BRAPA : SHROPSHIRE COUNTDOWN (PART 5/5 - SHROP OF THE POPS, NO FLOPS)

Here we are, the final countdown on my recent Shropshire (& N Wales) epic.

And if you were wondering about my Air B&B welcoming basket above, I ate the flapjack on day four, gave the Bakewell one to Daddy BRAPA, and never touched the hot chocs, Madri or Aldi G&T mixer.

The rug and property as a whole both scored an 8.5/10, and yes I would return. Chilly bathroom too close to front door my only gripe but I didn't mention it on my review cos it sounded petty in grand scheme of things.

7. Boot Inn, Wellington : Telford

That photo was actually in focus to my eyes at the time it was taken, late on my opening night, six and a half pints to the good. I didn't tick many modern Micros this holiday, but this one was certainly a cut above the nat avg. The Oakham Citra was a dream, and even more importantly, the balance between busy Saturday night / enough room to breathe / the right atmosphere to feel comfortable, reigned supreme. Helped immeasurably when I get a tap on my shoulder at the bar. I spin around, expecting to see Laura Hadland about to make her long awaited BRAPA debut (this is her second local, and she'd indicated she might be tempted out this eve) but no, 'tis a random Dave, and what a lovely random Dave. I didn't know the name, but when you are as famous, popular and amazing as me, it is hard to keep abreast of all your followers. He invites me to sit with him and his two ladies, Kelly and Louise, and what lovely ladies. And as I squint out into Telford's dark night, just for that one moment, all of Telford was just that, lovely. It didn't feel quite so magical on a grey, wet Thursday morning walking between Telford Central station and that shopping centre, but when you are six pints deep in your cups on a buzzy Saturday night, Telford is the finest place on earth, with the possible exception of Basingstoke. Oh and hang on re. the name, Wellington Boot. Just got it! D'oh.

Dave highlights the GBG, as Kelly or Louise look on proudly

Unique highlighting effort! But I'm not judging .....

6. Golden Lion, Bridgnorth

There was so little noise around this self-contained, low-key Holden's classic in comparison to the other Bridgnorth pubs I ticked (I missed the SVR Railwayman because it wasn't open on a Monday), I suspect I may be alone in making it my favourite pub in town. Bridgnorth is easterly enough to be within reach of Wolverhampton, and once you are there, that Black Country belt of bostin' boozers in places such as Sedgley, Dudley, Stourbridge etc. aren't too far away. And that is what the Golden Lion felt like. Square and humble, just like a Barnsley supporter. I order a beef & onion cob to go with my Golden Glow. Total spend of about £1 or something ridiculous. I'm actually quite annoyed when my peace is disturbed by a family containing a nervous future son-in-law. They all go for Madri. I'd have brought my complimentary bottle had I known. When the daughter wanders off to find the loo, the LostProphetesque Dad starts quizzing S-i-L on his prospects and intentions which doesn't involve raping babies. S-i-L tries to keep the tone light and casual, but I can sense the nerves from here. Get out now mate, before it is too late, become a pub ticker, that's your ticket to freedom!

5. Ship & Castle, Aberystwyth

A 2pm opener, even on a Sunday, how cruel is that when you want to get the hourly train outta here just before 2:30pm?? Even crueller, as I arrive bang on 2pm, no sign of life. I lurk outside, feeling bereft. But in one liquid smooth movement, a car arrives, a student (of course she is, Aberystwyth crawls with them) jumps out, unlocks the door, pulls me a pint, and the train dream is alive again! A delicious pub, like the Olde Ship in Seahouses, it's emptiness isn't of detriment to the atmosphere because the walls sing with ghosts of drinkers past. Easily the best of my Aber trio, and if you know a better pub in town, let me know. Our host Jasmin was a star. Despite a lot of ya's / ja's, I suspect she isn't German so ask where. 'Hampshire'. I KNEW it must be posh south eastern. But where exactly? You can't just give a pub ticker 'Hants' and expect me to be sated. '20 minutes south of Guildford'. Ok Jas, I don't really have time for guessing games so can we have an actual place name please? 'Liphook'. Great, now that wasn't too hard was it? I try to impress her by name-checking Churt, Haslemere and Hambleden and hope Ed Wray (my BRAPA chauffeur in this area) is having a nice day and not brewing too hard. I let Jasmin do the highlighting, show her Dave's efforts at Telford's Boot, and say she can either freestyle like he did, or stick to the BRAPA template. She does the latter. And if I have a wee and run down the hill at a million miles an hour, I can JUST catch this train. Which I did. Oh, 5* pint of Zestfield by New Invention, whoever they are.

9/10 effort.

4. Lion O'Morfe, Upper Farmcote

Named after two of my childhood heroes, Liono from Thundercats and Morph, that little plasticene arse licker (I preferred that angry grey fella - not Tony Hart), this pub really is in the middle of nowhere and I prolonged a, already long walk from Worfield by taking an OS path which made no sense at all. Being Monday, I also had the 'tickers fear' (would it be open when I arrived, and if so, what if they've called last orders on a lunchtime session?) But I needn't have worried, this rustic tiled ancient farmhouse couldn't be more open. A delight. Astonishing that RetiredMartin informs me they've only recently started putting it in the GBG, as though Shrops CAMRA have only just discovered it(!) but it's more likely that it has only recently become 'real ale-ified'. The Brummiest publican of the holiday greets me, a sound round bald chap. "Free soup and bread up there if you want it - carrot & coriander" he says, sealing its top 5 finish with an accidental bribe! I tuck in immediately like the weary starved traveller I am, even if it does take me away from the more atmospheric front bar. Delightful, as is the Hobson's Town Crier. And just as well. With the walkable Claverley not opening til 5pm (though I maintain Monday was the right day for this visit), I fancy an taxi back to Bridgnorth, but what are the chances out here? Best act early. I try to support local firms, looking at two Shroppie taxi apps. Veezu doesn't operate in this area, Shropshire cars say £41 and 35 mins wait! So I go over to Uber. £8 and he's arrving in 2 minutes! Yes, TWO MINUTES. Must neck my Town Crier. Which is a pleasure. Return my glass, thank the Brummie, sweep quickly back into front bar for the below photo and apologise to the couple who've just wandered in. A beautiful whirlwind of a pub experience.

Told this bloke what I was up to very quickly and I think he thought I was quite mad

3. Railway Tavern, Newtown

Unless you are the world's most ardent pub ticking Carling fan, this pub entrance might've not appear super enticing, but by gum, it was a magical experience. A late Sunday afternoon rumble of deep Welsh voices welcome me into this twinkly grotto, the stuff Christmas dreams are made of, and sitting on the knee of a jolly man wearing red in entirely optional here. One of those pubs where it doesn't feel like the smoking ban ever happened. The main man is the most CAMRA-esque chap of the week, and slightly concerned that the guest Three Tuns ale I've opted for might be a bit 'too new', so he works some real ale sorcery and presents me with what is hands down the tastiest of any Three Tuns beer I've had anywhere. Though I'm yet to go to their Bishop's Castle home. Then I throw a tennis ball (badly) to the excitable pub dog Gizmo (definitely not a twog) and get chatting to Gizmo's best mate, this efunky older lady with a kind heart who reckons my pronunciation of Welsh words is pretty good during our brief language lesson, which gives me hope for my future North/West Wales holiday in 2026/27. All that remained was to kick myself very hard under the table for loitering in the other two inferior Newtown pubs for ages, when I could've spent longer here and not been rushing for yet another train.

"You're getting beat on the Tuesday!"

2. Cross Foxes, Shrewsbury

I thought I'd seen it all when it came to Shrewsbury's classic boozers. Early noughties Hull City league two away days, a 2007 holiday with my friend John, and a 2014 BRAPA debut year mop up meant I'd enjoyed stuff like Three Fishes, Loggerheads, Nags Head, Admiral Benbow, Coach & Horses and the Dolphin. But it still had a trick up it's sleeve. I cross the Severn into the Longden Coleham, a real tonal shift from central Shrewsbury. A bloke scratches his arse outside a bookies, a lady wolfs down a Greggs in one go, and the pub has the same spirit. A bustling Saturday afternoon, my arrival is timed poorly due to a £70 round going down as a drunken gang are getting in the shots, and break out into a chorus of "Heyyyy Baby, OOH AHH..." which doesn't endear them to the locals, and conversely helps me to fit in as I roll my eyes with a nervous grin and say "looks loike someone's haavin' a good afternoon!" in my best Shrops accent. The guv'nor was quick to explain the situation and how he'd serve me as quickly as he could. Top staffing. The bar blocker on my left shoulder tells me regulars should get priority over big groups like that. I tell him fine, as long as I can go next! The Bass drinks excellently, and sat down two gentler dudes spot my GBG and tell me to be careful in Telford because it is scary and how this and the Nag's Head are the only two good pubs left in Shrewsbury. It had been eye opening. In a brilliant way. Then a Leicester fan told me he knew all about cross foxes!

1. George & Dragon, Much Wenlock

Monday proved the greatest day of my holiday. Perhaps it is no surprise that I fell asleep on the bus back to Shrewsbury. Early bus to Bridgnorth. A couple of long walks around Worfield / Upper Farmcote. Some great Bridgnorth pubs. 6.5 pints. And a belly full of roast beef & onion cob, plus bonus carrot & coriander soup and bread. But falling asleep wasn't part of the plan as I wanted to sneak this bonus 7th tick in half way back to Shrews. Thankfully, a mystery lady presses the bell in Much Wenlock. DING! That woke me up. And because the bus still has to turn a corner and stop, it allows me to check where we are on Google Maps, gather up my belongings, and jump off at the same time. Phew! Because otherwise, I'd have missed out on my favourite pub of the holiday. I can't specify EXACTLY why. It wasn't the amusing chat with the landlord very much on my wavelength who looked like he might do a Hatton Garden heist. It isn't the Blondie playlist, though I did sing along and do arm wave movements to 'Tide is High' #DefinitelyNotDrunk. It isn't even the 5* Kirkstall Three Swords, and what a beer that is when kept perfectly as I well know from years of circling that L**ds drain. Some pubs just feel 100% spot on in every aspect, so much so it stirs an almost visceral seventh pint emotion in me. Rare, but it happens. On the Isle of Man in Peel's White House Hotel. Worcester's Plough or Ledbury's Prince of Wales are soberer examples. Their beermats encourage you nick them and although they proclaim this is the best pub in the world, it somehow isn't too 'knowing. More snug than smug. There's a modesty about it. I like that. It just gently knows how to 'be'. Highly recommend.

So there we go. Which pub would you have ranked top out of that motley crew?

My Easter break and BRAPA's 12th birthday celebrations are fast approaching, so I'll see you back over here on Tuesday for the month end round-up. And then over on X/BlueSky for a few days ticking across three, maybe four, counties.

Keep keeping it pub, you know you want to.

Si