BRAPA IN .... UM BONGLETON, UM BONGLETON, WE DRINK IT IN THE CONGLETON

Saturday 30th November 2024

Middlesbrough away today for Hull City, so the logical BRAPA day out took us to Congleton, obviously!

Only one Teesside tick compared to rich pickings on the Cheshire / Staffs border. No brainer. Plus we're shite.

A Stoke sojourn momentarily flitted across my conscience before I pulled myself together and settled on Kidsgrove for the first stop. Mummy BRAPA’s homemade cherry scone had seemed a sufficient brekkie, until we caught sight of the oatcake shop …..

….. and in my oatcake torpor, I took us in the wrong direction to the pub, but it is still only narrowly after 12 noon opening when we spot it on the horizon, smoke billowing happily from the chimney, but you’ll have to take my word for it (let’s not blame Daddy BRAPA, even he’s not perfect).

Crown & Thistle, Kidsgrove (2850 /5334 ) failed to match my only other Kidsgrove pub tick to date, the wonderful Blue Bell, but god loves a trier and I'd commend C&T's barmaid for being so 'extra' that she rightly earned the opportunity to wield the bright green Staedtler. Even if Colin was blindsided in the process (see below). An ultra chatty host without ever being annoying, BRAPA top ten staff of 2024, although I think she's bored, admitting that her regulars don't usually appear for another half hour or so. Ok, we will be your entertainment! I went for the Mobberley Pale, but like the pub it lacked life. Comfy trad. warm place to sit, nicotine colour scheme (the best) and the fire provides the ultimate feel good factor. In the most Staffs pub move in Christendom, Daddy BRAPA scrunches up his oatcake wrapper and chucks it on the flames. Had he removed his shirt to reveal a Tony Pulis tummy tattoo, it wouldn't have surprised me in this moment. But he didn't, and the pub remained 'pleasant' without ever being in danger of slipping into 'v.good' territory.

The train took us back to the sanctity of Cheshire - by which I mean Staffs is a FAR more interesting pub county and if you don't agree with me then get yer eyes checked. Sorry, that was a bit aggressive.

Three ticks to do in Congleton but before that, a taxi cheat is req'd for a new GBG irritant on a main road in the middle of nowhere - itchy Smallwood.

I had high hopes for the Bull's Head, Smallwood (2851 / 5335) due to the 'trophy' symbol in the GBG suggesting a recent CAMRA award win, but to a man / cauliflower, we were unimpressed. In fairness, the beer was the highlight. Randomly from Wantsum of Kent, the Black Prince was a smashing mild, but it felt a mere consolation prize at the time. Lady serving seems away with the faeries, in a gloomy way, little interaction until I go a-wanderin' in search of any table with space around away from dining hell, at which point Dad calls me back because she's pointed out a table around the other side. A coach had been parked at a weird angle outside, and the pub is full of elderly deadheads and bored teens scooping chips, new potatoes and minced beef out of communal trays, topped off with sliced white bread and butter just to top up that carb intake. No one speaks to each other, or looks remotely happy. There is a huge Dulux doggy blocking half the floor space, meaning a re-route to the gents is required, not that its owners were apologetic (or aware). This is an ancient building, and with that comes tight spaces, which despite a modern conservatory bolt-on (everyone ate as close to the bar as possible!), only add to the smothered gravy suffocation. Booking a taxi back to the Cong was proving tough, but just when I was about to brave asking Mrs Lugubrious for assistance, Uber clicks into life and we are saved.

Our makeshift beermats say so much about our time in the Bull's Head

30 December 2017 was my last trip to the Democratic Republic of Congleton (Young Pretender, Prince of Wales) and I'd also been there that August (original BarleyHops, Queen's Head) but I had no recollection of the station being Tring-esque levels of a yomp from the town centre.

At least the taxi could drop us at our furthest one so we only had one long walk to do. Controversial outdoor photo moment ensued ....

"Ah'll tek it on my phone and send it to you when we get insaaard" says Daddy BRAPA in his 'well- spoken-due-to-elocution-lessons-as-a-child-but-still-one-percent-Hull' accent. "Ok then, if you insist on breaking BRAPA protocol, I'll just have to adapt!" Well, we absolutely adore our first three minutes inside the Throstles Nest, Congleton (2852 / 5336) as we survey the plain, quiet, foodless interior, seduced by a beer line-up boasting two Abbeydale's, Bass and Oracle. I can tell that the barman, overhearing our gushing throstle rhapsody, is thinking 'settle down lads, we're just an okay back street pub' and so it proves. Despite the freshness of my Bass, Dad's slightly less fresh Moonshine, and an ability to stretch out over swathes of empty sticky toffee bench seating, we feel more detached and lukewarm towards the pub experience the longer it goes on. I couldn't really put my finger on why, the only semi-notable moment being how every local decides to block the narrow corridor leading down to the loos, their backs turned to anyone approaching. Well I just KNEW I was going to scare this woman who hadn't seen me, her friend could see it coming a mile off too, but I made her jump, tried to laugh it off, she wasn't impressed, and I just thought 'if that'd happened in Staffs, we'd still be laughing about it now'.

A short trot down the road in a vaguely station direction took us to pub four, a big group of crinkly baldies in combat pants had just left, hurrah .....

One of my favourite things about this pub ticking malarkey is that you cannot predict which pub you're going to enjoy most on a given day. Even if you read the GBG description (which to be honest, normally tell you flip all about what the pub is actually like) or even if you look up the ales they have on, if that's your proclivity. Beartown Tap, Congleton (2853 / 5337) would never have been my pick as the train trundled over Greenfield and Mossley first thing, but we were unanimous (I think Colin agreed ). Mine host is the main reason. Whadda guy. "Some people have just got it haven't they?" declares Daddy BRAPA sitting down with our pints - he'd done the ordering / interaction whilst I had my regulation widdle. I told him I knew exactly what he meant. Mine host's positivity radiates around the room as it tends to do in the more microey venues, infecting the clientele. Today needed a happy pub. A pub for all-comers. There's two pin boards next to us, one for beer suggestions, one for music suggestions. No Eurythmics, but there is an Annie Lennox song up there, typical. "Not one ABBA request? This pub is demographically challenged!" cries a disappointed Daddy B, really finding his form here. With the Crème Bearlee drinking amazingly and some decent warmth in the gaff, a lack of bench seating and carpet wasn't an issue. Good stuff.

Manifesting ABBA tunes

Hoping my Swifty suggestion gets picked before we leave

And I think our final tick was a further short trot, maybe around a corner, i wasn't really concentrating .....

"I'm not going to remember anything about this one!" I wail to Dad about ten minutes in, feet dangling precariously from an awkward posing stool slightly back from the bar. Welcome to BarleyHops, Congleton (2854 / 5338). Barman is pleasant, and I'm enjoying my 2019 award winning Merlin beer to the same extent I enjoy Merlin beers anywhere. Could be more 'North Riding'. Dad's got on the 8.8% Belgian Tripel "... I just fancied it!" he shrugs, when I balk at the percentage. He definitely had the tiger by the tail today - talking of which, quick check, we've been thumped at Middlesbro' but scored our first goals in about 4 months. The Piper's crisp round was welcome. A trip to the loo reveals there's some party preparation afoot, soon the place is awash with helium balloons. I think Dad dared me to pop them! Or wondered if I had. Must be the Tripel talking. On our way out I notice them being squashed into a Limo with a huge square cake that says 'live, laugh, love' probably. Of the original BarleyHops (my 1,222 pub tick, that's progress!), I wrote "The pub turned to look, and they confirmed with a sterile glare, the type their ancestors used on dying bears, writhing in agony, having just been tortured.     My ale was a bit warm.  I left, early for the bus". Sounds like I was happier today.

Colin considers necking it whilst Dad's gone for crisps

And yes, it was a fair trek back to the station - I even passed the house of the parents of someone who I hadn't met yet, which might've been thrilling if I'd had a crystal ball.

So I've now had three trips to Congleton, with a total of seven pub ticks, and I'm still not too sure how I feel about the town.

It is fine, if Congleton's your kink. A magnolia painted studio flat in Reigate. Watching Bristol City, Swansea and Preston North End on the same day. Opening a bottle of tomato sauce when that liquidy top bit comes out first. A dry Nando's. A 'Celebrity Special' of a TV show you like which doesn't need celebrities. A shoegaze music all dayer at Milton Keynes bowl headlined by My Bloody Valentine. Watching a crow pecking at a Subway sandwich wrapper in a multi-storey car park on a fine spring morning in Braintree. The colour navy blue. Lauren Laverne. A pedestrian crossing in Melbourne's CBD. A Bayliss & Harding handsoap. A Berghaus winter coat. Grey squirrels. You get the idea.

There was time for a pint in a Manchester pub which is NEVER just 'fine' .....

I'd considered a sixth tick but I could tell Dad would prefer an earlier train home, we were on Two Together Railcard, so I acquiesced like an acquie-man.

All good. Tough blog to write this. My keyboard broke late NYE night. I've written this partly on iPad, partly using an old broken keyboard with no <Enter> key, and the rest tonight on a keyboard that turned up 6pm just when I was losing hope!

See you in my first 2025 tick tomorrow morning, Si