Saturday 1st March 2025
The thing about Chesham is that there's only one way out, back into London on a Met Tube train. You could catch a bus to High Wycombe, but if you've ever been to High Wycombe, you'd understand why I didn't want that.
I'm a bit upset, I can't lie. 2024/25 was supposed to be the year I made up my Bucks deficit. Down around the 50% completion mark having been 100% complete way back on 10th March 2018 in Marlow Bottom's hopelessly irritating Three Horseshoes.
Progress this season has been painfully slow. Dad drove me to Worminghall. I snuck in Iver at Christmastime. But today's Chesham trio are all else I have to shout about.
Before we reach London, a bit more A.H.S. (Accidental Hertfordshire Slippage) following on from my recent A.H.S. in Bishop's Stortford.
Drinking in a shop isn't my favourite sort of BRAPA experience, but (altogether now) 'I'll get over it, I know I will, I'll pretend my ship's not sinking, and I'll tell myself, when ticking you, that I'm the king of Wishful Drinking', Rickmansworth (2991 / 5476). Thanks, that was heartfelt. Main guy is chirpy, I ask if they do cask. They do. A hazy Vibrant Forest. Aren't they all? Try before you buy? No, I'm brave. And besides, what am I gonna do if I hate it? Order a £10 keg thing? Yeh nah. I retire to an uncomfy high up wooden seat facing the door, and sup. And for most people, that'd be it. Drink, fiddle with your phone, maybe admire their cans n bottles from afar, and leave. But oh no, this is BRAPA. It can't be normal. Ever. A dude in sunglasses enters, comedy shiver, slagging off British weather, American accent. Asks if he can sit with me once he's bought a drink. I say fine. 'Grant Williams, Bermuda, former Columbia Records moozik prodoocer' he tells me sitting down. I like the transparency, too many shady anonymous folk in this game. After exhausting my Bermudan knowledge (Shaun Goater, the Triangle) it becomes clear that his incredibly laid back Caribbean nature has him struggling to comprehend why anyone would undertake a hobby like BRAPA. I even hurt his brain by quickly flipping from one convo topic to the next, he can't cope. At one point, we need a wee at the same time but he tells me he'll go first. "I wouldn't want to scare you .... it is true what they say about black men!" he chuckles. Errrm, okay then Grant mate. After telling me Lionel Richie is the nicest person he met in the music industry, my dancing on the ceiling joke falls flat, and I tell him I must be pushing on, even though he finds it baffling why I'd want to catch a Tube at a set time to take me somewhere else!
There was one further useful stop off point on the Met line back into London and that was summat random called Northwood Hills, which then involved a short trek to pub five .....
I had high hopes for the Woodman, Eastcote Village (2992 / 5477), what with it not being a 'Spoons or a shop or a Micro. It had a bit of age, a decent guest in 'Rat in the Hat' (more the kind of thing I'd expect to find in my 'local' at York's Fox). But it is a frustrating place to be. Some of the walls and furnishings are a charcoal grey with a zoomie nightclub patterning that mirrors the storm clouds brewing outside. The bar area is more wood panelled , giving a close knit feel, but only in a 'your solicitor will call you through in a minute' kinda way. Speaking of which, BRAPA's favourite legal eagle follower Jen the barrister was in a side room by the fire - shame I never saw her as I'm sure BRAPA will need legal representation at some point in my pub ticking life (remember that landlord in Wilts who reckoned me taking photos of his pub was illegal? The massive dork). A bloke who doesn't really know what beer is asks staff for a recommendation. Madri! Should it surprise me in here? Probably not.
Colin might've been feeling the pace but I was determined to get a sixth tick done, a combination of walk, bus and possibly another Tube (I'd done really well for time so far) ......
Greenwood Hotel, Northolt (2993 / 5478) was a positive note on which to end. A Wetherspoons (you might call it 'Spoons, my friends insist on 'Wethers') but not in the 'traditional' sense, as it is more traditional than that! A 1930's former Courage house, an all encompassing beauty. Such curvature. Such nice leaded windows. Very art deco. Old boys in hi-vis on the fruit machines give it a 1980's feel in parts. Where on earth are the gents? Not up twenty flights of steps, but I still have to walk a mile to this club-style room towards the back of the pub. Feels like it should've had a snooker table. I was really feeling that 2pm ESB by now, but the Naked Ladies drank well (the other option was Death or Glory by Tring, a beer that scares me though I did manage it once in some rural North Bucks outpost). Suddenly time didn't seem quite so on my side, so in overpriced second taxi cheat takes back to Harrow-on-the-Hill station, from where King's Cross was very reachable.
Back in King's Cross, I wondered if ESB might actually be off like last time I was down here, to save me from myself. But it wasn't, and I have no willpower, so ......
Then back in York, as if I hadn't had enough, I decide the York Tap is a good idea .....
Then I go for this giant KFC bucket I've never had before, and notice a random car parked in MY space so decide to stick an angry sticker on the windscreen before I sit down with my food, but in all this rushing around combined with too much ale, I stub my toe and next morning it is proper swollen up, and two weeks on it is still painful.
But don't feel too bad for me, it had been an epic day and six more ticks to the good as we march towards the magic 3,000.
Join me on Sunday so I can tell you why Malvern is amazing when the sun shines.
Si
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