BRAPA IS.... PISSED AS A NEWT-ON ABBOT (DEVON PT 4/4)

Actually, I held back on my final day in Devon, determined to be at peak fitness for the forthcoming train home to York via Paddington, birthday barbecue and double overnighter in Manchester a few days later. We'll say this only once, I was #SoberSi

Friday 3rd May, 4pm.

Exeter GBG '24 completion was finally upon me, ready to tick off my ninth and final GBG pub .....

The approach, featuring Test Card mural plus knowing 'work in progress chic' , put me in mind of Sheffield's Rutland Arms. Whilst it was never going to be that good, I'd consider the Bowling Green, Exeter (2794 / 4954) one of the city's stronger entries. It did have a Rutland-esque 21-25 age range, you know that kinda "we loved this place so much when we were students, we never quite left" vibe. But it also had a very non-Rutland 74-79 year old cross section of society. "This were all fields in my day" they'd whine in West Yorkshire accents at regular intervals (probably). Despite my photo below, I promise I was the only person outside these specific age ranges. The pub is wooden and community hubby, swaying like a drunken boat. Halfway between Grimsby's Barge and Reading's Nag's Head. You can't say fairer than that. The 'Fraid Not is a particular fresh buxom pint, in a week where I found the Exeter brews variable. Then I sat and considered Exeter as a beer town. Is it great? No. Is it rubbish? No! Is nine GBG entries too many? Almost certainly. Would dropping a couple increase the quality? Yes, like so many places, including Norwich and Edinburgh. But what would you drop? Worst beer was at the Royal Oak and the Imperial. Yet, those pubs felt more GBG than the Ship. And Sawyer's Arms seems a pointless inclusion when there's already two prettier 'Spoons around. Interesting to see what 2025 brings.

My earlier bus traumas obviously caught up with me because whilst I wanted to hop on another bus/train for two late ticks, I was all out of energy so I did two pre-emptives I'd had recommended in the centre. One was Turk's Head, one was Exeter Brewing.

I'll review them as and when they next make a GBG to save time here!

Saturday 4th May 10am

Time to head down to Plymouth with Ozan Toucan for the final game of the season.

Unlike Exeter, I know Plymouth like the back of my hand, in fact back in Jan 2002, it was the first place I ever used to identify the pubs using the GBG, though it was the dreadful 1999 edition so a bit out of date even by then.

My favourite pre-match pub back then was the Fortescue, and it still is, and I kept up my 100% record of visiting it every time I'm in the home of the biley Janners (Kylie Jenners). None of my remaining 4 GBG ticks open before noon, but judging by the nervous Pilgrims, this place had been open all night.

Only time for one, a peculiar White Mild no less. Google then takes me a very interesting way to Home Park which felt very much a presentiment.

Graveyard, and then craggy grassland leads directly into the away end. The only person approaching it from this angle is me.

Hull City don't do 'last day of the season'. The team always play shite. The fans might wear fancy dress but never mentally get into the spirit of the occasion. Even though Plymouth nerves were janglin' in their bid to avoid relegation, and us with a slim but unexpected chance of playoffs, the fans near me were miserable, negative and abusive throughout. Plymouth were up for it despite looking limited ability wise and deserved the win. I escaped after 90+3.5 as Chewy Lewie shanks one into orbit before any ensuing pitch invasion / home celebrations can begin. Galloping off over the grassland ("ho ho you timed that escape well!" says a steward as we hear the final whistle go, followed by a huge roar) , over a river and some stepping stones, towards a GBG tick.

Roam Brewery Tap, Plymouth (2795 / 4955) was a family friendly, cask free, barren brewery tap resembling a petrol station. I smile through a window at some people making pizzas, they all scowl back, the scowliest pub window scowl since the Cricketers at Littley Green in peak lockdown. As you can imagine, not my favourite tick of the week! Three Plyms have beaten me here, how was that even possible? Though I must confess I walked the perimeter of the big brick building before I found the way onto the forecourt. Sad to see charcoal briquettes and knock off Dan Brown novels are not available. Happier inside despite the Pret a Manger benches. The three staff are proper lovely, especially the one who serves me. Just resisting the urge to call me an arsehole as I complain about the hot sun, she has future BRAPA wife potential. She tells me one beer is 'real' by which I think she means key keg. Long, fizzy, chilly and challenging. And the beer was difficult too. And then screeching young families and celebratory Gargoyles arrive en masse. I could at least focus on the positives of feeling cool and resting my achey legs from Plymouth's many unnecessary hills.

I then visit a fantastic pre-emptive called the Hyde Park as recommend by the twin action pub force of Sir Quinno and RetiredMartin - a cracking interior , again I'll only review it when it makes a GBG but here's a pic to whet your appetite.

Plotting my next move, with three Plymouth pubs to go, I notice at the last minute that the one I'm aiming for next, the Vessel, is shut because the owners have fucked off to Belgium for the rest of the week. Kudos to them for making it super clear on social media.

That left the not so highly recommended Indian Inn, other side of football ground, and the Duchy of Cornwall down in scary Stonehouse, then it occurs to me we'll be playing Plymouth away again next season. Time to sack it off? Yes, the best decision I made all day.

Newton Abbot was the logical choice. On the train back to Exeter, three ticks, and two of them don't open til 4pm in the week so it made sense in many ways.

Idyllic entrance to NA, crossing green parkland, the air was fragrant, or at least smelt less of arse than Plymouth.

First we came to this miserable survivor. Dartmouth Inn, Newton Abbot (2796 / 4956) was a parson's nose / curate's egg of a pub with a horrific sparse leather front room showing Boston United win promotion on a gigantic plasma at full volume to an audience of zero. The open front door allowing too much noise from passing traffic really chafed, yet there are two surprisingly deep partitioned back areas - a pool table off to the left inhabited by a local lagerboy with a huge arse (we'll call him Jim Jardashian), and a cool cave to the left where I enjoy my excellent Bays Tracker without any fuss. It had been an odd welcome from mine host, and it was an odd departure too. Half like he was expecting me to 'do something', and another half like he couldn't quite believe that someone he didn't know dare come into his pub and act 'familiar'. My last gasp Mini Cheddars purchase caused consternation, and my empty glass returning and cheerful goodbye only seemed to make matters worse. Interesting

I trot around the corner to our second NA tick, and it is 'Spoons time.

Despite not one, but TWO fantastic carpets, Richard Hopkins, Newton Abbot (2797 / 4957) was a sub par 'Spoons in anyone's language. And following on from the Dartmouth, poor staff shape the pub experience. This is exceedingly rare in a Wetherspoons because say what you like about the chain, and most people do, my experience is normally of a very well trained, welcoming bunch. Grumpy faces, scowly attitudes, allowing a local to push in when I'm quite clearly first, and then a short measure on my beer .... which when I ask to be topped up, they goggle like I'm some kinda beer nerd. I'm a pub nerd actually. And the miserable bar experience is compounded by my inability to produce a Mudgie voucher, which I've left in a separate envelope in the hotel. Grrr. The misery continues as I sit beside the most melancholy hen-do in humanity. It is normally the brazen squawking I hate, but these lot behave like Victorian ghosts. Finally, one stands up to take a group selfie, can't quite manage it due to the angle, so I offer to take a group shot, but they seem petrified and scurry off. Newton Abbot was proving a tough nut to crack.

But dry your eyes mates, I'd unwittingly saved the best 'til last.

Pete Langdale off of X/Twitter had been wanting to meet up for a bit now. A Torquay man with links to Reading (why do so many #Pubmen have links to Reading? It is like the Stockport of the South East).

I knew he was out and about today, so when I mentioned Newton Abbot, he said he'd meet me outside, and I approach it in spectacular style across the green, silhouetted against then sun like the heroic pub ticker I imagine myself to be! I could hear 'Chariots of Fire' playing in my head as I approach. "Doo doo doo de doo doo, doo doo de dee do ...." etc etc.

Pete sees me before I see him (no idea what he looked like, not the square headed green robot on his profile pic) and he's with wife, the long suffering Cath/Kath. He jumps up and says he'll buy me a drink, which is nice.

Suddenly Newton Abbot isn't miserable anymore. Maltings Taphouse & Bottleshop (2798 / 4958) is a great place befitting a better name, simply Maltings would do. It is the second best Maltings I've ever ticked. And whilst it helps that I had great company, and an outdoor bench in glorious sunshine, (sunburnt head and neck for a week after!) it is just as lively in. And happy. With personable staff. And two great ales in the shape of Resonance and Deliverance which sound like CJ Sansom novels which never got published (RIP). There's even a blind Sooty on the bar to offer real pub gravitas. Topsham Brewery Tap in Exeter was the only tick of this ilk up to now (unless you count woeful Roam), but this place was a step up. With some top animated BRAPA chat going down well (people like Pete just 'get it' #PubMan) the long suffering Cath/Kath reveals she's actually from Cornwall. She says Truro but turns out it is actually Cambourne/Redruth, and if you've been to all three, you'd fully understand why you'd be liberal with the truth. It was the perfect send off in my 'gentle introduction' to Devon, see you all back there in June! 23% , that's progress!

There was time for a quick Guinness nightcap back in Exeter in my side quest, ticking off every Premier Inn in the UK, and it drank well as I chatted to a nice gang of exhausted but happy Plymouth fans about subjects as varied as BRAPA, Neighbours and Hull City.

I'd say Devon has exceeded Glamorgan, Leicestershire and Northumberland as my top holiday destination so far this year, so I'm really looking forward to going back.

On the train home, a man sat next to me with a book about the Russian Revolution, two Waitrose Tiramisus and a huge tray of Sushi. He wolfed down one Tiramisu. Then he plopped each bit of Sushi into his mouth in quick succession, not pausing for breath before ending with the final Tiramisu. It is one of the worst things I've witnessed all year.

Thanks for reading, Si