Still no 2024 Good Beer Guide sitting on my doormat when I returned home from Dundee on Saturday 16th September, and this was still the case the following Wednesday as I travelled to Hull for the evening game against dirty L**ds.
Thankfully, one of the 'fortunates', pub legend Duncan Mackay, was on hand to provide me with the info on all that was new and shiny in East Yorkshire.
And that's why, at 16:30, I was lurking around the edge of Wincolmlee in the rain, looking all sinister and impatient, waiting for the most surprising entry in the new book to open ......
But it didn't, so I set up base camp to my new favourite Hull pub, the Ship Inn (2025 GBG entry surely?) and because they are such lovely people, I tell them of my predicament and they ring the pub for me to confirm it is now open. It is. Still plenty of time to fit it in before kick off ......
Olde Bull & Bush Inn, Hull (visited Wednesday 20th September, 6pm)
The dearth of real ale forces me onto the Guinness. "It's because this is the first time we've been open this week" the guv'nor tells me in a confidential tone. He'd later tell me without a hint of irony that keeping real ale is a doddle when you know what you are doing! The whole place was about him, a reet old fashioned character putting me in mind of a 1970's club impresario. Funnily enough, he had been, having had many places over in West Yorkshire before he took on this pub 25 years ago. The walls were bright pink when he arrived, so he's had to claw it back to something quite pubby, which he has achieved to some extent, although my mate Christine's "it is like a tart's boudoir" assessment is hard to shake when the idea's been put in your head! He brings some photos to show me, from his time rubbing shoulders with the stars. Most notably The Three Degrees (the singers, not the WBA forward line). I'm suddenly the only customer in as the afterwork lager crew leave. He takes a phone call in my eyeline. His fourth call today about cheaper energy rates! He gives the person on the other end of the line an earful, it felt like a staged performance for my benefit. As we're chatting, a weird young lady shuffles in with a half drunk can of Monster and shuffles off silently to the loo. She took a while, I suspect she's doing drugs, but luckily she emerges just before I'm sent to explore! He tells her he doesn't mind her using the loos without having a drink, but at least have the decency to ask. She apologises in a furtive woodland way and scuttles off. It had been that sort of experience! Bizarre GBG inclusion, but I'm glad I've finally been after years of walking/driving past what I always assumed was a permanently shut pub.
Back in York the following day, having stayed overnight in Hull, I'm having a mid afternoon nap (stuffy Premier Inn, crazy Freetown Way traffic at 4am meant sleeping was tres difficile), when there's a knock on my door and the GBG is handed to me by a square headed lad from Luton. Let the cross ticking commence.
Inconveniently, I had a work night out planned the following day, now I just want to stay in and cross tick Surrey and Hants surrounded my tea and fig rolls. Boo!
But perhaps I could use it to my advantage. After all, the 'Harrogate line' is traditionally a friend of the pub ticker in these early GBG days. Two ticks and arrive at the do fashionably late? Why not?
Oatlands, Hornbeam Park, Harrogate (visited Friday 22nd September, 5pm)
From ceiling to floor, with a fair bit of greyness and magnolia in between, the decor seems to be 'office-chic'. Not my favourite aesthetic. But to coin the old phrase, 'you had to be there'. You cannot gauge a pub, or in this case club, by photos alone, cos you get none of the smell, atmosphere, hubbub, camaraderie. And once I worked out that pushing the door a little bit harder did gain you access, and you didn't have to wander around the carpark looking confused, I was welcomed with open arms. No guestbook, no questions, no £1 for the tin, no CAMRA card, exactly what I like. Plenty of unfussy folk dotted around the benches saying 'ow do' and nodding reassuringly. Hornbeam Park might just be one train stop or a twenty minute walk from Harrogate, but it felt a world away. No toffee noses in the air here. And the Roosters Yankee , at £3.30, best Yankee I've had in years.
A few more train stops in a Leedserly direction, and we come to Burley Park.
Dave's Pies & Ales, Burley Park, Leeds (visited Friday 22nd September 6:30pm)
Just a couple of doors down from the majestic Cardigan Arms, this tiny corner bar had John Smith's lanterns, tiling, etched glass and cosy green downstairs area, and is obviously a place of substance and history. Something I had not been expecting. The first of many great revelations of what is shaping up to be a strong year for the new Yorkshire GBG entrants. A third try of the Chocolate Old Peculiar too, the barmaid looks to be suffering with stomach cramps, or some form of malaise. A kind faced pierced lesbian takes an executive decision to shut the door, one I wholeheartedly support as a squally wind and rain are blowing in off Kirkstall Road. This increased comfort encourages me to order a pie, which I end up scoffing in one go down in the basement. Just a plain pork pie, the menu confused me despite limited options. Could I relocate the work night out to here rather than the Stick & Twist? Wishful thinking, time to order an Uber and leave, with some regret. What a debutant.
Don't get me wrong, tis a fun night with my old work colleagues and four pints of Abbot are sinking well!
Even better, Hull City's away match at Stoke has been moved to Sunday 12 noon. Not often such a thing works in your favour is it? So I can stay in bed on Saturday til lunchtime!
On Sunday, Daddy BRAPA drives us down to Stoke, and after some morning Marston's in our old favourite but not very GBG friendly Locomotive in Heron Cross, where the Stokies entertain themselves by chasing a black & amber wasp around the pub, Philogene, Delap and co. do what Messi could never do by 'doing it in Stoke on a wet Sunday lunchtime'. Boom, great win, great performance!
And being a great sport and legend, Daddy B. is up for four 'under the table' ticks 'twixt Stoke and York on the way home. Starting with a rare Cheshire hit which is bonkers remote, almost Tan Hill levels, but without the tourist misery, shit beer quality, moody staff or murders ......
Wincle Brewery Shop, Wincle is a cute remote set up which you simply wouldn't stumble upon by chance, so that is why you should always let the Good Beer Guide tell you how to live your life. We wander into the brewery building by mistake, only the bogs are of interest in here, but we see an apron clad lady waving at us from across the way. Although there is beer dotted around in all forms, this still feels like a place where you'd be more at home with cake and a coffee, nice for the driving Daddy B's of this world. Behind us, a friendly family move so we have a seat and table. The oldest of two sons is in the scouts, and seems to have been tasked with speaking to weird strangers, because he starts quizzing me on BRAPA. #PubLad , he will go far. Ozan Toucan makes a first ever BRAPA appearance, although his namesake is out with injury and missed the game today. Yes, nice place this, the landlady reveals she's off the Crete with the girls - 'no men allowed' so I say 'enjoy Crete', she says 'thanks, yes I will', this is the banter I live for, time to winkle our way out of Wincle.
We skip Buxton, because I don't want to subject Daddy BRAPA to the town's mind shattering 'two ticks in one' scenario which I'll be 'enjoying' sometime in the coming months, so it is onto Glossop for the first time in a few years where two ticks await me.
First up, Wetherspoons and another early trend I'm noticing is an upturn in the number of 'Spoons in the 2024 Guide, or at least ones I don't recognise.
Thing about Ozan, and it must go back to his Guinness drinking ancestors, he LOVES a stout or porter, or just a good black or very brown malty beer. I can tell he's going to be a bad influence, although Mummy BRAPA has issued me with a grave warning that there'll be trouble if he pushes out her favourite Colin! Smithy Fold, Glossop was a good 'Spoons, a rare example of a modern bright and breezy clean feeling one which still impresses. I normally prefer those lived in dimly lit late 80's North Londoners. The jagged carpet was a bit odd, but I guess I can adapt to unconventional patterns! Plenty of nods to the cotton spinning, which this impressive building once hosted, and a nice mural of all the celebs who've been born, lived or died within a 30 mile radius of this fine town (and definitely didn't smack of clutching at straws). My third visit to Glossop, a town which gives me good vibes.
Daddy B. sits the next one out, but not before taking this photo.
Much more impressive than I'd expected, a 'rolls your sleeves up and get on with life' pragmatism pervades through my Bar 2, Glossop experience. Old school beyond my wildest dreams, "ey up lad get tha down t'neck, you'll love that, I say you'll love that" says the guv'nor of the Stockport Stout I order, going a bit Fred Elliott, as I stroke a gold horse head like a blingy Godfather. With people rattling the doms behind me, and Chris Farlowe's one hit keeping us entertained on a perpetual Father Ted Specials Ghost Town style loop, here was a real 'don't judge t'book by cover' style pub tick. Dad was waiting, and I was 'Out Of Time'.
Final stop, back up in South Yorkshire now, was at Penistone. A town that lives long in the BRAPA memory after I visited their club several years ago only to be told "we don't want your sort in here!" though I was ultimately allowed to stay for a swift pint despite my scummy CAMRA ways.
And now, today, every road started closing around us so we couldn't get near the pub. WHY DOES PENISTONE HATE ME SO MUCH? Daddy B. eventually drops me off, circles the town, looking for a place to park the car, whilst I go and get the tick in.
I can't say Penistone Tap & Brewhouse will live long in the BRAPA memory. Nowt wrong with it. In fact, the staff and welcome were exactly what you'd expect and hope for from an outer Barnsley town. Salt of the earth, lots of reassuring smiles from folk, probably noticing a bit of anxiety etched into my features making my way into such a packed boisterous small space alone! The ale was fresh, and I felt comfortable enough perched with Ozan by the bar, until Dad appears 27 minutes later at the large glass window and gives me a wave. Time up. Next stop home, and this was my last tick during the embargo period.
Join me on Monday, about 9pm, as the new ticking season starts with a trip to, yep you've guessed it, Lincolnshire.
Si
Good to see the Oatlands ,looking so well. It was our meeting place for Harrogate Round Table 20 years ago. The go to drink in those days was Daleside Blonde.