Sunday 4th May 2025
People who wish you a 'Happy Star Wars day' every May 4th need to be shot. It is important we get that straight from the start, or nothing good can come of this blog.
It was a chilly grey start to Sunday, that hot snap but a distant memory as I trudge gingerly down to Chichester bus station. My legs and hips are stiff. My head feels full of cotton wool, or maybe mashed potato. The exertions of the last three days now taking their toll.
I go to M&S in search of a cheapish jumper as I've packed nothing warm or long sleeved, but choose the M&S which is a food hall only. There is another one in town, but no time before my bus to pub one. Sun's come out anyway, so take that M&S, and sort your online hackers out!
I'm back in Chichester bus station, which is starting to feel like an old friend already .....
Amidst yesterday's mayhem, I'd overlooked the fact that yesterday was Goodwood races. Just north of here, perilously close to today's first pub. If my hometown of York is anything to go by, I should be terrified. I just hope a load of hooray Henry's and Harriet's haven't stayed overnight.
All seems quiet enough in the village as 11:59am becomes noon .....
Anglesey Arms, Halnaker (3110 / 5595), doesn't disappoint. Well it does, but I mean it is super posh. If Victoria Beckham and the Peterborough football team walked in, they'd say 'you are not worthy of the title'. So posh, they don't even have pump clips on the hand pulls. A Bognor lady (does Bognor have 'ladies', or just wimmin'?) would later tell me the village is pronounced like the Jewish festival, Hanukkah. Zero chance of a beermat. Even the Random Pile of Logs Not Doing Anything had a quiff and a jaunty grin. OF COURSE they sell an extensive range of Sir Woofchester doggy treats. A guy in a Cowboy hat and Motson sheepskin tells a lady not to eat all the additional complimentary dog biscuits before he's got back from his 'walk'. He reappears two minutes later, out of breath, and sneers at my gilet and combat shorts. The young barman deserves credit, professional yet approachable. He and fake Motty are soon chatting about axe-throwing. Do lacings ever lie? Plenty of good stickage to the top of my pint glass, but the beer is increasingly tired.
Because I wasn't that impressed by pub or beer, I leave the pub far too early for my bus at nearby Tangmere, so decide to start walking to pub two in Eastergate.
Well, the A27 isn't too bad because there's a nice wide path and I'm expecting things to be much more gentle when I turn onto Nyton Road, but I'm wrong, it is horrid ... in fact the lack of path and grass verge gets worse so I give up on the junction of Oving Road and ring for a taxi to bail me out!
He's a cocky little devil and agrees I was mad for even attempting to walk.
As you can see, didn't look very open, so I was panicking (to be fair to my taxi driver, he hung around to make sure I got in), but turns out Wilkes Head, Eastergate (3111 / 5596) was simply keeping the cold air out - a rarity, most pubs would rather 'look' open and blast their loyal customers with icy air for eternity in the hope of any passing trade. In fact, it is surprisingly busy and I'm not sure turning left was the best option because this tight knit room has nowhere to turn other than perching on a wall behind 4 local characters who at least say 'hello'. The woman has a wart on her elbow and a myriad of health issues she loves to share, one bloke shows off his 50% burns as a result of throwing rubbish on a bonfire, and two brothers with voices like southern chainsaws lament at close quarters. Very much a boozer, it has that ancient earthy smoky smell, and keeps a fine pint of red ale by the often unreliable Longman. Yup, I was hemmed in and dangling, but no doubting a relatively unspoilt quality establishment.
After an old couple help me find the loos, tucked away behind this sort of bolt-on conservatory tent thing that gave me 2020/21 flashbacks, I took a bus to Yapton for pub three, but I still had some walking to do because the pub was hiding down a quiet country lane - West Sussex might not be Norfolk, Devon or Lincs, but it isn't going to 'fall' without a fight.
The five magic words 'down a single track lane' usually bode well, and so it proves here. Maypole, Yapton (3112 / 5597) is my pub of the week - and at times, the competition was stiff. The first sign of promise is a French Bulldog greeting me, by spitting in my shoe! And if you wonder how that's possible, I've recently gone up to a size 9 so there is a slight gap around the heel. The beer range impresses me with just how 'black' it is and the Downlands Oatmeal Stout is a dream. A fragrant mustiness hangs in the air, the locals look like men of the land. The most bearded farmer of all pulls a surprise mint aero out of his back pocket to much delight. Someone shouts 'CONFECTIONERY' . In the back room, a guy is performing some great rockabilly covers. Not sure it was purposeful, but ever song has a kinda old skool horror edge, think Munsters or Addams Family. Ever been to the Dog & Gun at East Butterwick? Think that but with softer edges and a more traditional pub hug. A posh lady (not our Vicky) wanders in and complains to me he's "too loud". Nonsense. Has she never seen Hot Water Music and Leatherface at Sunderland's Alexandra surrounded by cans of Red Stripe? I struggle to find the exit, so the locals say "how pissed are you? You only came in half an hour ago!" Amazing.
It is a 30-40 minute scenic walk into Barnham along a railway line. I can train from here to Bognor Regis where I need two ticks. Hooray, I sense the hard part of the day is done.
The sun had come out between Eastergate - Yapton but it is freezing again in Bognor, I've not given up on hope of buying a jumper, and Google tells me one of the eleven charity shops is still open for another half an hour .... so I leg it down. OF COURSE it is CLOSED. I'll just have to shiver on some more. Woe is me.
I could feel a 'Spoons coming on ....
A mighty 'Spoons too, they've nearly all been elevated by 5* Thornbridge Jaipur of late, but Hatter's Inn, Bognor Regis (3113 / 5598) was still stand out, as was the Jaips, and considering recent pub quality today, the pub stood up to the opposition well. Luton Town had saved Hull City's bacon yesterday by being even more shit, so I raise a glass to them here (the Hatters). Even the carpet, a camp Cambrian era swirl of creepy crustaceans was a sure fire 9/10. Ivor Panda is sitting on the table minding his own business, when a bloke grabs him by the skull and says "panda, yes?" before plonking him down again. I concede that yes, a panda he is. Colin was harder to grab by the skull cos he doesn't really have one - miss you mate! Back in 1988, I bought a dreadful football game on the ZX Spectrum where you had to start off as a Bognor Regis Town player. I remember wondering if Bognor was like a bog. If you'd have told that same 9 year old Saffron Walden boy that he'd first visit it two days before his 46th birthday in a quest to visit every Good Beer Guide pub, he'd have said 'Cor bloimey, beer? Not that 'orrid stuff what Daddy drinks'.
My other pub dahhhn here was further dahhhn by the coast, and I may've considered a sly wee on a miniature golf course before deciding that's quite anti-social, even by my standards, so held on.
They were spilling out onto the street at the Dog & Duck, Bognor Regis (3114 / 5599). "There's a famous band on, they are FAR too big for this venue ..... so good luck getting served!" says the curious orange haired lady you can see above. She ain't wrong, must be three deep, but I see a gap, go for it, and somehow the staff make an immediate beeline for me - must know a pub ticker when they see one. But I also have the problem of my desperate wee need, and have to clamber over a drum kit and past the biggest amps I've seen in an indoor venue. Not sure they'd call this place a micropub, but it wasn't far off. The band's name I forget, so I do wonder if they are WORLD famous or simply BOGNOR famous. A subtle distinction I'm sure you'll agree. I'm back outside moaning about my lack of layers .... AGAIN. The street is like a wind tunnel down to the sea. In fact, I ask 'Bald Hoodie Mate' above if he's willing to donate his to an unfortunate northerner for a quid. I think he said no. A peculiar lady shows me her 'animal artwork' on her Samsung Galaxy. Her compositions are more Una Stubbs than George Stubbs. It has been a sociable if chilly half an hour, but I need to keep moving.
There is a regular bus service back to Chichester still running at this time on a Sunday (goddamn you southerners!), and a tick I require en route to bring up my super six ......
Inglenook, Pagham (3115 / 5600) rears up from behind a hedge, all stately and erect, like yer Great Uncle Joe. A bizarrely brilliant sprawling hotel bar best enjoyed three sheets to the wind. Which I pretty much was. The first thing I see is a bunch of tropical fish having a laugh in the world's bluest, but not rudest, fishtank. Then I'm side tracked by the loos where a bloke who looks like a lion said 'awrite'. Then it takes me another couple of minutes to locate the bar area. And a further minute to realise the real ales are in a secluded lower nook within the Inglenook, guarded by a happy bunch of bar blockers who have zero spatial awareness. AND they have a tiny dog called Helmet Head (well, that's my name for it) who claws my thigh. No idea what I ordered, but it was good. The barman is like Matthew Pinsent with a bit of Prince Harry, but don't ask which bit. Pub both classy, and a down to earth hotel bar at the same time. I'd love to return sober. Get the true picture. Actually, no, because my recollections are of stepping into a C.S. Lewis book, and any return visit would be anti climactic.
Back in Chichester, I THOUGHT I was sober enough to take on the local non GBG listed Wetherspoons, the Dolphin & Anchor. And when I saw, you guessed it, Thornbridge Jaipur, I thought 'brilliant, nothing can go wrong here!' until I start sipping it and it taste like vegetable matter / compost.
How can you get Jaipur so wrong? This is why the GBG is normally reliable for beer quality (well, 9/10 times). I hid so much of it behind the food menus, that if this place ever does get in the GBG, I fear I will have to return. Oh well, there are worse places to go in the UK than Chich.
It was time for food and bed. Bank Holiday Monday tomorrow, where I'd continue to chip away at those pubs closer to the coast.
See you either tomorrow or Friday for that one, or Thursday if my man-flu doesn't clear up and I end up postponing my #ThirstyThursday trip to abysmal Lincs.
Cheers for reading, keep on pubbing, Si
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