Wirksworth, Belper and Holbrook DONE. It had been good for starters.
But with the BRAPA eye firmly on the rural prize, it had been just that. Prawn cocktail and melon. Small flute of Freixenet. An aperitif. Soft Pringles. Charades with the grandparents.
Parwich and Kniveton. That was what today was really about. The zero bus route rural nasties. Exactly what Winmarleigh and Dolphinholme had been to Lancs last week.
It also gave me a chance to assert my pub ticking dominance. Like a Grey Silverback in DR Congo. With Parwich in mind, today's chauffeur extraordinaire Rich has spotted Google opening hours of 4pm. He's inclined to disbelieve it, because back in August, he went at 2pm. Summer / Winter hours I'm thinking? Dodgy Whatpub? So I encourage him to take us to Kniveton first instead.
It would prove a wise move, not that I'm patting myself on the back or beating my chest or owt.
Red Lion at Kniveton, Kniveton (2688 / 4849)
Nothing good ever comes of a pub with an @ sign, the place name in the pub name, or the words 'country pub and dining'. Until now. Maybe the slightly scratched sign and grey Peaky stone should've been a clue. This was my totally unexpected gem of the day. The decor was largely 'granny's lounge', flowery, unique and homely. Landlady is a sweetheart. Place smells of Bisto gravy and Pot Pourri. 9/10 carpet. Delightful all round. The dining area is small, and hidden at the far end by the shitters. Good news for Big John. Good news for the drinkers. Rich and Steve are pub tickers of sorts too, not countrywide maniacs like 'some' but strong on Derbys and inferior Notts, and Steve has quite a strong Cornish record. No surprise then, that with a strong GBG selection in this pub, plus our own copies, we are soon having a good luck at the 1992 Guide. The landlord, also a sweetheart, has appeared by now and seems impressed! Loved this place.
4pm meant Parwich time. Rich pulls into this unreasonably potholed carpark and we trot down through the village past all these beautiful stone buildings. A chill wind has whipped up, and I'm regretting leaving my jacket in the car for the first time today.
Royal British Legion, Parwich (2689 / 4850)
Rich knows the drill from his previous visit, and reaches for the guestbook without needing to be asked. They love behaviour like that in clubs, non-members knowing their place, and Rich signs me in as 'BRAPA' which is a nice touch, just so Parwich can look back on the day it had greatness thrust upon it, obvs. This place is in the higher echelons of GBG club life, it groans with a sort of lived-in history, and the Ashover is drinking poetically. A quartet are getting a bit too enthusiastic about the Six Nations. Standing up and singing the Welsh national anthem? I didn't imagine that did I? Although Derbyshire feels very much a northern county in terms of its pubs and general attitude, you do get stuff like Rugby Union and a lack of sparkler on 21% of their ales (BRAPA official stats) which reminds you they're so southern, they're practically French. Top place this.
I'd written out my own agenda based on Rich's for today, and this next leg as we head back to Derby reads "pray for Si's bladder".
And so it proved, first Steve needs a wee stop, then I do. Rich pulls into a pub car park, I think it was called the Rose & Crown but no idea where it was. Proper exciting free-for-all, easy to sneak into the gents unnoticed. A bloke at the sink is complaining cos a drunk guy has drawn on his neck in black biro and he's having to wash it off! I sympathise. A couple of other mad things happen too which I can't remember, and I return to the car telling them 'my two minutes in there had more BRAPA material than the rest of today put together!'
Today's sixth and final pub was almost as important to me as Kniveton and Parwich, having failed at it due to drunkenness back on 2nd December last year. Andy the London Ram had dropped me off, I'd gone in, ordered a gorgeous Black Iris, but with the room spinning, I stagger out, and flag down a bus back to Derby station! Today, I knew where I was.
No. 189, Allestree, Derby (2690 / 4851)
The entrance was (reassuringly for me, as I thought it was just part of my drunkenness back then) just as obscure and flimsy as I recalled, note above it means that Steve can't even work out how to face the camera! It is like an emergency fire door built into the back of a Covid-era marquee which then leads to a slightly warmer solid area where the bar is. Very spartan interior, not for me Clive, probably more one for the beer lover. Having said that, a few people were in today (I was only customer on drunken day) and the place feels warmer, almost thrumming. And in an unreleased BRAPA memoir due out next Christmas, I thought I might've lost my GBG here last time, so contacted pub owner AJ , who despite not being on-site- offers immaculate service. The ale is immaculate today too, I'd been mauled by 'The Panther' - a 4.2% Oatmeal Stout, the natural successor to my failed Black Iris.
Spondon is briefly mooted, but I think it would've been a step too far so I say farewell to the lads and thanks for an excellent day, and pop across the road at the station to The Victoria, which has been receiving good reviews in the pub tickers WhatsApp group, and you can see why.
Full write up if and when it makes a Guide.
Join me tomorrow night, as we take a trip to Blackpool with a panda, like you do.
Thanks for reading, Si
Comments