Sunday 11th August 2024, 10:20am
Day 2/2 in Glamorgan, I was booked on an evening train home to York, so I needed a town where I could hit the ground running early doors, and Pontypridd seemed a good shout.
Short direct train ride from Cardiff? Check! Four pubs situated close together? Check! Early openers even on a Sunday? Check! Bonus pubs to do on the same line closer to Cardiff? Check!
It was a grey muggy morning as I crossed the road from the station, headed the wrong way, did a loop, and found the 'Spoons in a scaffold state, imploring passers-by to enter.
Glad to report the scene was a lot more together inside the Tumble Inn, Pontypridd (2942 / 5102), in fact I'd go so far as to say this is one of my top 'Spoons of the season, and lord knows I've been to plenty. The first sign that Pontypridd was going to be a winner. Murals, curved ceiling wood and a stupendous 9.5/10 carpet resembling dragon vomit had me impressed. And this was despite being bombarded by angry Mum's fuming at their lazy daughters from inside a booth to my right, and a twild to my left learning to take his first steps in this fine arena. He was soon carried out crying, his Daddy thanked me, presumably for being so tolerant of the disgraceful urchin! A staff member plonks a lager on my table, initially wondered if a jokey lager Twxtter follower (Cooking Lager?) had ordered me one cos I'm such an influencer, but then it turned out it belonged to Welsh Jamie Vardy with an element of Lee Trundle. Good start.
And get this lads, another GBG entry opens 10am just a nine minute walk away. And remember this is a Sunday, perhaps the most traditionally 12 noon day of the week. No point arriving here too early, as the other two were both noon openers, so 11:15am seemed a decent arrival time.
Known as the 'Wonky Bar', which I tried my best to encapsulate with my photography, a 'healthy' gaggle of #PubMen are already gathered around the bar at Patriot, Pontypridd (2943 / 5103) astonished when they turn to greet me, realising I'm not one of their codgery mates. Friendly though, but sense of trepidation as they wait to learn why I am here, and when I order a pint of Rhymney summat, relieved exhalation and their chatter resumes. Is it just me, or are you finding bar blockers less irritating since the modern plague of pub queueing? Better the devil you know, I think. Providing they have a semblance of awareness like these blokes had. A woman too, let us not be sexist #WokeSi2024, she keeps getting her arse groped by the bloke nearest. Presume they know each other. Or is this a Glamorgan greeting? Anyway, following on from Cathays Andrew Buchan, I've decided I'm a fan of Rhymney pubs. No frills, cheap and cheerful, part WMC and part bar, the sum of which sort of equals pub! Fray Bentos in a basket behind the bar. Loving the ramp up to the gents. I had a couple of good slaloms on it. Olympics is on, so might've influenced me, the female weightlifting is particularly popular with this crowd. As a Northern Irish man shimmies in trying to be all Belfast-chic, I realise I best start my trek towards pub three so I'm there for opening.
Interesting walk, there had been a week long festival in town called Eisteddfod which celebrates being Welsh and all the good stuff which it entails.
Departing trucks and vans are being escorted off the premises by hi-vissers, so I nearly got run over (twice) navigating my way between them, and under a flyover / giant roundabout, which led to a quiet gravelly lane. 11:57am and nice to see the door open three mins early!
As I'm sure you'll agree, my initial thoughts were 'this looks a bit shit' at Bunch of Grapes, Pontypridd (2944 / 5104). I mean who (apart from the Farmhouse at Monk Street, Essex) paints their pub black? And that lettering gave me, what I believe da kids called 'the tickers ick'. But what a redemption arc, and I'm not talking about my piss in a Heanor micropub. That 17th century woodsmoke smell just has me forgiving everything. Staff are smiling back at me (first customer) from behind the bar, they are ORGANISED (pubs never sing that bang on opening time) and ready for what I didn't know at the time was an impending Sunday lunchtime onslaught. By 12:10pm, thickos of all shapes 'n sizes were sidling up saying 'errrm, I fink I've booked a table'. But this wasn't foody, no. Brewpubby yes, but excellently done, the diners were quickly whisked out of sight to the back quarters, leaving me and a loyal band of bantery oldies to enjoy peaceful pints. And what a pint this Cwrw Otley Zephyr was, superbi. Rubbish pumpclips but I didn't care. Great place, and pub three done by 12:30pm. Winning.
But I refuse to take my foot off the gas and bound back to that horrid roundabout / flyover where my fourth and final Ponty-tick can be seen on the other side.
And despite following three pubs that would finish in the top 50% if all 4500 GBG were ranked in order (there's a task for RetiredMartin), the Llanover Arms, Pontypridd (2945 / 5105) comes out on top. Not by a long way, but it had the pubbiest 'Here's a taste of Wales' atmosphere. In the shadow of that long dominant Madri font I spot two Grey Trees, a brewery who typically do well for me. 'Drummer Boy' it makes sense. One of my favourite bands Titus Andronicus did a Christmas song, combining Little Drummer Boy with Billy Joel's Piano Man. Apt, in the most meta of ways. The other beer is 'Into the Valley' of course, a more famous punk classic. The loos are prime York City away at Bootham Crescent. Just a shallow moat cut out to step across and then pee into. Superb. Long wooden benches with cushions that keep slipping away from under my bum keep me entertained until a bloke opens his wife's diet coke, the loudest can opening in pub history. Was that kinda place.
12:59pm and I'd done four pubs. Surely a new BRAPA record even eclipsing THAT day in Chatham and Gillingham. But I didn't wanna wake up on Brora or Wick beach, so a good job I'd learned from yesterday's mistakes and packed some snacks.
Surely time to get the full six ticks in before my evening train, it was time to say farewell to Pontypridd. What a pub town! You can keep ya Norwich, Edinburgh, Derby, York, Stockport and Sheffield. Yeah we ALL know you like them. There's a new Welsh kid on the block. And like Winchester, Ramsgate, Darlington and probably Dumfries, no one goes "I know where you can go for a good pub crawl ....", but they should.
I know where is a little bit shit based on my experience this weekend. Trefforest. Just down from PP. Rickards Arms yesterday was a bit 'meh', we'll give it the benefit of the doubt as I was 'struggling'.
But the other entry really was a definite shift away from my Pontypridd glories ....
Pint of the day so far had been that zesty Otley drink in the Bunch of Grapes, so whatever the shortcomings of the Otley Brewpub & Kitchen, Trefforest (2946 / 5106), I'm guaranteed a decent pint right? Wrong actually, the beers confusingly come from Mabby rather than Otley which is now specific to the B. of G. And this festival special was proper dishwatery slop, perhaps like the festival goers, on its way out? Served in a drinking vessel too light to be an actual glass, probably some sustainable / expect you to sit outside nonsense. Barmaid had really bigged up the ale too... "brewed right under your feet" she tells me, causing my to check the bottom of my soles! And with the high posing table, car showroom grey carpet tiles, knives & forks, and procession of posers, this was easily today's weakest 'pub'. On a happier note, a nice smell of minty peas punctuates the gloom.
To cheer me up, a dawning sense of realisation. My Cardiff-York ticket is 'open' providing I travel via Manchester, so perhaps I can get away earlier than the 6pm I'd been expecting?
Even better, this train stops at Danescourt, or is it Llandaf, close to my final 'Cardiff' tick.
Contradictory information on train / screens / announcements have a 15 yr old Welsh Waynetta Slob asking the train guard the very same question which is on my lips. Sadly, I can't hear his reply, but then we come into Danescourt which is closer to the pub (hurrah!) despite the pub being listed under Llandaf!
(Hope you are keeping up with all of this).
Heathcock, Llandaf, Cardiff (2947 / 5107) was your classic 'out in the Cardiff' 'burbs , the likes of which I feel I've now been to at least half a dozen times. Slightly too bright, open plan and bare boarded to really grab me and pin me to the floor of pub buggery, but enough of a relaxed colourful breezy community vibe to convince you it is 'good enough'. Rather English. Cardiff would hate that, but it is true. Newport might be closer to the border, but at least it feels Welsh, in the sense of feeling like a town that Dylan Thomas has coughed up at 3am. A grand high ceiling and nod to skittles, vaguely crafty and plenty of the younger crowd in mixed with arty types. It suited this warm Sunday afternoon. I opt for a beer with an interesting depiction of Del Boy and Rodney on the clip, Del looking half George Formby, half Peter Taylor, with the nose of Lord Voldemort. Slightly soupy but an amusing drink and six ticks by 3pm must be a new BRAPA record which I can't imagine beating any time soon!
A helpful bus gaily chugs me back to the station where I'm able to get the 3:55pm train to Piccadilly. Nearly 3 hours ahead of schedule!
Air con is broken in my carriage, rather than moving I get a can of Ffresh and a can of water from Herefordshire.
Mad dash across Manchester to get the connection from Victoria (doors shut seconds after bolting down the staircase onto the train).
Painful over the Pennines, still feels late when I get home, yet 3 hrs earlier than it could've been! Job done.
And I hope to be back probably Wednesday now to tell you about the day I completed Lancs.
Thanks for reading, Si
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