BRAPA IS ..... CORONATION TICKIN' IN NORTH KENT (PART 1/2)

May is proving a fruitful month in my quest to complete Kent by late summer, and on my 44th Birthday, I found myself trudging the backstreets at Gravesend, 10:30am, in damp humid midgy weather. Only a ticker could spend their b'day morning like this, I muse to Colin, still asleep in my bag the lazy sod.

The location of my first pub and the approach to it was just as much part of the theatre as being in the pub itself, and if you've ever walked down Wincolmlee way towards Hull's Whalebone, this was similar, only a bit leafier. It was the kind of place you'd ordinarily find a brewery tap in 2023, but when it reared up on the horizon like a block of stale Stilton, the truth was quite different.

Great expectations wasn't something I was necessarily feeling as I approach the Ship & Lobster, Milton, Gravesend (2466 / 4360) up some crumbly old steps to the back. Ironic really, as the pub was used in the Charles Dickens novel of the same name. My main man in Kent, Richard Pitcher told me that. Suddenly I was getting shades of a Hornsea or Withernsea as the smell of garlic and stewed veg emanates from a warm kitchen fan. Inside and I wasn't disappointed. Old skool landlady is doing something fun with oranges, perhaps making a Coronation bowl of punch? Could name it Fergie Juice? Perhaps not. The pageantry is in full swing, Charlie is getting crowned up, and an old bloke under the TV says he's old enough to remember the last one. A lady counting coins behind me cuts his reminiscing short, citing reasons such as not being born and a failure to care. Young's Bitter is the only ale on, not one I particularly enjoy but it was as good as it could've been here. A gang of rumbustious local dudes arrive, all jokes and southern accents. "Spurs! 'Ammers! Charlton Atherlettick! Lol!" I'm definitely on the outside looking in here, but it was still a pub experience I found quite satisfying.

Back into Gravesend, train to Strood, quick dash to bus stop, and I headed north to the grey Medway village of Wainscott for pub two.

With a cartoonish but thankfully not overly sexualised fox (#NeverForgetStockport) smiling back at me, you could be forgiven for thinking that the Crafty Fox, Wainscott (2467 / 4361) was the latest in Kent's ongoing 'oh no, not another debutant GBG micropub' saga. Especially on first glance, as a friendly bar lad serves me something Brentwood, as the Cardboard Cut-out Coronation Charlie displays more charisma and bonhomie than any of the gaggle of miserable old blokes. The pub surprisingly opens up into a large carpetted lounge room, not a soul in it today, but the Coronation is being projected onto a giant wall. Unexpected! It all makes sense when you consider it used to be a WMC, and the modern micro frontage was bolted on. My main man in Kent, Richard Pitcher told me this. He tells me a lot. It doesn't really work in my opinion. And the poor quality beer does nothing to cheer me. Plus an old man is blinking silently at me from 20 paces. In what turned out to be a stroke of luck, the taxi I've ordered to pub three messages to tell me he's three minutes away, so I have to neck the ale like the wind, the equivalent of ripping a plaster off rather than slow painful removal. I make my apologies for such a swift visit, barman continues to be lovely, the old men grunt.

My Sri-Lankan taxi driver is a good guy, but when he asks if I sometimes feel regretful that my pub ticking quest might be part of the reason I haven't settled down and done more conventional things like got married and had kids, I decide to turn the tables on him and ask him if getting married and having kids at 23, he sometimes feels regret that he never got to really explore his own 'self' and what he wants out of life? Well, that seems to throw him, and makes the rest of the journey rather frosty!

BRAPA experience tells me that if a pub is down narrow twisting country lanes, 25 minutes from the nearest bus stop at the end of the main road, then it is at least going to be a rewarding visit. Horseshoe & Castle, Cooling (2468 / 4362) had other ideas. The holy trinity of pub shitness. An incredibly airbrushed twee dining pub, not particularly friendly people, and a second consecutive poorly kept pint in the form of Canterbury's Coronation brew. I have more beer problems in North Kent than anywhere else in the UK so far, fact! But why? My main man in Kent, Richard Pitcher tells me it is the age old problem - too much GBG allocation, nowhere near enough decent ale pubs to fill it. Age old problem. C'mon CAMRA, reduce it to 4,000, let's ensure quality is maintained. A mother/daughter combo are blinking silently in my direction at the bar. I ask if I'm in the way of the TV, but they mumble 'not really' which might mean yes. A pre-wedding party are just departing after a cheeky line of coke in the loos (maybe). I sit on my own amidst five billion cushions around the corner, only returning to the bar to ask what the Wi-fi code as signal is next to nothing out here. They aren't exactly forthcoming! This means I have no clue on buses, so a second taxi it is! I'm happier when I take my pint outside into the rain, one bar more phone signal, plus the raindrops make the pint more palatable. I get talking to the nice chef who works here. He's having an oven delivered, he thought he saw the van, got excited cos to see a van in Cooling is rare, but now the van has driven off and he's sad! Two taxis arrive, both for Simon. Ooops, how did that happen? I hop in with the man who seems nicest, and hope there was a second secret Simon squirrelled away somewhere in the pub. Kind of thing Simon's do.

Would the Master Brew have been better? Doubtful

So, going into part 2 on Friday, I think it is fair to say 'things can only get better'. But could they? Find out then. See you in Leics tomorrow.

Si