BRAPA - THE WILTSHIRE COUNTDOWN PART 10 (THEY ARE THE CHAMPIONS, MY FWENDS)
4. British Lion, Devizes
My favourite pub in my top Wiltshire town of the week, it is no surprise that this one claims a promotion spot. To where exactly? Somerset? Errm, perhaps not. We'll say Staffordshire. It'd fit in there. The rain was torrential, and I was the drownedest of soggy waterlogged rats on arrival. So much so, the landlady passes me a tissue to wipe my brow / mop my face. Brilliant pubs are all in the detail. I've known some of our finest boozers (the Wheatsheaf in Falkirk springs to mind) passing Daddy BRAPA a tissue to unsteam his specs, but this was a first. I nearly celebrate with a 7.3% pint of Santa Fe, but I play it safe, after all, I've recently discovered a direct bus service from Devizes back into Sailsbury. It takes about three years, but it saves me from the threat of passing through Bastard-on-Avon once more. Being fifth pub of the day, I can't remember much more detail other than sitting by the fire, drying off, feeling totally content, and musing with a wry smile how the day had come full circle when you consider our first pub (which I don't like to talk about) had told me off for being illegal. Pub ticking, it's a funny old game Saint.
Tissue. More than a pint. Couldn't be happier.
3. Duke of York, Salisbury
Salisbury has a strong suit of pubs, it cannot be denied, not quite up there with Winchester in my opinion, but not far behind. And this was the best of the lot, tucked away in the back streets on the arse-side of the station where the tourists fear to tread. It was like some AI device had plugged into BRAPA in a bid to create my perfect pub. It had a quirky owner, some may say eccentric, some may say mad as a hatter. It had homeliness. It had carpet. It had a #pubcat. Pansy. A boy cat. "Don't go there!" I'm told when I query this. The UK's first #TransPubCat ? About time! #WokeSi2023. It has Ploughmans. £4 a pop. Generous crusty bread, pickles, cheeses. Simple, perfect, no frills. It is fascinating to overhear the landlord say he's still not satisfied with the cheese range, but he's working on it, like it keeps him awake at night. We have two barmen. Big Paul and Little Paul. Big Paul serves me. Nice bloke. I don't see Little Paul. Makes me wonder how little he is? We have Bass. First time I've seen it in Wilts. It is drinking exceedingly well, even by Bass's high standards. Pansy is being fat shamed, podgy tummy when asleep on the stairs earlier. But when the locals and staff go outside for a smoke as one collective, I observe Pansy showing great restraint when it comes to the Ploughman's delights. Credit where it is due. Weirdly, I'm 'satisfied' when my time is up and I've finished my pint, dare I say quite glad to leave. That blue cheese in the stuffy atmosphere is getting a bit sniffy. And the landlord has asked my name and is telling me 'Simon, we have a bed for the night if I want to see it'. Friendly to a tee, but in danger of becoming overwhelming! Proof AI devices (but not devizes) can only do so much.
2. Three Crowns, Chippenham
Although Chippenham wasn't the chocolate box picture postcard Cotswold village that my stupid mind's eye had been envisioning all these years, I tell yer what, it is a darn decent pub town and this for me was the best pub, easily. Far be it from me to be impressed by a beer range, but well, I was impressed by such a range of strong dark beers. Glasto Porter for me. As the kids in Taunton say, hook it to my bastard veins. But it is the warmth of people that make this ace pub extra special. Namely, Rob from Merthyr, who deserves his own award for #PubMan of the week. He really got me into the chat, made me feel at home and kept me in the zone! There's another stranger in the opposite corner who is getting similar treatment, although he has the misfortune of being constantly growled at by a local dog which of course, casts suspicion on his motives and potentially, his hard drive, as we saw down in West Bridgford a while back. Always Notts isn't it where the hard drives need checking? Joking of course. Soon the whole pub is chatting, Jeff the oven cleaner puts in a telling cameo but leaves, leading me speculate that 'self cleaning' ovens are a myth. It was an aspersion I'm glad I cast, as it strikes a chord with the landlady. I'd meet an oven cleaner in Enford a few days later, but he eyed me less kindly cos Enford is weird, NOT that I like to talk about it. I could do a whole blog on my 'self cleaning' oven, but I won't. Meanwhile, award winning owner Steve who I just thought was pissed local for the first 20 minutes keeps disappearing through a door to take a series of secretive calls. The drama! This pub had it all.
1. Three Brewers, Corsham
With a road closure diverting my bus away from this pub, I had to walk the long way around on a full bladder. Not ideal, especially when the locals are so friendly, it takes you a further five minutes jigging up and down on the spot to be polite. 'Allotment David' is the main culprit, second only to 'Merthyr Rob' as #Pubman of the week. So named, because he is called David and has an allotment. He's talking to another chap with an allotment, in a different town, this chap has one of those voicebox things and is also lovely. Horseradishes are a bone of contention. And I recognise the barmaid because she was taking mad selfies on Facebook to convince the world the pub is still open despite the road closure. She's ace too and doesn't want to eat freshly picked strawberries anymore, when David reveals foxes have probably been shitting on them. "You are aware that slugs crawl across your lettuce aren't you?" he chuckles. She looks revolted, and reveals she isn't even that keen on her husband's saliva either. There's two plants on the table I want to put my Bass, I ask if it is an allotment convention, alas not, just a show 'n tell. This Bass is even better quality than the one in the Duke of York. How's this possible? No plant pot tipping required here Mr Taylor! Banks's Mild and Young's Special are the other ales. It is the perfect simplicity, warmth and humour of this place which make it brilliant to me. More locals are piling in as the work day ends, a young Sally Phillips in skiing goggles is making humourous quips in the most deadpan Sally Phillips way ever. Allotment David suggests the soil is Swindon might be very different to the soil in Chippenham. And the landlady is looking less in danger of puking. This pub tells me they were runners up in the recent 'Best Pub in Wiltshire' award, which to my surprise, went to my local for the week, the Winny Gate in Salisbury, which I think I had down in about 25th! Important therefore that BRAPA (the only award that really matters) can redress the balance today.
Foxes might be shitting on strawberries somewhere, but the Bass was superb
Allotment David's leg. And three quality handpumps
So there we go, four absolute classics. Don't go thinking a pub has to have National Inventory status / Grade II listed thingies to be special, the best pubs are all about brilliant people and well kept beer. That's a thought I'm taking to the grave. Nice cheery end. Thanks for reading.
