BRAPA in .... SIR LOIN STAKE OUT, POMPEY BREAK OUT : (3 PTS, 4 TICKS IN HANTS)

Saturday 28th February 2026

Up at 5am, Daddy BRAPA knocks on my door at 5:50am, and aboard the 6:10am York to King's Cross train. You can't say we aren't committed to those 23rd place in the xG table Tigers!

Spreading across an unreserved table for 4, because we can!

I'd even remembered to do us an air fryer croissant, pork pie (with mustard) and Arctic coffee each just in case catering wasn't open at this ungodly hour.

We'd enjoyed the solitude of this same train a month ago bound for Southampton, so a repeat performance was always on the cards, although a 12:30pm kick off today forced our hand anyway.

Not very fair on away fans is it, especially those who want to pub tick too?! Speaking of which, no chance of seeing any Mackems on their way to Bournemouth, also a lunchtime kick off, as this train starts at York.

Even the London Underground is ghostly as we're crossing over like John Edward to Waterloo circa 8:30am.

Brave faces, everyone

Time for a guilt free 8:40am breakfast pint of Market Porter by Portobello at my new favourite 'Spoons, the Lion and the Unicorn, Waterloo. Shoo-in for future GBG surely? Just ignore the prices / get a sugar Daddy to pay. It tastes like Titanic Plum Porter, but in any case, a rare Portobello win. Great carpet, warm and comfy, lovely staff, even smells fresh. Dad gets a little breakfast which comes quickly and is just the job. The baked beans come in a ramekin to keep them separate. 'Best place for them' snorts Dad, not a fan of the things, would rather a grilled tomato and who can blame him? I laugh at an old couple who are so overwhelmed by seating options, they cannot decide. They realise, and we have a bit of a laugh about it, which is nice, cos lesser people may've taken offence.

Time to board the 9:30 down to Pomp-land. I stupidly lose my split leg Havant-Portsmouth ticket somehow (I've still not found it) so I'm forced to buy another one. £5 wasted. Though it would've been worse had I lost my expenny Waterloo-Havant one.

The GBG has kindly put in Fratton 'Spoons this year for the first time in BRAPA memory, so although I'm expecting a scummy scrum, it felt like the right pub at the right moment ......

Room for two friendly tigers?

Well the bouncer's ain't too pleased to see us, I can only think we don't look Pompey or blue & white enough for they have a strict 'home fans only' policy. I've always taken this to mean 'no away colours' but they've taken it further here, asking us if we have any ID, on phone or otherwise, to prove we're from Portsmouth! I don't think I'd even be able to prove I was from York. And what if you're a Pompey fan who lives elsewhere? Anyway, I deny we are football fans at all, whip out my GBG, and explain pub ticking. Sick of me by now, and still a bit disbelieving, but also aware we ain't hooligans, they reluctantly let us through. Getting served ain't an issue, and two pints of Abbot's Reserve (actually the lightest drink of the day in colour!) is much needed, and very good. Dad secretes us between two pillars, and the patched up 7/10 carpet is the only photo I dare take. However, John Jacques, Portsmouth (3286 / 6126) is a weirdly good 'Spoons even in these trying circs, far better than the Southsea one I did back in May with fizzy slop where twerps tried to queue and I had to tell them to stop being silly. And far better than Sunderland's Cooper Rose which was a comparable experience. Quick widdle upstairs, and then on to the Fratt party.

We saw our mate Dave & son in the 'FanZone' and nearly joined them for a drink, but decided to plough on to the away end, and just like in May, an absolute ruck trying to get to our 'seat'. Despite it having been a pet-hate for Daddy BRAPA all season, he takes us a few rows up from our designated seats, and stand all game, with a decent view in this cute, poky atmospheric ground.

We score in the opening minute but it is ruled out for offside. Boo. Then they dominate for 35 mins, we somehow don't concede, and they run out of steam after that. But we never get going, and are sloppier than a pint of Portobello normally is. But then we do what we so often do this season in the second half lull and score from our only other chance, as they fanny about at the back Rosenior-style and Owlie McBurnie's namesake charges down a bad backpass and Matt 'Tree' Crooks (who deserves a BRAPA mascot if you can buy a plush tree with eyes, I dunno) wraps his foot around it and sweeps it into an empty net. Cue jubilation and much head scratching. "How the bloody 'ell did we win that?" says Dad as we leave the ground.

I have identified two pubs walkable from Fratton in the Eastney area which we can do before the train back to London if we don't dilly dally.

"Gor, we woz bladdy robbed!" (probably)

A few miserable Pompites are outside enjoying the uncommon 2026 sunshine, they must've snuck out early cos we proper strode out but were beaten us to the punch at Brewers Tap, Portsmouth (3287 / 6127). Yet I'm straight in at the bar with a wild thirsty look in my eye, and the staff are alert and attentive to my 'Wot u got on cask?' question which I always feel obliged to ask in this handpump free modern things. 'Oh, ya mean caaarrrrsk, we got these two'. New Bristol Cinder Toffee Stout. Say no more. One of my absolute faves, RESULT! The Espresso Martini version is in York Tap as we speak. Perfect post-match celebratory pint, and Dad asks some locals if we can join them. It is an easy going companionable sort of micro. Dad squints at the hazy crafty offerings and reckons if he was a local, he'd be in here a lot, sat at the bar with a beard and mustard beanie hat like the gent at the bar. Good unmemorable microing, and I didn't even have to show a Portsmouth utility bill to get in!

To the Playoffs, see you in May!

Just a bit further down the same road, traffic still backing up post-match (which I'm keeping an eye on cos I've got a plan forming involving a bus, an earlier timed train, and an unlikely fourth tick), we come to a pub I remember from a pub guide I used to have circa 2007 called 'Real Ale and Football Away Days' or something and this was on the front cover of whichever division Pompey were in that season.

But it had changed dramatically (and not for the better IMO) from a soothing cream and blue (if memory serves correctly) to a big loud black screamy craft kitchen thing. Welcome to Sir Loin of Beef, Portsmouth (3288 / 6128), a contender of both best and worst pub name of the year. Once inside, 'tis a lot more pleasing on the eye. The green cushioned seating, and general old school pub feel a timely reminder why Pompey is such a good pub town. The young barman is super switched on, yap yap puppy dog, VERY enthusiastic as I order a newly on beer from a never before heard of local brewery called Makemake. An oatmeal stout so smooth and not too cold, in some ways I prefer this to even the Cinder Toffee. He tells me they don't often do cask beer, but they've made an exception here and this is receiving rave reviews. I can see why. Oh, and the middle of my beermat popped out because Guinness love gimmicky nonsense.

The traffic had now cleared, the bus came good (though I had to run the last few yards to make the stop in time) and we were on an earlier train away from Pompey.

A change at Havant was allowed due to our split tickets, and Havant had kindly put their 'Spoons in the GBG this year for the first time for yonks.

Daddy BRAPA wasn't particularly happy about my plan, but I persuaded him that time did allow, just!

Havant's always been a bit 'Chavant', kinda enjoyed the Robin Hood and that atmospheric old Fullers pub last May, though I've never NOT seen a group of yoofs menacingly cycling circularly in that grotty precinct just outside the station.

After a few false dawns re entry doors, we eventually find our way inside Parchment Makers, Havant (3289 / 6129). Classic loud Havant mid afternoon party time near the entrance, but it's a bloody long building and the further down you go, the quieter it gets. I go for an Acorn Old Moor Porter which is normally a classic but tastes fizzy and weird and someone in the cellar should be arrested on war crimes for getting such a classic so wrong. Dad doesn't get a drink. I'd gone off to the loo but he'd failed to hear the barman's questions so many times, he didn't then have the heart to then add that he wants one! So he just sits gloomily next to me looking impatient, as I force down a fizzy pint quick as I can in grimy sweaty surroundings. Young lads are playing cards on the next table. They seem happy, which is nice. The carpet is a 7.5, but it won't be in my top hundred pub experiences of 2026. Still, a tick is a tick is a tick is a tick, and 4 today plus 3 points was (just like at Southampton in January) was more than I could've imagined at 5am! A proper return to Hants in 2027 is needed.

We make our train easily, Dad even finds a short cut back to the station. Never any reason to panic.

Back in London, I complicate things by dashing up the Metropolitan north bound line steps for no reason.

Then a Tube line we need is shut and we have to divert.

No time for the Parcel Yard (which I frankly was quite happy about!) and then we so nearly get on the wrong train (well we actually did) because there were THREE York-London trains in space of 5 mins, all from neighbouring platforms. A deliberate scam to try and catch people on wrong ticket I'm sure, cos there's no announcements before you set off to make it clear, and it is so easily done.

So in conclusion, it hadn't felt the gentle smooth day So'ton had, but I still maintain I prefer Pompey for pubs, and like I say a satisfactory outcome both football and BRAPA-wise to end Feb on.

I'm off on holiday now so my next blog not won't be out for over a wee, which gives you die-hard regular readers a well-deserved break!

Keep it pub, Si