BRAPA in .... WRAY OF LIGHT : LEAFY SURREY BY CAR
6 minutes ago
8 min read
Saturday 22nd August 2026
Modern day songstress Raye may've recently scooped the Mercury prize, but it is #PubMan Ed Wray who puts himself within scooping range of the BRAPA year end prize by helping me achieve SIX awkward rural Surrey ticks on a sunny Saturday eight weeks previous.
This isn't so much a tale of 'Where is my Husband?' as 'Where isn't my Cauliflower?' SEE, I'm still down with the kids. Groovy baby, groovy.
Up at 5am, and aboard the 6:10am train to King's Cross.
It was the opening day of the football season, SORRY Premier League season (I mustn't be a snob now that we've been promoted) and Newcastle or Sunderland (can't remember which) were down London way. This train means I can avoid them AND take an unreserved four seater, unprecedented at any other time of day.
Hull City were at home to Man Utd, a lunchtime kick off. Dreading the ensuing carnage of heavy defeat, Daddy BRAPA was a brave man for going. I wanted to get as far away from Hull as possible!
The stinkingly early arrival time in That London™ has the drawback of 'how to fill in time before most normal pubs open?'
Leatherhead Wetherspoons Edmund Tylney was a late pre-emptive decision on my part, and sure enough, it made the 2027 Good Beer Guide so well done me! It was a strong 'Spoons to boot so we shouldn't be surprised. The beers almost all 5%+
To fill in further time, I hop off the train next at Box Hill & Westhumble and take the short leafy walk to Surrey Hills Brewery Tap. Near impossible to find the entrance hidden behind a winery / wedding venue with it's own land train.
The main guy could've chatted beer with me for hours. I end up on some decking with a few staff / locals I really didn't warm to from listening to their chat. Cute scruffy little dog though. One bloke is a plastic Man Utd fan in a late 80's away shirt. Think Lee Martin. There was no escape. He spoke about the game like the result's a formality. "Our biggest problem is choosing the right pub to watch it in" he lolz. Wanker.
"Edddddd....." I texted in a begging voice "You know how we said you'd pick me up at Dorking station, could you come out to Surrey Hills instead .... it isn't far, thing is I'm doing it as a pre-emptive".
Being the man he is, no trouble at all. 11am finally lurched into view, time for my first tick. The Ed mobile pulls up. Quick wee on the way out. Dog daughter and her old Grandaddy decide to finally get talkative at this point having totally ignored my presence thus far. Tough sheet. Ed is waiting.
My third Ed Wray Surrey car crawl, our first since 2021 when Covid restrictions were limiting, so this is our first time together without facemasks, hand sanitiser or NHS QR codes.
I'm buzzing at the sight of pub one .....
I wish .....
Famous for appearing in 'Four Weddings & a Funeral' (that's the pub AND the above Blacksmiths which I'd definitely drink in), the Dolphin, Betchworth (3589 / 6381) escapes with a decent BRAPA review by dint of the fact we're in before the lunchtime rush, because no doubt in our minds that this'd be posh dining hell an hour from now. The ale, from Dorking brewery, is immaculate and I'm pleased to report that the pub maintains its place in the 2027 GBG as did four of today's six. Betchworth does have a train station, but it's a fair ole' yomp from here. In the absence of a carpet, I'm rating the grandfather clock 9/10 which tick-tocks ominously towards a 12 noon luncheon bonging. Ed and I reminisce about our Covid pub horror shows, mostly in Horsell, before pushing on to pub two.
Tucked even deeper into the North Downs countryside we reach pub two .....
'Today, Oi'll be mostly ticking pubs".
Planet cute twee lameoid. That's my impression of Cock, Headley (3590 / 6382) before we've even reached the bar. Reeks of rural Surrey. "Welcome, we're so glad you're here" gushes a chalkboard (puke!) 'Wash the Paws : Self Service Dog Wash' yaps a sign on the fence (double puke). As we approach the bar, not one, not two but FOUR fresh faced twenty year old Midwitch Cuckoo Angels smile sweetly with expectant blonde grins. 'Don't join any cults, whatever you do Si, remember what happened in Wiltshire' I keep reminding myself. Almost all handpumps are empty save for one, the bar is strewn with empties. Shere Drop it is. Best quality pint of the day. I was NOT expecting that. One ale at a time on a hot day, that successful formula strikes again. Ed's right, sitting outside is the only solution. My neck burns in the sun. We're reminded of a ridiculously posh outdoor tick we did together called the Refectory at Milford. The Cock is de-guided for 2027 cos CAMRA are silly. Very little phone signal out here, too scared to ask the Cuckoos for WiFi. But from what I can ascertain, we've gone 1-0 against Man Utd. Wow!
Back at the car, with enhanced signal, my phone buzzes again. Andy Lee of Chelsea fame this time, telling me we've gone 2-0 up! I need to take deep breaths. Ed eats his crotch roll whilst I recover.
I reckon Man Utd will turn it around in the second half. They didn't. 2-0. Wow. "Piece of piss" texts Daddy BRAPA. Double wow.
Onto pub three, still in t'back of beyond and I don't mean a pre-emptive Reading Wetherspoons ..... still, you've gotta have Hope.
If I sounded sneering at the cuteness on offer in Headley, I was soon eating my ungrateful words because the guv'nor at Plough, Leigh (3591 / 6383) is the rudest I've experienced all BRAPA year. Didn't communicate in words, just grunts and pointing. When I asked where the loo was, he looked like he wanted me dead. Ed will testify. Maybe he was going for that 'long suffering curmudgeonly tongue-in-cheek' schtick which can be endearing, but it didn't really translate here, or at least it was hard to identify. Such a strange mixture of clientele. Outdoors there's a poxy gaggle of 18th century farmery locals ordering 'light and bitter' which Ed tells me is an incredibly old skool choice I'd never heard of cos #young. Then we suffer an army of visiting wedding ladies piling in, all butterfly shoulder tattoos and Prosecco demands, to increase our host's grumpiness. One utter dork bloke in a white tee hovers behind them, cuckolding himself in the process by allowing more butterflied babes to join their friends in front, who totally ignore his presence and push in which he just meekly accepts. Thus creating a needless pub queue. The ale is again great (Pilgrim this time), and this pub DOES retain its 2027 place. CAMRA probably too scared to drop him.
We continue to wend our merry way west, a late afternoon drop off at Woking in Ed's locality the eventual aim, but for now, three more leafy pubs to navigate. I could feel the ale kicking in by now.
Royal Oak, Holmbury St Mary (3592 / 6384) made it FOUR consecutive pints of the highest quality. On a hot day in rural Surrey? Yes, I'm not making this up. Well played. Still, we mustn't tar all Surrey with the Staines-area brush. In a move reminiscent of his bald-sake Gianni Infantino, Ed says he'll buy my Firebird Parody as long as I award him BRAPA man of the year. Or does that make ME Infantino? Only if I accept. The pub is a curious multi-leveller, it appears that they thought about 'modernisation' but quickly realised people would prefer a traditional pub, just like York's Slip Inn did a decade or two back around the time Maxine Carr (allegedly) moved opposite. Ooh, got Soham to tick soon. Must say nothing. Anyway, we still have 8/10 carpets and slivers of stained glass window here and that's all that matters. When Ed goes walkabout, a small infant(ino) girl appears at my side and shows me her toy rubber dinosaur. Hadn't asked luv! Did she even exist, or was the beer really kicking in?
Two to go. 'C'mon Si, you got this dude!' I'm saying to myself in my head like some weird American, feeling that my pre-Ed drinks in Leatherhead and Westhumble were not as wise as they seemed at 11am.
Another reassuringly traditional rural inn for one so mid-Surrey, Bricklayers Arms, Shamley Green (3593 / 6384 ) has a pub population of zero. Wet led? Not quite. We interrupt the landlady who is sitting down enjoying a big plate of salad. I apologise for disturbing her into pint pulling. Her munching inspires me, a giant grab bag of Wotsits is in my eyeline. Yes, I needed sustenance. Salad wouldn't cut it. I controversially select a pint of Harvey's Sussex Best to accompany my cheesy maize based snacks. With MY reputation. Even Ed baulked. And Ed rarely baulks. A bright orange explosion the likely outcome from here. I'm amazed it never happened. Not even so much as a Trump. In other news, the carpet is a fruity 8/10. I'm impressed. So are CAMRA, as it retains its place for 2027. TICK!
One stop to go then, and it is the pub highest on today's agenda having featured in at least the last five GBG's AKA every edition since my Surrey completion of 2021. Also known as a 'red dotter' in BRAPA circles.
Our furthest drive yet, t'other side of Godalming and Guildford. But now within striking distance of beautiful Woking.
Hang on, we're there already! '
Wha-aat happened?" I ask Ed feeling all disconcerted. "You slept for the entire journey!" he chortles. Ed loves a chortle, Dandy & Beano style. Infectious.
Slightly embarrassing for me, but I've done worse. And at least I wasn't with someone like RetiredMartin who'd take the least flattering photo of me asleep EVER, or Komakino who'd shave my eyebrows off for the bantz, or Paul G of Kent who'd probably just be very disappointed in me. In fact , it is only Ed, Si Dewhurst and Daddy BRAPA who'd let me off no further recriminations. And even DB would do an 'eye-roll' at me.
Good Intent, Puttenham (3594 / 6385) lives up to its billing straight off with a delicious interior, the gents loos has W.G. Grace on the door. Not good enough to play for Somerset obvs and a diva, but a fine bloke to advertise your bog entrance. A Timmy Taylor's Champions Club member so I had to order it, smooth as a Keighley baby's bottom. The beer range less exciting in here than it had been all day. Is that why CAMRA have dropped it for 2027, cos dis-grace-ful if so? Typical of my unlucky #CruelChurn just like that Rochdale pub that was in 39(?) years straight, but as soon as I visit, 'tis ditched never to be seen again.
I slept all the way back into London on the train too.
Which has me wondering whether my car sleep actually occurred between Holmbury St Mary and Shamley Green and the Wotsits/Harveys combo were a result of my sleep, not the cause of it.
Hmmm, maybe Ed remembers. In any case, I'd been up since 5am so needed the sleep and was all restored and refreshed for some late Parcel Yarding .....I didn't choose ESB which says a lot about how I was feeling! Should've paid more attention to the subtle Yoda quote on the way in .....
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