Thursday 23rd April 2026
The second of my DrossCountry freebies due to their general incompetence has me back down to Birmingham New Street on another brilliantly blue skied Thirsty Thursday. Being incompetent, they'd given me my paper tickets in an LNER wallet because that's how they roll.
Local lad Dudley Duck was in the mascot hot seat, as we take a connecting train to Kidderminster. 19 (NINETEEN) ticks remain in Worcs. Just below my threshold of acceptability (20) but I've decided I won't be happy unless I bring Worcs down to single figures before September.
Kidderminster was doing Kidderminster things as me and the crew wait for a delayed bus to a town called 'Stourport' which is 'on Severn' which is a shame because only five were waiting.
Stourport has a nice vibe this Thursday lunchtime - slightly elderly, slightly watery, but I couldn't complain if I was forced to retire here. Two ticks, the first was tucked down the canal .....
I'm invited to crane my neck to see what ales are on offer. Waterside pubs rarely get better than the Black Star, Stourport-on-Severn (3398 / 6238). The two brunettes are dazzlingly welcoming despite their deafening walkie-talkies ("Nighthawk calling, are you receiving me? Two plates of snails for ze couple in the back with ze gateau from the chateau"), and after some deliberation about which room I'd drink my International Woman Bewdley in, I controversially favour the neon signed back room with the tiled flooring and smattering of old lady lunchers. The floor and beams creak with an age I recognise from Worcester and Ledbury, and once again my 'red dot theory' (a pub in all of the previous five editions of the GBG) had come up trumps. A strong start.
A couple of minutes walk away was pub two, I wish all of my remaining Worcs ticks were this easy ......
Not often the local Black Country Ales pub is a massive comedown, but I think that says more about the Black Star's abundant charms. Holly Bush, Stourport-on-Severn (3399 / 6239) is packed with grumpy ole' geezers, who turn away disappointedly when they realise I'm not one of their own. Reminds me of a similar recent BCA experience in Halesowen but I normally find their pubs breezy and cheerful so let's not judge too harshly, and to be fair, returning from the Gents later on I yield a couple of 'alroite moite' mumblings to cheer me up. 'Twas good at the bar though, the young lad with loud tropical shirt chats amiably with me over Fixed Wheel's hazy 'Chris Froome bike accident in the mountains' themed ale. You know when a brewery comes up with the name first, pump clip second, beer third? One of them! 'Twas best I've ever had by FW, and lightened the mood after tricky beginnings.
My plan from here had been to crack on south towards Worcester, but apart from Kiddie, buses are rather scarce in Stourport so I tap in a speculative Uber at a 3pm closer I need and by crikey, under a tenner - I'm snapping their hand off for that!
But our mate Kelum Roshan is confused and so am I! Where exactly IS this pub? Behind the churchyard wall it would seem. "Drop me off 'ere mate, ah'll figure it aaaht" I say suddenly going all North Notts.
A jackdaw winks menacingly as a shrouded cauliflower mourns at the graveside of an otter.
I finally stumble upon our inn looking all 'Crooked House, Himley' before the great fire wot killed it. Craziest pub location ever contender?
The two leftie ladies wish me a nervous 'good afternoon', Stringy Bob takes his empties inside cos he's a virtuous helpful sod. He argues amiably with me at the bar as to whether it is too nice a day NOT to sit outside. Mug House, Claines (3400 / 6240) is a revelation, and a new contender for BRAPA pub of the year. I'm not surprised that the ghost stories here are recounted in such a matter of fact way. The barmaid in our next pub would tell me how her Dad's pint went flying across the room with no one near it, when he goes to plead his innocence to the staff, they tell him "don't worry bab, happens all the time, here's a fresh pint for yow". My ale is Java, delicious like my favourite Lynx shower gel of the 90's. Know-it-all Stringy Bob tells me I should visit the 'Hop Shed', the brewery who makes it, and wonders what kind of #PubMan I am if I've never heard of them! But it is the multi-roomed effect, each with their own atmosphere and style. The true reason I wax lyrical about this gaff. Without going all Yvette Fielding, the room with the mystery boxes and hanging mugs is so spooky, I didn't wanna stay for fear of wetting my knickers. And without going all Derek Acorah, in the clubby room I sense the presence of a lady called Emily, Pauline, Fanny or Chantelle. A vintage 18th century perfumed scent follows me around. Thankfully, I encounter some people in the plush mural room with vistas onto ploughed fields. I have a quick BRAPA chat with the barmaid's grandparents who probably aren't ghosts. But Stringy Bob has got in my head like McBurnie, so I spend my final 15 mins outside in the sun. Loos out here too, of course they are, it is an outdoor bogs kinda pub. Must visit. Make sure you do. Or else I'll set the spirits on you.
And my enormous sense of well being (BRAP life!) continues with another dirt cheap taxi to take me t'other side of Worcester. "What's going on today?" I ask Masoud. He tells me demand is low, and that is driving the costs down. Didn't know it worked like that, but about time I got some value for money in this ridiculous hobby.
Hard act to follow the old Muggy, but Old Bush, Callow End (3401 / 6241) grabbed me by the short and curlys from the word go. Barmaid makes that classic faux pas of asking "how's your day been so far? What are you up to next?" which guarantees she won't get rid of me for the next five minutes as I yap on in BRAPA monologue. But it led to that story of her Dad's haunting in Claines. Spoiling my fun, a snobby dog lady comes to book herself in, cutting our chat short. The pub is square and boxy at the front with a small Hereford Utd tribute snug. Further down, a never-ending Kardashian-esque backside leads to a huge undulating garden containing local scaffolders who have hobbies like Madri, boobs and swearing. Distant twilds are ignored by their Mums as they try to break their necks on climbing frames. The Hobson's Twisted Spire (or was it Twisted Spine?) drank well.
Back in Worcester, I realise that my remaining tick (a 5pm opening micro) will beat me once again due to the tight timing of my Birmingham to York train, but at least I snuck in the pre-emptive Crown Wetherspoons which in a word is 'humungous'. The beer was rewardingly spiky, and I spent most of the time moving to different parts of the pub just because I could.
Today's ticks also saw the dawn of my short-lived Untappd limerick era which didn't get the appreciation it deserved from the humourless beer mongs who frequent this bin-fire of an App.
But on this the best of all 2026 BRAPA days so far I had one more trick up my sleeve.
West Midlands completion for the first time ever, and my train stopped at Snow Hill / Jewellery Quarter to make it possible .....
Just like The Wolf, Birmingham (3402 / 6242) before he bites me, as GBG entries go this one felt pretty 'wildcard', having one cask and about twenty taps n' all. But there's no disputing the CAMRA quality on this pint of Glasshouse, pulverising and thick. Took its sweet ass time getting to me though, the card reader broke mid-transaction, and then young Jerry Sadowitz kept wandering off mid-serve to hand deliver strawberry cocktails and burgers to Brummie hipsters. Not ideal when you are (slightly) against the clock. With Celine Dion's 'Think Twice' seamlessly merging into Ramones 'Bonzo Goes to Bitburg against the odds, it was hard to get a grasp of this bar's true identity, but I enjoyed it more than I'd expected staring at the GBG entry on paper for the past seven months. Yankee Brummie Kitchenette? But above all, I was buzzin' that finally, FINALLY, after years of semi-trying, West Midlands was fully green (offer ends mid September).
Back in Jorvik, I was in one of those 'I want a KFC but not quite hungry enough yet' so popped into York Tap to wait for my lack of hunger to blow over .....
Which nicely bookended a cracking day out. Worcestershire. My new favourite BRAPA county.
See you on Sunday for a bit of month end magic.
Keep it pub, Si
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