BRAPA in .... WATERLOO (COULDN'T CHARGE MY PHONE, AND I WANTED TO) - THIRSTY MERSEY #1

Thursday 16th January 2025

The #ThirstyThursday Winter Break was over, a shortish Spanish La Liga / French Ligue 1 style break, not as long as Germany, and certainly nowhere near those chillier Eastern European nations.

After a good run in Cheshire, my attentions turn to Merseyside, and after last year's 100% completion, I was hungry for more. Twelve pubs to go at, I was after 4 or 5 today.

Early openers during the week are in short supply up here as the majority of folk (but not you if you are reading my dearest Scouser) like to sit in their grey trackies eating a Gregg's steak bake until the holy trinity of Lorraine, This Morning and Loose Women have concluded) so thank goodness for Wetherspoons.

In the bright blue sunshine out in the busy 'burbs, the bus takes me to Navigator, Old Swan (2903 / 5388) or it could've just as easily been the Old Swan, Navigator. Not the most relaxing of pub atmospheres because there is an emergency carpenter, a sort of Jesus / John Lennon / Jan Molby hybrid, hammering this window frame for the entire duration of my nursed Acorn Old Moor Porter, which is 'incomparable' according the the pump clip and I must agree with that, an all time favourite I've not had since Coventry '22 in the rain with a pizza. It ain't the friendliest 'Spoons, way too many shifty glances, especially when I dare go to for a wee. The carpet though, a tasteful fruity 8.75/10. Combined with the beer, carved boat ceiling feature and the wide open spaces, it was an improvement on my Brigg 'Spoons the previous weekend.

I join the pissed off throng at the bus stop due - 20 minute delay and climbing. If I look too happy, it is because I've been able to sit in the 'Spoons window tracking its progress for the most part, plus my second pub doesn't open until 1pm so I'm not in any rush.

Into Beatles territory I go, leafier and more pleasant than Old Swan, I have vague recollections of ticking a pub here called the Gardeners many years back, enjoyed it, could I enjoy this too?

I certainly could. I'm hugely impressed with Cobden, Woolton (2904 / 5389) from the moment mine host Helen strikes up a lovely chat .... "what's yer name and where'd ya come from chuck?" She wasn't Our Cilla, far nicer. "Are you the landlady?" I ask her, convinced. "No, that lady who was in just before is" replies. Shows you never can tell, I thought the other lady was a bag lady coming in for free central heating, knock off tin of Spam and a gossip. "Well, you carry yourself with the air of a landlady" I tell Our Helen. She seems to appreciate that. I can afford to be magnanimous, the White Rat is drinking to York Fox levels of perfection and the pub is a survivor, having fallen on times til quite recently, it has been refurbished to its 50's-60's glory days that the older locals still remember. And better to hear the likes of Pulp, Blur, Suede and gosh it might even have been Menswear(!) ahead of those mop-topped ones as it would've been too cliche.

Back in the 'Pool, I march out west past Moorfields towards James Street where my one remaining city centre can be found lurking down an alleyway.

I wasn't hugely convinced by Ma Boyle's Alehouse & Eatery, Liverpool (2905 / 5390) knowing just how many quality outlets this city possesses. Scotland, fine, it'd be a "welcome addition to the scene". One handpump selling a well kept 'Rock the Boat' golden initially came out as a pint of froth. "I will top that up for you" says the Boy Boyle, as if he's going above and beyond. The two lads were very polite, don't get me wrong, but especially after Helen's efforts, I was hoping for an uncompromising Ma Boyle - a scouse Betty Turpin, but alas not. 'Twas exactly the kind of place which serves ale in those dimpled handled tankards. And it had a video of a fire rather than the real thing. Tsk. A southern tourist couple come in and request a bowl of Scouse (stew). "We've been told you do the second best Scouse in the whole of Liverpool" says Ms Tourist. "Oh, who does the best?" asks the Boy Boyle. "The bloke who runs the place who recommended we come 'ere!" "Always the way innit" replies the Boy Boyle sagely. A late loo trip downstairs shows me what I could've won. A much more tasteful cosy room with its own bar for peak times / functions etc.

No idea where Colin's gone!

Merseyrail really annoy me once again with their 'living in the dark ages' failure to adapt to 21st century digital life. I'm trying to buy an online ticket from Moorfields to Blundellsands & Crosby.

'Oh you'll have to get the ticket out of a machine .... but you can't do that at Moorfields" it says. So I drink up five mins quicker than planned, and am relieved to find a real life human selling tickets, and zero queue to wait in.

The train ride itself was mildly sinister .....

And confusion in Crosby because I'm looking for a Coop (as in pigeon or chicken) but there's a Co-op right on the corner of the same street, and it'd be so easy to go in, ask about cask, get shrugged at, so buy a 16 pack of Corona and drink it in the park a bit like I did that time at Southampton's Bitter Virtue ....

The pub didn't look hugely more inviting on first glance, but I'm blimmin' relieved to find Coop, Crosby (2906 / 5391) open at all, as it had very little in the way of a social media presence which is rare for a micropub. Especially at a time of year when pubs are most likely to go for two weeks in Torremolinos whilst in the same breath bemoan the lack of custom at this time of year. Once inside, immediately I'm more impressed. Real-life bookcase, a large handsome mirror and some leatherette benches, smart and tidy, and a lot of quirky looking ales, yep they've made a good effort here at creating a homely tavern and the locals reciprocate. A man waddles out and says 'ta-ra', and a quick Google Maps look tells me I can walk to the Waterloo pub in just 20 minutes. This was great news as it had taken me 14 mins to walk here from Crosby, and I'm on a fixed train out of Lime St just after 6pm, so I couldn't afford to be complacent. But as ALWAYS seems to happen in BRAPA, the moment you feel content and relaxed, something bites you in the goolies! And this time, it was modern technology. Down to 9% battery, my phone isn't charging. I plug, unplug, blow in both holes, make sure it isn't too wet, wiggle my wire - you know, all the usual tricks, nowt doing, Down to 8%. And I can tell the lady opposite is wondering how I've gone from grinning chimp to bereft baboon in the space of five short minutes. I write the directions to my next pub on a piece of paper, so I can save battery, just like in the olden days, and set off ......

To make matters worse, of course my Liverpool-York ticket is digital and what if I lose all charge? How do I get home, new paper ticket I guess. Oh the irony, maybe Merseyrail DO have the right idea after all!

My scribbled directions work pretty well, and I'm here. "I'll allow myself one photo inside and one outside maximum" I tell Colin who probably isn't listening ...... 6% battery now ....

I didn't want Volunteer Canteen, Waterloo (2907 / 5392) to be a classic ornate vintage heritage Grade II masterpiece in these difficult circs, but them's the breaks in this game. An unphotogenic GK Gastro or metallic brewery tap would've done me better! I'm also nervous about such a grand pub's ability to have plugs / adaptors, but our hatched barmaid is a Tik-Tok 21st century Brat Queen and has every adaptor I could hope for. I plug in, prop it against a vodka ice bucket, and take my pint of Crafty Lancaster Obscurity (not its actual name) from hatch to a bench where I can see my phone, telling a couple who probably don't care of my predicament. "Like losing a limb ain't it, la?" she sympathises. There's a bunch of jolly bald Brummies warming their Brummie bummies in front of the fire and laughing. Wish I was enjoying this obviously great pub like them, but I can't! Waaah! Eff modern technology. Also, I'm the only customer who's not been offered table service. Perhaps my adaptor request trumped it? Soon I hear a thud and my phone has collapsed. I go to retrieve it and learn the awful truth - I have a phone issue, not charger issue! Back at my table, I fiddle around with the settings for a bit, jiggling the leads again, and ooh something's happening! 'DON'T MOVE ANYTHING, DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING, WE ARE CHARGING'. But just at that moment, five sturdy Scouse fellas decide they wanna squash into the corner seat next to me. "Don't think I'm being ignorant not moving up, but ...." and I explain my situation. Nice chaps, and the nearest one, Graeme, has a brainwave. Take some more pub photos on his phone, exchange numbers, and he'll send them across. What a gent. (Well he managed the first two steps anyway!) We're up to 12% battery, time to get myself back to Liverpool. Now here's a rare example of a pub I'd love to return to, preferably with 100% charge, and enjoy it PROPERLY.

Not surprised that as I walk towards Waterloo station, my phone says 'no longer charging' despite being plugged into my portable, I've over jiggled the wires in leaving the pub.

But by the time we reach Liv Central, what's this? Battery now says 22% I think I might be working again!

To celebrate, a revisit to my first ever Liverpool tick, the majestic Crown Hotel, and whilst I've noted the beer quality / cleanliness hasn't ALWAYS been great between 2009-2025, it more recently has been top hole, and tonight, this half of Proper Job was as scintillating as the interior. You can keep yer Philharmonic, I know which I prefer.

Coffee, and then the train home goes smoothly, battery 58% when I arrive into York. A slog but it is getting there. Fingers crossed it could survive Millwall on Saturday. Must make sure Daddy B. is fully charged for that one!

And I'll try and tell you about that on Wednesday. Can ya see I'm catching up?

Thanks for reading,

Si