BRAPA .... YOU'VE MADE YOUR BED(MINSTER) ... NOW YOU'VE GOT A SI IN IT

The Maltmeister wagon chugs south from Henleaze to Bedminster, a Bristol 'burb perilously close to Ashton Gate, home of today's game between our respective cities of Bristol and Hull.

"I won't join you for this next one, I've got some schmoozing to do" says Malt. He isn't your casual Brizzle fan, he knows staff, players, former managers and more. That much becomes clear when at a road junction, kitman and former player Scott Murray drives past. Both wind down their windows for a bit of cheeky bantz .... "Wheyyy Malt you old bugger, how's the pub ticking going?"

"Wheyyyy Scotty, get them dirty shirts washed ya nobber"

Not an accurate exchange, but something like that.

Tobacco Factory Cafe Bar, Bedminster, Bristol (3310 / 5796) isn't really floating my goat. It ain't bad. If you like being in a beer cafeteria surrounded by babies in buggies. My stiff neck which I don't like to talk about is stopping me from surveying the landscape as efficiently as normal. Tiley's Citra drinking well as I knew it would. I need a higher vantage point so sit in the centre of the stage - main character energy. Should I do a song? Colin wants to. I'm disappointed that the place doesn't smell of tobacco. Four of our fans arrive. A classic example of 'Cloggies come to London' but in Bristol. All cod-eyed nervous glances, knuckles dragging on the floor, "Aiiiirrrr, what do we do now?" Well you go to the bar and get a drink, sit down, shut up, drink it, leave. It ain't hard. Later on, annoying queue forms. My second already this hol. Bristol feels the kinda city where a pub queue is always a real prospect. Some of the folk a bit milque toast.

Colin ready to do 'In the Shadows' by the Rasmus

Ominously, huge rain drops are blobbing down as I make my way to my final pre-match pub .....

It is hard to appreciate Bristol Beer Factory Tap Room, Bedminster (3311 / 5797) in these current circs - I've timed it badly as a pack of young Tigers have arrived and don't seem to know how to proceed. I'm blocked in the doorway. "Errrr nerrrr". A helpful BBF lass suddenly shouts "There's a keg only bar to the back which is much quieter". The lads stand stock still, open mouthed, unable to process this development, and blink with their little fishy eyes. So I take my chance, and swoop around them, straight in at the back post for some weird German BBF wheaty nonsense, served in plastic. You can't teach experience like that. Using all my 11.5 yrs pub ticking to put my body between the bar and the last defender. I take a posing stool next to a wheelchaired Bristolian in jaunty hat. He tells me that I don't sound very Hull cos I'm not, and recalls a game in the 70's where their goalie Ray Cashley scored against us. Then Malt shimmies in, if he shimmies, I'm not sure, for a bit more of the same. He brings me half a cask beer from the front cos I know some of you get upset when I don't order the cask even though you don't make the BRAPA rules so shut up and stay in your lane. #PubChallengeNotBeerChallenge 'Tis a very good drop, as it should be 'at source', though as the week progressed, I'd find myself firstly subconsciously, then not, avoided BBF options. More on that in part three. Marco Silva is crying on the plasma. Good. Game time.

I temporarily lose Malt, but find him so we can walk to the ground together. He has to go slow, but that's fine, rather that than him collapsing on me!

He has to do more schmoozing post-match so we agree to meet 6ish and I have the perfect pub in mind.

One look in my bag to reveal Colin and the steward is so busy chuckling, he doesn't check any further! I could've had knives and drugs in here for all he knew.

I go up towards my seat clutching my match ticket. "Sit anywhere you want mate .... you've hardly brought any fans .... I think MK Dons brought more!" Ouch. But true, I had an entire row to myself and once two groups wandered out on 67 mins, almost an entire block!

Funny story. I finally get to catch up on the pub tickers WhatsApp chat pre-match. One of our newer recruits, 'Spoons completist Leon Foster and his mates have convened at a pub in L**ds. In front of a Soccer Saturday screen. Whichever team score first in a 3pm kick off in the English football league, they are going drinking in that town! A brilliantly bonkers challenge. Were Plymouth at home? I can't remember.

Anyway, guess which team scored first?

Attempts to edit out Martin's number went weird!

Anyway, long story short, we've lost 4-2 by the time he reaches Hull. At least I got to see Kale Joseph score his first ever goal for us. An injury time consolation. And I was about the only Hull fan left in the ground by then.

For my penance, I walk to Somerset in the rain, nearly getting run over on the process as Google Maps had me on the wrong side of an uncrossable road forcing me to u-turn into busy Bristol foot traffic to find an underpass .....

But (fairly) good things come to those who wait .....

There's a small gaggle of Titties bar blocking, but service is pretty easy at Angel Inn, Long Ashton (3312 / 5798) - my first ever (and still only, at the time of writing) Somerset tick not in Bath. It'd prove to be my best pint of Bass the week too, not that the standard was that high. And I only had three in total. A pretty solid pub, not a masterpiece, but good enough, best so far today. I retire to a side room, tall handsome dining chairs and vaguely church-like. One silent dude is joined by a group including a solitary tiger. He stands up to make a speech. "Despite thrashing us, seeing as you've all been so good to me today, I'll show you around Hull when you're up for the away game". "Shouldn't take long!" guffaws the smuggest. Ugh. I order a bonus half. Malt finally arrives to save me. We get onto the subject of our shared affection for Somerset CCC - I don't want any football chat! Despite having to get back to his Newmarket home tonight, he offers to drive me out to Nailsea's micro, even mentioning Portishead, who I thought were a band, but I'm aching, tired etc. so ask if we can play it safe with a Hotwells trio. "Whatever you want Si" What a gent!

First up, an interesting one as it was a pub on a barge where you go below deck ......

Less irritating than Peterborough's Charters, but not as old skool as that thing in Grimsby, I didn't mind Grain Barge, Hotwells, Bristol (3313 / 5799). Today's second crazy rainstorm, which would be another feature of my time down here, makes the boat wobble and for a moment, I thought we'd somehow got untethered and were floating downstream. Not sure where that'd take us! Cardiff? Hull? Mar-a-Lago? Malt points out S.S. Great Britain on the horizon to reassure me we're still in Bristol, which I've had a wander around in my early Bristol days. The New Bristol Soleil is drinking pretty steady, though I'd rather their cinder toffee which I had in York tap two years back and was like 5** NBSS. Back to the Maltmobile. I was very much in 'shark' mode (gotta keep moving or I'll die).

It turned out that we'd accidentally saved today's strongest two boozers for last, starting here ......

I can't remember much about Merchants Arms, Hotwells, Bristol (3314 / 5800) other than thinking 'Hic! This is a good 'un, burrrp'. The bare boarded flooring and soothing low lighting harked back to last night's opening duo Barley Mow and Volunteer Arms. Takes me a shamefully long time to get the 'Gorge Best' pun on the Cheddar ales beer. A steady away bitter, but George like me would rather a Fullers ESB / bottle of turps / threesome with mother daughter combo at this stage. I think the lack of food and too much Nurofen was kicking in. Oh and let's not forget the fantastically most basic, cheap bar menu, putting me in mind of that Stourbridge-Wolverhampton corridor ..... one of each for less than a pint of dodgy Central London bitter.

Final stop was a pub that has been on my wish list for yonks .....

"No idiot pub crawls!" shouts the sign in the window. I'm in trouble then. Presuming BRAPA counts as the most idiot pub crawl in history. Which it is. Bag o Nails, Hotwells, Bristol (3315 / 5801) is, of course, famous for cats. I love cats, but I'd heard they can make the pub stink. Thankfully, all was freshness tonight. Except for student sweat. In fact, I only saw two cats the entire time we were here, a small black one making a late cameo. Two very welcoming barmaids with legs and leggings introduce us to bar cat Sally, though they keep saying 'he'. Gender fluid cat? #WokeSi2025 is lovin' that. Irritating students keep putting blocks of lego on the poor creature and giggling, but he/she/them is so docile, there could be an earthquake and Sally wouldn't budge. Rasputin is the aggressive bitey one, I'm told the following day by a lady we'll meet in part three. Cracking pint of stout from Lenton Lane, Nottingham is the perfect beer to end on, and another deliciously dark atmosphere to match. A Canadian lass complains to us that the Trivial Pursuit questions are too old for her. They are of a certain vintage. I quiz Malt, of a high quality vintage, and I'm impressed by his knowledge. What a lovely evening we'd had. He'd text me about 1am to say he'd reached his Newmarket home safely. And crikey, have I ever been more ready for food and bed? Doubtful.

Of the seven pubs I ticked today, Grain Barge was the only drop from the new GBG.

Of the four I did the previous night, less successful, as Volunteer and Wiper & True were both binned.

See you on Sunday for part 3 presuming Storm Amy allows me to get to and from London ok tomorrow!

Si