Saturday 22nd June 2024
Fully recovered from Devon? You must be joking. I'd had 2.5 quiet days on the Berocca and cheese & cucumber sandwiches, but my liver was still grumbling "No more real ale Si, I'm at capacity here, gimme a break!" to which I'd replied "Sorry matey, Daddy BRAPA car day incoming, vroom vroom".
I'm pleased to report that Dad remarks on how well I look. Less tired than usual, and clearer skin! Which proves definitively that 52 pints of real ale in 9 days is better for you than 4 days of banking.
I'm not planning to give too many shits about East Midlands in the 24/25 season so I'm up for a right push on Derbys, Notts, Lincs, Northants and Leics this summer before the new Good Beer Guide arrives.
Today was a return to Lincs for the first time since December, just a plodding four pubber and today's outlier, situated in watery mid-Lincs, was our starting point.
"Owz abouts thats then?" says Dad, reversing into a parking space just as 11:59am clicks around to 12 noon, obviously keen to re-establish his position as top chauffeur after Devon Pete's recent exploits. Ebrington Arms, Kirkby on Bain (2889 / 5049) is for sale for £300,000 if you fancy it, pretty reasonable we thought, though it did flood recently hence why I haven't visited til now. A Bateman's free house so we were spared the erratic quality (they really must do more quality control IMO) in favour of a spicy Oakham guest. Landlady keeps up the mid Lincs reputation for hospitality by being thoroughly miserable throughout, but in terms of a pub to be in, it was no doubt today's best of the ticks. I later read K. on B. is most famous for being the home of the 'Corned Beef Killer' Ethel Major, so I'm glad Dad had been sympathetic when it came to today's packed lunch offering. I was eyeing up those posh dog treats from Sir Woofchester which you may have seen behind the bars of the UK's wankier dog friendly pubs. "Fish & chips, crikey!" I point out to Dad. Lady next to me says, totally deadpan says "had them the other day, delicious!" and I couldn't tell if she was joking, serious, or thought I was on about the human food menu. But then again, I saw a bloke eating cat biscuits in Sheffield once.
Then a lengthy drive back, almost halfway home, for the first of our other three ticks all nestled in or close to the Isle of Axholme. Don't ask me where the Ax-act boundaries are, it is like Thanet, you never get a straight answer. People just gesticulate vaguely and mutter words like 'Broadstairs' and 'Belton'.
Black Horse, Blyton (2890 / 5050) didn't make much impression on me, but it was perfectly fine. It is one of those when every time I'm cross-ticking a new GBG, I'm amazed to find it not on my 'visited' spreadsheet. The come down from the high of Devon delights, to Lincs lugubrious was taking some adapting to. A tear forms in the corner of my eye as I wonder if Dad will ever get to witness Paignton 'Spoons. The carpet here would be a 6/10 in isolation, but the tiling around the bar really raises it. Less said about the weird wallpaper the better, but the bench seating is a winner. A gaggle of Prosecco queens are tottering about on heels, trying to get the party started, but apart from us, everyone else is a Notts bloke with a Donny attitude talking farming. The Bateman's 5G drinks well, ironically on the day that Three text me to say I'm using too much data so they're going to overcharge me. Dad asks about non alcoholic beers, but the range ain't Dartmoor, so Beck's Blue will have to do. Best add this one to my spreadsheet before I forget I've been.
Only a couple of miles from Blyton was Laughton, and a sign points us down this country lane into the back of beyond for a pub which didn't match its location at all.
To a man (that's one man, two of us) we were expecting some gentle flowery dining tweeness, what we found at the Ingram Arms, Laughton (2891 / 5051) was a rugged ole' boozer like those you find in a dodgy town centre, though it also put me in mind of the King's Arms at Haxey, not a million miles from here, which (somehow) made last year's GBG. Full marks to the guv'nor, he's a bit of a geezer, a little bit werrrr, a little bit wheyyy, a little bit arrghhh, not saying he'll nick anything, but you get the idea. At least he displays personality as he pulls me a 'Randy Todger' or 'Todge' as the locals call it. Drinks pissily. Dad points out the community newsletters in the coal scuttle, following on from the beermats in the coal scuttle at Nether Broughton last time out. Laughton folk must have long bodies because the tables are far too low for the seating. Brief moment of bonding with some 'ladz' as there's a controversial VAR call in whatever Euro 2024 game was on at the time. Respect to the Lincs CAMRA firms for trying to put EVERY pub in the GBG within a ten year period.
As the crow flies, our fourth and final tick was only a couple of miles, but as so often happens in this part of the world, the lack of bridge over the River Trent made it into a 31 minute drive.
Epworth has a special place in BRAPA hearts. Not just because #PubMan Axholme Rob lives here, but because it was the first place I ever used a GBG to tick a pub - 1999 GBG, the Red Lion Hotel, 15th Dec 2001, before losing away at Scunny. It seemed quite a good' un but speaking to folk today, it isn't what it was. Blue plaque please?
Well, we turn the wrong way in the village and see and hear what appears to be some festival going down at a different pub, people sat on walls with polycarbonates, live music, the full shebang.
Our pub looks peaceful by comparison, more like it is being used as a giant car park, but I was wrong as we enter to queuing chaos!
True to absolute BRAPA form, I've unwittingly picked the day of the Epworth Festival to finally tick off Old School Inn, Epworth (2892 / 5052). First instinct is to queue jump, but once we realise all the action is outside, and everyone is just wanting beer and not food n stuff, we realise all we can do is be patient. Thankfully, staff are v good so it moves quickly. Man in front hears my ranting and thought I was 'taking the piss .... like how can you NOT know this festival is on today?" Spoken like a true villager who can't comprehend people travelling here from outside of Axholme. This ain't Glasto mate! He then tells me Sheridan Smith's Mum has just done a turn, and I hope it ain't her ankle. With a Hitchcockian flourish, Axholme Rob appears at this moment. He looks like a guy deep in festival joy, recommends the Mosaic I was eyeing up myself, and flourishes away. And just as I reach the bar, the Mosaic goes off! In fact, I'm the ONLY person at the bar between that going off, and the new guest going on. Thankfully, the Tim Taylor Landlord might sound a boring alternative, but it drinks superbly here, despite the polycarbonate. In other great news, Dad's played a blinder and somehow found a seat in a peaceful area which allows quick access to the loos (someone outside is singing a comedy Elton John related ditty). I appreciate an 8.5 /10 rug and just what a grand sweeping old school house this is! How spacious and barren this must feel on a non festival day? I guess I'll never know. Pub circs had been trying, but we did pretty well out of it all things considered.
It was still obscenely early, and being this close to York with only four pubs done, we decided to treat ourselves to two classics before some fish and chips back at mine.
First up, a pub Dad had been wanting to visit for years. I had, but just the once back in 2015. One of those 'uncelebrated' gems, and I'm glad to say it hadn't changed and the Titanic Raspberry Pale was drinking superbly ......
I present Jemmy Hirst at the Rose & Crown, Rawcliffe.
And finally a pub I'm more familiar with, in fact if Untwappd is anything to go by (it isn't), only the York Tap has been visited more by myself. The Fox, York.
Great pubs do exist, they just might not necessarily all be in Lincolnshire.
See you on Sunday where we'll travel south of Wolverhampton for some West Mids classics.
Si
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