BRAPA in ..... RUSH TO ALDRIDGE (Part 2/4)

Thursday 26th October, 12:46pm

Slept in, skipped breakfast, had shower but still felt grubby not being in my first pub til nearly 1pm. Let's get some strict 27.5 minute ticks in to make up some time.

Turtle's Head, Aldridge (2485 / 4643)

Precinct micropubs are often the worst of the genre in my experience, but this outer Walsall plopper put in a good performance, what with wheelchair lady outside staring at an invisible pint and toilet humour themed name which appeals to purile BRAPA. Comfort in the form of spongy armchairs, warm enough, immaculate Ludlow Gold. My eye is quickly drawn to the cobs in the absence of breakfast. I play 'guess the filling' but a helpful spoilsport turns them over so I can read the labels. Cheese & pickle. But is a cob a cob if the breadroll is soft? The locals discuss the imminent 'clock change' and can't get their heads losing or gaining an hour. Promising quickfire start.

The bus route towards Walsall yields a second quick tick, which the GBG tries to make out is rural, maybe in the context of the West Midlands, but not Northamptonshire or Cornwall.

Manor Arms, Rushall (2486 / 4644)

I initially mistake the understated undercurrent of this throwback canalside classic for unfriendliness. A bar-less wonder, with a soothing hubbub that groans with centuries of history. The Banks Amber drinks fartily until I settle into it. A poorly little boy with a nose tube is the apple of his Mum and possible Grandparents eye, and gets his Walkers French Fries poured into a massive bowl. Can't help thinking I'm invading 'precious family time' sat in this parlour of sorts. The lad loves 'Naughty Little Cousin Pumpy', this weeks mascot who was a big hit in the West Midlands, and that enables the adults to soften towards me, which is relief as I'd been feeling a bit awkward up to that point!

Back at Walsall bus station, a lesser ticker would mop up the 'easy' pubs in the town, but that'd be WAY too straightforward. Much more fun to wait ages for a bus that doesn't show up to take me out west to a place so much tinier than Small Heath, they call it Short Heath.

Duke of Cambridge, Short Heath (2487 / 4655)

Aesthetically speaking, this Black Country Ales pub was perfection, because as you know, I love my pubs multi-roomed, comfortable, full of tight curvy bench seating, windowed, woody, carpeted and green. The guv'nor seems to either have a twin or a split personality. Serving me 'Pig on the Wall' mild from the lounge, he's courteous and well mannered in a comedy moany way. But in the front bar where I sat as his mates arrive, it is all 'feets on seats', swearing, loutish lagers and not so nice vibes. Compounded by a total lack of phone reception, and no clue on buses out of Short Heath, lead me to feelings of isolation! Yes, I really should've enjoyed this pub more than I did.

The Willenhall bus, when I finally fathom it out, is a pain and doesn't stop near the pub so I have a steady stride out to pub four.

Robin Hood, Willenhall (2488 / 4656)

A second consecutive BCA pub, and third of the holiday already, I sure wasn't complaining! Nothing but pleasant vibes here, a real Pato Banton / Ranking Roger of a fire ('bubblin' hot', please try to keep up!) forces my aley hand into a pint of their ESB, Fireside - gotta catch 'em all! Lovely people, if a bit bumbly awkward drunk at 4pm. This pub puts on archery lessons, the thought of which terrifies me surveying the assembled crowd! Same carpet as the lounge in the Cambridge, tsk, point off, come on BCA you ain't Ember (they must've got a job lot). Bloke with voice of Rainbow's Zippy admires my 'new' GBG. Hallowe'en decorations start going up around me, Walsall Arms style, full of life this place.

Hope yer bum is clean mate, no turtle heads

I decide a 25 minute walk to pub five makes more sense than trying to fathom out any more bus intracacies, plus I'm at the stage of the day where it might be vaguely sobering, as the sun lowers and the air becomes chillier.

A strong smell of cannabis and a load of sirens greet me as I round the corner into Darlaston, a point which might prove signifcant considering what follows ......

Swan, Darlaston (2489 / 4657)

....because I have to be buzzed in, more private members club than pub. Fearful looks as I enter and make my way to the bar! "It is to keep the undesierables out!" the barmaid tells me when I question this unusual approach to pubbing, so I promise I'm not one of them and chuckle, but no one laughs. Seems Darlaston has a people problem! But 2-3 mins further chatter and I can visible tell they are warming to me, and some old blokes invite me to share their bench. Unsurprising, it feels like a club, but the intimacy gives it a unqiue friendliness. My Bradfield Farmers Blonde drinking better than it often does in Yorkshire. One of the old blokes has a mystery man bag. Turns out it is full of bananas and grapes. Good on him. Get the Vit C in. Time to buzz myself out and buzz off.

Final stop of the day then, and this time the bus behaves sensibly as the clock ticks past 6pm. I've made remarkable progress today considering the late start, so give myself a good backslap and hope no beer is sicked up before entering, though the entrance confuses me .....

Cafe Metro, Bilston (2490 / 4658)

A strong contender for my overall 'moment of contentment of the week', I'd mentally set the bar low for this one which is often the best way to be, I just hadn't trusted the pub name or entrance! I was probably pissed, but the dimly lit surroundings, happy youthful cordiality (well, there were four people under the age of 50), a pint of Sarah Hughes Dark Ruby Mild and a bag of 'Bostin' Scratchuns' with Billy Joel's 'Scenes from an Italian Restaurant' playing in the background, well it was just the perfect way to end a day two which had somehow matched day one. Tram back to Brum from just outside, job done!

I'm away tomorrow, but will be back on Wednesday 9pm to tell you about Part 3. We might have to break off for the month end review at some point, but it is what it is, and if it wasn't, it wouldn't be what it wasn't.

Sweet dreams, Si