BRAPA in .... ONE SWALLOW DOESN'T MAKE A SUMMERSET (Pt 4/9)

Friday 16th June 2026

'Twas time to crack on and make hay whilst the sun shines (but not too much).

With the looming evil heatwave due to kick in on Sunday, and Friday's generous pub opening hours, I had to go the 'full rural shebang' today.

The bus driver laughs at me for mispronouncing 'Curry Rivel' as 'Rivell, it is in fact 'Rival'. Who knew?

The B3168 is unsafe for walking, so I instead head south into Drayton (where our second pub will be) and keep going towards Midelney, where despite leading to a LITERAL DEAD END, is full of Somerset drivers who's attitude to any road is 'if there is a road in this goddamn county, I must drive on it, however pointless!' Maybe they have a book where they tick them all off?

I swing right over a bridge, end up along the 'path' you see above, my only company is an electric fence, distant cattle and serene swans although there is a bloke in hi-vis staring at me from the distance, probably pub ticker extraordinaire Eddie F. come to nobble the opposition .....

The bridge I want to cross isn't safe enough, so I plough on, the weeds and nettles now waist deep but I can JUST about see that I'm still on a path, legs being ravaged by stings and Somerset creepy crawlies. Just hope it leads somewhere, anywhere.

To my relief, a stile appears bringing me out onto Westmoor Lane where the drivers are a lot more nobheaded than they were up near Midelney where they waved and smiled. The pub appears across the junction. Finally! Brutal trek it had been.

It had been an eleventh hour decision to start here. Stung by my unexpected 'shut pub alert' in Watchet yesterday on account of not researching opening hours properly, I double/tripled checked today's lot, and found out this one shuts mid-afternoon. Phew I thought.

So when I saw this board outside, I let out a bitter laugh let me tell you .....

Would've been bitterer had I come here on a Monday or Tuesday I guess! As it was, Lamb & Lion, Hambridge (3495 / 6285) was the weakest pub of the week. All that effort for so little reward. The Exeter Ferryman drank poorly, yet another Exeter Brewery beer fail - swear I'm jinxed with them at the moment, they need better quality control. I was within a hair's breadth of choosing Proper Job too. Probably delicious. We'll never know. Still, at least when you are sat in an undulating garden, the grass is natures RetiredMartin plant pot. The highlight is the landlady, a chatty soul although a pub later today would tell me that had I tried returning my dodgy pint, they would not have taken kindly to it! I'd checked with her that the B3168 isn't wise for pedestrians, and I'm reassured when the route she mentions is exactly the one I've taken. One of her locals normally goes down that path with a strimmer, so when I tell her how overgrown it is, she says she'll tell him off next time he comes in, although he does it out of the kindness of his heart, no pay, so we agree we can't be too harsh!

With some pain, I retrace my steps although it is much easier once you don't have the anxiety of knowing you can actually get through to the other side.

It might be partially cloudy and un-heatwavey just yet, but by gum it was close and sticky. Glad I'd taken a big flask of water, hat, suncream and shades. Plenty more ambitious walks to come, and I didn't want to go the full Jay Slater / Michael Mosley.

Back in Drayton, the posh clientele meandering around the entrance are wondering why I've got a brow full of sweat and legs full of cuts and bites, bloody car wankers!

This were much more like it lads! I'm not minimising the pub's gastro intentions and whiff of 'nose in the air' but I know a quality well run establishment when I see one, and Drayton Crown, Drayton (3496 / 6286) was made of the right stuff. A disgraceful boutique dog that looks like a cotton wool ball is the subject of much attention, Colin Jnr. cannot compete. A genial whippersnapper (how old do I sound?) recommends the house ale brewed in the Somerset Levels, wherever they are, and their 3* CAMRA beer rating seems well deserved. I cling to the edge of a 9/10 rug, the last bastion of true pubbing in this joint. The grandfather clock morosely 'tick tocks'. The couple sat amongst me refuse to acknowledge my presence. Not even a smile. Who cares? I chug my water, wipe my brow and redress some plasters, happy to be a messy background oik. With a lull in custom, our host pulls up a leather pew and finds 'half a coke' behind a menu. He'd been wondering all morning where he'd put that. I laugh. The couple throw me a look that says 'stay in your lane Brapster you outsider tosser'. He laments his struggle trying to make a long-distance relationship work, the girl has one of those gastro names like Emily, EmmyLou, Evie or Enchilada. In conclusion, I'm a lowkey fan of this pub, but it benefitted hugely from following rubbish Hambridge.

"Hellloooo, I DO exist." Note guest appearance from hidden coke

Today's 'easiest' walk is up next, which wasn't actually that easy. Navigating OS routes once more, the sun's out to play which didn't help my cause. Plantations. Frog Lane. And finally onto the long gravelly Huish Drove, so at least I approach this famous pub like our #PubMan forefathers probably did with their moody cattle all those centuries back.

Arguably the most famous tick of my holiday, with heritage listing and long family lineage. But I must confess Rose & Crown (Eli's), Huish Episcopi (3497 / 6287) left me pretty non-plussed. Basic & plain (perhaps that's the point), it just didn't excite. The noise of the busy main road traffic whizzing past, and oi oi oi'ing of the lager and cider drinkers outside had me deciding I was gonna break the trend and be the only 'indoors' customer. Try my best to 'force' an atmosphere. Those thick inner stone walls of many centuries certainly keep the heat out, bliss! Barmaid Amy is one of the loveliest people I've met all week. An Eli descendant, she tells me most of the family are in a side room having a private business meeting, another point that felt at odds with what I'd expect from the gaff. In fact, later in my holiday I'm told the family are now 'half American' and have 'sold their soul' but I didn't really understand / know if it is true. Anyway, this is one of those pubs with no bar. She shows off their rare beer engine (below), shame I'd ordered a beer already from a boring hand pump. We discuss bad Hambridge beer, Amy looks horrified, she'd thought I was talking about plant potting a dodgy beer in here! She tells me she'd like to know if their beer wasn't up to scratch, so next time someone asks you what this pub have in common with the Pot Hole micropub at Allestree, Derby, you can tell 'em this! A trip to the outdoor loo evokes some quirk/history, trying not to get shat on by a nest of swallows. A lovely local bald dude arrives, sits with us. They try and help solve my conundrum of how to walk to pub four without getting killed, but the conclusion is my route is best if I'm feeling brave. Which I was!

So off I trot, it really is sad just how insanely busy the roads are around here, really fucks the olde worlde Somerset 'flavour'. Not just pub, but the whole area around Langport.

Before long, I've turned onto another drove , this one called 'Wagg'. At the end, we come to the nerve wracking crux of my walk. The highly unsafe B3153 for the briefest section, just gotta go for it! Thankfully a van is coming out of a junction so isn't at full speed, so I'm able to hold a hand up, scoot across, from where I follow farm tracks around fields, up into the village of Pitney, and then back down on the main road where the pub is situated. Sweating buckets, but made it ......

'Bet none of these bastards arrived here on foot!' I growl under my breath, pushing my way inside with a ballsy attitude which served me well because Halfway House, Pitney (3498 / 6288) is a reet boisterous den of iniquity. The two fag ash lil's behind the bar humour me as I tell my story I've how I've got here, but they don't really give a shit and quite frankly I don't mind, they've got tonnes of folk to serve, most of them ghosts of 16th century farmers who don't understand the difference between shouting and speaking softly. Amazing basic box of a pub. Dry hops and ancient banknotes are the only decor. Shitloads of ales are on, plus ciders, but thankfully the Quantock from the barrel drinks great. I try nodding at Edgelord Frances de la Tour (EFDLT) who was in Eli's when I was, and must recognise me cos we nodded near the swallows, but she blanks me so probably thinks I'll try cadging a lift. One of those pubs where you can just sit, drink, observe and be fully entertained. In many ways, this is what I'd been expecting Eli's to be. It goes straight into the conversation for pub of the week. And there's a bus stop right outside and a nicely timed one to Somerton, where I also need a tick. Good, I'd had enough of walking today!

There's a bloke already waiting at the stop, so I remark how reassuring his presence is and how it gives me hope the bus will actually turn up! So we get chatting, and he's called Alberto. An Telfordian Italian, he's now a Somerton resident, agrees Pitney > Huish Episcopi, and loves the pub I need to tick, so says he'll join me and buy me a pint if I don't mind. I tell him I can just about endure his company for half an hour if my beer is free!

Although as part of the deal, the contractual outdoor BRAPA photo is a must (he jokes that I'm mad to pass him my phone as he might just run off with it!)

Unexpected micropub alert, and as you'd hope from a quality microid, Etsome Arms, Somerton (3499 / 6289) is the friendliest and quite frankly one of the best pubs of the week. Such good humans. A red dotter too, not bad considering it only opened 5/6 years ago. Alberto is basically the Stalybridge Quosh of Somerton, knows everyone due to his friendly persona. Immediately in the front left window seat, Roy and Debbie say hello. Plus a nice quiet lurker called Nick. Alberto explains he's collect a waif/stray (me) and we'll be back with beer for both us and them. Soon, we're back with beer from t'barrel, 'So.LA' by Dark Revolution if you care. Perfection. Debbie's on the red wine, JEALOUS! I have a sip. Delicious. Boring bloody beer. When I complete BRAPA, I might do the entire guide again but with a glass of red in every pub. She does it 'by grape' like me, but she's never paired it with Wotsits, Western films or obscure taped 60's music from Matt Lawrenson before, so I tell her she's missing out. The bonhomie is flowing, and my bus to Taunton (last of the day, eeeek) ain't for 40 more mins so Roy & Debbie buy me a pint and say I can sleep on their settee if I miss my bus. Debbie even says that I can watch the late World Cup game as long as I don't have it on too loud! My hazy beer is called Sunshine Reggae, recommended by Alberto, and I'm introduced to owners Max and Sharon. I scoot off for my bus nice & early feeling sozzled, where a lass from Djibouti with a giant suitcase is trying to get to Yeovil. What a fun experience that had been! Mummy BRAPA, you wrong. Somerset IS friendly (sometimes).

Back in my awesome Air B n B at a reasonable hour to 'rest my eyes', eat shitloads of unpasteurised cheese from the French Alps ("which was nice!") and eventually watch the Scots roll over and let Morocco tickle their tummies.

The following day, I'm heading north for the first time in a Weston-super-Marey direction. I'll tell you about that tomorrow or Wed depending how my Monday energy levels are.

Keep it pub, Si