally here*
*For one week only
She made it!
Almost religous
So that was all very lovely wasn't it? I won't complete every pub listed under the East Midlands by September but it'll be interesting to see just how far I get.
I'll give you a day off tomorrow so join me on Thursday when we'll take a trip to Ramsgate with guest star Sir Quinno.
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