Tuesday 7th April 2026
Armed with a panda, emergency beermat and a floppy homemade ham and marmalade sandwich which smells of tom cats, it was back up north out of Bicester for my penultimate day of this BRAPA break.
The long Easter weekend was over and I was relieved, public transport normality could resume, if normality is ever a thing with public transport.
Quieter trains and ashen 'back to work' faces abound as I set out for Kenilworth, from where I'm the only passenger aboard the daily bus service to the village of Bubbenhall for a rare Tuesday noon opener in these parts.
Seven pubs left in Warwickshire, one away from 75% of the GBG, Malt Shovel, Bubbenhall (3374 / 6214) was a satisfying tick. An excellent pub to explore with its creaking 17th Century elegance, tiled floors, red benches, bar rooms front and back. The Fallen Angel drinks superbly as is often the case with Church Enders. Only the preponderance of lunchtime pensioners dampen my mood as they're a sulky bunch, and after ten minutes of being glowered at by two old crones opposite, I decide to take my pint out into the bright blue sunshine for the official first outdoor BRAPA pint of 2026. A disappointing 'beer garden' in many ways, more a tatty Brookside murder patio with views of food delivery van. I recall a guy in Appletreewick 2014 who refused to accept that a 'beer garden' should be allowed the title unless it contains grass. I must agree. Considering how 'leafy' Bubbenhall is, it felt a missed opportunity.
With no Bubbenhall bus due for the next 84 years, I turn my attentions to taxis and after an enlightening conversation yesterday with a fake Mark 'Return of the Mack' Morrison in 'Brum, I decide to give 'Bolt' a try for the first time. I'd been told they are a decent Uber alternative in the West Mids.
And before I can even finish supping my Fallen Angel, a silent but deadly fake Andi Oliver is upon me, proving Bolt really are as quick as Usain.
Coventry is so south eastern, it is practically Warwicks, so I didn't really have too far to travel even though the suburb of Allesley is slightly west of centre.
75% of the Good Beer Guide is completed in Style (with a capital 'S' it was THAT good) at the Rainbow Inn, Coventry (3375 / 6215). The BRAPA embracing attitude of the staff was akin to a more relaxed, less intense Pens Ale House the previous day. Young dude and landlady are absolute gems, the Bass is immaculate, the interior unpretentious wholesome. It is no surprise the Gents loos are outdoors. Good in the 80's, got run into the ground, but has risen like a Sky Blue phoenix from the ashes. If pub choices are skinny for Cov away next season, I might have to bring Daddy BRAPA here (this is me manifesting playoff positivity OKAY?) I spend my entire time at the bar, plenty of good chat, this really did feel like the landmark celebration it was. Shame I'll almost certainly drop back below this number in September*, I doubt my second 75% pub will be this good. They have some wise parting words for me too, sharing my own lack of faith in my bladder, best to train back to Cov and take a train back into Brum than trying to hold on for a painful hour plus Brum bus journey.
*Even if I do 50 pubs a month between now and mid Sept, and 'only' lose 300 in the churn, I'll be back down to 74.5% GBG completion .... but let's not depress ourselves shall we?!
After much jiggery-pokery (I forgot to visit the Nursery Tavern, thus securing its inevitable place in the 2027 GBG), and a munch of my floppy homemade ham and marmalade sandwich which smells of tom cats, I find myself in the oft-shite town of Sutton Coldfield.
But SC says 'not today Si, I'm actually going to impress you for the first time ever' at the surprisingly wonderful Three Tuns, Sutton Coldfield (3376 / 6216). A bouncy ska dude with indecipherable accent bops up and down to Madness, Bad Manners and The Selecter whilst pulling me a high quality pint of Gold. Seeing a Thwaitesies pub this far south seemed odd, but I rolled with the Blackburnie punches quite easily. One of the more unique pub interiors I've witnessed this year. Behind the main bar room, a rooflit central corridor gives the impression of being outdoors, and behind this, dark rolling traditional pub rooms are situated. Had it been tattier, full of ghostly fishermen and infused with Spingo Special, you could glimpse the Blue Anchor Helston, and believe me, that's a compliment. So Sutton Coldfield, all previous dire GBG experiences are forgiven, you have a winner.
Had I realised that the Thwaites Gold would in fact be my last well kept pint of the day, I'd have appreciated it more.
My progress continues north, and a bus takes me next to Aldridge, though I still have to trek across the town and pee behind a grassy knoll to reach pub four.
Now considering how much I'd enjoyed the brilliantly named Turtle's Head a couple of years back, and how that place is still open, and this has replaced it in the Guide, I was expecting solid things of Hop Station, Aldridge (3377 / 6217) but I found it highly disappointing. The lad who serves me doesn't even have a smile for me despite my cheerful endeavours. The Oakham Citra is fizzy dross (imagine getting that classic wrong?), the seating is a colourful rickety rabble which would be more in keeping with a child's nursery. The few punters in are gloomy old turnips, and the staff in their own branded 'Hop Station' sweatshirts seem more interested in playing darts in the (daniel) farke 'orner than manning the bar area or interacting with customers. Lack lustre.
With time to wait before my bus and no inclination to stay here (I really should've trekked up to nearby Stonnall in Staffs) I pop next door to the Lazy Hill Tavern which I recognise from previous GBGs before I really got stuck into this part of the UK.
Now a desi pub with food leanings (didn't look too promising from the outside), it kicks Hop Station into touch. Service with a smile from fake Cody Drameh, well kept half of the Church End Goat's Milk, and a classy unspoilt interior which I go inside to enjoy when my bus goes shooting past cos it caught up lost time from nowhere! Never mind. I was happy.
I managed to not miss the next bus, and it was time to tick a pub which has been living rent free in my head for the past two years mainly cos I didn't have any other ticks to do in close proximity.
I jump off at one of the more exciting roundabouts in the land .....
..... and wander down this lonely road to find the pub standing alone, looking both two dimensional and like it has been built from Lego.
A BCA pub, bigged up by locals when I was pulverising Walsall a couple of Hallowe'ens ago, and more recently by a weird kid on the way back from Wrexham away, Swan, Brownhills (3378 / 6218) is surely nailed on to provide a decent experience, right? Wrong! The BRAPA gods, having given with one hand in Sutton Coldfield, had since decided to take with the other. Yin/Yang in pub ticking is very real phenomena. An inept barmaid whose aura suggests she'd be more comfortable in a public library researching the top 100 mausoleums of Ancient Greece than anything customer facing is the first challenge. One of those 'on too soon' beers, Derby's 'Hop til you Drop' is the next, I KNEW I should've gone for another Titanic Cappuccino (I got a half later), an ale obviously doing the BCA rounds at the moment. Rare but not unheard of for BCA houses, it is very spartan. Swathes of 8.5/10 carpet give the feeling on being stranded on a desert island, though mine is inhabited by a bloke who has shored up from nowhere, and is munching pork scratchings in my left ear 'ole like the world's worst Robinson Crusoe.
Our final pub of the night, and my penultimate tick in the West Midlands for 2026 took me t'other side of Walsall ......
Under the lantern into this multi-roomed Grade II jewel we tread, jugs hanging from the ceiling. I am customer #2 at the Olde Blueball, Wednesbury (3379 / 6219). "Alroite bab" wheeze landlady and the old gent leaning on the bar with exciting tattooed forearms. But the BRAPA gods still hadn't forgiven me for good Sutton Coldfield. The Church End comes out as water, lice and dust. "I'd better tell 'him upstairs'" remarks the landlady. 'Him upstairs' is referenced later on too. I feel like I'm in an episode of Trap Door, but whether I'm a Berk or just Bony, I'm not sure. Early era claymation aside, the AJ's pale replacement pint tastes like beery tonic water, yuck, but I can just about force it down. Guess it explains why such a classic hasn't needed a BRAPA visit up until now. More impressively is just how 'unspoilt' this old inn is. First hand evidence. The bloke recalls sitting exactly where he is now, sometime in the 1950's, coming in as a young drinker with his mates and peering down at the old blokes (some of whom drank here all their lives, so we're potentially talking late 19th century I guess?) lining the bench where I now sit. He laughs "And now I'm one of them!" Says the pub hasn't changed much at all since then. Stories like this warm the cockles of the BRAPA heart even if the beer is drossy.
I took a tram back to Brum, and although I briefly considering my final WM tick at Snow Hill, I decide its easy enough low hanging fruit for another day, so go for a coffee and get the next train back 'home' to Bicester.
Join me next time for the final day of this Easter epic, where I hit Worcestershire.
Have a good week & keep it pub, Si
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