BRAPA .... MUDGIE TRIBUTE / WALKING IN THE AYR / TROON UNDER WATER (Glasgow & Ayrshire Part 5/6)

I want to start this blog with the sad news I learned yesterday evening that Peter 'Pub Curmudgeon' Edwardson has died. I'm so pleased that I met this talismanic #PubMan on three occasions.

The first being on 31st March 2018 in one of those 'Sizzling' pubs at Culcheth (Cherry Tree). He'd kindly DM'd me whilst I was in Daresbury's Ring O' Bells offering to drive me to other required ticks at Golborne (Queen Anne) and Lowton (Travellers Rest).

Mudgie wields the green Stabilo on his first BRAPA tick, down in Culcheth

'Peter, what you drinking?' I asked him, having noticed a Mudgie shaped figure silhouetted close to the bar. "Half a Tetley's of course" he replies. His first words spoken (to me I mean, not straight out of the womb .... they were actually "Half a Greenall's" he'd later comment on my blog!)

In the car, he had some exciting 70's music on, the likes of which I'd never heard before. 'Tattooed Lady' by Rory Gallagher. The most seventies thing I've EVER heard. Astonishing. Mudgie seemed quite tickled by my reaction.

"Everyone reaches a certain age where they learn to appreciate ABBA" was a musical pearl of wisdom he shared with me that day which I always remember, especially as Daddy BRAPA had done just that!

The second time I met him was October the following year as part of a large group crawl of Stockport when I needed five ticks there. So many pub twitter legends were there that day. Mudgie had a bad cold, so didn't join us from the very beginning, but manfully lasted the pace for the late fuzzy joy of the Blossoms 'Old Tom' finale.

Mudgie wows Quosh in the Hope at Stockport by during a CAMRA mag signing session

Each year, Mudgie would kindly post the majority of his 50p off CAMRA Spoons vouchers, saying that as a pub ticker, my need was greater than his, and they quickly became known as 'Mudgie Vouchers' so that I could distinguish when I was using his instead of mine. He'd often include a brief note, and had such lovely handwriting, reminded me of my Grandma's, people just don't have that style anymore. A great blogger too, he had a really clear articulate way with the written word.

The final time I met him was a boiling hot day in the summer of 2022, he gave me the heads up that his local 'The Nursery' had every chance of returning the Good Beer Guide in September so would make a good pre-emptive for me.

I'd been pubbing with Daddy 'Bernard' BRAPA and Tom 'ClagMonster' Irvin around the sweltering South Manc corridor. We arrive first, Mudgie shuffles in, I made the introductions at the bar, and without breaking his stride, he says "Yes Bernard, I'll have a pint of the Hopster'. Maybe you had to be there but it was so funny, we still mention it all the time.

"What did you think of the beer?" he asks me later on. I'm happy to report it is the finest quality ale of the day. 'He'll love that of his local', I think. But no, he tells me he didn't really rate it, and that gets me thinking 'well, my tastebuds probably deceive me, Mudgie will be right, Mudgie KNOWS these things'.

Cheer up lads, this is BRAPA!

It all makes me think isn't life so fragile and fleeting? It was only Thursday that he retweeted my Black Boy at Bricket Wood post. He knew a good boozer when he saw it.

And where's the new pub generation coming through? Twentysomethings who'll sink six pints of 'boring' brown bitter whilst admiring the 17th century fireplace and stroking the pub cat?

So, a minutes applause on the referee's first whistle, giant roar on referee's second whistle 'C'MONNNN GRAAARR' RIP Mudgie, you will be missed.

Thursday 23rd October 2025

I was REALLY enjoying my new breakfast routine, the one change from yesterday being that I'd added some blueberries into the mix to further create the illusion of a healthy BRAP. Were they Scottish? Or do they only do raspberries? And quite frankly, who cares?

Just the four ticks to go in Greater Glasgow & the Clyde Valley as #ThirstyThursday commenced. Two of which I wasn't 'allowed' to do until tonight because two Glasgow based work colleagues wanted to meet me after 4pm. Little did I know at this point that it was European football night in the city.

So firstly, it was down to Central station for a train over to Ayrshire, where I had four ticks (two apiece in Ayr and Troon) to get myself warmed up. Thankfully all open 12 or earlier, and that's one of my favourite things about Scottish pubs - generous hours.

Ayr was looking more down-at-heel than I'd remembered it in June 2016 when I stayed a few nights here at a dodgy B&B which (a) nicked my trousers (b) told me off for having my TV on too loud at night and (c) insisted we debate Scottish independence at breakfast. Reasons why I always go for self-catering or hotels in more recent times!

The trouser nicking incident followed the main lady telling me on arrival that they love donating clothes to charity(!) so it wasn't even sly.

Dangerous Ayr-ite druggies shuffle between bedsits and corner shops, an icy wind whipping up mini cyclones of litter. Yes, despite the brilliant blue sunshine, it was quite grim.

So I felt like a sanctuary seeker when I arrived at the impressive former church West Kirk, Ayr (3099 / 5940) and what an unusually serene atmosphere emanates from its majesty. I knew walking straight past it nine years ago was a mistake, and every GBG which has included it since has reminded me of that, but now I'm here, it didn't seem to matter. 'Spoons East Yorkshire fave Jem Stout, is on fine form, though my Mudgie voucher is declined. In fact, it was back in Prestwick 'Spoons in 2016 that I was first denied use of a voucher. "A west Scotland' thing", I was vaguely told by a passing bloke. Licensing laws, suggested Mudgie. She does lend me a biro "as long as you return it!" I wasn't getting owt for nowt in 'ere was I? We had some decent cold weather chat. I'd chosen to sit on the wonkiest floorboard in the place (Trap Door?), and although fellow customer's seemed sparse, 'Berks' start approaching from all angles, and I got so annoyed by the constant creaking from under me, I moved up to the pulpit. Then I returned the biro to a barman and told him to make sure the barmaid got it, because I didn't want any strife! The carpet was a Motherwell-busting 8/10.

My other required Ayr tick was a noon opener, not open 12:01pm so I stood in a bus shelter so that I didn't look desperate .... well, until a bus turns up, looks at me enquiringly, so I try to sign 'no thanks, I'm waiting for pub to open' but honestly, a game of charades would've been easier.

12:03pm, and I'm delighted to hear that happy rattle of a pub door unlocking, so I don't have to use the piss bucket they've considerately left outside ......

Despite being very much a music venue, Twa Dugs, Ayr (3100 / 5941) has a great deal more pubbub going on than the West Kilbride pub of the same name yesterday. 'Fun' fact .... these were the only two pubs I went to all week which had their own branded beermats, must be a Twa Dugs thing. Landlady doesn't seem in the mood for my inane weather chatter, until a whisky local arrives to chat prostates and fruit machines. Just the one handpump, Lost in Mosaic by Loch Lomond, which is up there with London's Portobello, Sambrook and Redemption for beers I almost 'expect' to find poorly kept. This one is okay. Flowery fluff, but half decent condition. Paul McCartney and Annie Lennox alternate music video hits as I sit on a curved green leather bench. Decent, but I'm pretty sure it is an 'evening' sort of place if you wanna see it at its best.

Five pubs I'd done in Ayr in 2016, one even gave me a free half for being a pub ticker!

It was off to Troon for two pubs there. I'd done two previously (Bruce's Well and McKay's - my 933rd and 934th ticks) but nine years on, it was all change.

Walk to the first was too long, bladder killing me ....

Well the red frontage had me encouraged, even if it did clash with that evil big red T. Harbour Bar, Troon (3101 / 5942) also had an extremely attractive right hand side, a nautical bench seat lovers dream .... though I initially turned left which was a restaurant in disguise. My main gripe however, and it is a total deal breaker, was just how bloody unfriendly the staff were, it felt like they were actually putting energy into making me feel as unwelcome as possible. Even when I ask for the WiFi password (I was sort of testing them my this stage), "chickenwings ..... all one word, all lower case" is delivered with such lugubriousness, it was laughable. The Tim Taylor Landlord is in good nick, but it tasted rather too bitter in the circs. Oh, and not enough heating either. The cheerful 'goodbye' on the way out was too little, too late, especially as the dining couple with the spaniel next to me had a semi-pleasant welcome.

And following this, I'm fearing the worst as my other Troon tick has an outlook which suggests nightclub, den of iniquity and prison all rolled into one ......

So imagine my surprise, no, relief, when I gingerly wander in to find Number Forty-Seven, Troon (3102 / 5943) to be everything that the Harbour Bar wasn't. Good temperature, and a warm welcome from our wee baldie man behind the bar. Ok, so the pub theme is very much 'sports bar', TV's are everywhere, and I'm right about the nightclub, it becomes one later on and often opens til 4am. Woop woop! Just me and a few gnarly old guys at this time though - and the Five Kingdoms drinks well, as you never heard me say in Dumfries #NeverForget Someone loses a wallet, I watch a bit of snooker, as I actually am doing as I write this - Selby v Trump, is it gonna go to a final frame decider? You'll know by the time you read this.

Back to Glasgow it was, but what had I let myself in for? A bouncer on the door of a rammed Crystal Palace (3103 / 5944). Owlie McBurnie wasn't expecting a cavity search this early in his mascot career. I mean, how do you even fist an owl? Ask Chansiri. THANKS!

A quick check of 'FlashScores' tells me the awful truth. Celtic are at home to Sturm Graz and Rangers are in Norway at Brann so the other half of the city will be watching that on the screens. Service is swift and efficient in the circs though I congratulate myself for my movement off the ball, running between the channels. The police are in ruining what atmosphere there is, some lads are having a flag confiscated by the looks of it, but the Edinburgh Black drinks well, the carpet is a strong 8.5, a Celt doesn't like my suggestion of a reformation of the Anglo-Scottish cup .... my point is Hull City would gub most Scottish teams. And when he leaves to find his girlfriend who is struggling to get served, a nervous looking Austrian perches next to me and tells me he's really feeling relaxed about everything, even though I hadn't asked.

My work colleagues weren't far off, so it was time to get to a 'Spoons that was dropped from the GBG this year but I know where I'd rather be ....

Yes, to my extreme relief, which was becoming a bit of a theme today, Society Room, Glasgow was hardly footbally at all, and certainly didn't have police or bouncers swilling around. Jaipur or Old Peculiar? Decisions decisions. I quickly neck two packets of Scampi Fries I'd bought in the station to line my stomach, just when Ailsa and Shannon arrive so not the perfect timing. End up having a pint of each because of course, I can't say 'I'm on a strict 25 minute rule' when I'm being sociable. Again the carpet is a winner, a spirally 8, and the beer is good. Though the barmaid thinks my 'could you have half a Jaipur and half an OP in the same glass and give it a funny name?' is a step too far. Despite supporting teams like Sheff Wed, Aberdeen, Liverpool and Celtic between them, the lasses are great company. and when they decide to leave, I wonder if despite feeling rather very very drunk, a late bonus tick is achievable?

I even briefly return to my ApartHotel to wash my face and compose myself before the final push!

What a shame sobriety was eluding me this evening because Scotia Bar, Glasgow (3104 / 5944) was possibly the last of the city centres 'classics' which I had left to do. A 6% beer wasn't wise at this stage, but with Hallowe'en a mere eight days away, a pumpkin stout called Jock Pumpkinhead was always going to be a winner. I even voice my concerns to the barmaid who assures me "you'll be right!" There's a cracking pubbub, sparky and ballsy, yet 'mature' and demure. Low lit, dark wood, low suffocating beams smothering you like a mercy killing, it was truly the perfect 'end of night' pub and not the merest hint of European football. I'd be hungover on my final morning, I knew that, but the Greater Glasgow & Clyde Valley finishing line was in sight!

And I'll tell you about my final day later this week maybe Thursday when I've recovered from the last episode of Neighbours because dice night is tmw and Wrexham at home on Wednesday.

Keep it pub, it's what Mudgie would've wanted!

Si