Beginning of Bank Holiday weekend and the British weather knows it. Drizzle in York becomes a deluge at Peterborough Station as I shelter under an awning clutching my flat white like my life depends on it, rain dripping off my nose into the paper cup.
Two Geordie 'ladies' refuse to be beaten down, and have popped champagne cork #2 before we'd even reached Doncaster. Now on the Peterborough-Ely leg, a group of 15 (gotta count 'em all) with Cambridge-shaped moon faces wander down my carriage. They've popped four Proseccos before we reach March (the town, not the month). I chuckle on bottle pop #4. The one sat next to me in her tiny skirt which I definitely didn't notice #WokeSi2024 tries not to make eye contact. Pringles are handed around. I'm not offered one. I like Pringles.
A slow walking old man with hips which definitely lie blocks my progress down Downham Market High Street. Hard to get a sense of a town in rain this pissy but early impressions suggest 'wannabe Ely but too close to King's Lynn for comfort'.
Mascots whore their wares, they know the end of the transfer window is imminent.
And then I reach the rainy Saturday morning sanctity which is always Wetherspoons ...
With the same name as a one time BRAPA top #50 classic, now sadly but predictably shut, Whalebone, Downham Market (2958 / 5118) is a gloomy, angsty 'Spoons to kickstart my ailing Norfolk pub ticking exploits. The carpet a grim 5/10, too many open doors mean cold wet air swirls around. A frustrating shape, too many inner walls to make a successful 'Spoons, I find myself either on the main walkway or being fenced in by breakfasteers, no matter which room I sit in. In the end, I have to settle for something wedged between the blowy front door and a high-chair toddler, wolfing down waffles and bacon with a grey monotony. Tough debut for new mascot Marvin Melon, who had been promised funner experiences than this by Colin. Thankfully, the Dark Side of the Moose is a great pint, and the other bright spot is a Hull City predictions phone call with Mummy BRAPA heralds the dawning of a new football season. We'll beat Meewaw according to me, I must be mad.
Chin up mate, it can only get better, unless it gets worse
Abysmal carpet (especially for a 'Spoons)
The best thing about the Downham Market 'pub scene' from what my sodden form can gather is that both GBG pubs open before noon. Good job as I'd appallingly got my brain back to front and booked a train from Peterborough to York as early as 6pm .... I'd never leave London KX before 7, so it was like I was thinking Peterborough was in West Sussex.
Made a big show of its 16th century coaching inn entrance, did the Crown Hotel, Downham Market (2959 / 5119) considering the Whalebone frontage seemed to pull it off better. But once inside, instantly the more impressive pub. The carpet has a vibrant green swirl but no matter what filters I apply to my photos, the colours looked washed out, so you're going to have to trust me. Overworked stringy barman doubling up as chef races up and down some stairs to pull me a decent Oakham Citra in Pride glass. 'Incorrect glassware, we don't care, we'll follow BRAPA everywhere'. Jokey local with a baby new potato head returns to the bar and goes the full Oliver Twist with his "Please sir, can I 'ave some more (beer)?" A grandfather clock ticks unnervingly when the inevitable silence resumes. Again, needlessly open draughty doors ruining a cosy atmosphere, do DM residents crave fresh air this badly? But unlike the Whalebone, the deep woody multi-levelled layout help it win out. If you've ever been to the Saracens Head at Diss, similar. Blind Sooty is always a winner, but a Harry Corbett era Sooty deserves extra respect.
Any hopes of a break in the rain were shattered as I embark on a 37 minute yomp south to Denver. In Norfolk pub distance terms, a 37 minute walk is a gentle toddle so I had to consider myself lucky, and Google Maps took me off road for a section to help me have a wee and give me some more pleasant scenery.
The Gods of BRAPA fate normally reward such efforts as I step up to this unlikely brewery tap ......
...but sometimes you are destined to be unlucky. And it wasn't as though the Blackstone Engine Bar, Denver (2960 / 5120) was a crap hole. 'Well meaning' and 'well run' were the just two of the energies my 'pub whispering' ways were summoning. Issue was that I'd followed in a rowdy visiting coach (minibus?) of 11 (ELEVEN). Might not sound a crazy number, but trust me, a small brewery tap like this is ill equipped. Though contrary to popular belief amongst the locals, I later learn they DID ring ahead, so credit where it is due. But I suffer the longest wait at a bar since the Marquis of Granby in Granby last year. And funnily enough, these lot sound very East Midlands. I'd guess Nottingham if I was forced ... think Vicky McClure with the collective face of Nigel Pearson. Our dreadlocked hostess is a delight, and when my turn finally comes, she talks me into a taster of the Porter even though tasters are for wimps. All seems great until I get the full blown pint. Black soily sludge giving me acid reflux. I'd have returned it but by now, I've escaped the deafening din and start a trend amongst the locals of sitting in a holding area between gift shop and crystal boutique surrounded by newspapers and wicker seats. Pubby? No. Relief? Yes. A square-headed kindred spirit joins me. "I can't believe it! I come in here same time every Saturday for a quiet drink. It is NEVER like this!" An elderly couple arrive. They get very Norfolk-cliquey about our visitors perceived lack of etiquette! I'm loving being made to feel part of an inner Norfolk circle for the first time in my life. With no Ubers in the vicinity, and neither the taxi number on the bar OR the one given to me by our square headed mate able to help (I'd be thinking of a trip to Shouldham), I trudge back to Downham Market, rain still utterly abysmal!
With nothing new to tick in King's Lynn and today's early finish, I decide Ely (two new ticks) makes the most sense although sadly it is in Cambridgeshire rather than Norfolk - maybe they could move the boundary before the 2025 GBG comes out? Just a thought. Or raise it at the next CAMRA AGM?
But even Ely isn't as easy as it looks on paper - always a good 20 minute uphill trek from station to pubs and I never quite understand why. It feels pretty postage stamp once you are there!
Happily, the rain has stopped. I didn't see that coming. And even more shockingly, Hull City is full time already. 0-0. 12 o'clock kick off - I HADN'T EVEN REALISED!! Still unbeaten. "Fluke a point at L**ds next week and we are, to coin a phrase .... cooking!" I enthuse to Marvin Melon as we approach our pub. (Oh dear, that didn't age well).
Pub of the day by a long chalk was the West End House, Ely (2961 / 5121) despite its disgusting fake bookcase cushions. Nearly everything about the pub is 100% optimus prime, back of the net BRAPA. Two old lads at the bar, real lovely warm fellas - not just temperature wise, though nice to be in a pub which hasn't left the door open! They express surprise that 'like so many before me', I've gone for Lacons Encore over Proper Job. I explain it is a strategic matter of picking a lower beer percentage at such a crucial point of the day. They seem impressed. And I've drank Encore before but by gum, never had it this good. Barperson with wordy arm tattoo is an interesting character, I'm gleaning from a distance. Lots of "I haven't spoken to my family in years, friends is where it is at, who needs 'em anyway?!" self convincing. My pub experience is a 27.5 minute warm reassuring hug. Carpet 9/10. Freshly upholstered red benches. Warped beamy ceiling. I knew if I persevered, the day would come good.
But it was to be a flash in the pan. The rain has started again, biblical proportions by the time I leave and thank goodness it wasn't like this when I'd trekked out to Denver. I'm a drowned rat when I reach today's final tick .....
The two women behind the bar offer short shrift when I ask if they have any cask on at the 3at3 Real Ale & Craft Beer Cafe, Ely (2962 / 5122) despite 'real ale' featuring in their name, and the pub featuring in the Good Beer Guide. I'm pointed in the direction of some cans in their shop, but that doesn't really help. In happier news, a random dog seems quite taken with me. A rarity, they tend to know I'm a cat person. To add to my frustration, when dog owner gets up to leave and returns his glass, the two ladies are SO NICE! They do tell me there is more seating upstairs which is helpful, but possibly cos they are sick of the sight of me and my privileged soggy cask wanting ways. I bond with this lovely lady at the bottom of the stairs eyeing up a can of sour mango, and we joke it sounds a bit odd so I tell her I have a melon in my bag but he's quite sweet! Upstairs, I squash in next to a nice bearded bloke. "I work for a brewery called Burnt Mill", his happy rosy beard tells me. I tell him I had one of their cans on NYE circa 2017 and liked the artwork, foresty! Ms Sour Mango appears and it seems she is his other half. Small world! Well it is in 3at3. Across the room, a well meaning lady from Minnesota is advising a damaged cyclist from Thetford to rub Savlon on a leg wound. Ms Sour Mango notices I'm northern, then her accent shifts (could be the sour mango?) and she goes all northern herself so I ask where from and she replies "Oldham". After offering my sincerest condolences, I make her LOL with my memories of Up Steps Wetherspoons. "My family practically live in there!" she cackles. I let the kind duo do the highlighting and realise my £6.95 murk is drinking most favourably. Savlon gang disappear and are replaced by more northerners, this time from that difficult corridor between Huddersfield and Marsden. Lots of "ey upping" and "howz yer father / where's mi whippet" from them as like so many close to the Yorks/Lancs border, they feel they have to prove their identity. Poor Mr Burnt Mill hope he doesn't feel left out. And there we have it, how to make a likely negative experience into a positive simply by trying to be a good human being in the company of other good human beings.
So a mixed day, and where DOES the time go?
Back in Peterborough, I'd been wondering if I could get out to that pub under the sea at Holme, but only had time for a pint in Brewery Tap. I love Oakham but this guest was just a bit too composty for my liking. Still, least I was 'sober' eh.....
And what with the early train home, time to introduce Marvin to the delights of York Tap where incredibly, the racegoers all left for the trains back to their NE slums as soon as I arrived .... and that NEVER HAPPENS! So thank my lucky stars for that. Nice pint here, whatever it was. Then KFC, Death in Paradise, and bed.
I hope to be back Thu/Fri to tell you about the time I went to Oundle. Catching up!
A shame therefore that I'll get behind very quickly with my next holiday and the new GBG on the horizon.
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