Not in danger of relegation, never going to challenge for the top half. These five show 'glimpses' but either make silly mistakes or lack star quality in key areas. Reminds me of a football team I know quite well.
33. Village Inn, Salisbury
A poor quality pint is one of the hardest things to forgive in this game, and it was the difference between the Village pushing top 20, and languishing down here in 33rd. I'd ordered a dark beer, even harder to tell if it isn't kept right, in fact I spent the first half convincing myself this was some deliberately complex balsamic vinegar sour Duchesse Boing Boing style ale, but one look at 'Untappd' told me it was simply supposed to be a standard stout. Once I'd reconciled myself to this fact, I enjoyed the pub more, helped immeasurably by the departure of a miserable Spurs fan who was 'gloomifying' the premises, as they so often do. Before I knew it, the guv'nor is shouting over to me, where am I from, am I set for the 'emergency phone alert' tomorrow etc etc. A lovely bloke. The pub hadn't totally convinced me aesthetically speaking, but it had the huge heart of a basic street corner boozer at the scruffier end of town. Before long, a rock n roll couple entered and the bloke with the purple velveteen trousers with an air of Lux Interior off of the Cramps is giving me a potted history of Salisbury's shut pubs! Only the third pub of my holiday this, a slow start but things were finally looking up.
32. Hop Inn, Swindon
I can't quite pinpoint what it is I found so boring and uneventful about the Hop. Nothing to criticise in the slightest. Its grey exterior wasn't matched indoors, if a showing of Ukrainian solidarity was the aim, well it all came out a bit Mansfield Town. The staff were pleasant, my stout was excellent if you ignore the peculiar short fat glassware. There was a happy post-work liberated youthful crowd, by which I mean most people were under the age of 65. A 64 year old man next to me ordered the 9.4% beer without realising, then realised, knew it was too late to rectify his error, looked tearful and sloped off disconsolately. I felt for him, the double jeopardy being the price combined with the strength! Hope it was a good drink at least. The bar was even made of recycled old doors for heaven's sake, yet on a day where I visited five Swindon GBG pubs and generally had a 'nice time', this was the only time in the day I felt a dark cloud hanging over me.
31.Goddard Arms, Swindon
A Swindon pub that has absolutely no right to rank below the Hop, you'll probably be thinking, but if so that's because you are a beer snob. What a peculiar and 'fascinating' GBG entry this was, second only to the Wyvern in that regard. A maze of a building, more like a hotel, grade II listed, Sky Sports plasmas everywhere, and a range of beers that convinced me I was in a Marston's dining pub and it doesn't get much less GBG than that usually, except Swindon is Swindon, so it sort of felt authentic and rugged in a town like this. I liked Swindon beyond my expectations. Like one of those northern shitholes I have a soft spot for because they are scruffy underdogs, and whilst you are more likely to get bottled by a daytime drunkard in Swindon than anywhere else in gentle Wilts, you are also much more likely to get a stranger look you in the eye, smile and say hello, than you are in say Bastard-on-Avon, Wanksbury or Whoreminster. Not saying my Hobgoblin Gold was peak Hobgoblin Gold (a beer I DO like), but the main sticking point was the glassware, what the bloody 'ell is that contraption about? Weird groove 2/3 of the way down, very heavy too like a Georgian rummer. And yet, here I felt warm, comfy, content and amused amongst the swathes of grey patterned carpet as I watch a father & daughter combo eating a plate of grey peas and downing after school Amstel.
30. Winchester Gate, Salisbury
My first pub of the holiday, and very much my local for the week, though I never went back. I was so hyped, so pumped, like the piped punk rock playing on arrival, I'm like a kid in a Wiltshire sweet shop, my first 'tick' in the county since a 2007 late night trip to Swindon's Glue Pot following a gig featuring my favourite punk band of that time, The Briggs, in an strange nautical venue. 16 years on, the punk theme comes full circle with piped Teenage Bottlerocket. A band I've always had a lot of respect for since they saved a dreadful Descendents performance at Shepherd's Bush in 2010. Music pubs during the day rarely hit the spot, they pass me by in an airy, scuzzy, disjointed sort of way. I'd say that was true of every single experience I've had, until this past weekend when I visited the amazing Jenny Lind in Hastings. But the Winnie (as the locals call it) wasn't Pooh (thanks!), it was just uneventful despite some exciting well kept beers, a nice stonery barman, a propping up local who said 'hi', and two giggly young lads smoking out the back. But the experience just checked my expectations, putting a downer on my time before it had really begun! To learn later in my holiday it has been voted best pub in Wiltshire surprised me.
29. Angel, Westbury
Pretty much the polar opposite of Westbury's other GBG entry, the Horse & Groom, which I ranked down in 43rd, I was far more partial to the Angel, only an undercurrent of sadness and roughness which stopped it pushing top 15. Certainly friendly, Swindon-esque in its down to earth welcome. An excellent beer from Mobberley, that was unexpected, and far nicer than Westbury's own brew in the last pub. 'LocAle? You're 'avin a larf'. Three sweary dudes with foghorn voices discuss the plight of a former Yeovil Town player with the world at his feet. Plymouth Argyle signed him. He couldn't adapt to the bright lights. And now he's languishing at Screwfix. All the tales here took on a sad turn. An older lady wearing far too many patterns all at once seems to be telling a younger lady propping up the bar that she's 'got a gift for reading people' and in hushed tones, does a bit of fortune telling / tea leaf / beer head reading. Younger lady is obviously impressed by what she's been told, and tells an older bloke she thinks there's 'something in it', citing past relationships and stuff. This angers old bloke who storms off muttering it is all mumbo jumbo. Colin's presence makes us immune to a good fortune telling, so I return my empty glass with suitably sad expression to fit in, and get a wistful 'thanks and farewell' from all who witness it. Nice pub really.
I'd like to say I'll be back on Friday for 5 or 6 more, but the weekend might be more likely now.
Join me for a bonus #ThirstyThursday from the Midlands tomorrow over on Twitter, as train strikes mean I'll be forced into a rare Saturday off. Eurovision and cans anyone?
Si
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