Saturday 3rd May 2025
The day of reckoning was beckoning as BRAPA took a temporary back seat with football taking over.
I nervously board the early Fishbourne to Pompey stopper to see if Hull City could stay in the Championship - at least a draw was needed plus other results to go our way, I wasn't feeling hopeful, as the Gary Spinnaker tower gleamed in the warm morning sun as I waited for a bus to Southsea.
Daddy BRAPA wasn't present, wisely pre-booked on a walking holiday with Mummy BRAPA somewhere in Derbyshire. Since Christmas, he'd been telling me that I'd have to go to Fratton Park on the last day and get something. And he was right.
Just me and Ivor Panda then, who was determined to get on the sesh early .....
I was determined to sneak in at least one pre-match tick, and luckily I had a 'Spoons to do .....
I was in a very bolshie headspace as a result of these 'circs', so when I see them queueing for the bar at Lord Palmerston, Southsea, Portsmouth (3104 / 5589), I'm like 'not today' (well, not ever) and I walk through and stand at the bar. I was put in mind of Bridgend 'Spoons, pillars close to the bar, causing the more lily livered patrons to second guess themselves, but unlike our spirited Glamorgan counterparts, the staff here don't have the minerals or wherewithal to shout "CAN YOU COME FORWARD PLEASE?" One bloke tells me off, but he has the voice of Alan Ball, so I school him on pub etiquette. Second guy asks if he was before me, I declare theatrically that 'I can assure you I was first, I entered stage right' (not my exact words, thankfully). He looks suitably cowed in any case. It was at this point that I started to believe MAYBE it would be a successful day after all. Carpet is an underwhelming 6/10, the beer is cold and has quite a fizz but is drinkable. Not a GBG standard 'Spoons on this showing, though heavenly compared to Sunderland's Cooper Rose.
I drank it very quickly, caught a bus very quickly with the intention of whipping in a second tick called the Still & West, which I sure I've seen from the Isle of Wight ferry many times before, but about a quarter of the way into my walk, I decide time is against me, especially with a sell out away crowd, and get myself straight to Fratton.
This proves a wise move, takes me ages just to fight to get to my seat (well, safe standing area) and I don't even consider visiting one of the 5,000 pop up bars on the way in - all of which will probably hit the GBG by the time I finish ticking in 2044.
Atmosphere is incredible, the people around me are proper fans, so loud, so many inflatables. We start off amazingly, take a deserved lead. Panda-monium, in fact the first half is great. At half time, I'm about the only person within about 10 rows of me who doesn't go for a drink.
But early second half, a Pompey cannonball to the bows of the Hull of the ship (hang on, I'm turning into Stuart Hall, best not). Mummy BRAPA finds me in crowd with some top zooming in ......
1-1 then, the nerves jingle-jangling again. Everyone is checking scores. Luton are getting Tony Gubba'd up at WBA - which will keep us up if we hold on. The Pomps have the ball a lot, they never look like scoring but it is agony, in fact we have two great chances - squandered. I feel sick. This half has lasted about 3 hrs. But we do it, cue much jubilation, I put my shades + bucket hat on so Sky don't pick up any tears! 'Free from desire, ner ner ner'. How does Hull make every song sound Hullish?
Time to get my BRAPA game face back on.
I manage to not only board the next train before the doors shut, but get a seat! "WASN'T EXPECTING TO TRAVEL IN LUXURY!" I squawk to a bunch of unimpressed Pompites. My joy is short lived when I realise this train is going north through evil Hampshire instead of east towards gentle West Sussex.
I'd said to myself, if we get relegated, I'll stay in Pompey today, do the ticks here, plus Portchester and my Emsworth duo. But as we are coming back here next season, back to W.Sussex it was.
It is at Portchester where I hop off to change trains, and head way out east towards Worthing. I'm so thirsty, I've got a headache. Can't find anywhere here to buy water, and I don't think trains have trolleys down here.
Stop one is actually Lancing, just east of Worthing, I figured one more stop wasn't gonna kill me......
Tucked away in a row of nothingness, it is a pleasant surprise to find a strong micropub to kicking off my five pub afternoon / evening session. Stanley Ale House, Lancing (3105 / 5590). The smell made it, one of those 'times long gone, upstairs in Samuel Pepys drawing room, hiding Charles II in yer cellar' cool musty library book fragrances. "A pint of lemonade to go with my pint of beer, yes, ice please .... I mean, in the lemonade, not the beer, ho ho ho". Local crowd, arses hanging out, happy families, granddaughters and small dogs getting tangled up, dog failing to spot his owner causing the pub to howl with laugher (it wasn't that funny!) A bloke arrives in a helmet with a huge bag of takeaway pizzas. Gives most of them to one man, wearing a winter coat. Looks from his size like this could be a daily occurrence, he picks the jalepenos off with surgical precision and dangles them down his throat like a sea-lion being fed fish at the zoo. Even more reasons to me to celebrate, this pub represents 69% of the GBG completed. Brain freeze from gulping down my lemonade. Takes a while to get a taste for my beer, but it is good. Everything suddenly feels fuzzy ... I'm not sure I'll last the pace tonight!
That was a LOT of liquid but I still don't need a wee.
Worthing here we come. Four ticks here without the need to stray to West Worthing where I had a further three.
I have mixed views on my previous trips to Worthing. I quite enjoyed the one remaining current GBG, Selden Arms, even if it was a bit Coviddy. Anchored in Worthing was good, but I believe it shut / moved. Brookstead / Brooksteed was a decent leafy green micropub, not sure why that's not in. Others were pretty DIRE. Let's see what today brings .....
Respect to this Georgian chunkster of dazzling windows, Egremont, Worthing (3106 / 5591). I'm worried it is going to slip into a SW London coma, A Big Smoke energy lingers. But no, it has a happy human touch, the staff even talk to the punters. Almost unheard of in Worthing. One South African joker has found out that the barmaid is a trainee vet in Shropshire, and asks her if Shrops has genetically modified big cats, which he probably wants to hunt to death. She should've served me when she had the chance. I love cats. Old Ale is one Harvey's beer I can get behind, without it getting up my behind, and it glimmers a reddy black in the reflection of the stained glass windows. There is a door for the 'Undertaker' on the way to the loos, I dare a lady to explore. I didn't see her again.
Do I REALLY have three pubs to go? Ugh, I feel like today has been about 50 hours long, and you are probably getting the same impression from the length of this blog .....
I was hit by an unexpected 'mental slump' about half way through my Hare & Hounds, Worthing (3107 / 5592) experience, and it is a darn shame because I'll probably never find a nicer Worthing pub interior ever. Two old buggers are hunched over pints at the bar, the only customers in - which is highly disappointing on a sunny Saturday evening. "Helloooo!" comes a voice from behind a pillar, it is the barmaid welcoming me in, delighted to have a third customer no doubt. Encouraged by this chirpy intro, plus Egremont's earlier positivity, I order the Harvey's Olympia (another good 'un by Lewes third best brewery) and launch into an anecdote about the time it was vinegar in Polegate. She interrupts me with a clipped "FIVE POUNDS PLEASE!' Rude. I take out my anger on a poor innocent X-man who says I may've enjoyed a pint of Proper Job, and have to apologise and promise if I see PJ again this holiday, I'll order it. Guv'nor appears, sits down with a plate of liver n onions and grunts. Barmaid clocks off, walks straight past me and grunts. Customer's 4,5 and 6 enter. I smile cos I'm near the door. They grunt too.
If the atmosphere in that pub had been chilly, for the first time this holiday the air temperature drops dramatically, a chilly coastal breeze sweeps across Worthing as the beginnings of dusk drip through.
I'm here in tee shirt, long shorts, druggie bucket hat and blue shades. "C'mon Worthing, I need to see an improvement" I say out loud to myself, nostalgic wistful pangs of northern powerhouses like Dukinfield and Aston-under-Lyne suddenly flooding my thoughts.
I shiver as I cross the road, spotted by our hero above, who jokes "my wife does that". "What, shiver?" I ask, thinking it is natural human behaviour. "Nah, not bringing enough layers when evening time comes" he clarifies, and I tell him in fairness, it has been sweltering since Wednesday. "Oi oi, that's true, get yerself dahhn a charity shop n pick up a cheap jumper!" he says, gently poking me in the ribs. My mental slump was over, all I needed was a weird positive human interaction. Trust 'Spoons to deliver, and Three Fishes, Worthing (3108 / 5593) was a good 'un. You could sense the swell of anticipation of a messy Saturday night yet to come. (Fake) Lewie Coyle was already getting a round of luminous blue shots in for a group of teenage girls. My £2.29 Jaipur is excellent, AGAIN, and I might need a separate tab on my pub spreadsheet to document all these NBSS 4-5* Spoons Jaips. Thornbridge have rarely been this accessible to the common man. The loos were a long way up, the back of my calves really feelin' it by now. Lie-in tomorrow, I decided. But for now, I need to power through, one pub left tonight.
The wind is positively arctic as I run across the road in the direction of this handsome stand-aloner ......
Who doesn't love a green pub, and it delivers. Toad in the Hole, Worthing (3109 / 5594) - known in Hull as the 'Turd in the Hurl' was alive with the sound of yoof-ic. "You look like you've just come from a festival" chirrups the barmaid at the sight of my bucket hat and shades tucked into my tee shirt. "I sort of have ..... a festival of FOOTBALL". She looked slightly disappointed, I cannot lie. Sheffield's Rutland Arms is one of my favourite pubs in the whole of the UK, and here we had its southern vegan cousin. Even more hippy dippy, fewer traditional seating options, less musical, but the battered carpet, colourful beers, local art show, and most significantly, a vibrant atmosphere which reassures you with a laboured chant which goes "the pub kids are alright, the future of the (quite) trad. pub used to be shite, but now it is safe, walking in a Worthing wonderland". Ok, so all my fellow trainee codgers gravitate to my side of the room, I guess there's no disguising I'm not in my 20's or 30's anymore!
I shivered my way back to Chichester, my latest finish yet but Tesco was still open for late snackage.
Long sleep, and then a local day on the Sunday because those lucky southerners have bus services which actually run on a Sunday. Don't know they're born, I tell thee.
See you tomorrow or Wednesday for that one,
Si
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