BRAPA - THE WILTSHIRE COUNTDOWN : PART 2 (YOU'RE TICKED, AND YOU KNOW YOU ARE)

After that wordy but cathartic part one horror show, we now countdown from 43-39. A mixture of fairly shite and incredibly frustrating. Let's go!

43. Horse & Groom, Westbury

In fairness to this pub, two bad decisions by myself and the fact it is in a town so grey and desolate as Westbury contribute to its low position. I've spared you the panoramic view of the pub cos it is shit, but it did have a lovely inn sign, a real winning theme of Wiltshire. Ever been to Woking? Ever been to Tilehurst? Well done. Westbury is like their bastard child, only more of a bastard. I say that because the train station is about 20 minutes from the 'centre' so you get to experience the full bleakness. The pub has a sense of humour, and a bit of vibrancy, I'll give it that. A fluffy parrot to scare Colin. An array of ancient mobile phones. 'Children who don't eat their sprouts will be locked in the cellar'. #PubBantz But they're flogging knock off beer at a 'bargain' price of £4.50. 'Cost Buster' they call it. Awful tired stuff. I don't blame the local Twisted brewery. I wonder what the Doom Bar cost? My second stupid decision is to sit by the doggie biscuit jar. This handsome but greedy mutt, owned by the group opposite me, is being spoilt to death by a lady who I think Mummy & Daddy gave far too many biccies as a child. Dog isn't daft, knows if it keeps haranguing her, it'll get more reward. It can't understand why I don't pull my weight! Soon, there is a pool of drool on the floor beside me, and on her trousers, which she wipes off with her hands and carries on drinking. This combined with the bad beer, well I wanna gip. Or puke. Or chunder. Or hurl. Let's get outta here!

Offending article

42.Castle Inn, Bradford-on-Avon

My BOA debut was symptomatic of the entire town. Pretty, twee, ridiculously hilly up this way, I can only suspect it is living in the shadow of superior Bath, but with none of the substance to back-up the impressive surrounds. Result - a place with 'stick-up-the-arse' insular people, which inevitably leads to a series of underwhelming pubs, especially when you factor in bad beer. It has one great pub, but the other three GBG entries were dreadful on this showing. This one was dull as dishwater, beer was a similar hue. Three moody old men sat on their own. Not one of whom returned my smile. The staff were young and going through the motions, more like a chain pub. The local Broadtown beer was second only to the previous pub for poorest kept pint of the holiday. Oh, and staff left a chilly outside door open near my seat, for fear of locking themselves out. The only signs of life were when the barman lit the fire, and old man #2 leapt out of his seat and started firesplaining to the poor young lad. "You need more kindling", "build a base", "have you used a firelighter", "that's it, give it a poke". That kinda unwarranted advice. Jeez, was I glad to leave. When Quinno told me last weekend that people were queuing out of the door here, it was no surprise to me that BOA folk don't know how to behave in pubs, only a surprise anyone would ever want to come here.

"You don't wanna do it like that!"

41. George, Bradford-on-Avon

Immediately following on from my Castle boredom was this equally desperate place a bit further out of town, pitched somewhere between Addams Family and an unconvincing attempt at a Brunning & Price. Sure, it has a bit of grandiose. It even has a friendly Polish barmaid who I had quite a nice chat with. I liked her frankness about the 'Pigswill'. Something along the lines of "I hate beer, a lot of our locals don't like it, but some weird visitors do so you might like it so give it a try". Well, me being stupid, and knowing I'd had a very nice pint of it in the wonderful Vernham Dean last year, I dive straight in. Dreadful stuff! Another 'advertise it to flog it off' effort I assume. Her equally Polish mate is hogging the one seat by the fire, feet up, stretched over two settees, relegating me and Col to a chillier settee, and with ceilings this high, this was the kinda place that needed serious heating! They talk in Polish throughout, unnerving in a 'Cafe Polski' Harry & Paul sort of way, occasionally ducking out for a smoke. It is just an all round second consecutive limp BOA experience.

40. Stumble Inn, Bradford-on-Avon

Although we have to fast forward a few days to my last pub of the holiday, we may as well stay in BOA where I was feeling seriously constricted (geddit? Thanks!) The mean opening hours tell me this is a 'hobby' micropub, always the most precarious in my experience. I was impressed initially. Carpet in a micro. Love to see! Big Bass mirror! Yes please. 2019 GBG on table, hat for Col to try on. Win win. The lady who serves me is pleasant. One beer has just gone so there's one pump and something in a barrel. I go for the barrel stuff. Dreadful! My only contribution here is to turn any poor unsuspecting visitors away from it. She kept promising a new ale would be on soon from the minute I arrived. Well, I was in the pub 45 mins forcing down this slop, and still no sign of it! In addition, it was one of those places which only seemed to be friendly if they knew you. It was all "hi Jean, how are the junipers?", "hi Fred, how's the foxgloves?" "Is that cute fluffy dog a BOA resident?" "No?" "Oooh I hate it". I exaggerate wildly, but you get what I mean. And there's idiots like me sat close to the bar, friendly open expression, flippin' cauliflower wearing a hat, just not getting a sniff. Waaa, where's my attention? Pubs like this leave a sour taste in so many ways. Man opposite seems nice, but he's reading, and we only get chatting when we bump into each other in loos on way out. Oh what might've been? Would not be at all surprised to hear this place has decided to close down in next five years, social experiment complete.

39. Parish Lantern, Whiteparish

Pubs that simply can't be arsed with their customers have to rank particularly lowly, although the one consolation here was that my Hopback Spring Zing was a neckable gem, and it needed to be! Due to open 11:30am, the last bus out of the village for ages was at 11:59am so with a 4 minute walk to the bus stop, I had to be swift! This was put in jeopardy when the pub failed to open on time. I just KNEW the St Austell beer delivery lorry might complicate things. And sure enough, when I finally found the guv'nor with an elderly chap in white (chef or ghost of Jesus) sat on the back step smoking in the sun, I ask "are you opening soon?" and yes he cites the beer delivery as an excuse and says he won't be long. Not that any work is going on. At 11:40am, a local trio of weird hermits try the door, denied! I explain the situation. They grunt at me. When he finally does open at 11:43am, he pushes it vaguely ajar, no apology, no welcome, just another grunt. Luckily, my bus is eleven minutes delayed so I can still make this if I'm snappy which I am cos the pub is comfy but boring. A young lady is back from holiday, either his daughter, a barmaid or local, slumps herself at the bar and moans how knackered she is. Weird Jesus chef wanders around, everyone has a terrible posture here. The village newsletter is as lame as the place itself. And when I return my glass (it is the mark of a man), I get no thanks/bye/nothing. I know we're close to weird unfriendly West Hants here, but is it really an excuse? To get my bus outta here against the odds was one of my finest achievements this week.

Well that was dreadful! Hope you enjoyed.

Wilts was great, honest. We'll get to those good ones.

Join me tomorrow or Friday as we move into the 'underwhelming' category, which by degrees, will be an improvement!

Thanks for reading, Si