BRAPA is .... DUDLEY DUCKING & DIVING : NEW YEAR IN THE BLACK COUNTRY
Saturday 4th January 2025
Boo! The eleventh year of BRAPA begins in the Black Country, as the cold snap returned to the UK and my authentic woollen Icelandic hat (which I don't like to keep mentioning) was forced to save the day once again.
York to Brum New Street for something incredible like £32 suggested that people just don't travel in January, a blissfully quiet carriage, just the hardcore and me, like a Tuesday night away game at Exeter.
After buying some sugar free mints, a second coffee and having a quick wee I didn't need, I took the train in a Walsally direction as far as this no-man's land called Perry Bar for the year's first tick .....
A family of Pied Wagtails bob and weave outside, as though they are imitating the early morning Aston Villa fans, loitering by the entrance. They are at home to Leicester today and already looking wretched. Puts me in mind of Villa's most famous 'Spoons crowd ....
A low-level slumber party, Arthur Robertson, Perry Barr, Birmingham (2892 / 5376) is a rare 'Spoons where the staff make it look incredibly difficult. I imagine working in a 'Spoons is, but they usually glide around like serene swans. Here, they puff and pant and blow and heave, yanking handpumps, having arguments over breakfast miscommunications, stomp past tables. The carpet is a washed out vaguely Villa 7.25/10, the Byatt's beer is really good but annoying because it is a re-badge, Arthur's Gold, like 'arite lads, we're not in a Greene King pub, no need!' A controversial Man Utd fan with learning difficulties drops a scarf, just out of reach of my late lunge. That was as exciting as it got.
Colin and hometown boy Dudley Duck
I stand on the platform shivering, and reflect that I'm not looking forward to the day that I arrive in New Street before 10am and cannot find a GBG pub open until 12. I suspect it ain't that far off.
Next stop up the line is Tame Bridge Parkway, because it is 'only' a 25-30 minute walk to the first of two West Bromwich pubs.
Aside from that long thin classic The Vine, I've never found a West Bromwich pub remotely handy by train or tram. I decided today was the day I finally lay those saggy Baggie demons to rest.
I need a wee when I arrive, but the pub is still not open for 15 mins. I thought I'd found some parkland behind the pub, alas no, it is locked allotments. The former pub landlady is being dropped off by her hubbie to 'open up' at this moment, so they give me a proper 'neighbourhood watch' glare!
I eventually find an open sports centre with lots of park football going on outside, and plenty of changing rooms. I couldn't could I? Managers office? Ref's room? Under 8 girls changing rooms? Errrm, perhaps I'll try and hold it in! Back to the pub, which opens prompt - I'm delighted to hear the key in the door.
Royal Oak, West Bromwich (2893 / 5377) says so much about why I love this part of the world. An unassuming community boozer, takes a while to warm up but when it does, boom! She remembers me whilst cleaning the window behind my head. "I thought you'd come from the allotments end?" she says looking confused. I tell her I was 'exploring', but don't mention my peeing hopes! She has a gently lilting Irish twang, and says she used to run this place, now she just works here, semi-retirement or summat. The Backyard beer is drinking superbly, but they've missed a trick if they aren't naming one Backyard Babby. "We don't have Wifi, talk to each other instead, pretend it's 1970 :)" says a chalkboard. Hard in an empty pub. The Toby Jug collection, Colin and Dudley Duck will have to do! I had to laugh though, when they have two giant plasmas in what is a smallish pub room! Doesn't take long for punters to pour in, partly cos the Baggies are away to Swansea in a lunchtime kick off. Two blokes decide to share my bench for a better view, their coats inches from my thigh, how tantalising. Terrific boozer.
Another 20-25 min walk takes me to the other pub in 'town' and why does West Bromwich feel the size of Los Angeles without the flames?
I love a Black Country Ales house, but I don't like rude Baggies who are living so tightly inside their own bubble of a head, they assume they've been stood at the bar longer than you. "Who's next?" says barmaid of pearly whites. "Me" says him. "REALLY?" says me. "Yes" says him. "Hmmmm" says me. "Rude motherducker!" quacks Dudley the Duck from the depths of my bag. Colin tells him to settle down. C'mon Swansea, idiots like him don't deserve football happiness. And besides, now I've forgiven Thornbridge in full, I need new hate figures. Bring on the bastard hate! BRAPA slogan for 2025? But once I've recovered, Three Horseshoes, West Bromwich (2894 / 5378) is yer classic BCA warm, carpetted, etched mirror, cob led, curved bench seated jewel. You could argue their pubs are formulaic, but only the best way possible. All that's missing is a #PubCat You don't even have to drink their own ales, two Welbeck Abbey's here. Could be in Kimberworth. How marvellous. Can we get a chain like this in Yorkshire please?
Dudley Duck sat this one out, too angry
Today was going far too well so it was inevitable that the Wednesbury bound bus failed to show. Although judging by the bus stop, was it even scheduled? So confusing. The next one did turn up and I legged it up the hill to the first of two ticks here.
I wander into this creaky rabbit warren of an entrance at the superbly named Ye Olde Leathern Bottel, Wednesbury (2895 / 5379). A sign apologises to me for the current Guinness shortage impacting daily life. My friend reckons this is a marketing ploy, and a total fabrication, but whatever the truth, if you've got Titanic Plum Porter and Oakham Citra pumps just behind it, would you really care? The barman is vague and distant, but the pub an exciting shape, as I peer through a series of tiny internal windows to see where my fellow drinkers are sat. I walk around the back to the main bar room, quite empty. Bryan Adams 'Summer of 69' is immediately cancelled to be replaced by Four Tops 'Reach Out', it was that kinda pub. But a strange one for me because despite the top banana Citra, the Bottel never hit the heights I'd have expected from such a building in such a part of the world - rather lacklustre.
Closer to the heart of Wednesbury, and I assume it is pronounced Wensbury a bit like that awful Sheffield team (sorry, they gave me free Strongbow Dark Fruits, definitely not scumbags), I find myself at today's fifth pub already.
Now I can't say for certain that this pub wasn't on a massive slope, but I suspect it was my jaunty angled photography. I always go weird for pub five. Lightweight. They say you can train yourself to drink more, but this hasn't worked for me! Bellwether, Wednesbury (2896 / 5380) had all that hustle and bustle, vim and vigour, ebb and flow, sage and onions, gammon and spinach, that could've made the Bottel a real good pub. What is it with 'Spoons beer quality at the moment? Following hot on the heels of that Jaipur in Chesterfield, another NBSS 6 with this Heritage Masterpiece. £1.49 with a Mudgie voucher, 5.6% scintillating. Best enjoyed in low-lit Sepia, smell of second curry regurgitating from lord-knows-where, mid 90's fashions. There's even a small (deliberate) fire in. Pretty impressive. And to put the cherry of the cake, we are beating L**ds 1-0 at h/t. Didn't see that coming!
My next bus DID behave as expected, and before long I'm in Dudley for the first time in my life. For such a large and talked about place, it seems a bit of an arse ache to reach - no central train or tram, and buses take a while to get anywhere. Maybe the idea is you're born here, you die here?
Just the one pub in this year's GBG though I suspect I'll be back here for plenty more in the coming years ... let's check it out! Pub six, and still some light in the sky, is spring approaching?
A homely hostelry, Malt Shovel, Dudley (2897 / 5381) has the football scores flashing up left, right and centre, and the first thing I see is Hull City 1-3 L**ds United. 'That didn't last long did it?' I sigh to a plastic scouser, who immediately looks terrified and scuttles off. I hadn't expected him to understand. I peer down the long bar and yelp for service. Holden's Golden Glow. What a pint! Why do I normally avoid it? Not any more. Colin's having a nap, but nae bother as this was Dudley Duck's moment in his hometown. He didn't disappoint, trying to bite a bloke on the way out who has used the loo without buying a drink. The landlady follows him to the door. "Excuse me, we pay for the hand soap, you don't!" she calls down the street, sparking a rousing applause from her assembled regulars. Not unlike the conclusion of 'Jerusalem' on the Last Night of the Proms. On the way back from my own hand soap usage (I tried to ration it #PubMan), I glance at the TV. Hull City have got a goal back with ten minutes left. Well, well, well, I text Daddy BRAPA, who has been poorly for most of the last week so isn't attending the game. Before he can reply, 3-3 full time flashes up. Eeeek. Luckiest pub of the season, as well as being a blinkin' good one.
"Dudley, Dudley give us a quack"
Back in the Brum, there was time for a quick pint before the train. My favourite Brum pub, just edging out the Bull into second place. Craven Arms. Such a soothing atmosphere, I swear the couple opposite spoke on the same frequency as cream cheese. Taste the Difference. The beer was from Derby, but that didn't spoil my enjoyment of it, and then I remembered in all the Dudley mayhem, I'd forgotten to highlight my GBG so that gave me something to do!
See you on either Friday or Sunday, when I slip on some black ice having a wee in a lay-by.
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