BRAPA in .... SHOTLEY CONTESTED PARKING ARRANGEMENTS : DURHAM BY CAR

Saturday 6th June 2026

Daddy BRAPA's bare leg and the remnants of a flask of coffee. It could only be a summer car day, and the only surprise is that isn't Lincolnshire.

Approaching the business end of the pub ticking season (final quarter) and I've not touched County Durham (or Merseyside, Cheshire or Leicestershire for that matter). This pleases me. It means I'm not panicking about going too far afield as September approaches.

More of this in the 2026/27 ticking season please! Imagine if I could get to August 2027 and still have the yearly new mediocre Hebden Bridge / Todmorden micropub still to tick. That'd be psychological BRAPA progress.

Our first stop is at Durham's most northerly tip, close to Consett and 'bandit country' as my Mackem mate calls it. 'Bandit' is apt for Crown & Crossed Swords Hotel, Shotley Bridge (3469 / 6259) who have outsourced the pub car park (the only place you can park in this mean-spirited village full of traffic, hills and double yellows) to a private company. Reminders to enter your reg. number in the car park and at the bar are one thing, but signs on EVERY table are quite another. Felt 'unpubby'. Big brother is watching. I have to remind Dad that we are in Mum's car at the last minute to avoid a fine a la Staithes last November. The landlord, with customary Rene 'Allo 'Allo dirty tea towel draped over his shoulder is wary and watchful, hushed conv. with his barfly mate, but perhaps the parking set up was seeping into my subconscious. The Bass (my 99th pint of it apparently*, where will #100 be?) drinks excellently despite the TT Landlord glass (tsk), the bar area is traditional and the loos are down some stairs where I find a less beery female fronted bar. Is this the Crossed Swords, and the upper bit is the Crown? In a London 'Ship & Shovell' but on the same side of the road kinda way? Who knows. Having whiled away the time helping Dad add his bank cards to his phone to launch him into the 21st century, it is time to leave this parochial suffocation.

*This is bollocks because between 2017-19, I couldn't be arsed with Untwappd and definitely can recall an unrecorded day in South Derbys/Burton where I exclusively drank Bass to levels of extreme pissedness. I might catch up with my 'check-ins' one day.

You might know that I've been using the CAMRA website (build an App lads, show us you're 21st century ready like Daddy B!) to try and identify pre-emptives based on beer scores.

And I've never been so confident as having struck potential gold as a 3* rated obscure micropub on an industrial estate close to here. It just screams 'GBG' (with an element of Italian restaurant) doesn't it?

Dad decides to stay in the car like a hot dog. I tell him I'll only have a half under pre-emptive rules. All is silence as I enter Changing Room, Hobson (the website says Hobson, but I think this is the name of the industrial estate rather than a real village). 'Where is everyone, where is the bar?' I have to walk right towards the back of the building. Warm welcome from our host, the personification of 'canny'. My decision to go for a Durham 'Ma's Bar' makes him wince. "Ooof very sweet aye" he mutters, so we agree 'tis a good job I'm only having a half. I don't have a massive sweet tooth so yep, sickly. Full on Mars Bar though. You might love it. There's a small but lively local crowd in, their dog makes some unearthly noises but they don't seem to like me laughing at the distant hound. Guv'nor comes over to chat and we suspect it might be too soon for a 2027 GBG appearance, but he seems surprised (impressed?) that a York boy can reel off names of pubs I've been to in Tanfield, Medomsley and Blackhill in years gone by, so I take the opportunity to remind him that I'm superior to most pub humans. I don't wanna linger so Dad doesn't suffocate. It's grey and raining now anyway. Good stuff.

Time to wind our way south and east where today's other ticks are situated. The first being just outside Durham City in an area called 'Neville's Cross' that sounds very ITV Sport FIFA rant (although the World Cup hadn't started yet so I'm getting ahead of myself).

Dad's expression is probably borne out of spotting the 'black plinth of doom' on the approach. Unexpected Ember inn alert! But here's a fun BRAPA anomaly for you ..... my Ember Inn experience when Daddy BRAPA is present is far favourable to those I tick alone. And Duke of Wellington, Durham (3470 / 6260) winds up being one of today's strongest pubs. I mean, Kirkstall Three Swords for heaven's sake?? How un-Embery of a beer is that? Where mi Doom, Tribute, Rev James or 'Mad Goose Purity if I'm lucky' selection? And the young bar fella, top lad, with his bandana and sleeve tattoo like he's come here to use the shower block and pull a few pints before returning to 'Consett Calling' for day three of a local music festival. Gazza & Lindisfarne ft. Jimmy Five Bellies headlining in the Peter Beardsley Tent at 10pm. Brian Kilcline bodyart follows at midnight. He (the barman, not Brian) tells us that as a Headingly student, he actually used to live in Kirkstall brewery. Wonder if they knew. Dad's debut in the world of contactless card payments using a mobile phone isn't a success, and the stuffy pub stinks of B.O., but all in all, a weirdly positive Ember experience.

But what BRAPA gives with one hand, it'll sure as eggs take with the other.

Today's next pub was the one I'm most buzzin' for, as it was a 'miss' for me from last year's GBG. Plus the name Castle Eden sparks historic beery joy thoughts.

But Daddy B. calls it before we even emerge from the car. "Looks a bit dining namby pamby" he growls. "It might not be!" I protest, always wanting to appear fair and even minded!

The high ceilings and entire lack of soft furnishings do nothing for the acoustics, and the bar area is awash with filthy fifty-somethings in for a feed and a scream. Castle Eden Inn, Castle Eden (3471 / 6261) shows the local CAMRA are really scraping the barrel to fill their GBG allocation. One thing not scraping the barrel thankfully is the ale, Robinson's Dizzy Blonde kept well - and the only beer on (go figure!) But unlike Egham's White Lion Doom Bar on Thu, this one ale felt less deliberate and yes, there is a subtle distinction! Oh and get this, Dad was finally allowed to pay by phone to officially launch him into the 21st century. Despite escaping to a quieter side room, it feels merely an annexe of the main 'bar' (restaurant), this place having no discernible character. Two plasma screens show either a collection of punters dogs, or the pubs range of burgers, which sums up this nothing burger of a pub. Don't waste your time. Unless you really love burgers, dogs, prosecco and shouting. Dad gives his Zero Moretti a solid 7/10. With my soul having left my body, it was time to move on.

Dog Frienelcome (a dog friendly welcome in Castle Eden)

With England due to play Panama in the group stages of the World Cup very soon, it was only right that we celebrate John Darwin with a return to Seaton Carew.

Parking has us in a spin again but you know where you stand with an actual machine and a few coins.

A frustrating tick to need in so far as it is situated very close to that wonderful micropub we did two years ago (not that we could see it today), Marine Hotel, Seaton Carew (3472 / 6262) was both impressive and comfortable which was like manna from heaven after Castle Eden. We'd set our expectations low, because when we see 'Marine' we think of that bar in Bridlington which my Grandma lived above, full of stewed veg, dodgy financial practices (allegedly) and elderly piss. The moody ginge behind the bar doesn't create a great first impression, but the funky Hadrian Border ale is second only to the Three Swords, Dad's coffee an easy 8/10, and we retire to a plush lounge where horse racing watching ladies dressed exclusively in various shades of blue wink at me. Quite a classy place. Worth canoeing back from Escobal for.

One tick left, but as we leave the pub I unwittingly enter a Devonian portal.

On the coastal wind, I overhear a bloke called Dave saying nice things about Exeter City, then a dude called Pete talks about the many charms of Torquay and Dartmoor road signs whilst a lass called Dympsy hums a whimsical England football chant in the gloam.

Then I see a mirage of Paignton's appalling Wetherspoons ......

And then our final pub which was probably called the Canny Mare or something sensibly Durhamesque renames itself just to put the cherry on the cream on the jam on the scone, or is it the cherry on the jam on the cream on the scone?

Daddy BRAPA is quick to point out that the right hand side of the Devonport, Middleton One Row (3473 / 6263) has hardcore pub leanings so we won't be subjected to any dining nonsense. Then I see Bass. It simply had to be. I didn't want to end the session on 99 not out like a flailing 1993 Graham Thorpe RIP. A beer to book-end the day too, this one's arguably even better than Shotley Bridge. The pub & village (resembling all those Bedale's and Stokesley's with its set back white townhouses atop undulating green roadsides) made such an impression on Dad, he intends to book himself & Mummy BRAPA for a few nights here next month the saucy minx, and although it was fully booked, they did end up staying close enough by to pop back here for tea. A local lady keeps laughing and clucking like a hen laying an egg, and absolutely nothing else happened. Excellent pub.

Being reet on the tip of North North Yorkshire, it isn't a long drive back to York, although a tough VAR review prevents us from attending either the Fox or Volunteer for further beery victuals.

I wish all BRAPA days were this easy, but next Sunday would be too, so that was something to look forward to.

Have a pleasant week, c'mon Ingerrrrlaaannnd (unless you prefer the Argies), and keep it pub.

Si