BRAPA is ... IN NORTH NOTTS CLOVER, BUT SNOWED OFF IN BOLSOVER

Saturday 10th January 2026

F.A. Cup third round weekend, the original Daddy BRAPA car day.

As a Hull City fan, we've learnt to accept that we'll get a home draw against a fellow long-standing Championship team, and we'll put in an abject performance in front of 6,000 people whilst freezing our bums off. Ain't worth it mate!

I called it back in December as the balls were about to be pulled from the hat, look .....

Blackburn at home. You've gotta laugh. It had been moved to Sunday for foreign TV. Which poor oriental gentleman is gonna be watching that?

The snow had been bad down south in the run up to today, so being the thoughtful son I am, I shelved my ambitious Peak District day for a lower lying North Notts affair. This time last year, I shelved the freezing fog in South Lincs for a less ambitious Grimsby day.

I took a bus from York's premier dogging hotspot, Nunnery Lane car park, to the Designer Outlet so we could make a swift getaway south past Goole, Rawcliffe and the like.

North Notts' unusual churn was no surprise to me this year. I'd been told as much in Worksop's wonderful Mallard when I'd popped in for a 'between trains' pint, and got chatting with the two landlords and a Notts CAMRA man. Sadly, they remained tight-lipped on exact details. There was even some talk of me becoming a GBG proof-reader .... but in the cold light of day, I'm glad I heard no more about it because I'm not RetiredSimon and don't think I'd have had the time to do it justice.

Having triple-checked opening hours (you have to be so careful in the first half of January as pub's often close for holidays) , our first pub was so north eastern it was practically Stinkin' Lincs, close to that former GBG regular in West Stockwith by the River Idle.

11:50am arrival, so we patiently sit in the car, but when we see a few cyclists and elderly shuffle bottoms drawing near, we decide to gingerly skid across the icy carpark, through a modern conservatory bolt-on wanderer, and into the Haxey Gate Inn, Misterton (3220 / 6061). A proper bar room, a 'Spoons beating carpet (9/10) and the warmest of welcomes on the coldest of days from a trio of middle-aged ladies of exemplary people skills. Imagine if Loose Women was hosted by likeable people (impossible). One lives in Gainsborough, the poor cow, and tells me it is even icier there, but I've been to Gainsborough in July and yep, I can confirm, frosty is the word. I order a Black Pheasant from that weird Pheasantry brewery, who's beers either bore me to tears or have me declaring 'I say, what a delightful fresh drop barkeep!' This Black Pheasant is a pleasant plucker. Perhaps leaving my big coat in the car was a touch ambitious, but with the sun streaming in and a fire lit somewhere, we're warming up as a giant elderly dining gang descend. I learn that the 'Haxey Hood' is actually a tube and not a hat, which neighbouring villagers (but not Misterton) battle over in a giant annual rugby-style scrum, rendering my joke about wearing my own Haxey hood nonsensical, but never mind.

Not sure how my photo looks strangely artistic, but I like it

Mummy BRAPA's 'Yellow Peril', which we sometimes travel in to keep Dad's own car's mileage down has as a more reliable SatNav than his, but here she takes us completely the wrong way out of the pub, unnecessarily doubling back on ourselves past the pub five minutes later, costing us ten. We are both fuming.

And all she can say is 'drive straight ahead'. Sorry really is the hardest word.

Today's most random tick by some distance is Ye Olde Bell Hotel & Spa, Barnby Moor (3221 / 6062). A stunning posh hotel in the unlikeliest of locations, I'm sad that my photos fail to do it justice because it truly is grand. One of those where you reach hotel reception and have to ask where the bar is, feeling like a right alcoholic scruff! The loos have a small portal to a section of uncovered Roman road, but don't hover too long admiring it like I did .... I swear I was so close to being whisked off for a back massage by a tanned man in a white coat! Another Pheasantry beer, but this one is dross, so I can only assume its GBG place is because a North Notts CAMRA chairman's wife whisked him away for a dirty weekend here back in the Autumn of '24. Dad's ordered a 'Heavenly' coffee which has come with a little bell shaped shortbread biscuit. There's two teenage lasses sat near us, also on the coffee, so I guess if you're a Barnby Moor resident, this is THE place to come. Probably literally.

Our third tick incoming ..... and just as well Dad had enjoyed it because there's no escaping this 'Heavenly' coffee ...... though I think this was a cafe next door, rather than the pub itself .....

The one North Notts tick I predicted last summer, Red Hart, Blyth (3222 / 6063) was one of the three or four mainstays (along with Carlton-in-Lindrick, West Stockwith and possibly Lound) is the years before I started taking Notts seriously. This one got dropped around the same time, a shame as it was quite an easy after-work tick in my L**ds days too. Had I built it up too much in my mind? I find it underwhelming. A cheerfully bored bar-lad directs us through to the (inferior) sports bar around to the left with the promise of a greater selection of beers but, as it turned out, the exact same cask range! The Castle Rock wintry seasonal is decent, but served in a throwback 'Roaring Meg' glass, one of my fave beers of the past, so it was always gonna feel anti-climactic. The pub is virtually empty and way too chilly (especially around this side) and almost every single table is a rickety posing stool. We're just in time for the tail-end of Macclesfield v Palace, wow what a shock. Maybe Exeter will win at Man City, maybe we'll beat Blackburn 5-4, maybe the old FA Cup dog still has magic in it yet?! (Settle down Si). that kept our chins up anyway, lovely to see a good old fashioned pitch invasion, oh and Dad did get his second consecutive Brapaccino. Slow down dude, or you'll be speeding!

Things were going well as we continue to wend our way south west. We'd had to wait until 2pm for this one to open but it was comfortably past that now.

A big moment for Daddy BRAPA. Back in the mid 90's, one balmy summer weekday, we mistakenly came to Warsop to watch a County Championship because (I think) Dad thought Warsop was just 'Notts speak' for Worksop and they were the same place. No idiot SatNav in those days so must've used a map!

Anyway, all I remember about the game is sitting on the boundary rope with our big yellow picnic box and throwing the ball back to Ottis Gibson who thanked me in a deep West Indian accent.

Look at that smile - probably thinks he's in Worksop bless him

Well well well, what a revelation Black Market Venue, Warsop (3223 / 6064) is. Talk about an unlikely hip, happenin' kinda gaff that's really got it going onnnnn. Its popularity compared to the Red Hart is stark, one definitely felt like a place on the up whilst another felt a pub that's seen better days. Good home brewed beer too (always pot luck in such places), unsurprisingly I go for the 5% Back to Black. Delicious. There's pool, there's snooker, there's a drumkit awaiting someone to smack it, and a smattering of 'bloody rubbish' Mansfield Town memorabilia. The accents suggest 'Notts but we're almost Derbys so we'll make our vowels even more wholesome'. Dad, no doubt sick of coffee by now, however heavenly, reckons this Tall Tales 0.0% Pale Ale is up there with his Northern Monk's at York Trembling Madness for best he's ever had. (Almost) sincere comment alert, I'm really pleased that alcohol free ale's are improving so much in recent years as it might encourage more potential chauffeurs to drive me about!

Now, we'd not seen so much as 1cm of snow so far, so how bad was it really gonna be in Bolsover, just a short drive from here over the Derbyshire border?

Well my Derbys correspondent and fellow ticker Rich suggests 'very', something I mutter quietly out of the side of my mouth to Dad.

I wasn't prepared for quite how thick it was. They must've had some 'Beast (from the East) of Bolsover'.

Had I done this joke at the time, Dad wouldn't have laughed. Bolsover ain't the easiest place to park even on a summer's day as we found when ticking the Fidler's Rest in 2017. Worst bit is when we try to turn the car around in a carpark and it is like an ice rink. I suddenly feel guilty!

Nevertheless, Dad drops me outside the pub door. Lights are on both in and out, and we've passed the 4pm advertised opening time. He tells me he won't join me, but park up somewhere for half an hour and wait.

SHUT PUB ALERT. Byron Tap, Bolsover. Door locked. Someone at home, but where he/she was, who knows? Probably would only take a local or one of his mates to bang on the door and say 'ey up duck, let us in!' but I wasn't that person.

Still paranoid about my 'Enfield Hand' (still not fully healed), I gingerly make my way to what's probably normally a grassy patch, and with not a single Bolsoverian soul about I have a wee, return to the pub door, try a gentle knock, still no luck. So I phone Dad, who sounds overly relieved, and we're quite happy to get the hell outta here.

This must be the most accepting I've ever been of an unexpectedly shut pub, and I'm hoping 4pm is their winter hours and when the clocks change they are more generous. I will be back, probably.

So what now? Coal Aston is also 4pm, but even deeper into Derbys.

Harthill just over the border in South Yorkshire looks more straightforward. Dad says that's fine providing the snow is clearer there. We're barely out of Bolsover when it starts to thin out quite quickly.

Shout out to fellow pub ticker Eddie re the Blue Bell, Harthill (3224 / 6065). During September's cross-ticking extravaganza, I'd erroneously ticked it cos I'd been to a Harthill Beehive, and it was only his chance comment on the pub tickers WhatsApp group that made me look twice. I tell thee, the year I'm due to complete this damn book, I'm going to go carefully through all 4,500 pubs and make absolutely sure I haven't done anything silly like this! It's a solid companionable sorta boozer. Dad's back on the coffee, this one comes in a sachet which might be symptomatic of our move from Notts-South Yorks. I'm on a Mad Purity Goose, and it doesn't honk. We sit beside a Sheff Utd fan with headphones in watching the FA Cup scores coming through, but this doesn't stop him from intermittently throwing a comment at us. He doesn't seem as sad about Man City v Exeter reaching double figures as the rest of the pub. He'll get his comeuppance tomorrow. Funny bunch the Blades aren't they? "When we win our game in hand against Oxford, we'll be mid table, then we'll almost be in the playoffs!" I've heard this three times now. East Fife have conceded five but Dad says my joke doesn't work because they scored nil and were playing Stenhousemuir and not Forfar. Spoilsport!

But I could feel Dad's sense of relief as we continue our journey York-wards and the snow disappears altogether. He gives me an option for our final pub. Fox or Volunteer in York, or a sixth tick in Cawood?

Well, January is destined to be such a skinny month for pub ticking, Cawood is a no brainer.

Again, Dad goes off to park the car hence the lack of above pose. I always enjoy walking underneath a pub lantern. Ignore the Thwaites sign, we ain't in Blackburn (yet), Jolly Sailor, Cawood (3225 / 6066) is an all singing, all dancing Selby brewery pub. Well, actually not very singing or dancing. Quite Wild West. Depressingly quiet for a Saturday evening. Everyone who is here apart from me are family of the staff. The lovely mother hen behind the bar seems to genuinely enjoyed my intrepid Bolsover / North Notts tales. I take a pint of peppery tongue smacking Selby American IPA across a juicy, succulent Chinese meal of a carpet (6/10), a tiny little white dog (not the Nazi Snowy off Tintin) constantly jumping up, barking and biting my ass (arse but in American) as locals wonder what kind of wrong 'un I am if this normally docile pup has taken such a strong dislike to me. The 'Hoff' cushion is a good replacement for Daddy BRAPA until he arrives, and when he does, his chest isn't on display. I quite enjoyed this pub, in that weird outer York kinda way.

And there you have it, the kind of day that puts Daddy BRAPA in the driving seat (excuse the pun) for BRAPA Person of the Year award in twelve months time.

Join me hopefully on Friday when I'll tell you about the time I won big in a Southampton / Preston double header. And #ThirstyThursday returns from its winter break tomorrow so see ya on TwXtter / BS for that one.

Si