BRAPA - THE WILTSHIRE COUNTDOWN : PART 1 (RELEGATION HORRORSHOW)

Good evening, and having ticked off 45 pubs on my recent BRAPA Spring Holiday, I'll start by telling you about the very first two that would be goin' down with the Scunny, if I had my way.

Don't read this just before bed, or your might have nightmares.

45. Swan, Enford

In a beautiful village, I find this nice looking thatched roofer with a cute swan on the top, and a rare sign spanning the road like a poor man's Ye Olde Starre Inne (York). I was fully braced for a winning pub experience. Okay, so the interior didn't live up to those expectations, very much a restaurant but with the old warped beams left in for 'character & atmosphere'. Not sure it achieves it. At the bar, I order a Great Bustard by Stonehenge and it is in the upper echelons of beer quality this holiday, a cracking drop. I have a brief chat with the landlady serving me. I tell her about BRAPA, she seems vaguely interested. She can't unlock the electronic till so asks a younger barmaid to help her out. At this point, she asks if I want to leave a 'tip'. The first 'red flag' as the kids would say? I'd only ordered a drink from the bar, so I decline! I hear her whisper something to the barmaid. Can't tell what. 'Surely it can't be about not tipping!' I muse to Colin, who emerges from my bag for air. All is quiet for a couple of minutes, it is early so I'm the only customer. I take a couple of 'establishing' shots of the pub interior, following one I'd taken of the handpump, and sup my beautiful Bustard. I look up as a bloke arrives at my table. Must be the landlord. " I hear you are visiting all the pubs in the area, and you are part of a group?" he asks. I tell him no, I'm doing this under my own steam, mistaking his interest for one of those motivated owners who want to make sure I have a good experience in their gaff - similar had happened a couple of days earlier in Tisbury. But I'm wrong, and says he hears I've taken a photo inside their pub and this is illegal without permission. He isn't rude or aggressive, but certainly a bit confrontational and defensive, and it obviously isn't up for debate! Some mental maths tells me I wouldn't make the next bus before the filth would show up. So I simply apologise, show him the photo (the handpump one anyway!) and delete it. He then repeats the bit about it being illegal, before exiting stage right. I never see him again, I now wonder if he even existed. Like a ghostly Wiltshire Humphrey Smith. Well, I'm rattled, I can't lie. If he'd come over with a smile on his face and said 'sorry, you'll probably think I'm a very silly man but I don't like people taking photos in my pub ..... we are very closed off and suspicious of outsiders around these parts what with Stonehenge, Russian spies, Salisbury Plain, UFOs and Porton Down .... I hope that is okay my friend?' I'm sure I'd have acquiesced with a chuckle and shake of the head. After all, yokels gonna yoke. But he didn't. I set my expression to fake smile after that. About two minutes later, the situation gets slightly weirder as the landlady who obviously grassed me up and witnessed my telling off opens a outside door next to me to take some stuff out, and apologises with a chuckle for letting in a draught. 'The atmosphere is already chilly ya two faced cow' is what I should've said if I'd been quick enough, but I simply chuckle back 'no problem, fresh air is nice' (or something lame), younger barmaid follows her chuckling too. Three posh ladies arrive for lunch. We exchange smiles, and they are well looked after, as one is admonished (in a friendly way) for being indecisive with her food ordering. No doubt the food is quality. Too much time until the bus though, tsk. I decide to go back up for another half, I won't fade away like a timid mouse! It is the younger barmaid this time, and she actually starts asking me about my day, where I'm off to next etc. Wow. Was she taking pity on me? Liked her. We had a little laugh about trying to get the bus to stop on that sharp bend. The half of the local Three Daggers is also in excellent nick. I finally leave, via the loo. No one says goodbye, as landlady and barmaid are engrossed in what looks like a serious chat, but I return my glasses to the bar cos you know, that's the mark of a man.

But flippin' eck, what a strange and unpleasant experience. Illegal my foot! 4,300 pubs visited, approx 4 indoor photos on each, you are not telling me I've broken the law 17,200 times and gotten away with it every single one? Even Jack the Ripper wouldn't have managed those odds!

I won't be denied!

Well, despite the afore mentioned sharp bend, I'm on the ball, as is the bus driver, and with the rain now teeming down, it is on to Pewsey, which is good for the ongoing narrative cos I'm ranking this 2nd bottom.

44. Crown Inn, Pewsey

My aim for this next pub was clear to me. To vanquish those Enford demons. Meet a jolly and receptive bar person, perhaps a kindly gaggle of locals , whom I could 'unload' my recent experience onto, ask their views on what had just happened? It is therefore laughable that I'm met with the frostiest reception possible, and an experience I can only describe as vaguely sinister. 'American Werewolf in London' is the oft trotted out phrase in these circumstances, but here, you'd have to add Twin Peaks, League of Gentlemen and Inside No. 9 for good measure. The first five seconds are great! Proper old building, with a tired carpet, smoky old fire smell, beers from a brewery outside - World's End they call it, and pretty apt I'd say! No other customer's once more, no other staff either. Just me and this young barman. For 27.5 long depressing minutes. Expressionless in an unnerving way. I ask him about the brewery as a conversation topic, but I get nothing back. He keeps glaring over at me above his newspaper. A clock is ticking menacingly behind me, the only sound apart from when one of us moves and the whole ancient pub creaks like old bones. It is freezing in here. I'm not even sure why they've bothered opening during the daytime to be honest. Four ants have arrived on the window sill next to me and are gathered around this sweet that has been put out to snare them. I want to set them free. I wouldn't want any living organism dying in here. I try one last smile when I see the barman looking. "Just paaaarsing through?" he finally asks in a Wiltshire drawl. I tell him yes, reel off a few lines about BRAPA. He looks unimpressed, unsurprised and says no more. Hang on, what if he's been tipped off about me by Enford. Was that the real reason the nice barmaid asked where I was heading next? Had they asked her to soften me up, spill my plans, so they could warn other locals pubs about a spy from the outside world taking illegal photographs? 'Pull yourself together Si, paranoia is setting in!' I have to tell myself. The NZ Pale tastes like nothing on earth. Despite the heavy rain and dark sky, I think I'm even happier to be out of this place than the last one! He says goodbye on the way out as I return my glass, the mark of a man.

See, it looks lovely from here

Well, I don't think I've written a blog which has felt more like a gothic horror novel. Pewsey has train AND bus links aplenty - yet it felt more closed off than any of the Semley's or Ebbesbourne Wake's I visited this holiday so I just don't understand why.

Join me next time, probably Thursday, where we'll head to my two most hated towns of the holiday, in very different ways - Westbury and Bradford on Avon. Both with some dire GBG pubs. Stay tuned!

Si