BRAPA is ... TAKING A PUNT ON THORNTON HUNT (Grimsby Pt. 2)
Blogging on a Saturday morning. It feels weird and wrong. I should be through King's Cross by now, bound for Sittingbourne, ready to take on some Kent outliers. Alas, those pesky train strikes strike again, when will it end?
Told Colin he can sit with me as long as he behaves
The hero himself, Daddy BRAPA has volunteered to drive my around Lincs tomorrow so my entire Bank Holiday weekend isn't a washout, and I got a grand pre-emptive done in the shape of Hull's Ship Inn, or Whalebone Mk. II as it perhaps should be known!
But for now, let's get bloggin' .....
Grimsby had been a roaring success. Three pubs ticked, although Twitter/X could not quite understand why I wasn't visiting Docks Beers. They even wrote to me themselves. It is quite simple, they aren't in the GBG. Make the 2024 edition, and I'll return by the end of the year, promise. Who could resist another trip to Grimsby anyway?
Still spitting with rain, it was time to take the coastal path and head down to Cleethorpes with Daddy BRAPA and NE Lincs #PubWomanoftheYear2023 Christine Andrew.
We waved at Blundell Park en route, immediately giving me a nagging doubt in my bladder as I remember Brian Laws and his Wembley woes.
I'd had a great Cleethorpes tick-a-thon a few years back, but inevitably, something new had popped up. This was it.
Hmmmm, interesting. That'd be my two word summary of Message in a Bottle, Cleethorpes (2601 / 4496). Semi-outdoor, leafy, flimsy, more bottle shop than bar. Christine sums it up perfectly when she describes it as being akin to the beach bar in 'Death in Paradise'. Yes, I could just see Ralf Little bumbling in, knocking over a chair, complaining about heat stroke, before endearing himself to a nice local policewoman against the odds. I've never watched it, honest. Both casks look forbidding, both are Tiny Rebel, and I get the most forbidding 'Gulp Shake'. Hard to gulp, hard to shake, the 'Juicy' that Dad and Christine buy looked preferable. Every local who arrives has a dog the size of a wolf (apart from the evil looking rat the size of Colin), as if the lack of wiggle room wasn't already an issue! Dad is horrified to learn this place opens all year round, and shivers in January pub solidarity. I appreciate how a fair bit of effort has obviously gone into creating something with their mark on it, the people seemed sound, but I won't be flocking back in my drove.
But careful what you wish for, because it had all been plain sailing up to this point. All required ticks are done. What could possibly go wrong?
Well the bad luck started at the grand Coliseum Picture Theatre, Wetherspoons. Always wanted to tick it pre-emptively since Mummy BRAPA declared it one of her favourite places on earth! But it is absolutely rammed at the bar and the staff can't cope. When I return from the Himalayan style trek to the Gents, Daddy B. is no closer to being served. It seems App orders are taking preference, the swell at the bar isn't moving. At least they aren't trying to queue, we'd be halfway down the street!
Christine decides it best if we grab a glass of water and sit up on the roof terrace. But there's no glasses so we can't even do that. We do head to the roof terrace though, but just to eat our own flan (the highlight!)
So I can't even count it as a tick. Watch it make the 2024 GBG now!
We then get picked up by Colin (not that one) who drives us to the village of Thornton Hunt for a sure-fire pre-emptive (take note fellow tickers), the imaginatevly named Thornton Hunt Inn, with the plan of then dropping us off at Barnetby station for the final train of the day at 4pm - remember, this was a strike day.
But to my horror, as I check train times from the backseat of Colin's car, this last train of the day is now cancelled, and we'll have to re-think a way out of Lincs.
Oh well, at least we've got the pre-emptive to soften the blow, right?
Wrong! Shut til 6pm, says a lady on an intercom system. Damn and blast! Dad expresses surprise, so I ask him to recall Scotton, Messingham, Hainton and the forthcoming Nocton. At least at the Thornton Hunt, I think it is just doing the mid afternoon closure trick (12-3, 6-11).
Next stop Barton, from where we can catch a bus to Hull, to make a train to Donny at about 6pm for the final train back to York an hour of two later. Phew, home seemed a long way away at this stage but at least the always strong White Swan provided a morale booster, although the landlady looked like she'd lost faith with humanity and Colin (not that one) convinced us Brian Laws is a nice man in real life.
Skeptical expressions, and rightly so
It was time to say farewell to Christine and at least one Colin, and hop on a bus to Hull, although we nearly ended up in Scunny which would've been a fatal blow to the morale in so many ways.
Quite a nice bus ride really across the Humber, past what was Boothferry Park, and although my toe is really feeling it by now, time for a pint somewhere.
Dad wants to check out the White Hart, because it is the most likely place to find a pint of his favourite ale ever, the mythical Wolf Bite. But at the bar, we are asked if we are part of 'Millie-Chloe-Olivia-Megan-Ella-Abbie's' big wedding soiree. Do we look like we are? I forget to lie, so we are instructed to leave.
Pubs that shut in their entirety for a private event are the worst in my opinion. And this pub has become increasingly bollocks since its promising re-opening a few years back, so no huge surprise.
Instead we check out Daddy B. 18th birthday in a grass-skirt favourite, the Old Black Boy. A lovely pub, but chaos today, a huge group of deaf people are in. Luckily, only Daddy B. seems to realise there is an upstairs, so we have a choice of two fantastic rooms to ourselves to enjoy our HPA in.
The Donny manoeuvre goes well, and we have 50 mins here to enjoy an even greater classic, the Little Plough where we discover a little side room secreted to the edge of the courtyard which I somehow never realise existed! Again, it is pretty much empty. Great stuff.
The York leg of the journey goes to plan, it is a relief to get home and I could now reflect on what had overall been a successful day, 4 ticks and nice to see Christine and Colin.
I'm not ticking on Monday but I probably should be (though we're getting so close to the 2024 release, I've got that old nagging 'what's the point?' feeling forming in my mind), so join me then as we'll see how lovely the outskirts of Sleaford really are.
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