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

Welcome back. Nearly gave you a long read but after feedback from RetiredMartin, I've stuck to the bite-sized (for me) three pub per blog format .....

A brisk stride up to Cheadle Hulme was exactly the tonic I needed to clear the sticky cobwebs from my Wobbly Stamp mind, and speaking of tonics, pub #4 was offering a nice change of pace from what had gone previously.

Never has a defib looked so perfectly situated as on the front of this Hyde's main road groaning heart bruiser boozer with a couple of reassuring twinkling lamps to offer hope.

Cross Keys, Cheadle Hulme (2645 / 4805)

Packed out again, but this time with the space to accommodate such shenanigans, which seem to be centred around Six Nations rugby. This surprised me, as we aren't in Beds, Bucks or Berks, I assumed they'd be fans of the proper code up here, i.e. League. But then I glance over and the even busier bar is watching unknown football. Phew. The staff are personable, down to earth, look you in the eye old fashioned, which makes a huge difference to people like me. I pick the Hyde's Original over Lowry, and by gum it is drinking well. The 'type' of GBG entries in this part of the world might not always be to my taste, but although Rustic was a rare anomaly, the quality of the ale is almost always second to none. Soon the rugby ends, and is switched over to the modern day Jeff Stelling. Fittingly, my very last act as I button up my jacket, sling my bag over my shoulder, and return my empty glass to the bar, is to glance up and see Hull City 0-1 Swansea full time. I emit a 'HAH!" even bitterer than the Hyde's Original, and push the door in disappointment. Good pub.

Excuse my thumb, pretend it is another bald head

I stomp across to Cheadle Hulme rail station in anger, and a couple of stops down the line, I alight at Heaton Chapel.

It isn't the easiest walk to pub #5, down a few leafy lanes, a dirt track, then tucked away in the 'burbs, it is now dusk as it comes into view, a 4pm opener even on a Saturday so I was chuffed to get this one done.

Beer Shop, Heaton Moor (2646 / 4806)

Relieved to find this place a lot more 'bar' than 'shop'. I'd been imagining an old lady (we'll call her Betty) wheeling a trolley around a giant warehouse in search of Old Specked Hen for her grandson (we'll call him Simon). May I suggest a name change? 'Eatin' is Cheatin' in Heaton'. Striking and fun. Our main man is Finnish, a good chap, pulls me this decent stout by Torrside, I once rolled one their empty barrels through Clitheroe so I'm probably entitled to a 20% discount if you think about it carefully. Everyone's favourite Finn since Craig or Tina Thomsen has obviously been to the Thanet School of Micropubbing when, on seeing my wide-eyed 'where the heck will I sit?' panic, tells me "sitting vhwere you vant, it eeez fair game here!" Music to my ears, I only wish Botoxed Wizardora (who I don't like to talk about) was here to be schooled in Beer Shop etiquette. A group of gents about my age kindly allow me to share their table. Most are Man City fans fresh from their Everton win. A fisherman is telling them that they are all free to fish on his private property next time they're in the neighbourhood. I make a brief Hull City comment and put my GBG on table, fully expecting conversation to shift, but to my surprise, they all stand up as one, tell me to 'spread out' and sit at a recently vacated table on the other side! I don't know whether to be happy or sad. So I choose the former and finish my stout like Heaton Moor's first ever Billy no mates.

A bus just around the corner takes me back into Manchester, and for the second time today, I find myself the only passenger willing to sit in that usually popular spot, top front of a double decker. I suspect the for the genteel folk of South Manchester, this is just a bit too much of a white water ride.

The bus chugs straight down Oxford Road, which is good because one of my remaining four Manc ticks is right here, good location too with York trains in mind .....

Bundobust, Manchester (2647 / 4807)

The intoxicating aroma of Indian Street food in a boisterous canteen surroundings might not tickle the BRAPA sensibilities in the same way a pint of Holt's Mild in a carpeted smoky pub with a fire would, but I tell you what, Bundobust is darn good at what it does. Note to Rustic in Alty, this was how to combine food n beer. Speaking of which, I'm thinking the one handpump, by Thornbridge (booooo, only joking, I'm over it, sort of) is looking a bit sorry for itself and isolated in a Kingdom of Fife kinda way, but by 'eck, Pint Of The Day make no mistake. I'm moved off a 'too good to be true table' because it is reserved for invisible diners, but for once, I don't have the urge to shout 'fart arse ponce burger!' and instead I happily perch on a narrow shelf. The staff are SO lovely. Despite being busy, Ozan Toucan gets lots of attention, I'm offered a photo which I decline (don't want Colin to get jealous), and when my GBG and highlighter go flying as a result of silly narrow shelf, three cute elfin creatures scurry to pick them up. Only thing I don't like is the unisex loos. Call me old fashioned, but I feel uncomfortable washing my hands next to a woman. Men are bad enough, well, when they wash them at all ugh. Luckily, this lady was even older and more uncomfortable than me. We get chatting and she reveals that she originally thought the harsh low flung stainless steels sinks were piss troughs for the blokes! I can see what she means and we have a good laugh about willies out in public, so even this became a positive in a pub experience which against the odds was always destined to remain a good one!

And there we have it! I did (unwisely) pop into the Thirsty Scholar for a beer I couldn't quite finish next to a DJ on a Space Invaders table, I love this place because it gives me Manchester Punk Festival memories.

The journey home was straightforward, I had just one too many bits of chicken on my KFC, and as a result which was in no way beer related, struggled to do much on the Sunday.

Join me this coming Sunday, when we'll hear about the time I straddle the West Yorkshire / East Lancs border.

Si