BRAPA is .... IN THE SURREY (WITH THE CRINGE ON TOP)

Thursday 4th June 2026

Not often you have the opportunity to spread your wings on the 8:18am Grand Central from York to London, but the seat booked next to me (Carol Casey, aged 61, from Ashington) phoned in sick following surgery complications to fix a hernia, so Dudley Duck capitalised.

Regarding Surrey, I was not a happy chap. 24 ticks remain, placing it in the unacceptable bracket. And whilst you can forgive a Dorset or a Highlands being in that state, Surrey isn't a hard place to get to.

A far cry from 21st May 2021 when I forced down a dodgy ESB in Chertsey's Coach & Horses (imagine getting ESB wrong?) to fully green the whole damn county.

I travel across London to Waterloo, and then a train to Esher for the third time in my life. But this was the nicest because the walk was short and scenic. I cross a golf course, turn a corner and interrupt a green woodpecker and squirrel deep in chat.

Named after a Hull City box-to-box midfielder circa 2008, Marney's Village Inn, Weston Green (3464 / 6254) is as stereotypically Surrey as you can get. I'm here early enough to avoid being knocked on the bonce with foodie inclinations, a couple of vertical tweed blokes say "hallo old chap" and the barmaid has a modicum of personality. Seating options aren't exactly conducive to the casual drinker, and there's evidence of some Hetty Hoovering ("she'll suck you off" - not an actual marketing tagline) in progress. So I take my pint outside to the spacious beer garden. Considering the increasing heat, my past experience of real ale in this corner of Surrey and last Saturday's Lothians horror show, I was NOT expecting 5* ale quality, but this Twickenham Naked Ladies reigns supreme. As I spin around 180 degrees, above me looms the most ominous black clouds. A wind is whipping up. I knew what was coming. And within a couple of minutes, the heaven's open for a biblical downpour. I dash for cover under the brollies in the smoking area. A white van man decides he can't go on, parks up outside and shovels down a Ginsters. We nod at each other in extreme weather camaraderie and I nurse my drink. Once it eases off, I return my glass and tell the barmaid I'm off whilst there's a gap in the rain, in case she cares.

Shortly before the rains came

Last week I had a Sainsbury's home delivery and randomly mentioned Surrey and turns out the guy grew up in Weston Green and has fond memories despite his two older brothers trying to drown him in a lake on a homemade raft.

Back on the train, I wasn't concentrating properly and get off at the wrong station (Byfleet & New Haw instead of West Byfleet).

Never mind, I've had longer walks and it is only slightly over half an hour.

Try as I might to convince myself, there's no way that this Exeter 'Darkness - The Prince of Ales' should taste like an acrid soldered metal .... well it didn't in Exeter brewery tap anyway. Perhaps the Black Prince, New Haw (3465 / 6255) is just shit at beer? It'd explain their sum total of zero GBG appearances before this year. Perhaps I should've gone for the Geoff Hurst guest? This GK house is as much of a sports bar as it is a pub, the World Cup is a mere week away and this place won't let you forget it, with flags, Sky Sports News previews and drinks offers galore. The atmosphere is reassuringly rugged. Blokes of a certain age huddle over pints of lager and whisper in southern. And in even brighter news, this pub marks 77% of my Good Beer Guide complete, I'll take the positives where I can.

A short bus ride helps to speed up the middle section of another lengthy walk for a club which has been on my radar for a few years now ......

Long time readers will know that I love getting the first alphabetical tick of each county done, and it doesn't get much earlier alphabet than Addlestone. The RAOB Club (3466 / 6256) stands for the Royal African Order of Dilated Buffalos which reminds me of my Year Out on the Serengeti as an emergency vet. The landlady is our BRAPA staffer of the day. She buzzes me in. Reluctant to reveal my CAMRA leanings, I go straight for the jugular with my pint order and no further questions are asked on that matter. Her sunny demeanour leads me into BRAPA chat. "Oh, we've had quite a few tickers in recently" she replies, so I explain to her that (a) pub tickers > beer ticks and (b) pint drinkers > half drinkers in case she doubts my stand out greatness. But she's a cheeky cow and won't be denied. "It's normally busier than this, they must've known you were coming!" ALRIGHT LASS, steady on! Despite this high octane bantz, the beer is poor again. Not 'New Haw poor', but certainly struggling in the recent heat. Knightwood by Monkey, whoever they are. A real clarthorse. The Lothians are too recently etched in my memory for more beer pain. The club itself is standard fayre, vast and sweeping with a lingering feeling that a disco, wake or snooker tournament could materialise at any moment - probably when I leave.

A train ride to Egham follows where the United Services Club wowed me back on a wintry day in 2014 when the guv'nor gave me a guided tour for no reason and everyone supported Spurs, also for no reason.

I was quite intrigued about our 2026 entry because of what the GBG was saying about the beer range .....

'Doom Bar or Doom Bar' is an ale choice that'll make the beerier types amongst you wince, but I respect any pub that purposefully puts one cask ale on, Doom or otherwise. Pulled by a gentle stoic host, the bar area lined with gentle stoic blockers, the White Lion, Egham (3467 / 6257) achieves an atmosphere not bettered by any other pub today. Not unlike a Sam Smith's house, the attitude is very much 'we do what we do, if you like it great, but if not, we frankly don't care, there's plenty other customer's in the sea!' Heartwarmingly miserable. An 8/10 Scottish carpet too. Having said that, I'd visit a Somerset pub with a similar outlook a week from now which I disliked. And although it doesn't fit the narrative I'm going for, I must admit that it wasn't even great quality Doom (though better than both New Haw and Addlestone), heat / nearing end of barrel my guess. That amazing Weston Green Naked Ladies seemed a LONG time ago. But as a quiet gaff for a #PubMan to while away 27.5 mins, a pleasant experience.

No trip to this most agonising part of Surrey (from a GBG perspective) would be complete without Staines. Or Staines-upon-Thames if you wanna sugar coat it.

Commemoration of THAT day in '83 when Winfield ticked 43 Staines pubs

Just the four ticks for me previously across two visits (although two others shut / stopped selling cask before I could get them done), and the only reason I need to return today is because the brewery tap has moved premises .... OF COURSE IT BLOODY HAS!

Thames Side Brewery, Staines (3468 / 6258) is a vast improvement on their previous place which may or may not have been a former scout hut. I remember it not being warm enough to dry out from the heavy rain, a large dog chasing me up a rickety wooden staircase where I nearly fell in a vat of beer, and the staff having a strange sort of 'main character energy'. Despite the disorganisation behind the bar today (it was well gone 4pm opening but the two ladies aren't ready to pull a pint) we after profuse apologies, we have a jolly but brief natter, and I've never seen so much carpet in any brewery tap so full marks for that. The Egyptian Goose or Heron IPA (they love a bird theme) drinks well, and despite a brief moment of choking on some Quiche Lorraine, I recover in time for BRAPA debutant Steve Jackson (not the 11 year old of the same name that I went to school with in Saffron Walden) to appear on his way home from work for a quick drink. Surrey can be a lonely county, so company here is more important than it is in say Notts where you're happy not to see anyone (no offence Notts).

With time on my side and Steve in good form, we whizz around the corner so I can pre-emptively tick off the some time GBG Wetherspooner, George .....

It's a whistle stop visit as I have a train on the horizon so just order a half, meaning I can justify something strong and Wobbly Bob is always the perfect chest burner when you're in that frame of mind. The southern softies lining the bar eyed it with fear (probably). Not sure if this is a Lloyds No. 1 but it has an upstairs level like Rodboro' Buildings in Guildford where blood drips from the ceiling which you'll know if you've been, and the carpet in here has something of the Slasher horror movie about it of which I approve of. Surely it'll make the GBG again in the next few years.

Despite having to work the following day, I find time for two more pints to ease the journey home. Firstly an abysmal Peach Lager called 'Felt' in the strange transient Dolphin near King's Cross which was good for people watching, but little else. The barman looked appalled at my beer choice, and I could see why.

And back in York, a pleasant late York Tap trip yields a pint of Tonkoko Milk Stout which really proved my sobriety.

So that was a productive day, and despite the ongoing distractions of the World Cup, I'll be back in a day or two to tell you about the time Daddy BRAPA drove me around County Durham.

Keep it pub, Si