BRAPA in .... THE COIN OF CONTENTION : RAYLEIGHING AROUND MID-SOUTH ESSEX

Thursday 26th February

Owlie didn't fully emerge from his bag on the journey down to King's Cross, a stereotypical small ginger haired Irish horse man was being far too serious, and it got inside his head. "In his head, in his head, Owlie, Owlie, Owlie-ie-ie" (to the tune of Zombie by The Cranberries).

28 ticks to do in Essex. How did that happen? Seems like only last week that I was celebrating 100% Essex completion in Bures Hamlet. In reality, it was 2021.

An underrated pub county - proper old skool pubs, generous opening hours, tonnes of rosy cheeked midweek daytime drinkers. In 2026, that feels like an Isle of Man-esque throwback to the 1980's, when I was a Saffron Walden twild and pubs were scary forbidden smoky places for badults.

The White Hart, Hockley (3280 / 6120) is a steady if unspectacular example of Essex's appeal. The barman is a stereotype of the region. Fake tan, slicked back gelled hair, black clothes too tight for his years, no socks, white trainers, Turkey teeth. Nice guy though, I pay in coins, it just felt right. There's plenty in for lunch, but they don't push food in your face. The pub takes precedent. Indeed one elderly group are efficiently, silently marched through and behind a screen, never to be seen again. A cheerful Belsen. I'm sat in the front room where the bench seating is spongier. Wedding anniversary duo rotund Bruce Forsyth and wife, they've invited another couple (their swinging neighbours) to make it a foursome. Good game, good game. The Wye Valley is a touch too warm if I'm being critical, but probably because Wye Valley are good apart from disgusting Butty Bach (sorry, I know you love it), it slips dahn pretty well. Or is that Prittlewell? Sorry, just my S.Essex humour seeping through.

One stop up the line, I come to Rayleigh. Another one of those 'heard of it but never been' places which probably says something about my unconscious Saffron Walden snobbery, or just perhaps that these pubs weren't in the 2021 GBG.

I'm sweating like a badger in my Fulford school form room (TB) on arrival because I'm looking at the blackboard outside listing the street food hours rather than the opening times and missed the tiny neon 'Open' sign. I can be quite unobservant.

The ceiling height and pub depth have me wondering whether Crafty Casks, Rayleigh (3281 / 6121) is even a micropub at all, I'd say about 81.8% yes. Not unlike our previous server, this barmaid has accidentally made herself look like Mother Teresa with white hairband atop general black garb. She's asking the two arse-hangers at the bar how many burgers McDonald's sells per year. No one knew off the top of their head but she did, she read it. These casks really are crafty, in so far as you can't bloody tell what's on! The glare of the light reflecting on the back blackboard had me squinting. Exciting guest ESB tempts me, but no I won't fall into that trap too early. Too many pubs on the agenda Brenda. Shamrock Stout from Brentwood it is. Decent, but as stouts go, a beer genre I love, safe to say I won't be writing home to mother about it. My superb 'mid 90's Spurs midfielder making woodland animals out of felt to sell on Etsy' joke deserves more love than it received at the time, but 37 social media 'likes' is probably more than anyone in history has got for posting about this (probable) Micro. An elderly bag man keeps glaring at Owlie McBurnie, but the big feathery striker won't be intimidated by his opponents this time.

Hang on, Rayleigh has a Wetherspoons! Never seen it in a GBG before, but imagine how hard I'd be kicking myself under the table in September during my cross-ticking exercise if it suddenly appeared.

Well, now I have been, I can say with almost 100% confidence Roebuck, Rayleigh won't get anywhere near a GBG unless Dr Cyclops drops an atom bomb on it and they start again. An 8/10 carpet is all that commends it. Weird locals, disgustingly warm Wantsum beer that made my Hockley Wye Valley seem fresh and cool.

Again I go to pay by cash ('only a half, pre-emptive rules), I've just got enough change, hurrah! But no, barmaid reckons one of my 20p's I'd purloined in North Warwickshire last week is a fake. "It's not even the same size or weight!" she crows like someone who knows far too much about fake coins. Well it just seems a bit rusty to me. I try to laugh it off but she starts acting like I've pressed the thing myself! I tell her I have no other change, she says 'do you wanna pay by card then?' and I'm like 'no, I'll give you a tenner, so you'll have to give me back all my coins and a load of change' knowing she'll hate that, so she lets me off the 20p. Ha! And I get to keep it for another pub day .....

Fake or 20p fortune?

I meant to take the Coin of Contention to Portsmouth on Saturday but forgot. Shame, Pompey's John Jacques would have definitely accepted it. You can probably pay using a false tooth in there.

Anyway, I'll take it on hols and keep you updated on its progress in the coming weeks.

Onwards to pub three and happier times were around the corner. I had to change at an inconsequential place called Wickford, the train was missing off the screen but a sound school lad with bum fluff 'tache assures me I have no need to panic, and the train appears seconds later.

Tucked in amongst a curious development featuring antiques centres galore, farm shops, a record shop, tiny garden centres and something called Nerd Base, you find the hidden debutant GBG jewel which is One Green Bottle, Battlesbridge (3282 / 6122). Alestones at Tardebigge done by Del Boy, for those of you who've ventured that far into Worcs, they even have his three-wheeler on the way to the outdoor loos. Although there's something quite temporary / brewery tap about it in feel, it only bladdy works. In fact it was easily my pub of the day. The sheer volume of jokey wideboys inside the gaff certainly helps the atmosphere. Good barmaid / brunette business owner too. I see a beer by Black Box of Southend, which allows me to say 'ah, they are closed at the moment for a refurb ain't they?' to which she replies 'I dunno, we are still gerrin' beers off of them' to which I say 'maybe it is just their tap room that is closed and they're still brewing beers?' to which she says 'oi oi, you are probably roight'. It is this sort of scintillating exchange which keeps me coming back to Essex. Was the Black Box ale scintillating? No. But it was well kept. And in a place I felt very much at home (I even removed my coat shock horror), that's all you can ask. She later did a funny dance to 'Rockin' All Over the World' by Status Quo which weirdly I'd been doing a funny dance to only two nights earlier when we'd beaten Derby 4-2 cos they play it at full time in the MKM with dreadful Hull City lyrics.

I had to do a bit of running to get my next train connection, only one stop up the line to this weird eerie industrial estate of a place containing zero humans called South Woodham Ferrers.

Doesn't actually open until 4pm so I had to lurk outside like a big pork chop for 10 mins, but right on cue, Daddy BRAPA WhatsApp's me some unimportant poser to help me pass the time.

When I next look, that very shut looking door is now ajar and I'm inside Tap Room 19, South Woodham Ferrers (3283 / 6183). A man appears with the same aura/expression as the Cartman South Park figurine on the bar. I wonder if someone bought it for him as a joke due to the resemblance, perhaps his Bridlington based daughter, to whom I recommend the Moon Tap by proxy. After all, you'd have to have a good sense of humour to move to Brid. And I'm allowed to say that cos my Grandma, once living, now dead, did exactly that. "Can't understand a word anyone says up there!" he grumbles, but then again he is the biggest Essex accent in a very Essex accented day. Hates vegan beers too, which is funny cos when I try them, I can't tell the difference and I'm not just saying that cos my sister is one. I didn't realise this place was Crouch End's brewery tap, I've had their beers loads with generally favourable outcomes. The Apollo is new on, and by gum it is pint of t'day by a country mile. He commends my choice and we have a jolly good chat, which I think is just as well as there's no one else about and although I never explored, it seemed a basic tap room of few frills.

So new on, it is yet to have its own sliver of paper

TWO changes to reach Chelmsford from here, I'd not been expecting that. Wickford again and another inconsequential place that never has any pubs but seems a popular transport interchange, Shenny Shenny Shenfield. To give it its full name.

Some mental maths based on time available - distance walking - 25 mins x3 makes me realise I'll only be able to do two of my remaining three Chelmsfordian ticks, so I start with the one of most awkward opening hours cos it looks weird.

I'm not arsed missing one cos it'll pair well with my future Harwich-Colchestery day.

I descend the staircase, contemplating exactly what comes between a cocktail bar and a taproom. Slightly above average times were ahead of me though, I could sense that. I may've been a bit pissed by now but in so many ways, this entrance at Voodoo Keller Bar, Chelmsford (3284 / 6124) reminds me of Newcastle Head of Steam, another place I've never been in sober, in fact that might be upstairs, I wouldn't know. Voodoo just lacks the softer comfy edges once you get down there. Sensing my wide-eyed hopeless look of a stranger in a strange land, the 15 yr old barman becomes very helpful re the beers and when I go for a Death of a Cowboy, he proudly says "brewed here that is!" and I'm thinking 'didn't know you were a brewery tap' but I think what he means is brewed in the city of Chelmsford. Nothing really happens after that, I'd expect a bit more charisma from a place called 'Voodoo' with all its promises of #FunTimes, though at least the gentle tunes of The Offspring, Smashmouth and Papa BRAPA Roach keep it real / late 90's.

One to go then, and I picked the one next door to the station because when you have to get back to York from King's Cross for an 8:33pm service, you don't want any slip ups at this late stage!

But Voodoo had bags of charisma comparatively to Brewhouse & Kitchen, Chelmsford (3285 / 6125) and I really do marvel at how this chain keep going in 2026 because I'm still not really sure what their appeal is. A bit like the Pompey one I visited late one Friday night a few years back, everyone is young and 'relevant' and a bit try hard if I'm perfectly honest. I've never been treated like such a doddery old man! I best get used to it as I edge closer to 50. Well meaning? Patronising? Perhaps a bit of both. I ordered a B&K Session ale because (a) It was the first thing I saw and (b) I was feelin' the booze by now. It felt like drinking in a courthouse but the jury had 'main character energy'. The next Liverpool Street train wasn't far off so I couldn't afford to hang around, not that it really pained me to sup up quick.

Back to KX then, bit of cheeky late ESB and even cheekier even later York Tap. A rare 'non-working Friday' so I decided to take advantage, and then get a huge 11:30pm KFC!

A productive day, and a good job too because I knew Portsmouth Saturday (12:30pm kick off) was going to be skinny offerings by comparison.

I'd LOVE to tell you about that on Friday but I'm getting close to the first BRAPA holiday of 2026 so need to research pub opening times, bus and walking routes, pre-emptive 'Spoons and how to access my Air B&B (Steve has sent me an essay of instructions!).

I'm working tomorrow (a rare Thursday due to the latest round of Project Calypso), so keep keeping it pub and I'll see you over on TwXtter / BlueSky on Saturday afternoon in a secretive distant land.

Si