BRAPA : QUISH, QUASH, QUOSH - THAT'S HOW TO COMPLETE GREATER MANCHESTER

My fifth county completion of the 2024 GBG took me to the east side of GMR on a grey, breezy Wednesday afternoon, and deary me, Hyde wasn't exactly a picture of beauty on my last trip in 2018 but felt even more down at heel today. Like if Harold Shipman : the 2024 reboot turned up and injected the town, it would have to be viewed as a mercy killing.

At 3:50pm, I'm loitering halfway down the street from the pub, and I see an old lady breaking in and I'm thinking 'Call the cops!' (in a Happy Mondays kinda way) but soon some fairy lights are switched on and the roller front bit whirs upwards. I'll always commend a pub (particularly a micro) which opens before time to get prepared, so they aren't rushing around like headless chickens when the first customer arrives, tutting like you are pressuring / inconveniencing them.

Live footage of a pub opening

I soon see mi old mate Alex Quosh walking down the road, he's driven post-haste from work in L**ds to join me, and he's brought another ole' BRAPA favourite in Chris Moran. Last time I ticked together with these two was August 2019 towards the end of what is now dubbed 'The Summer of BRAPA Madness' where I kept getting myself into trouble at every twist and turn!

Still only 3:55pm but the lovely landlady who it was now clear, is definitely not a burglar, is only happy to serve us at Jack's Bar, Hyde (2830 / 4990) - her and the rosy cheeked Santa Claus customer are a timely reminder that the roughest towns often have the friendliest folk. The decor is remarkably 'unpubby' but according to Quosh, an improvement on its former Tweed Tap self which I never got to. Rather grey, but at least some plush bench seating and decent warmth, which when you hit 45 yrs old, is of increasing importance. Not sure anyone in their twenties reads my blog, but if you do young striplings, mark my words, your time will come, eckie thump, now shut tha' door! Were you born in a barn? Quosh, the deep thinker he is, poses us a philosophical question - the difference between a promise and a commitment. Conclusion - commitment long term (i.e. completing the GBG before I die), promise short term (I promise I'll get GMR finished today). Is it bad I can only think in GBG terms? Great pint of Wishbone. Not a bad start.

Right Col, concentrate, you are supposed to be monitoring

Quosh has his car to speed us up, great news. Not the same sporty red convertible Ferrari hatchback he had last time out (which he assures me was a figment of my imagination), and he turns 'Guided by Voices' up to a haunting thrum, and soon we are in Ashton-under Lyne.

My first time here since 2017 and I don't wanna sound like a broken record but bugger me, Hyde suddenly looks like prime Stamford in bed with Tombland, Norwich by comparison.

Chris has just finished telling us about his holiday booking woes as we reach the bar. Quosh says 'ow do' to a baldie he recognises (of course he does, Quosh knows about 88% of people who live in Greater Manchester) and there's a decent gaggle of blokes in early doors. Tapsters, Ashton-under-Lyne (2831 / 4991) again is a tidy little bastard, though less soft and warm than Jack's Bar. Didn't enjoy my beer particularly either. You can't normally go wrong with a 'Citra' but this one from Bridge in Stalybridge just didn't cut the mustard for me. Also sensed the pub was lacking identity - 'music' was the obvious theme, but with no evidence of live bands, it all seemed a bit half baked. To add to my disconcertion, the pub smells of ghost trains! I mean, the bit when you go through the door and are first plunged into darkness. Bridlington 1989 if you want an exact vintage. Quosh looks into space, hoping his celeb crush Angela Rayner will bound in at any moment. He then tells me he can't see BRAPA needing an Ashton return for a number of years (can't say I was devvo by the news) - which is interesting cos a guy later messages me on twXtter to say I've missed out Ashton's two best 'pubs', and I've done neither!

Time to get out to the outskirts of Ashton for tick three, but not before Quosh points at a takeaway we parked near and recounts a chilling tale of a policeman stabbing incident which went to Crown Court.

He tells us sorry to bring the mood down, but my best Louis Theroux / Stacey Dooley impersonation probably doesn't help "... so tell me Alex, how confronting is it for you to be back at the scene again after all these years?" He cheers us up with a bit more Guided By Voices and then we park in an even meaner area on the outskirts of town.

Alright Ashton, simmer down, chill ya beans!

Described by pub ticking legend and friend of Quosh, Duncan Mackay as 'the scariest tick he'd done all year' (I've only ever met Duncan pissed but he doesn't strike me as a timid man), I'm delighted to report that Halfway House, Ashton-under-Lyne (2832 / 4992) has me purring in boisterous, high ceilinged, old skool bonhomie. The bar area is particularly full of blockers and I peer over the crowd to order this delicious black thing called Dark Drake (pinto of the dayo). At the far end, blokes play pool with sharpened cues, and I can report an excellent carpet - both tired and thrilling, 8.5/10. Household tat is laying about, it is the old classic 'like walking into someone's front room', though this front room is full of messy rapscallions with gold teeth. Conversation turns to one of my favourite topics, 'Neighbours' as I'm wearing an appropriate Prisoner Cell Block H shirt. Chris manages to even trump my Ramsay Street experience, having met Phil Martin, Drew Kirk AND Steph Scully. Jealous! On the way out, Quosh spots a guy he recognises (course he does) , a cheerful long haired bar blocker, a warm individual who gives us a sip of his 'Gonester' which is Guinness and Monster! It was that kinda pub.

One stop left then for my decisive GMR tick, and as the Quosh-mobile chugs out of Ashton, and the terrain becomes a lot more Mossley/Greenfield, the contrast is so stark, like night and day.

Always important to complete a county on a high (particularly as QE2 died as I was literally wielding the Stabilo on Stalybridge's Cracking/Crafty Pint last time), so I'm delighted to report Gillery, Mossley (2833 / 4993) was a fantastic former Royal Bank of Scotland. Built by Rik Mayell's Great Uncle, and a large mural of RM is looking down on us throughout (Rik I mean, not Retired Martin, though that would have made it pub of the year 2024 - luv ya mate). Talking of tickers, we're awaiting the arrival of another top pub ticker in the form of Jim Brunt. I'm watching the door closely, and all that keeps coming through it is a procession of high-cheek boned attractive young ladies with a thirst for quiz knowledge they studied up at Rochdale college ... but the question has to be asked, have they designed a pub ticking spreadsheet with pivot tables? No! Finally, Jim arrives, and like a football fan who hasn't gone to a home game all season until witnessing the last day promotion glory, he yanks the green Staedtler out of my grasp and gets the decisive tick done! I think that's what in the trade is known as pub ticking shithousery. Well played sir. Impatient quizzers soon usurp us, so our gang kinda scatters, Jim and Quosh disappear, leaving me and Chris to make our ways home via Stalybridge, bit more Neighbours chat for good measure!

My new phone decides to be arty

Tiger Rut modern art - seems a bit Henning Wehn!

Jim swoops in

The gang and RM (not that one) once again delighted I've decided to take a photo

So that was all very lovely. Huge thanks to Alex Quosh, and I got a bonus pint back in my NE Parcel yard, York Tap, though half my fave room was closed due to wet paint .....

Then Friday saw me at the only beer festival that truly matters, Poppleton, so I took a rare Saturday off ticking so I could rest my poor liver.

But I will be back tomorrow for some rare Sunday ticking to try and complete yet another county. We're sucking on diesel now fellas, let's get 3,000 up before the new Guide comes out!

Take care, Si