BRAPA : SHROPSHIRE COUNTDOWN (PART 2/5 - Amwythig to Declare?)

File our next seven pubs under the category 'what might have been'.

Had circumstances been different, most could've finished higher. Though I can't imagine in any circs, they'd be in the running for any pub of the year awards. Let's try and find something interesting to say about them .....

29. Cromwell's Tap House, Shrewsbury

In the shadow of one of Shrewsbury's snoozing spires comes this catch-all tap house, trying to evoke some kind of Tudor-esque atmosphere. I might be biased but comparable bars in my home city of York seem more 'focused'. My poor timing ain't helping. I've just checked Hull City's final score before entering, just in case there's no signal. We've crashed from 1-1 to a 1-3 defeat at home to Meewaw. A lady walking past wonders why I've got my head in my hands. I nearly have again moments later, at the sight of the Six Nations stinking out the joint. I squeeze in at the front edge of the bar, squint into the gloom between clinking empties, and order a pint of 'Erotica', quickly realising it is actually called 'Eroica'. Thankfully, a well-timed rugger cheer means the barmaid didn't hear my faux pas. I take my pint outside to the raised courtyard to join my fellow egg-chasing un-enthusiasts. Sadly I can't get near a heater, brrr. The beer is passable. I'd have far better pints in Shrews non-GBG listed Abbey and Montgomery's Tower later on this holiday. I daresay it'd have finished slightly higher had I not visited on a Saturday afternoon, but not by much.

Chin resting dog sums up my mood, bloke points in the direction of the exit from the Championship playoffs

28. White Lion, Bridgnorth

11am on a Monday morning, now that IS a great time to tick a pub .... usually! In fact, I might've found the only non-Wetherspoons Shropshire GBG pub open at this time. Through an old coaching inn entrance like Black Bess, an anti-climactic modern glass door brings me into the bar, where two non-plussed lads pouring over accounts and coffee blink up tiredly, as if they are expecting me to ask anything other than 'ow's about a pint then ladz?' They heave themselves up with a grunt, disperse, and one reappears two minutes later from a different angle to serve me a top pint of Hobbo's, but the pub's been namby-pambyfied and lacks the honest pub grit of the better Bridgnorth pubs I'd do later on this 'magic Monday'. Lacks identity. Catch-all, like Cromwell's, but a different flavour. It suffers further from its emptiness at the ungodly pub hour (proof I'm never satisfied?) Spirits are briefly raised when a chirpy young Gazza delivers a shiny new mirror, and stops to tell me he won't be betting on Cheltenham this year, which felt very un-Gazza now I think about it. Not sure he even stayed for a drink.

I had the yellow one second left if you care

27. Golden Lion, Rossett

Had Daddy BRAPA not picked up a food menu the size of a Rolf wobble-board halfway through our final pub before kick off on this abysmal 'chewy Tuesday', this boring Hyde's dining gaff would've certainly featured in part one. Both beers were almost as tired as the Shropshire Gold we'd had in Froncysyllte two pubs earlier. But the cheese pie, mushy peas, chips, crème brulee and coffee left a lasting impression on me, especially my guts! I feared what'd happen if I jumped up too vigurously in the first half. That Gelhardt free-kick was a dicey moment. I didn't need to eat 'til 4pm the following day. And spent most of the rest of the holiday praying I'd see Harvey's Sussex Best on tap to flush me out like some kinda oral enema. Magnificent grub, functional staff, but a truly dull 'pub'.

26. Green Dragon, Little Stretton

I'd rather Jack (than Fleetwood Mac)

Jack off the bus beats me inside, but hesitates in the entrace to remove his jacket, so I'm at the bar first though it may've needed a VAR referral. But when the barmaid asks us who's first, Jack pulls rank on account of being a local and snaps his order. She's pleased, she knows Jack, I'm just another tourist, probably a walker / hiker. I'd later learn in the better Stretton pub that Jack's a notorious local grump, and that makes me feel better. But as Hanson once sang 'Where's the Love?' There's no 'Mmm Bop' either come to think of it, apart from Meg, she seems angelic. True, as dining pubs went this holiday, this was definitely one of the warmer, softer and comfier interiors, and the Bass is decent. But THAT cheese pie which I don't like to talk about was still working its way through my various intestines (Little Intestine, Church Intestine, All Intestine) and no beer would be too pleasurable on this Wednesday lunchtime. I'd done well to arrive before 12 (11:30 opener, bonus point), for once we hit noon, the place is swamped by steady rolling men and I have to battle to (a) reach loo and (b) return empty glass .... which of course, I get no thanks for, as my cheerful 'goodbye!' falls on deaf, busy ears.

Stop smiling Colette, no one cares

25. Bell Hotel, Oswestry

And now for a tonal shift much later the same day as I enter this unassuming but weirdly exciting hole. If it really is Oswestry's oldest inn, it doesn't feel it. More like Shildon Canteen crossed with an underground gig venue east of Manchester Piccadilly with a Latvian death metal band about to appear at any moment. They don't sadly, so I savour the puce jaundice low lit environs and enjoy the one handpump I can see, 'Chicken Head' which is a pale ale with no roast chicken tasting notes. I'm served by two lads with bogan Aussie mullets and moustaches but they are vaguely Scouse in that North Welsh Chester way even though this is Shropshire. With the acoustics dreadful and the music at full blast, I'm watching Gelhardt's freekick from yesterday on a loop, oblivious that the most recent (Latvian death metal) tune has just finished, the pub suddenly quiet, and this woman turns around and whines "HEY, CAN YOU TURN THAT DOWN, IT IS VEWY DISTWACTING!" like a shrill Roy Hodgson, so I apologise, but my naughty phone plays it again anyway! So a bald bloke on the neighbouring table chimes in .... "YOU BOY, AGAIN!!" like Mr Bronson off Grange Hill. Jealous Wrexham fans no doubt. It wasn't that loud in the scheme of the general surroundings. Anyway I feel very sheepish by now, so sup remnants of my Chickenhead, and slope off down a dark country lane to find a dark brewery tap where I vow to conduct myself with more decorum.

Taken before Hodgson or Bronson arrived, unfortunately

24. Tap & Can, Shrewsbury

Centimetres from Shrewsbury station, this (one of only three remaining Shrewsbury ticks needed) was the perfect place for this weary traveller to lug my bags off the train, making it my first pub of the holiday. Besides, I was waiting for the call from Steve of Air BnB fame to tell me I could check in early (1pm). My photograph and general hovering outside, not helped by trying to enter through the wrong door, slows me down. The big gang of Whitchurch Ladz, fresh off the same train as me are crowding the bar, 'waheying' and slapping each other's bums. Feels like an episode of 'Don't Forget Your Toothbrush', though I bet they're too young to remember the baaastards. "I'm out for the sesh!" waheys the one with the big head blocking the handpumps. Staff are well prepared for a Saturday lunchtime onslaught such as this, almost outnumbering the punters. One follows my timid roaming behind the Whitchurchians to serve me an immaculate Deya best bitter. How did I just know if Deya slipped on a pair of sensible Clark's shoes, they'd do it properly? The place is larger than you'd imagine, a relief with my huge rucksack. I'd been imagining inadvertently wrecking the joint / toppling a beer fridge etc. Feels a bit like drinking in a giant tin can though. Comfort is at a premium, in fact I reckon I've found the only upholstered seat. Long wooden benches is all the go. Still, a promising start and with Steve's call giving me the nod, it was off to Tesco for a weekly food shop, and then off up to Frankwell to get settled into my digs before Cromwell Tap House.

23. Brew Hub, Newtown

Softer furnishings and cosier intimacy at our final pub of part two, though it is more coffee shop than beer bar on this visit. In fact, the guv'nor is waxing lyrical on the subject of whisky whilst making the most pain-staking coffees imaginable for the couple who've walked in just before me. He apologises for my agonising wait, though it only feels agonising in retrospect when I realise how much more time I could've spent in the Railway Tavern down the road. I try to bring the subject around to ale and BRAPA, slagging off the quality in the Black Boy 'Spoons from where I'd just come. If I sense a reticence / nervousness, I realise it is well-placed when he admits to a nattily dressed local that their Stonehouse ale (they have a 'one beer on at a time' policy which makes a lot of sense to me) is on the way out. I had plenty worse pints this week, you could just tell it's cloudy and lacking spark. Before the natty dresser arrives, I'm delighted when a bloke comes in and apologises for only wanting a cup of tea! "I'd been feeling boring with my boring beer with all this whisky, cake and coffee going on until you arrived!" I chirp, and ALL six people laugh, making it BRAPA gold comment of the holiday. The guv'nor starts pulling through a very nice Neptune ale from Liverpool and gives me and the natty dresser tasters as if to say 'here's what you couldda won!' A local lady in an amazing blue dress arrives, perches at my table, and as I'm a bit drunk, compliment both her and the bloke on their retro fashions and they tell me if I'm hanging around in Newtown (I'm not), plenty of quality charity shops to peruse. I finally get the BRAPA chat I'd craved ... but uh oh, now I've lost track of time. I need to dash if I'm to make the Railway Tav AND this next train if I'm gonna get to Welshpool tonight (I'd make the connection but then forgot to get off at Welshpool anyway!) It had been a strange but at the same time life-affirming experience.

Join me Sunday for part 3, we might go for an 8-pubber which I've started writing this aft because I'm having a dry #ThirstyThursday today at home doing nothing which has been lovely, so there!

Happy weekend when it comes, Si