BRAPA .... OXFORDSHIRE COUNTDOWN (PART 4 of 5, PUBS 13-7)
Seven more pubs. All decent or actually good. Let's get straight into it .......
Crafty Pint, Witney
Despite its atrocious frontage which serves as a reminder of how dreadful outdoor pubbing was April 2021, this was a decent micropub. Not spectacular, but Witney is easily the best town I visited this week. More human and less antiseptic than the likes of Wantage and Abingdon (and Oxford itself), I'm hoping the westerly location bodes well for Gloucs and Cotswolds welcoming me with open arms .... we'll see! Our landlady is chatty in a way that suggests she's been wired up to electrodes, more commonly seen in Rutland / Northants, and admires Colin with a modicum of affection. The pub has a cauli-esque green & cream colour scheme which helps him to blend in. The Spaniel beer positively purrs (woofs?). The pub temperature is surprisingly warm, and it comes in at 65% on the BRAPA pub comfort scale. Only criticism is how suspiciously the locals eye me, Witney might be rugged but struggles to embrace strangers in my brief experience.
George, Sutton Courtenay
A dose of imposter syndrome as my windswept form shambles its way into this impossibly posh but top quality ancient inn on the blackest of nights. Before I'd even entered the pub, a young lady in neon jodhpurs walking a sort of horse-dog returns my northern smile with the most sickened expression of the week. Sutton Courtenay is for villagers and celebs only, not 'pub tickers'. Ugh, darling. Tim Burton probably took inspiration for 'Nightmare Before Christmas' when he lived here with Helena Bonham-Carter. George Orwell is buried in the graveyard. 1984 was an optimistic spin on life in Sutton C. HH Asquith is here too somewhere. The locals breathe again under the low beams and candlelit flickers once I've taken my pint to a posing table, and resume their chat, studiously ignoring my presence despite the awkward proximity. Dreadlock guy with hidden Rolex reveals he's moving house, causing the others to politely feign knowledge of his life and circumstances. Of course in SC, no one cares about their fellow man/woman. A grubby business. The epitome of the tinkly pub chatter comes when Pater reveals he's taking Jasper & Matilda out of school for a week of skiing in Val d'Isere. "They've never seen snow before, and might not get many more opportunities" he claims, leading to a doom laden climate change discussion. A trip to the loos is "fun" .... outside, across a courtyard, pick a door, any door, and good luck remembering how to get back into the pub! An interesting experience but you couldn't deny the quality.
Royal Oak, Wantage
Good things come to those who wait, and that was so nearly true of this 5pm opener. The pub Wantage needs, and deserves, my final tick in the town. Alas fate had already decreed it wasn't to be a happy BRAPA stomping ground as I turn left into the empty room (the right side was full of locals & hi-vissers). But the carpet, table fussball and general worn homely feel were things I'd not been able to take for granted in Oxon and it was so great to be in an 'old skooler'. Sadly, my guest porter, from Indigenous, is vinegary. My third and final beer return of the week. It doesn't get any easier. "Well, I don't agree ..... but I'll replace it if you want!" replies our veteran publican, without so much as a sniff or taste himself. Or much right of reply, because despite his limp, he moves at a rapid pace to an unseen back area to replace it for a (very good) Wadworth 6X. And then he returns to the locals side for a chinwag (probably slagging me off "bloody northerners and their need for drinkable real ale!"), and I don't see anyone again. And THIS was the nicest of my three 'returning bad beer moments'!!
Masons Arms, Headington, Oxford
"Oooh yes I'm loving the look of this one!" I enthuse to Mr Taxi Driver (I'd cheated because I'd got stranded in the Moreton's earlier and time was getting away from me .... but this was the night I was to complete Oxford, and nothing would stop me, so there). He looks at me like "how can anyone get excited by a pub?" No tip for you, sonny Jim! But the approach was great, little dip in the twisty lane, autumn leaves swirling about, pub lantern glowing like a lighthouse beacon. No surprise to enter to a shaggy red carpet, locals lining the perimeter like a curry in a beer ticker's gut. No seats free. An ageing crowd, but a spirited one. A large sleeping dog is laying at a funny angle near the loo, requiring some concentration, and a man with one tooth wants a game of darts. I hate sitting at the bar, but there was nowhere else. At least the barmaid is pleasant, even if Colin has been replaced by the pubs own mascot, some simpleton dog figurine. But here's the real reason it finishes as low as 10th ..... the section of the bar I was sat at was reserved for the 'beer club' arriving in 20 mins!! Barmaid feels bad for my lack of options, so keeps me updated as I read the local CAMRA mag. 7:30pm ticks around, still no sign of them. "Looking good for me so far" I say glancing around nervously. "They are all old men who walk very slowly up the 'ill to get 'ere so they're often late" explains barmaid, and by 7:35pm, I've finished my pint just as they are arriving, none the wiser. Perfectly timed departure.
Fleur de Lys, East Hagbourne
Didcot is a surprisingly GBG-less town for one so large and interchangey. But at least I could walk from the station to this cute village without too much effort. I'm sitting on the wall waiting for the early opening, buoyed by the sight of a bearded flat cap wellied dog wielding hero doing the same. Until he gets impatient and marches off in t'other direction! Time to take matters into my own hands and I find a back door ajar. "We're breaking into a shut pub ain't we Col?" I mutter to my mascot. But I'm astonished to find a few locals propping up the bar, half way down pints, music on, pub in full swing. And what a pub! Very un-South Oxon and by that I mean red leather bench seating, dog bed under dartboard, and just generally good pub feels. Interesting spicy beer is well kept too. And our bearded flat cap wellied dog wielding hero returns, such a stoic chap, pulls out a historical crime novel, he looks the sort, and reads it til his fish and chips arrive. What a guy.
Angel, Witney
A one-off pub style which had not been witnessed all week provided me with fresh hope for when I return to Oxon in 2025 .... the rowdy community boozer. It was here I decided Witney was my new favourite town in the county. More like the kinda place you'd find in the mean backstreets of Blackpool on an August Bank Holiday weekend. It was early. It was a weekday. But the pub was sozzled to the gills. The ancient gnarly tatty bar blockers are mean & moody - in fact one Gandalfian chap complains when I'm served before him. He was assuming he'd get priority being a local. She tells him to simmer down. I smirk inwardly. This pub represents 50% of my Oxfordshire ticking completed, so I could afford a smirk. The Hull for 'smoke' is 'smirk', and the pub has a heady vintage mix of tobacco and Grannies perfume (peak animal testing era). A small oblong dog causes a blockage for anyone walking towards the back. But everyone gives its ears a jovial ruffle. Even me, though I did originally mistake it for a cat. People are eating, but it is all surf n turf, meat n two veg fare. A man jumps up, does a hip jjggle in my eyeline, and asks if I'm ok. "Yes, are you?" "Ohhhhh yes!" (Groans in ecstasy) I look away. It is that type of pub. Tetley's, Hobgoblin, Brakspear - even the ales are old skool. Probably the last place in the UK to sell Mansfield Riding on cask. Don't @ me. More of this kinda pub please Oxon in my second 50%, it made me feel alive.
Lady eats houseplant for added roughage
King's Arms, Kidlington
Ducks on a thatched roof, you could predict it'd be a good pub and it was. Landlord with the gravelly Sean Dyche / Angie Postologolu voice is uncompromising friendliness personified. The pub glows a nicotine sepia, like the insides of a dead dudes lungs. The carpet has these shooting vertical lines leading to a pub branded dartboard. A little jar on the bar is full of pennies, allowing you to take one - a reference to the recent budget. Topical bantz! Completing this quality experience is a contender for beer of the week - a vanilla stout from Disruption. Best thing to come out of Camberley since my late night poo in the Claude du Vall Wetherspoons during Covid. A fine village boozer this, pleased for Daddy BRAPA as much as myself who'd had to suffer some pretty average dining dross for the majority of our Tuesday car trip. All that remained was for Colin to get the Mini Cheddars in. Good lad.
Final part coming up tomorrow! Betcha well excited.
We're seeing an upturn in pub quality now, I'd be happy to return to any of these. Proof that Oxfordshire can deliver when it matters.
Comments