BRAPA in ..... SCRUMMY RUGBY / BASS IN BULK(INGTON) : WARWICKSHIRE PT 2/2

Saturday 7th February 2026

When reflection lad says to his mate "this mobile charger no longer works with my phone!", then theatrically collapsing face down into the table as you can see above, I feel vindicated. I AM NOT ALONE. I want to hug the lad. 'Hug a Hoodie'. What were all that about Mr Cameron? Never caught on.

It is edging 3pm. I've ticked one pub in Atherstone (plus a pre-emptive) and embibed three pints of foaming ale. Oh dear, that sounded very 'Viz'. I'm Rugby bound, three ticks required here, my aim now to salvage something from the wreckage of a day where my lack of phone charge has stymied me.

Here's a recap of today's battery status so you can track my progress. Fun game, sort of:

At this point, you can see I'm generally still on the rise.

Train announcement ..... "We regret to inform you ladies and gents that this train is now terminating at Rugby. Due to problems further down the line, we will not be calling at Milton Keynes or London Euston today". Cue groans from the carriage. What does 'hug a hoodie' do? Lets out a massive cheer. Read the room / carriage you dork. Don't wanna hug him any more.

My history of Ruggery pubbery is brief. One previous visit along with Daddy BRAPA and Tom the Clag Monster (whatever happened to him eh?) in late 2019. London Calling, Squirrel, Seven Stars, Victoria, Merchants and best of all, the Alexandra Arms, were all ticked. We declared it one of the best pub towns all year and RetiredMartin agreed so we knew we were right.

Windmill Inn, Rugby (3254 / 6095) sadly didn't live up to the 'Black Country Ales pub so a safe pair of hands' billing, though to be fair it is only me who had given it that billing. I need to pick the lowest percent sessionable ales from hereon in if I'm going to get five more ticks today. But the Hobson's Pale was warm and metallic. Ghost of Mudgie says 'I told you so'. Yes I KNOW they have too many beers on but it's never been a problem EVER because as Living Quinno says, the locals around here get through their real ale like whales get through krill. By the time I leave, the stoic northern workaday guv'nor is pulling it through with a grimness suggesting he was brought up in a Barnsley coal mine. I like him. A typically comfy BCA gaff. Best of all, a nice surprise between my legs in the main lounge ...... a plug socket! Time to get the power heading back north past the 60% mark. These are heady times. A bloke pops open a tube of Pringles as Kelly Balding-Logan presents some Wintry Olympics.

3:30pm, go go go to pub three!

Disarmingly enjoyable for one so micro-shop, Rugby Tap, Rugby (3255 / 6096) did the unthinkable and also offered a plug socket. Up to 64% by the time I leave. Must remember I have some juice in that crappy little thing I'd bought in Atherstone which the Market Tavern had kindly charged behind the bar. However, my priorities were now switching towards 'Can I do Bulkington's duo as well as completing Rugby and make it six for the day?' I felt incredibly content as I sup a gorgeous Matty Byatt's Hummingbird Session. The main man is a lovely knitted character, like an honest Charlie Hungerford. The place smells vaguely of painting and decorating, transporting me back to waking up at 9am on Sunday 31st August 1997 to find my Mum outside my bedroom with a paintbrush telling me Princess Diana had died, though I'd seen it at 5am on my little NEC TV when waking up for a glass of Dandelion & Burdock but then fallen asleep and assumed it was a dream. Anyway I digress, 4pm is approaching.

I'm aware that my final tick actually shuts at 5pm on a Saturday so it will be interesting to see what kind of atmosphere I find, perhaps the rare sound of a 'last orders bell?'

Well, it would appear the bell has tolled because as I reach the bar, the barman (club custodian?) at Town & County Club, Rugby (3256 / 6097) tells me they're closed! 4pm, not 5. But he's got such a crooked grin and lack of finality about his sentence (if you could say '.....' out loud, he'd have said it), I don't have to beg too hard. "I read 5pm online!" I say, once he's relented, mid-pint pull. He and locals roar with laughter. "Oh, it USED to be 5pm .... many many years ago!" Further laughter. I don't wanna rock any boats so don't say 'Get your fuckin' hours updated then' although I'm thinking it. Lovely folk. Loungey. No one is showing the remotest sign of finishing a drink any time soon. I don't ask about plug sockets either, so pull out my shitty Atherstone charger and get myself up to 74% (this would be the pinnacle of my power) book an Uber to Bulkington (too late to be messing around looking at buses), and notice Hull City are being gubbed 1-3 home to Brizzle Titties but I sort of don't care in the context of the day and would still rather be here than sat silently in a ghostly MKM full of silent old duffers, however challenging today had been, Being a club, a few locals start shouting over to me "What's yer game pal etc." and they love a bit of battery chat even if they've never heard of Baddesley Ensor. They reckon BRAPA sounds a mad challenge. The Holden's 3.9% was another inspired choice too, not even a Donnington glass can spoil the quality on it. Top club.

Uber-man Sohaib Sherwan must've done a good job cos I gave him a tip, and we arrive in Bulkington at 16:59 with JUST enough time for me to visit both pubs as long as I neck both in 25 mins, run between pubs, and get a further Uber to Nuneaton station, so I can make my York connection at Brum. EEEK!

Under the M&B lantern, confronted by three different flavours of Bass, Weavers Arms, Bulkington (3257 / 6098) was a smashing pub considering this was technically pint seven, I was against the clock and wasn't at my observational or relaxed finest. So friendly too, a bloke called Dave (why always Dave?) sidles along the bench and I explain BRAPA to him. He's so impressed, he shouts over to the staff and bar blockers about what I'm doing. They aren't as impressed as Dave, it wouldn't be physically possible. He's on the San Miguel the heathen, but I'm loving this Bass, real high standard and although it isn't the lowest percentage ale, like Fullers ESB I've supped so much of it over the years, I know how to take a pint down quick smart! Someone's put an icy glass of Bass water in front of us too. Hope this isn't a comment on my increasing pissedness! "Ooh ya really are against the clock aren't ya?" says Dave and I'm like 'yeah, well stop ask me questions and let me drink then!' but I can't be rude. He tells me to look out for 'H' in my next pub. "Sounds like Line of Duty!" "Oh, it is!"

I dash down the road, my fetlocks blowing in the wind, a couple of astonished ancient passers by look at me like they've never seen anyone run in Bulkington before, and they've lived here 100 years.

Excuse the blurriness, I'm jogging.

More lanterns, more rumbustious friendliness, more Bass and another fine proper booze hole. Bulko, I could live here! Olde Chequers Inn, Bulkington (3258 / 6099) and no sign of the famed H, I'd been told to look out for a little old lady sitting behind the door who will heave herself up, waddle behind the bar and serve me. The lady who does serve me seems too young for Dave's description, and besides, all I'm focussed on is getting my Bass (I avoid a Proper Job cosplaying as a Salopian Shropshire Gold) cos I've got a taste for the red triangled juice by now. Pint eight but I'm doing remarkably well with my drinking, I really think must have been mind over matter at this stage. Although everyone is loud and pissed, it is a much easier pub to move to a quieter side area, book Uber 2 and guzzle guzzle guzzle.

Ted Hastings she isn't

Uber 2 also known Khalid does his job nicely and drops me at the front of Nuneaton station bang on 6pm. Expensive last couple of hours, but to salvage six ticks after that dreadful start I had in part one was a fantastic outcome.

No rush to get either train, and by 8pm I've remembered I can plug my own plug into the DrossCountry socket to give me a bit more juice before York, though charging is slower than in ANY of the pubs because, well, DrossCountry innit? LNER and Grand Central would've juiced me more.

After a lovely chat with two of the nicest Mackems I've ever spoken to on a train taking a weird diversion back from Gooners away (must be that same issue that got us terminated at Rugby), I'm finally in York.

I'm craving a chicken burger but I'm not hungry yet (which made sense at the time!) so I decide to pop into York Tap.

I was having one of those rare days that happen about three times a year where I could just keep drinking ......

This fun barman spilled some Shameless on me and had to top it up, but it was fine because the nice barmaid with the wet nose and eyes who recognises me smiles vaguely. And a vague smile off York Tap staff is a beaming grin in most normal pubs.

I also stick around for a last orders half of something called 'Turtley Tropical' cos you can say it in a Hull accent, who had lost 2-3 in the end thus depriving me of a deserved 3 points in the family prediction league for my 1-3. I listen to Donna Lewis 'Always Forever', and Kim Wilde still on a loop (I'm a punk, honest) before I'm finally ready for my chicken burger, episode 355 of Home & Away and bed!

Probably still sober maybe

Up to date on the blogging officially for the first time in ages! I'll savour these next few hours up until tomorrow lunchtime when I tick my first #ThirstyThursday pub daarn saarf.

Keep it pub, but have a few days off the booze in between times too to rest your liver and eat some greens.

Si