BRAPA .... PEOPLE IN GLASSHOUGHTON SHOULDN'T DRINK STONES (West Yorkshire Completion)
Fully green map! A lovely sight to alleviate the pain I felt from the #CruelChurn which I don't like to talk about.
But by gum, considering I've completed West Yorkshire every year since 2016, I've rarely worked harder for mop-up completion this time.
With just two days left before my Norwich/London Autumn holiday, I had FOUR ticks left, sounds easy but I was working, opening hours were tough, and they were evilly spread out. But I was a man on a mission. I needed this win.
Starting on the Thursday, Ivor Panda, fresh from a brilliant spell of goalkeeping in the first 5 minutes at QPR two day previous, joined me and some Serious Pig for some serious ticking.
A long bus ride from L**ds (a city I'll be glad to see the back of after the past month) took me south of Bradford to Cleckheaton which had wowed me eight years previous with the Rose & Crown.
Today, a ten minute hilly walk takes me to a sinister courtyard resembling that one in Whitechapel where Jack the Ripper had his double event special night ......
But with a twinkly fairy lit brewery tap ruining the sinister tone. One minute before their 5pm opening, I push the door open at the Mill Valley Brewery Tap, Cleckheaton (2718 / 5204) and despite the deafening din of Eurythmics (the GBG may as well have put Annie Lennox's face on the front of the GBG this year, they've obviously got a deal going), a perky young barman serves me something black, room temperature & delicious, assures me they DO get busier than this, and I spin round to see that most delightful of brewery tap aesthetics, i.e. one they've spent money on to try and make it look like a homely pub. And they'd possibly been to the Star at Wenhaston for research purposes. That or Bourne in South Lincs, but surely no one would be that foolhardy. So many don't bother, rather creating a beer forwards metal cold hard benched industrial kitchenette style environment which a surprising number of people seem to enjoy. I'm always full of hyperbole for those that buck the trend. Not saying it was perfect, and a bit of low key Glenn Miller or Benny Goodman would've helped hugely. The volume only gets turned down when a local dude comes in and the barman realises he can't hear him despite being 2cm away. I book an Uber, cos if I can make up time now, I might sneak a late third in tonight .....
Haroon turns out to 'BRAPA Uber Driver of the Year'. Talk about switched on to the technicalities of my quest without being a #PubMan himself. Within five minutes, he's asking pertinent questions like "So this guy you know who has completed the book before, is he now filling in the gaps from the new one?" "Haha, good question, he tells me he's a lot more relaxed about it now, but when I see him popping up on TwXtter in a random village in rural Lincs on a damp Tuesday lunchtime, I sometimes wonder!" Oh, how we chuckled on that road into Bradford. Sorry Martin.
Bradford is a mess (more than usual) of closed roads and blockades as they prepare for the City of Culture celebrations. I remember Hull having the same issues a few years back. So I have to leap across a dangerous road for this one ......
Mobility scooters never lie. Five zillion trips to Bradford, and I'd never heard of this dyed-in-the-wool classic which surely can't always have been this good ale-wise. Introudcing the Lord Clyde, Bradford (2719 / 5205), definitely taking Daddy BRAPA here when we play them in League One next season. Not even 6pm but the pissed up Saturday night din would've terrified the stripling BRAPA. Young lads, gather around the pool table, whoop & wail, and that is just during the game of rock, paper, scissors to see who gets to break off! An old lady says 'ey up' and serves me from t' most Yorkshire beer range ever - Tetley's, Stancil, Knackers Yard, Trouser Ferret, Big Headed Bitter, you name it, they had it. I sit in the lounge with the old lads, best place for me, Ivor was too scared to leave his bag for more than two minutes (Colin would've been braver). Plasma Bantams glare back at me, modelling the away shirt, most notably Richie Smallwood. Oh dear. Someone tells a filthy anecdote about picking up a cigarette butt. You had to be there. And I'm glad I was.
Train back to L**ds and despite a nervous wait for a platform to become available, we make it and I have 3 minutes to race across the bridge to Platform 17A. Thankfully this train is delayed too and people are still waiting to get on. Third tick is on. Dream still alive.
Never been to Glasshoughton before but I've been saving up this blog title for years, in the same way I did with "If you Tolerate Diss, then your children will drink Becks".
Ah, Xscape! So this is where it is. Everyone from work wangs on about that like it is the best day out in Christendom. Had a fairground, 'Spoons, errm, I mean what more do you need? Bit of a longer walk to the pub then I'd have linked, considering time of night & trains, but I strode a good stride ....
Absolute GBG pub desert is this part of the world, so I'm delighted to see George V WMC, Glasshoughton (2720 / 5206) make the cut, a random entry but one which really sums up my positive experience of the 2025 Guide to date. Despite the open main door, I have to be buzzed in, and gently call in my poshest voice "I'm a CAMRA member here for a pint if that is quite alright?" which wasn't very Glasshoughtony of me. Third time lucky, and I'm in. Great barmaid. "I thought I was releasing the door for you, not sure why it didn't work!" she says. I explain that if she'd watched a BRAPA highlights reel of me entering clubs 2014-2024, she'd realise it was all my fault. A couple of sturdy short-crust pastry blokes appreciate my honesty and nod stodgily. Two ales on, the Silver King is impeccable. "You here for the football?" barmaid asks. I confess, no I'm just an innocent GBG ticking man. I head to the back corner. "You here for the football, sorry mate?!" cry two ladz with Maguire sized slabheads blocking the screen. I tell them I'm not, so it doesn't matter. "Is this shitbags corner?" inquires a hurdy-gurdy lump of sirloin fast approaching. I don't know how to reply but a tropical shirted man with excitable eyelids confesses it is. Ah, the Man Utd watching corner. Suddenly makes sense. "Shitbags are we, ole, ole, ole ole (gunnar solksjaer)" I chant under my breath. Someone scores. And then it is time to dash to the station. Great place.
I make the train back to York via L**ds though had I missed it, it wouldn't have been a disaster because that Xscape 'Spoons looked mighty pre-emptive.
Fast forward 24 hrs to the Friday night, 12 hours before my 5am alarm sounded for Norwich away, and I'm down to one pub in West Yorkshire.
Via Harrogate this time (no ticking year is complete without a visit), a bus to Wetherby, and a walk even further than Glasshoughton up to an industrial unit tucked away at the top of town.
Wave to the friendly couple with 3 kids in the window at Bosun Brewery Tap, Wetherby (2721 / 5207) because they've certainly seen you! Very friendly, very possibly drunk, ain't it reassuring to see a young couple refusing to go all boring, old and sensible just because they are parents? He acts like he knows me, I wonder if he's a BRAPA follower, she thinks I'm a regular, but when I explain why I'm here, she shrieks in a thrilled way which reverberates like buggery around this wide tinny Fray Bentosser of a brewery tap. Phew, what an intro! Best get a drink. A kind man with a colourfully tattooed skull serves me something black and gorgeous. I figure that I must return to my new found fwends, but they are MIA for the next 22 minutes, whether it be chatting at bar, smoking outside, or dancing around the centre! I think I've become unwitting childminder to the bairns, though their headphones are in, screens on, engrossed in whatever kids look at these days - Peppa Pig, re-runs of Knightmare, or the darts from Leicester. One of the three. I even take Ivor Panda out from my bag for a quick photo, but I can only imagine the drunken shriek if he got spotted so I bung him straight back in! Hasty celebratory highlighting (I even do a little fist clench!), even quicker wee, nervous wave from the door, another wave from carpark, and that was West Yorkshire done! Out with a bang.
"Quick Ivor, 10 second window of opportunity!"
Back home for 8ish, bit of tea, pyjamas on, in bed for 10pm, all set for a VERY early start to Norwich in the morning, which I hope to tell you about Friday but Sunday/Monday might be more likely now.
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