BRAPA & .... THE CHAMP'YUM OF THE WORLD : APPLEDORE OF MY EYEDORE
3 minutes ago
9 min read
When I was presented with a copy of the local newspaper on my final day of a crazy week in North Devon (proof I'd be accepted as 1% local), I read the headline as "I'll run from the woman who saved my life".
It was symptomatic of the mentally toughest weeks in BRAPA history. It was bad enough physically, but because pub ticks were so few and far between due to a paucity of public transport, no kindly chauffeur or a reliable taxi service, I was forced to work so hard for so relatively little.
Woe is me.
I checked into a grey but gently pleasant old fashioned Air B&B on the outskirts of Barnstaple (the only sensible place to stay up here when you are without car), a 20 minute toddle from both bus and train stations which in north Devonian terms is a doddle. A toddle doddle.
I'd 'attacked' Devon from both Exeter and Exmouth angles back in 2024, but my critics (i.e. the voices in my head) questioned whether BRAPA could do it in the rural north on a wet Monday afternoon.
My hosts encourage me to give their battered vinyl a spin. Which I did 'of an evening'. It led to the unforeseen consequence of having a three song loop of Enya's Orinoco Flow, Leonard Cohen's So Long Marianne and Johnny Cash's Big River in my head for my more challenging treks.
Barnstaple is tatty around the edges but there's an underlying good natured humour as I wait for the first bus of the holiday. I have stilted chats with an even more eccentric Phil from Time Team and a recently emigrated young lesbian with handbag dog, dolphin tattoo and thirst for Toronto, back to tie up some loose ends. Both operate in a different dimension from myself. I could've time slipped to '85.
I take a chance on my first pub tick of the holiday being open, so hop off the bus at Bideford. After all, I have to wait until 5pm (groan) for the pub I'm REALLY interested in to open. The Bideford tick is a risk because it doesn't open Monday's. But late August Bank Holiday Monday in a popular coastal town, surely? Eh? Guys??
Dead as a doorknob. With the emphasis on nob. FFS! And greyer than my Air B&B sitting room, which was quite the achievement. I WILL BE BACK, to quote Arnold S.
Fear not, there's a non GBG listed Wetherspoons to tick. And you know this past year, I've realised EVERY 'Spoons is pre-emptive, however shit.
Even the Rose Salterne? I guess so. Edgy atmosphere, old boys sat in a large circle like the worst witches at a baddest arse coven. Not sure my floppy hat was making me invisible. Half an Otter Head. Wow, not seen this ale since we used to play #TeamsLikeExeter (i.e. Exeter City) circa 2003 and I had a few with Daddy BRAPA in a small wooden pub opposite the cathedral that burned down shortly afterwards - not related incidents. Honest. Enjoyable carpet. But like so many Devon 'Spoons, a real grotbag. The witches come full circle.
I didn't get good vibes about Bideford at any point of my holiday - shame because I ended up passing through the town quite often. 'Pretty' on the surface, but there was a mean and moody undercurrent. I consider hanging around for the post-emptive Joiners Arms, but time has crept towards 5pm and a bus is on the horizon, so let's continue our journey north up the Torridge. And may I just say 'East-The-Water' is an irritating name for East Bideford so give it a rest lads eh?
My grumpy beginnings are soon extinguished, as I trot down a small hill in the beautiful evening sun to a GBG pub that is open, and very pleasant .....
Champ, Appledore (3597 / 6388) really is a champ, and I swear it pipes in a special sort of salty sea air fragrance to enhance your sense of nauticalness. If that's a word (actually, I don't care). I was gonna remove my floppy hat but suddenly, I felt right at home ensconced in Davy Jones Locker or some similar scurvy seadog spirit. Our host Adrian greets me warmly, no Adrian has ever Adrianed better. I'd have hovered at the bar and chatted longer but some other visiting dork is monopolising him. Probably from West Yorkshire. Because he told everyone. Like they do. Like Vegans. Mutants (apart from my WY followers, obvs). I step over about fifty dogs (rule in places like Appledore - everyone must own one and bring it to the pub however inconvenient) to take a seat in the middle of the room. The locals (especially the women folk) are very welcoming, especially when I run the awkward gauntlet to find the fun loos. It's a poky kinda gaff, in the nicest possible way which brings an atmosphere you wouldn't get if they knocked through a wall to allow the fifty dogs to stretch out. The ale is 5* top hole quality, and the pub even has their own beermats - YOINK - now Blu-Tac'd to my bedroom wall, with a delightful little painting of the pub on them which looks like its been done by a local who probably sits in her oilskins on the waterfront sketching, wolfing down a pasty and chatting to passers by, and when it rains she goes back indoors to run her incense scented crystal shop before popping down here. Not jealous at all.
Shame my local Blueskyer Devon Dympsy wasn't around, but she'd done what any sensible person does when they hear BRAPA Claus is coming to town and fucked off to London for a week. Her posts are top tier when I can be arsed to see what other people are posting, so it would've been nice to meet.
One guy I nearly did meet up with was 2024's Devon hero Pete Langdale. Who can forget those magical Dartmoor summer evenings at villages like Widecombe-in-the-Moor, Hennock and North Tawton? There was a bit of messaging between us, but he's Torquay based and I didn't wanna push it, cos you don't know what people have got going on in their lives, might be more important than pub ticking?!
The bus didn't show. Noooo! Nowhere to be seen. Ferry not running. Tide times? Bank holiday? Both? Live bus times? Bus has gone off grid. An ice cream van is parked in the stop like it knows. A man with one tooth and a pistachio with a flake in it tells me they can't be relied on 'round these paaaarrrtss' which was the joint Devonest thing I heard all week.
Taxi comes good within seconds so some consolation. But the incident worried me. This was supposed to be one of the easiest legs of my holiday. It doesn't bode well for the coming week.
Quay Inn, Instow (3598 / 6399) didn't float my goat in anything like the way that the Champ had. At least it ain't the gastropub that Dr Google had me believing. It is a fresh barrel of Riff IPA, it is on top form. Beer quality was one thing I would generally be able to rely on this holiday. Only 25 dogs here. 50% of the dogs, but also 50% of the fun. My highlight is getting lost on the way back from the loos. Which door takes me back to the bar? Thankfully, the bearded landlord appears munching a slice of errant cheese on toast dripping with a hot sauce, with a tourist-weary groan pushes a door and lets me through and doesn't react at all to my silly giggling apologies. I know a Devon bloke who reckons Instow is superior to Appledore, but as I walk down to the bus stop (which IS showing on my live bus times app, so they DO exist), Instow felt like a grey industrial estate in the Bracknell / Ascot area. So perhaps I was missing something.
Back in Barny (as I'm sure the kids call it), time had ticked on to an unreasonably late hour - I was going to need to stay out 'til last orders to maximise my first day in north Devon. Not ideal as I need an early start on day two.
I rush up the road (cos I need a pee) to reach the GBG listed 'Spoons, note the tropical plants which would never grow in York's climate but thrive down here. I even saw a gecko disappearing into a bricky nook, but it might've been a tiny shaved squirrel .....
With Paninis in my mind, I arrive craving both an Italian sandwich and the chance to collect some Mexico '86 stickers but I'm wrong and you are too because it is actually called the Panniers, Barnstaple (3599 / 6400) - you know, like *checks Wikipedia* those bags you sling over a horse or motorbike. I thought it was people who look for gold, you know, like 'he's panniering for gold'. I'm wittering-on-endlessly because there ain't much to say. A long one roomed gently undulating 'Spoons, good for carpet bowls, the carpet a mad bastard 8.25/10. The Nethergate White Stout is as uniquely delicious as ever, is the Milky Bar kid in the room with me? I sit at the far end amongst the swingers who smile. An 8 yr old convinces her Nazi Mum with Sonnenrad hand tattoo to stay for another Rosé as she's having much fun on her tablet, so alles vell that endes sehr gut.
With dusk finally falling on this late summer's evening, I had a gentle yomp out north to a suburb called Pilton .....
A pub of two halves and make no mistake, Reform Inn, Pilton, Barnstaple (3600 / 6401) represents 80% of BRAPA Good Beer Guide completion. A fine landmark moment you might think, but I felt no inclination to advertise the fact. I knew the #LoomingChurn would swiftly knock me back to 73%ish. I enter left, guitar's are being tuned, amps plugged in. Bank holiday gig night incoming. My presence is treated as a nuisance, if I even exist to these insufferable locals musos, as all efforts are put into serving these Lennon lookalikes medium-sweet cider. Frustrating attitude. CAMRA have two weak spots when it comes to GBG selection. The 'community' buyout. And, in this case, pubs that brew their own beer. Doesn't seem to matter what it tastes like as long as an effort has been made. This slop tastes like April 1997 home brewkit Si-under-his-Amiga-600-desk-when-he's-supposed-to-be-having-a-driving-lesson-with-Dad-but-is-secretly-supping-and-playing-Sensible-World-of-Soccer vintage. Persona non-grata, I quickly depart the left had side for the empty right hand bar. This is more my speed! Dark, green and leather. I even find the loos behind a velvet curtain to the rear. Pays to investigate. The band still haven't finished faffing when I depart. A rare 'no intention of returning my empty glass' cos fuck 'em.
Back in Barny proper, time for two pre-emptive late ticks scoring top beer marks on the CAMRA site - NOT that either got picked for '27. Make it make sense CAMRA!
A sole London Pride offering might explain why the exciting Ebberley Arms, Barnstaple hasn't made the cut. And that's not me being a beer snob, it is CAMRA. Just so we're clear! It isn't even on when I arrive. But the landlady is lovely, the barrel change is swift, I'm even given a 'quality control' test, and by gum this is like BEST. PRIDE. EVER! 3* rating warranted. A curious cave full of curious coves, four plastic Gooners huddle around the TV, which just makes me wanna cheer for the Villa. But the Arse prevail. 'London pride', I'd jinxed it! Then a bizarre climax to events. The second the full time whistle is blown, and I don't exaggerate, the blokes neck their dregs and swiftly depart as one. TV turned off, pub plunged into semi darkness. "Is .... that it?" I call across the room. Landlady confirms this to be the case. "Best be off myself them" I stammer. "Yup, goodnight then!" I guess that's what you get from a backstreet local. An 'understanding' between staff and locals, for there was no 'last orders' or 'time at the bar' cries / bell ringing that I heard.
One final pub if I'm quick. Watch me run ......
Strand Social, Barnstaple felt a lot more likely to make the GBG cut. Astonished it didn't for 2027. Too new? A former 'Spoons acquired by Amber Taverns, which makes sense when you know. It also resembles an abandoned amusement arcade at this late hour. But the comfort is there. The beers are from the local GT (Good Times) with a pump clip design which should probably have Kirkstall lawyering up. If they were the ghost of Humphrey Smith. The Oatmeal Stout is as good as anything I've supped since Appledore. Some holidaymakers from Blackburn have a little boogie to some 90's dance remixes, as I skirt carefully around them in search of the loos. A good end to an action packed day one considering I didn't really get going until late afternoon. So well done me eh? Thanks!
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