BRAPA in .... WATCH OUT, CHEADLE'S ABOUT (PART 1/2)

Still riding the crest of my MerseyWave 36 hours early, it was time to head back over t' wrong side of t'hills once again to begin my '2024 Greater Manchester mop up'.

Last time out here, September 2022 and the death of QE2 is announced over the radio in Stalybridge's Cracking/Crafty Pint just as I'm wielding the Stabilo for the final time that year.

Plenty of gaps had opened it in the intervening two GBGs, so I do what I always do in this situation and begin at the beginning ..... of the alphabet. The letter A was flashing. And A was for Altrincham.

Ozan Toucan starts as Colin is rested (not dropped)

Manchester Piccadilly is chaos. Just like last week, Everton are the 12:30 kick off, but this time at Manchester City, though it is that weird breed, the football tourist, who are causing the problems, walking backwards and the wrong way through the Metro system, and having to be re-routed.

I also slip on my bum again due to Converse with no grip, I need to save these for dry days only.

A few ticketless twammers (tram scammers who are twats) get chucked off which is nice to see, and I hop off early too, at Stretford, where a new micro is lurking down a precinct. 11:59am so I sift through the plushies who are whoring themselves out, but they lack Colin's class.

Dave the dinosaur, anyone?

Longford Tap, Stretford (2642 / 4802)

Already two lovely codgers are inside with drinks, FFS, I thought I was being respectful waiting until 12:01pm. Pub Of The Day as it turned out, of course I didn't know it at the time. Maybe it's a sad indictment of modern humanity but I was really impressed how the guv'nor told the person on the other end of the phone that he was going to have to hang up, so that he could give me his full attention. Despite the modern interior, codgers combined with a luminous old skool jukebox and an even older skoolier fruit machine, plus an ambient temperature gave this place a great feel, not to mention the cracking toffee porter. And when the codgiest codger shuffles across to replace auto shuffle Nick Kamen with manual swinging Glenn Miller, things took an even better turn, spoiled only latterly by too many arriving dogs attached to owners displaying limited social skills.

Back on the tram and up next was the whole reason I was ticking south of Manchester today, because as you know, A is for Altrincham.

Rustic, Altrincham (2643 / 4803)

An American fast food joint masquerading as a craft beer bar, three handpumps seemed to be pushing it a trifle, and my Beartown Kodiak wasn't bad, but it was 'kept up all night by a teething baby' kind of tired. In happier news, sprained wrist burger & fries man allows me to go first, recognising a wet-led dude when he sees one, and the barmaid is super smiley. The highlight is going upstairs to find the loos in total darkness and no light switch. When I go back down to question it, she says "awww shoot!" and you couldn't meet a lady more likely to say "awww shoot!" than her. She chases me back upstairs and flicks a hidden switch. After that, my only joy is in wielding the green highlighter pen, dreaming about an Ashton-under-Lyne future and watching two Mum's stuff mac 'n cheese down their throats.

That nice X/Twitter guy Russ/Neil/Ruddles Neil / Russell Neil / Neil Russell warns me Rochdale fans are in town today, and when I arrive at the station, a load of 'Dale lads are scaling a wall and weeing in empty bottles like pissy Spidermen.

It must affect my cognitive abilities because I WRONGLY cancel my train (changing at Stockport) and decide to take the bus up to Cheadle instead.

BAD MISTAKE. Let's just say I wish MY water bottle was empty by the time we chug up Cheadle's main drag. Talk about going round t'houses, Audenshaw hospital a big favourite, it feels like the Road to Domestos. At least I got my quiche, Sunbites and cake bar all eaten which is important when you're in a dark beer mood like I was today. Time for pub #3 and last in this section.

Wobbly Stamp, Cheadle (2644 / 4804)

Despite my bladder woes, I feel it important to frame the photograph with a postbox in the absence of Daddy BRAPA! I reckon this could be a promising micro at a 'quieter time', sadly this Saturday afternoon was not it. Messy basketcaseness abounds, the highlight coming in the opening minute as my fantastic Slowly Hammered Stout is pulled by this sound lad, a cheeky old chap says how much he loves my long black jacket, even giving the arm an even cheekier stroke on his way out. This gives me the confidence I need to fight my way down the pub where I find the one remaining table 'twixt loos and this chaotic extended family. Grandad won't sit still. Granddaughter is moody but most sensible, cradling the fugliest puppy you've ever seen, Quasimodo. Quasi is showing great discipline regarding a half eaten salmon and cucumber sandwich. Mum, we'll call her Waynetta, is wearing a manky tracksuit to match the sandwich. Twild boy is either swirling a birthday helium balloon around or doing Klinsmann dives across the benches. Even when a 'booth' comes free, I don't feel any safer, and I'm just writing on Untwappd what an f'd up pub atmosphere this is, when twild sends a drink crashing to the floor! And to compound the misery, Hull City have gone 0-1 early at home to Swansea.

Could Ozan Toucan recover? Could I recover? Join me Friday 9pm for part 2 of this exciting little soiree, which seems to be the hardest word.

Good luck, Si