Thursday 18th December 2025
Tripping towards the finish line, as I tick four of my remaining six pubs and edge ever closer to the Greater London clean sweep for the first time in BRAPA history. There was another pre-emptive 'Spoons and a late trip to the Parcel Yard thrown in for good measure.
It was an opportunity to right the wrongs of the previous Saturday, where you might recall I only ticked a pathetic two pubs on our Millwall away day.
It was the first of two BRAPA Christmas specials, so I drank a seasonal limited edition coffee, tried to put a cute scarf on Owlie McBurnie (who chinned me, obvs) and donned a Santa hat. No one batted an eyelid cos at this time of year, especially in London, you can get away with being a dork.
Two ticks left in SE London, so with the rain teeming down, I make my way to Sydenham station.
I'm a bit too early for pub opening, so I sit on the dry platform for ten mins, and find a beanie hat that someone's left behind. I try to return it, but station lady doesn't wanna know, so 'yoink' I'll put that in my washing machine (cos all Londoners have lice) and add it to the BRAPA collection.
When I hear the barman telling a local Michael that the aptly named Dolphin, Sydenham (3199/6040) opened early at 11am today, bucking the trend of its normal 12 due to 'the time of year', I'm fuming I wasn't aware! But not for long. As in Iver, Bucks almost a year ago today, Greene King are serving up their seasonal Fireside ale and by gum, say what you like about GK but it is a classic winter warmer. My phone temporarily breaks when I try to reboot it due to rainwater damage, and I'm momentarily panicking, but all good. It's a decent sort of gaff, sturdy, unremarkable, the rugs, plants, books and tankard give it the feel of a Brunning & Price, but we won't hold that against it.
The rain is easing, but not enough for my liking, as I alight the train at the badly American named Honor Oak, and walk to my final SE London tick at Nunhead. It takes me through 'One Tree Hill' Park which I'm sure was a TV show, very hilly with tonnes of steps but at least I see the famous Honor Oak tree.
My bloody bootlaces keep coming undone. Not what you want in the rain. Been happening every time I go out in my winter boots these days, as Dad said at the Wrexham home game recently 'you need to change them, before you do yourself a mischief'. He's probably right. Just can't be bothered.
Our pub appears on a side road, thankfully. I'm a soggy mess though nowhere near as bad as St Albans a week or two back.
What a beauty the Ivy House, Nunhead (3200 / 6041) is. How have I not been here before? Well I can actually answer that one, having deliberately swerved it in 2020/21 because their Covid rules sounded very strict and you weren't allowed inside at all, so I thought 'wait for all this social distancing regulation stuff to die down' .... didn't expect it'd take me five more years though! Weird it ain't a GBG regular, beer range is more 'exciting' than 90% of London pubs too and this Five Points Railway Porter is an immaculate conception. Lack of pub warmth is a slight issue, barmaid is keeping her hat on so I'll join her, I guess these super 1930's Truman's Wood panelled high ceilinged Nat. Inventory types can be hard to heat - the White Swan in Digbeth remains the coldest BRAPA pub I've ever been in, and similar style. Feels as much club as pub, indeed I push two double doors and find a huge backroom with a stage at the end. A bloke adjusting a microphone says 'hello' and I apologise for being nosey. I'm sitting on table 13, but let's not be superstitious, what can possibly go wrong today? A fine way to complete South London.
I walk to Nunhead station which is pretty much equidistant to Honor Oak Park from here, desperate to reach Central London before rush hour for my final tick there. Ignore Mr Red Brolly, he just wants his five seconds of BRAPA fame.
Public toilet of a pub, I'm severely unimpressed by the Lady Ottoline, Bloomsbury (3201 / 6042). Look, I wasn't expecting Nunhead levels of quality, it was always going to be noisy and irritating this close to Yuletide, but everything about it was shoddy. Lack lustre service, an insipid pint of Charrington Oatmeal Stout which sounds like it should be a great drink, even the toilets themselves were York Tap levels of stink, and only one pot to piss in. My table is reserved from both 4:15pm and 6pm by the abysmally named Eulalie which screams 'Central London Xmas drinker, probably gonna do Dryanuary and tell everyone' and the slightly less abysmally named Will who is still almost certainly up his own anus. A table beyond me perform the most elaborate Christmas cracker pull ever, based on Auld Lang Syne. Wielding the green highlighter on Central London for the last time this year is my only moment of satisfaction. A Hull City fan told me the actual Lady Ottoline was born in Grimsby, but I couldn't tell if he was joking and if so, why he'd even say it!
Time to head to Norf Laandan where my remaining three ticks lay, but their geography meant I only had time for one and it sure as hell wasn't gonna be Botany Bay Cricket Club. Though I still headed out in that Enfieldy direction.
A homeless dude gives our train carriage an announcement - "Is anyone willing to adopt me? I don't take up much room, I can even fit in a shoebox" he adds. Cringe. An unlikely claim. "I nearly said yes, just so I could prove to him that no-one can fit in a shoebox!" chuckles the lady next to me. "Oooh aren't I dreadful?" she adds, deciding to tell me her favourite Christmas joke .....
"What does Santa pay for parking?"
"Nothing, it is on the house!"
GROAN
Gordon Hill looms large (train station, not man), and I'm glad to escape. That train going north into Herts stopping everywhere always makes me feel nauseous, and never more so than today.
Halfway to the pub, along Lavender Hill comes the moment you've all been waiting for. As I fall, slap down on the hard wet concrete. Those bloody bootlaces again. Hadn't noticed they'd come undone. Although no pedestrians were passing, plenty of cars must've seen. I'm too embarrassed to feel any pain, the real ale to date has proved a good numbing agent, so I heave myself up to the pub. A 'wonder' I'm not more seriously injured .....
I hobble into the front bar at Wonder, Enfield (3202 / 6043). I'm no McMullen's fan but credit where credit is due, this is a gorgeous backstreet community local, full of heart. Soaked in Christmas, but in a palatable way, I go for an Original Mild because I find it easiest to stomach. The only other guy in here is half talking to me, half to himself, mainly about ducks. "Shoveller, Eider, Mallard, Mallard, Tufted, Pochard' he chants like a weird monk. I'd heard enough and limp through to the backroom where bar blockers huddle like Guy Fawkes conspirators. There are tiny dogs wearing Christmas jumpers trying to escape every time a door is opened. Gives me anxiety. In the Gents, I wash a cut on my hand and clean my muddy jeans knee, and sort out my mangled laces. When I return my empty glass, the barmaid wishes me a very Merry Christmas. And it sounds really sincere. A bloke writes on my TwXtter post to say Chas n Dave played some of their first gigs here, which is a fun twist because ever since my fall, I've had their song 'Wallop' banging in mi head!
Still time to make good on my recent run of 'Spoons pre-emptives at the White Swan, Islington. Calmer than I'm expecting, think the Good Yarn at Uxbridge if someone went around with a damp cloth and disinfectant. I purposefully swerve the Christmas muck for the Conwy American Amber which proves a good choice. "Here's yer 13p sweetheart!" says barmaid when giving me change. Carpet a bewildering 7.75, rising to an 8 when Hull City win at the Haemorrhoids next season. Decent 'Spoons. GET IT IN THE GBG!
And I even have time for a Parcel Yard ESB, much better than last Saturday's queueing nonsense, though a group of pissed Elves keep following me around and the ring leader elf disapproves of my 'Murder on the Orient Express' corridor comment even though it was accurate.
I woke up on Friday morning for work in agony. Left knee and right hand. Why does beer have to wear off? Not good news when I had a trip to Warwickshire and L**ds Christmas do the following night. And I'll tell you about that on Wednesday.
Keep it flippin' pub, ouch!
Si
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