BRAPA & .... THE HOLBEACH BOYS (WOULDN'T IT BE NICE .... TO FINISH LINCOLNSHIRE?)

Thursday 5th June 2025

I hope you'll agree when I say that stepping over a mosaic threshold is the best of all pub entrances .... well second best after the guard of honour I was given in Appletreewick for completing my 500th BRAPA tick. Red Lion Hotel, Spalding (3158 / 5643) continues to shine as Stringy Bob stoops to pick up a 5p which I'd dropped. The landlord, almost as stringy, serves me a decent Bass, and all this coming after I'd walked past two jazzy mobility scooters on the way in. The carpet is an 8.5. My type o' pub / hotel. I'd been meaning to get back to Spalding for over a year now, having ticked off exciting curio Prior's Oven in '24, but then ran out of time. Peculiar town is Spalding. A Polish March. Hang on, that sounded Nazier than intended, I mean it has the pretentions of March. Cambs. But 90% of the population are Polish. Bored of chatting with his mate, a Paul Crudgington decides to join me. I assume he's realised I'm just more 'awesome', but no, this chair is wider and has arm rests. He's from Bourne. "It is shithole, hence why I always drink 'ere instead". I sympathise, though 'shithole' a bit strong. 'Smug-twee-one-street one-horse self-satisfied-webbed-gilled-weirdness' maybe. He tells me NOT to visit the 'Spoons here. "Shithole!" .... his favourite word. Would I listen to him? Course not.

The heavens have opened right on cue for pub departure time as I head towards the lump of grey concrete purporting to be Splading bus station. I have a bus route with two ticks on, and it would've been three if I'd included Norfolk's Tezza St. Clements, but that one is so much closer to King's Lynn, I'll pair it with an overnighter over that way (oooh, the things I have to look forward to in the name of BRAPA!)

Both pubs are early weekday openers too, almost unheard of in Lincs though experience has taught me the South is a bit more alive than the Mid and North.

And our next pub certainly was .....

Pow! Right in the kisser! Crown Hotel, Holbeach (3159 / 5644) is packed to the rafters with drinkers, and due to my immense surprise (obscure grey Lincs village on a Thursday), I fail to shut the front door properly. But rather than the usual scowls and chuntering, today's third stringy, a wiry heavily inked chap leaps off a barstool. shutting it with the sweetest smiles. Yes, even the #BarBlockers are a delightful study in rumbustiousness. The staff are 'ON IT', military style precision in all they do, service with a smile. Bit o' food going on, but you barely notice it. Because this is a pub on steroids. Someone on BlueSky tells me it is hugely improved of late, which explains why no one has previously been shouting from Lincs highest vantage point (so probably a ladder in stringy Bob's garden) "LINCS PUB OF THE YEAR 2025". Cos I've not been to anything better. Even the beer, Milton Mild, all the way from Waterbeach (where??) is 5*. Lincolnshire my old mate, there is hope for you yet.

And the feel good factor continues when the bus driver mentions we're actually going down into the village of our next pub ... I'd been assuming I'd have to walk from top of the main road.

A delightful village too. Pub frontage is a dire stain on it, so I'll show you the church instead ......

Swan, Moulton (3160 / 5645) ain't half bad, what with its juicy cherry carpet, exciting bar frontage, and 'roaring' (mumbling?) fire most welcome on this chilliest of late lunchtimes. But I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd gate-crashed an old people's home dining room. Blind Sooty presides over the three ales, Bombardier, Doom and Pride. "Didn't know Bombardier was still being made!" I squawk in faux delight. "It ain't quite done yet" crows our matriarchal force of nature in reply. This is a family run pub, and you could kinda tell. Had an unpretentious eccentricity peeping through. The Bomb. ain't a bad drop, but not the raspberry jam doughnut I had in Beds 2014. One old lady, with an annoying name like Val, Shirl or Pat, has total main character energy and annoys me by just existing. She's part of the last group to leave - a mass exodus occurring 20 minutes after my arrival. I go up for a half of Pride to celebrate. Tastes like solvent. Our matriarch does so much sighing and groaning re . 'lunchtime rush now over, I can relax', it is disconcertingly 'When Harry Met Sally'. Funny place, prime village Lincs.

Izzy wizzy, let's get fizzy

Back in the Spald, time to defy Paul Crudgington, Dale Winton this mutha and "bring on the (Ivy) Wall. 'Shithole' it isn't. In fact, if I had one criticism, it would be that it was rather modern and antiseptic, light and airy. But the Jaipur drinks well, the toilets are a contender for the eighth wonder of the world, and RetiredMartin reports that this was actually a GBG entry not that long ago, taking my gross tally to 5646.

But I spent large parts of my time here pre-occupied with today's final tick ... i.e. 'where will it be?'

Stamford didn't quite work, North Cambs options Peakirk, Holme and Yaxley all looked a bit risky at this stage, so I decided to get myself up to Grantham via Peterborough earlier than expected, where I had a newbie to knock off.

But what a moment of train nonsensicalness en route!

The Grantham train off platform 4 was seemingly delayed, but because a delayed L**ds bound train was due before it, I couldn't see an expected time for mine. 15 mins became 20, train disappeared off the board completely .... I'm thinking I won't get my tick at this rate, so cross to platform 7 (?) where the next Grantham service departs on time. No announcements, no updates.

Now because I was on a fixed service, when we had our ticket check, I got proper gripped by Mrs Train Guard who is adamant I buy a brand new ticket. I'm not having that, but by crikey I had to dig my heels in. She taps at her gizmo and reckons it had departed on time. Bollox!

"Okay I'll let you off, but count yourself lucky you've caught me on a good day" she eventually relents.

By heck, if this was her on a good day, I'd hate to see her on a bad one! She scowls once more for good measure before I 'alight' .....

There's a pleasing little epilogue to this little tale of madness, cos you do doubt yourself in such scenarios. What if I was mistaken, and train sped through on a different platform and I somehow was oblivious?'

But I'm sat at my work desk the following day, administering business loans like one does, when my phone buzzes. LNER NOTIFICATION. "You are entitled to a £6.75 compensation, your 17:01 Peterborough to Grantham was delayed by 51 mins". HA! Are ya listening evil woman?

I'd love to tell you it was all worth it, but pardon my French when I say of the White Lion, Grantham (3161 / 5647), 'holy fuck, it was shit'. I've talked a lot about wildcard GBG entries in the 2025 edition of late. You can normally find some humour in the crapness, because at least the likes of Dukinfield and Huthwaite had 'community', and a 'heart'. Might've been a fatty viscous blocked aorta'd one, but it exists. This was yer keg only desolation dosser you could wander into anywhere in the UK. Tbf, landlord is jolly enough. I ask the question I'm sure I already know the answer to "Do you have any cask ale?" "I do! It is in the cellar, I haven't had time to put it on yet" he replies, as though he's got me on a technicality. He hadn't. Extra extra cold Guinness ain't pleasurable, and what's with the pub decor and atmos? Feels more like a taxi rank / sexual health clinic than a pub. There's even a Welshman ranting about Poll Tax. Dire, shouldn't be ANYWHERE NEAR a GBG.

And it is all the more galling that back at the station, Whistle Stop should be a GBG shoo-in. My third visit here, immaculate ale each time in a nicely done station 'tap' which feels pubbier than some. Fairly cheap too. I have to ask the main guy how come they've never got in the 'good' book. He tells me it is because the local CAMRA want a discount but he's like 'nah, you don't come in here often enough' so they've taken umbrage. Times like that I despair. Egos getting in the way of correct pub selection. Here's a bucket of shite mascots to cheer us all up.

My York bound train was delayed too, but just as I relaxed into my velveteen Matte Black stout, it made up some ground out of nowhere and in my haste to finish every last drop, I nearly had to smuggle it on the train with me ..... I'd probably have been arrested, I swear I'm on some LNER Peterborough-Grantham-Newark-Retford watchlist,

Anyways, despite all that late weirdness, I was well chuffed to get four more Lincs ticks chalked off. Down to six. And two of them will be with you on Wednesday if I can maintain a decent level of discipline this early in the week.

'Tanks for reading. Keep it pub. Si