Wednesday 16th April 2025
'Why Staffordshire?' And if Staffordshire, why Stafford? Why not Stoke or Uttoxeter or somewhere where I had a few handy ticks close by?"
That was the question I (Current Si) was asking Former Si in the build up to this Easter jaunt. I arrive Wednesday evening, tired and not my usual enthusiastic self.
Thankfully, by Sunday, I would be declaring the long weekend an unequivocal success and a timely reminder why Staffs (& the West Mids / Shrops) is the GOAT of pub ticking counties.
Stafford is a funny old town. Lulls you into a false sense of security with pretty green spaces and old buildings, but there is an undercurrent of menace and a bereft look of despair in local eyes. Bored kids push shopping trolley's around the centre, dodgem style, but apologise when one hits me.
Ye Olde Rose & Crown, Stafford (3056 / 5541) was my one required tick in town. A Joule's house, about par. Not as good as the Royal Oak in Wrexham, far better than the one in Newport, Shrops. Slumbering Monk is the only regular ale I'd pick, and it is in good nick. The staff aren't exactly 'smiley smiley Carol Smillie', I'm in the empty front bar for the majority, until a dog that looks like Bungle off Rainbow is wheeled in, and admonished for being a bad pet / heavy breather. In the back, a punk rocker and his northern accented mate chat with the barman. I pick up a local CAMRA mag, hoping for pre-emptive inspiration, but get distracted by an article by Paul Mudge about what Stafford CAMRA were up to in 1975. Spolier alert - Doris Pardoe of Netherton fame wrote them a letter.
I pop to the glorious Wetherspoons Picture House for a late pre-emptive tick, but the Samson ain't very good. So I traipse over town to the Travelodge to check in.
"FIVE NIGHTS? IN STAFFORD? WHAT YA DONE TO DESERVE THAT?" says the perky lass behind reception. Funnily enough, when I stayed here before, the old bloke on reception that night made the same 'joke'!
I explain BRAPA, so she starts recommending all sorts of pubs in town I'd not heard of, Bear, Grapes, Bear and Something. She did like the Sun though, and Spittal Brook perhaps more surprisingly. Two lads walk past and join in, though reckon I should avoid the Grapes.
Time for a nightcap as I plan tomorrow, because experiences don't get more hedonistic than five nights in a Stafford Travelodge .....
Thursday 17th April 2025
Uttoxeter's open air bus station is the base for my second day, and you know I love ticking alphabetically where possible so Abbots Bromley was top of my agenda. I'm the only customer on the bus the entire way.
I'm here 11:50am, so sit on a bench and have snack whilst the pub opens, tis' a more 'happening' place than I was expecting .....
Crown, Abbots Bromley (3057 / 5542) is a solid village local, the type that flies below the radar and still feels like a 'pub pub'. The barmaid makes the experience, she's ever so welcoming from the get go. From Longridge near Preston, and whilst everyone is weird when I've been there, she's spot on. Her other half is from Wakefield, she appreciates my Yorkness. Bass is the ale, and it hits the spot. Not perfect, but good. The experience is momentarily tinged with tragedy as the landlady comes in to report her former boss has been killed by a runaway golf buggy pushing her in the bunker. Today is her birthday and most folk don't know, so are wishing her happy birthday on FaceyB. Awful! I order a taxi to pub two as I calculate it'll speed my day up by an hour, woop woop.
Our main man Faisal's GPS isn't working and it makes it look like I'd wandered off out the back of the pub(!) so it takes him a bit of time to find me. He apologises about 15 times, and then says he's off straight to Crewe where his techhy brother is going to fix it as future customer's might not be as understanding as angelic ole' me.
Right out in the sticks, the Shrewsbury Arms, Kingstone (3058 / 5543) lays it on a bit thick, very dining, bit of a split personality crisis free for all. On the one hand, you've got Aldi brand body spray in the Gents, and they are surprisingly 'beer forward' complimenting my choice of Chinook by Uttoxeter but it is is pretty funky, very malty, very homebrewwy. Too many ales on in a very non-aley pub would be my guess. I'm also encouraged to take a beermat, yes the real Staffs did peek through the cracks. But some hideous wallpaper, wreaths on sale and an eccentric lady in a halter neck sweater complaining to her friend "do I LOOK like a chip person?" meant it was never going to be pub of the weekend.
Ain't a bad walk back to the bus stop at Willslock and I'm back in Uttoxeter actually too early, as the other three pubs on my agenda for today aren't open yet. That's midweek for ya! So my second pre-emptive 'Spoons Old Swan is sampled. Atmospheric ancient building (older than 1629) and whilst my beer is a struggle, I can't deny it is well kept.
3pm means opening time for my required tick, but when I arrive, it isn't! By approx 15:07, a few stirrings and I'm in .....
That's why it is a Night Inn, Uttoxeter (3059 / 5544), and not a Day Inn, I reflect. I tell the barmaid not to rush, I've got all day, though what I'm really thinking is you should be all set up ready to serve bang on 3pm, tsk tsk. The 'Arise Sir Kevin' is a quality drop though not the citrussy nectoran mystereon the pump clip promised. By 3:18pm, a fellow customer arrives. Baggy and snotty and skidmarky with a Stokey/Lancastrian hybrid accent, definitely a regular. The bar is a nicely done feature, the bench seating is another plus, those Peroni cushions very comfy but not sure they'd be in the Martyn Hillier blueprint. So in conclusion, for this to be the only GBG entry in a town as pubby as Uttoxeter, you can forgive me for expecting a top tier all singing all dancing micro, which this really wasn't.
Two 4pm ticks to go then, both just outside the 'Tox, but annoyingly in totally opposite directions.
First up, the slightly more straightforward one ......
Fifth pub of the day syndrome perhaps, but Cavendish Arms, Doveridge (3060 / 5545) passed me by, making little impression. A friendly shadow creature who possibly had no face serves me, and aptly my Celebration beer doesn't seem to exist either when I search Untwappd, but it was one of today's better pints. I couldn't quite get a handle on the pub, what it was trying to be. Unnecessarily grey, quite boring, and yet in some respects, it felt just as much a local as the Crown in Abbots Bromley despite the dearth of custom on opening time. My main cause for 'celebration' however, this pub marked 68% of the Good Beer Guide completed. 32% to go, then I can retire gracefully and take up pottery, potholing or ticking Antwerp.
One to go then, and again I go for the taxi cheat cos it is buses ain't so frequent, and I don't want another Uttoexter interchange at this stage.
Darrell doesn't say a word, in fact he terrifies me, but he gets the job done so I give him 5* to avoid waking up dead in a Staffs ditch.
We'd saved the best til last in the form of Red Lion, Checkley (3061 / 5546) and no surprise it is awash with bonkers local laughter and random chit chat. The Bass is exemplary, a step above the good one I'd had earlier, even. No wonder Checkley folk seem so happy, they live in a beautiful village too. The church overlooking the pub is a 10/10. Even all the Stoke City garb can't spoil things, in fact you won't meet kinder Stoke fans anywhere unless you bump into Six Towns Mart, which I often do. The landlady looks like she's worked here for centuries, the beams, the benches, the horse brasses, it is almost like they'd built the perfect BRAPA approved pub.
And there was an epilogue too, as back at the bus stop, I take my eye off the ball for what can only be a matter of seconds (live bus times reckoned it was still in Tean) and he whizzes past me. Oh well, if I had to do the 'pub walk of shame' back to anywhere, it may as well be a classic. They don't remember me(!) but when I tell the landlady what's happened, she is suitably sympathetic. Bass again too.
Unlike the bloke above, I make sure I have my eyes wide open this time back at the bus stop, for it is the last one of the day.
And then it is a train back to Stafford via Stoke, bag of snacks from the giant Tesco Extra, and bed not too late because I had a Wolverhampton based plan forming for Good Friday.
It'll be a while until I tell you about that I reckon (I'm expecting work to be hell tomorrow), and then I'm going to get the month end blog out prematurely on Tuesday, because on Wednesday, I'm off BRAPping yet again!
Thanks for reading, Si
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