Thursday 23rd July 2026
Welcome to my 500th Wix Blog. It doesn't seem long ago since I was in Newport Wetherspoons in South Wales struggling to upload photos onto rubbish Blogger and decided I needed to move platforms.
An eleventh hour change to my plans for this particular #ThirstyThursday helped me to keep my July numbers to a respectable level following a zero tick Knaresborough outing the previous Saturday.
Hertfordshire had been my original plan, but my 'key' pub in Stevenage was shut for a refurb, so I snuck off to Cambridge instead with a view to Essex later in the day.
Oscar the Owl was back from his year long drugs ban, and ain't it amazing how much cocaine you can fit up an owl's arsehole? I learnt that on Attenborough.
Sadly, his Hull City namesake will not be a regular starter this season, and may even be shipped out on loan. But fear not, I've got FOUR new mascots coming in before the transfer window slams shut as soon as the 2027 Good Beer Guide arrives (end of this week?)
So back to Cambridge, where two ticks are needed. I'm also looking for a 3* beer rated CAMRA pub and the Wetherspoons to maximise my afternoon.
A fine city, full of absolute punts. Beware the silent cyclist assassins. With the emphasis on 'ass'. Bloody dangerous, and very entitled.
As a child, it was our 'go to' city when Saffron Walden was too small to deliver. My Castle Grayskull was purchased in Cambridge, as was my Spectrum 128K. I choked on a slippery salad potato in Pizza Hut.
Unlike this hesitant character, I had no qualms about striding straight inside Granta, Cambridge. Not in the GBG that I've ever seen, but 3* CAMRA beer scores put it ahead of some Guide regulars. Open early. It only takes me about five seconds to realise it is a Greene King dining hole. The staff blink at me surprised anyone would want a wet-led experience 11:30am. The real pulling power of this place is the riverside location, complete with patio and 'punt station'. A Japanese family are soon on the patio getting spooked by a cabbage white. Not to be confused with a white cauliflower. The school holidays have certainly begun. Ugh. The matriarch sits indoors and rolls her eyes like a lady who's wrestled tigers in the gardens of Kenroku-en down Ishikawa way and has no time for this butterfly shit. The house beer drinks at least 2*, maybe 3*. Bet this place is utter hell 3pm on a sunny Saturday afternoon. Get it in the GBG Cambridge CAMRA, and put your rating where your mouths are!
Cambridge always deceives me with its vastness, but unlike Devon it doesn't put bloody hills in every town to make it more painful (still scarred, sorry) so I should probably be thankful for the flatness.
It was now noon, and my first tick with already filling up with tourists ......
There's plenty of age down at the Pickerel, Cambridge (3546 / 6336), a vast improvement on the Granta from the second I walk inside. Gawping like the fish that share the pub's name, two straggly grey blokes are quizzing the barmaid on the lack of Greene King beers on the bar! I'm tempting to direct them to Granta but they look quite serious and huffily say "I 'spose we'll go for the Wherry then!" But they've failed to see the always glorious Nethergate White Stout (imagine the milky bar kid with six fingers) facing me, so when I order it quite pointedly, they let out a stifled groan of disappointment and slope off never to be seen again. The barmaid looks disappointed that she's let them down, so to cheer her up, I attempt some stifled stifling weather banter - but she tells me she hails from Bangladesh and today seems pretty cool to her. Well, SORREEE for trying luv! A pub worth exploring, it has surprising depth, and between various beams and partitions, I find myself in a quiet backroom containing a manky carpet that looks like its been here, unhoovered, since Cromwell was a bairn. 5/10. Before I know it, staff have assembled on the large table which takes up the majority of space back here, laptops are out, and obedient chefs are obsequiously bringing out trays of sizzling food on silver platters. Pub meeting alert! I listen in for any juicy gossip, but it is mainly about scaffolding. Things eventually move onto toilet drainage problems in the Gents, which could put pay to the potential installation of a third urinal. I go to add to the drainage problem before leaving.
I'm hitting peak tourism district now, as all those pretty colleges that you can only hear in Jeremy Paxman's voice (or actually, the bloke who reads out the teams when they buzz in) start popping into view. Walking on the road is preferable to the pavements in order to make progress. You don't get this in Iddesleigh #StillScarred
Never considered Cambridge 'Spoons before, 'tis nicely positioned on my route, looks pretty art-deco from the outside, and considering the location, I'm expecting one of those clean, well-run examples of the chain. Yes I slither inside with air of positivity .....
WRONG Simon, WRONG! Regal, Cambridge is (quite amusingly as it is such a surprise) one of the grottiest 'Spoons I've been to in recent memory, certainly not very regal. The carpet is an upgrade on Pickerel (6.5/10) but that wasn't hard. A pub queue forms, as usual 'tis all men of a certain age who should know better. Too sober and unarsed to push in, I go for table service right beside the bar. I'm pleased to see a lady of similar age try and break the queue later on #PubWomen . Takes an AGE for my piddly half of 'Guest Ale B' to arrive. It isn't a busy 'Spoons cos obviously Cambridge has 1,000 better places to wet ones whistle, but is very evident the staff don't seem to know what they are doing. Bideford and Teignmouth 'Spoons seem like award winners by comparison, and they sucked ass too.
My long, accidentally circular trail of the city takes me just down the road from the station to a 'red dotter' (been in the last five GBG's at least), evidence of how much I've neglected Cambs since completing it back in 2018/19 in what is generally regarded as the 'Taylor Golden Era'.
An era when titles like 'Waterbeach : Worra Biiitch', 'I left my Cauli in BRAPworth General', 'What's Twatteris Without Me Ticking Innit?' and 'Little Downham Syndrome : Open Up U LAZY Wanker' were monthly fixtures on Blogger.
I was struck by all the crafty outers at Royal Standard, Cambridge (3547 / 6337) when I'd be expecting something traditional in the 'Champion of the Thames' or 'Free Press' mould. The modernity carries on indoors, one to impress the #BeerMan more than the #PubMan perhaps? Every beer is Ossett. 'You an Ossett pub?' I stammer. No, a 'tap takeover' which chimes in neatly with my first impressions. I tell our barman and the bald smoothie leaning on the bar that I'm down from York and can walk to two Ossett pubs in 20 mins from where I live, which I hoped was quite interesting if you like beer a lot, and breaks the ice for further chat which sees me standing at the bar for the duration. My pint truly is 3* this time, tying in with the CAMRA website rating. After slagging off the dirty Argies (the World Cup was still raw), b.smoothie reveals he's a lapsed Nottingham Forest fan. Why lapsed, I ask. Something to do with a yellow card against Anderlecht in an early 80's European game, so I let him do the highlighting to take the edge off his relived pain. Good place, it won me round.
The guys had given me a very leftfield pub recommendation to fill in some time before my train, so I take myself off to the Earl of Beaconsfield ......
The way it was sold to me is that they deserve support because they are trying to do real ale for the first time, and have got the team from nearby GBG regular Devonshire Arms onboard to help them learn how to keep their ale properly. Gotta commend it. 'Tis a Heineken pub though so very expensive, I was also warned. Just a half though. Sure enough it like a pub trying to shed old unwanted skin and there's this half undressed scrote wandering around bothering anyone who'll listen. Barmaid's a sweetheart, and welcomes my arrival as a distraction. The Wadworth Horizon IS good, but the pub lacked soul, and didn't feel remotely pre-emptive. I sit outside (like most people!) to escape Mr Scrote-Face. I guess pubs don't magically become good overnight, so hope they keep working at it, cos location-wise, they'll definitely draw the punters in.
Time to say farewell to Cambridge for another five years or so, and back on a train I find myself at Shelford, which neighbours a non-Notts Stapleford. The Atacama has had more rainfall in 2026 as I tread over southern vultures feeding on oxen carcasses to reach the pub .....
Considering the pub's run of four GBG appearances in the last five years, Three Horseshoes, Stapleford (3548 / 6338) wasn't the village triumph I'd been expecting. Even 6,338+ pubs into this mad challenge, I'm still capable of witnessing quirks never before seen. The handpumps are ordered 'beer-cider-beer-cider-(possibly beer-cider-beer on another bank of pumps?) The landlady assures me had I ordered a cider, she'd have checked that I knew, but WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT? /just asking for trouble! I was already annoyed because I'd had an awkward wait at the bar for service, landlady off doing other stuff, the son & daughter(?) holding hands(!) to my right made no attempt to serve me or gain her attention, neither did the locals. You know, quite often they shout on your behalf or reassure you with a 'she won't be long'. Something mean spirited about this place. Indoors was stuffy and not very trad, so I tried the garden but it was a bit crummy (and humid anyway). She'd told me (I hadn't asked) that the Wolf 'Poacher on the Broads' was supposed to be hazy but it tasted warm and soupy too. So yep, all in all I think we can call this one a BRAPA fail! Get it dropped in '27*.
*But only if you're replacing it with something I've already been to!
Back on the train and into Essex, Harlow to be precise - not a jewel in the Essex crown let's be honest.
I power walk from Harlow Mill, time now of the essence if I'm to make my London connection, Coopersale's Garnon Bushes had survived to fight another BRAPA day.
At least in Stapleford you could see some vague rationale for GBG inclusion. The same cannot be said of Marquis of Granby, Old Harlow (3549 / 6339), one of those 'what were CAMRA thinking?' moments I occasionally witness. Totally empty pub, a shell, stolid landlord says "I'll give you a taster" when I ask for the one cask ale on from the oft reliable Bishop Nick (who up until 2020 I thought was also a pilot at Andrewsfield Airfield who works in the church in his spare time). Sour and wrong! "Ugh, actually I'll have a Shipyard!" I reply noting the keg Hobgoblin IPA is off too. He nods as if to say 'I thought you might say that Si'. Turn the handpump around then mate? He's far too scary for me to say that out loud! I sit around a quiet corner, gulping down the fizz. Nothing happens cos no one is here. I'm told Burnham was in Harlow earlier today. Maybe he drank all the casks dry in a Northern Powerhouse stylee. Maybe not.
Such speedy Shipyard chugging has the consolation of allowing me a swift half in pre-emptive recommended by Simon Dewhurst, who you may remember from my recent blog 'Daddy BRAPA's Pukey Day' and other Essex / East Herts outings of our past.
Spit 'n Feathers, Harlow allows me to end a tricky afternoon on a high. Excellent new micro. Today's fourth pre-emptive but realistically the only one I'd expect to see in a GBG anytime soon, though it is so new that 2027 might come too soon. It manages to run a very unique gauntlet of relaxed, awkward, cute and inter-related (inbred would sound harsh) all in one go. The couple are so genuine and lovely but unassuming enough to feel like the least micropub running couple I've ever met. The Mad Squirrel Porter really slaps (my face) at 5%, the ales are scrawled on brown paper stuck to a wall behind the bar. Had vague feelings of a complimentary instant Nescafe being presented to me at any moment. The Old Thorn stereo radiogram from the sixties with BSR record changer and disorganised collection of 45's (thanks SeeingTheLizards, of COURSE I knew that!) tops things off nicely.
So Harlow may well be an absolute shit stain on the pub / Essex landscape but proof that there's hope for the old girl yet.
Sadly I didn't have time to tick the 'Spoons too but according to a TeamLikeExeter, it is actually worse than Paignton, so therefore worse than the one in Cambridge, which must make it contender for worst in UK? Even sadder I've missed it now!
No time for Parcel Yard in the circs so I made room for a York Tap stop off on the way home. Miss Wetnose was on fine drippy form, as was a 'River Stout' by Zapato and although it hadn't been the highest quality BRAPA day, a successful one to keep my July numbers more respectable than Mel & Kim. Cheers!
I'll be back Wed or Thu to tell you about the time Dad drove me to pubs in FOUR different counties all at once. Not to be missed.
Keep it pub, Si
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