BRAPA in .... THE TAMING OF THE TAMESIDE : QUISH, QUASH, QUOSH, THAT'S YOUR LOT!
Si Everitt
1 day ago
7 min read
Saturday 24th May 2025
It was a tricky start to our latest BRAPA outing, crossing the Pennines in search of five pub ticks east of Manchester .....
Loose leaf GMR map sighting
The Greater Manchester map had fallen out of my Good Beer Guide, an ailing Daddy BRAPA (man-flu) declared "I'll come to Manchester with you, have a coffee, and then see if I feel up to pubbing".
The coffee must've worked. By Piccadilly there is colour in his cheeks and I'm able to persuade him to come along for at least two pubs, then he might go home. "See how ya go" I said, meaning 'please try and stay for the full day cos we are on a two together railcard and I don't wanna have to buy my own ticket home p.s. and I luv ur company'.
We Metro it to a fittingly grey skied Droylsden for pub one. Still too early for 11am pub opening, we nip into this cute but rough greasy spoon a few doors down for a pot of tea and a cheese & onion toastie hotter than the centre of the sun.
It takes ages to arrive, in fact the locals receive their Full English Brekkie's far quicker. Preferential treatment? They seem a lot less intimidating when one gets a bonus carrot cake for pud and starts taking cute selfies with it.
We've raced past 11am by now, my phone is buzzing. That most wonderful time of the day. Pub o'clock!
BRAPA tick of the day by a long chalk is the Snug, Droylsden (3147 . 5632). The story goes that the guv'nor was sick of his previous pub in town being inhabited by young noisy 24 hr party people so built this for himself and like-minded codgers. 'Tis nicely done. We meet BRAPA hall of famer, Alex Quosh. One of the nicest guys I've met through this nonsense pub ticking adventure. I'd given him barely TWO DAYS notice about our trip over to his neck of t'woods, yet not only can he join us, but he'll drive us around due to the tricky logistics - surely comfort to Daddy B. in his man-flu state. The ale is 'Au Revoir' by Bridge Beers which Quosh tells me is a brewery on its way out, so this must be their farewell brew. Barmaid is a chatty soul. A good start. But it wouldn't last long.
Perking up already!
Who is that lurkin' over at t' bar, is it a Quoshster?
Pub two was an 11am opener as well .... just to the east in the made up town of Dukinfield.
My third Dukky trip for BRAPA purposes, which makes it a real ale haven to match Norwich, if you squint really hard.
OOOOF. There's your one-word description of horror show Wheatsheaf, Dukinfield (3148 / 5633). There's a choice of a right or left door, but even before that, a noticeboard with about six different 'no drugs on the premises' signs, all in different fonts and colours. We turn right (when the 2026 GBG comes out, I'm gonna start turning left) and there's a load of old guys supping lager, no handpumps in sight, so we quickly turn back and go to the left side. Quosh is back at his car for some unknown reason at this juncture ("DON'T LEAVE US HERE!") so we shout we're going left instead. But no handpumps here either. I'm about to go Mansfield Smooth for the bantz, but Quosh has reappeared and whispers on the back of my neck 'Guinness' (erotic) and goes to sit at the end with Daddy BRAPA. Barmaid is very bubbly, and weirdly all the old blokes follow us round to this side, a mass migration. The southerner is a bit overly staring and curious but ain't bad. I then make the most pathetic attempt to 'split the G' in history but I wasn't being serious (honest). I'm not saying cask ale isn't sometimes available here, but in any case, a random GBG selection!
Pretend I was aiming for the top of the harp
Dad later confessed that had Dukinfield had a direct train back to York, he'd have probably left at this point. But it doesn't, and I wouldn't want to poor lad wandering around Dukky on his own looking for refuge. Might've ended up in a crack den.
Our third pub didn't open til 1pm but it took me that long to drink my Guinness, it is 13:05 when we arrive, sort of unwittingly perfect timing.
3 Drinks Behind, Hyde (3149 / 5634) was a pretty run of the mill sorta Micro. Unlike Hyde itself of course, full of thrills n spills n jellysnakes. Famous for Harold Shipman and Myra Hindley and I have a working theory that Jack the Ripper commuted down from Hyde to Whitechapel and it can't be disproved so there. Ricky Hatton isn't a serial killer, but he grew up and has a gym here. Quosh went on holiday with him. Frank Bruno randomly rang Ricky H. to say he was in the area. True story, I've seen the photo of the three of them together! Anyway, this was posh Hyde, Gee Cross, we even parked near a pretty church behind a stone wall. I didn't enjoy my pint. Smarty Pints. Only chose it cos of the name. Warm and furry. Dad n Quosh prefer the house beer from Beartown. The pub only gets exciting when I cannot get in the loo at the end. It is locked. But no one is in, or has been in. The lovely owners suspect a ghost and conduct some experiments whilst I pee, but I don't break my flow, cos when you've gotta go, you've gotta go, haunting or not.
Onto pub 4, via Quosh's Greenfield gaff cos he wants to pick up his headphones. We're both desperate for a wee, especially Daddy B, so we get to pop indoors. Third guest BRAPA house wee after RetiredMartin and Tim Thomas?
Mossley (pronounced Mozzley ya York posho) has produced some real decent GBG ticks down the years .... but this isn't one of them ....
Not the late 90's Hull City striker David Brown presumably, though he was from Oldham so ya never know. Butchers Arms, Mossley (3150 / 5635) at least sells two good Millstone's, Tiger Rut and the Stout (or Doom Bar if you really wanna party). We seemed to be stood there ages waiting for pints to be pulled, arses wedged between bar and strange angular pool table. It is hard to describe just how wrong the decor and layout felt without taking you there, and I'm not going again, nice as the stout was. And because the locals are made of the reet stuff, the contrast is all the more stark. We settle over in the left side where Sheff Utd are dominating Sunderland in the play off final - we were originally booked down to London on a Grand Central today, but when I realised the fixture, we did some hasty ticket swappage! Ooh, 1-0 to the Blunts now, boo .... some ladies hovering above us ask who's playing. This pub marked 70% of my GBG completion, a landmark which I didn't celebrate loudly because I'll almost certainly drop back below it in September. Bloody bah! (as the sheep say in Mossley)
Maybe Beerblefish in E17 would still be going strong today had they adopted this pool table policy
Our final tick took us to Stalybridge, I place I once vowed to only return to under the cover of darkness in disguise, but four pints in I was feeling brave .....
Ever felt like a place is a front for an Organised Crime Group? Rochdale's D'Ale House felt like it, and so does Ol's Bier and More, Stalybridge (5131 / 5636) .... I wonder what the 'More' actually is, because 'bier' certainly isn't their strong suit. Quosh was making an exception in returning today, having vowed not to after a previous experience where they tried to ching him £9 for a can of normal strength beer .... and when he asked if they could advise him on IPAs, he was met with "Oh, is IPA a beer style?" Good grief. No surprise then that as soon as we ask for the one cask ale on the blackboard (a quid cheaper than everything else), we're immediately told it ain't on, so I end up on Tiny Rebel's answer to Guinness. Seating is uncomfy perching bollox, and on a day of crap GBG entries, this somehow contrives to battle with Dukinfield for the wooden spoon, but at least the Wheatsheaf felt 'honest'. I'm already anticipating the day a chap called Jim Brunt drops a message in the pub tickers WhatsApp chat reporting that this place is no 'more'.
Never before in BRAPA history can I recall a day I've enjoyed so much with poorer pubs. That is testament to Quosh for being great company, and to Daddy BRAPA for playing through the man-flu barrier and lasting the pace, with a smile on his face.
Oh, not to mention two morale boosting super station taps selling lovely black beers so ensure we end on a pub high ......
Dad and Quosh do 'train stuff' whilst I compose a song in my head called 'Buffet Ragtime Blues' (forgotten the tune, chorus went something like "Buffet, hey, hey, hoo-rah, don't hit the buffers, ooh, AAH, what a bar" Paul Westerberg could never)
York Tap - North Riding Choc Orange Porter for me, mysterious craft/J20 for Dad
Yup, I went home pretty happy with how it had all turned out, even though I could now feel myself coming down with the dreaded lurgy, and had a day sesh at York's amazing Fox on the Sunday so uggghhh, straight to bed for me. I ended up cancelling the folllowing #ThirstyThursday because of it.
I'm on a roll with this blogging, desperate to catch up before my hols, so I'll strive to bang out at least half of Portslade and Hove tomorrow.
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