BRAPA .... SUX TO BE BUX(TON), DUCKS - The Latest from Derbyshire

A first visit to the curvaceous voluptuous steamy town of Buxton since 2017 when I did Cheshire Cheese, Ale Stop and the then 53 Degrees North. Despite the blog title, I'd probably rank the town #1 in my top Derbyshire places. Doesn't slip into twee despite the exciting brick and surprising hills round every corner. Not quite chocolate box, but certainly tub of Quality Street.

More peaceful than Matlock. Less weird than Matlock Bath. Less crooked than Chesterfield. Less all-consuming-swallow-you-whole than Derby. As for the others, not enough identity to have a strong opinion. I could speak passionately on Wirksworth, but it'd be a lie.

Though I've NEVER been to Swadlincote, so there is hope. Greeting me as I arrive was this fellow ....

Rule of BRAPA - if pub ticking seems to good (AKA easy) to be true, it probably is.

Three new ticks in the town were about ten metres apart. All listed as noon openers. It was 12:02pm. One had opened early, two were late. Tsk tsk.

Plenty of blue shirts streaming in, so best get to the bar .... I only have a video so let's hope it works .....

Buxton Tap House, Buxton (2755 / 4916) is a standard brewery tap fayre. Dry hops, beige wood, exposed brick, seating of limited comfort. Strange visitors with southern accents wander around, not quite reaching the bar, giving BBC audio descriptions of what they can see. Staff are looking desperate to serve anyone, so I push in, guilt free, and opt for a 6% Derbyshire STRONG ale. I'd been stuck on the train with Grand National goers, so I need total thirst pint refreshment, and with my love of ESB, this was the natural choice. One of the blokes asks where the 'rest rooms' are! And get mistakenly sent to the restaurant. What self respecting Brit calls them 'rest rooms'? We're not in the Narrow Gauge Inn at Yosemite National Park now lads ..... bogs, khazis, loos, big Johns, shitters, but never rest rooms, get a grip. A quick look at Flash Scores tells me Buxton FC are hosting Bishop's Stortford this afternoon, now it makes sense. Living in the shadow of superior Saffron Walden and Sawbridgeworth is bound to take its toll.

I leave about 12:40 so am surprised to see their sister Cellar Bar very shut, so knowing they are owned by the same folk at Tap House, I go back to enquire and the staff, still very prominent and eager to help, advise me 2pm! Hmmm, well I didn't see that ya social media.

Means I'll need an extra long session in my next pub, which IS now open, although I took the below photo when it wasn't!

Easily the pick of the trio, RedWillow Buxton (2756 / 4917) is a beautifully converted former bank, and I worked in one for 19 yrs, so I know my banks. The highlight being the snug to the right, first instinct is to sit inside it, but then I realise I wouldn't be able to stare lovingly at it. I'd heritage the shit out of it, if that's the technical term. A crafty customer is capturing the staff's imagination by sampling beers from all the taps, so when I pop up and ask for one of the three casks, it puts a downer on the whole atmosphere and for that I can only apologise. What a bore I am. Talking of bores, I'm sure I've been to plenty of RedWillow houses before and found them all DeadChillow (that's not a reference to Chris Chilton btw). Old lady next to me gets on the Sorachi /cat's piss, and soon nods off - only her hubbie and the arrival of some food wake her! With 2pm still a long way off, and after a recent Glamorgan / Leics double header, I don't want to drink too much. Decision time! I return to the bar, and with a "I don't normally do non alcoholic drinks" disclaimer, she's very kind and understanding and flogs me a Sri Lankan black tea, extra slice of lemon, with Lancashire crisps (a poor man's Yorkshire crisp and honestly I'm not being biased) to wash it down. Best decision I made all day!

2pm finally here, I'd even had to nurse my tea n' crisps! I trot very slowly back to the Cellar Bar, but it is still locked. Young lad at bar doesn't look up, doesn't seem to notice me. And I'd forgotten to have a wee before I left RedWillow thinking 'oh well, it is only a one minute walk!'.

By 14:10, still nothing doing, I go for a wee in the Tap House two doors down, and whilst I'm there, I ask the staff (yet again present, visible, and eager to help) what's going on. They look surprised and tell me they'll go to check, returning with a 'just a couple more minutes now, they've had some technical difficulties!'

Opens immediately, finally inside the Buxton Cellar Bar 14:13 (2757 / 4918) but oh dear, the young lad seems so sulky, demeanour like "how dare you grass on me?" EVEN when I hold the door open for him so he can put the blackboard out. And the beer, oh the beer, like nothing on earth! 'Fallen Halo' by Buxton sounds like a standard U.S. pale on face of it, even checking UnTwappd, but this is fizzier than keg, and tastes more like a fruit cider! Nowt like cask. Yet I'd watched him pull it. And the atmosphere, oh the atmosphere, may as well be on the moon. Ever seen that Ross Kemp hosted quiz, Bridge of Lies, the backstage area where the other contestants go to where they can press a panic button? Tis like that. Except I didn't have a panic button, I wish I had. Utterly dreadful experience. Very rare to get the shit trilogy of staff/beer/atmosphere. Doubtful I'll go anywhere worse all year. And it makes me think less of the Tap House and Buxton Brewery in general due to their association, which is a shame,

So I leave Buxton fully greened and hopeful it'll be another 7 years until my next visit, despite my love of the town (you understand!)

Next stop Whaley Bridge, another October '17 throwback when I did the excellent Shepherd's. Two new entries now, first impressions are very rural smelling, feels wet even though it isn't, about 10 degrees colder than Buxton, and phone reception which gives Cowbridge a run for its money.

Pub of the day came at just the right time, as I was losing hope (valley) after the Cellar horrorshow but the Goyt Inn, Whaley Bridge (2758 / 4919) is one for the pub lover and make no mistake. That green and cream floral carpet is easily a 9. Rustic. Eclipse eclipses all other beers I've had today, dark and brooding, like Wilfred Bony in his prime. Guv'nor looks like he's been here centuries, kind who'd snarl if you so much as suggest that a WiFi password might be useful so I schtay schtum. Bric a brac. Good dartboard. Brewerianarama. Red bench seating circles the pub like a lion on the Serengeti trying to stalk buffalo that isn't really concentrating. Fantastic spot to escape from the world.

Capturing the moment Colin walked in

So, 15:55 and I am now stood across the road from our other Whaley tick, a 4pm opener, the wind is so cold, I'm just hoping to spy a bit of movement indoors.

Gets to 4pm, still nothing, bit nervous so I cross the road to 'apply a bit of pressure' ......

Hang on a sec, it appears to be full of people, all sat with pints in hand, look like they've been here since 10am judging by those rosy cheeks! Welcome to the Whaley Nook, Whaley Bridge (2759 / 4920), landlady an old skool character, but she does have one thing not even the Goyt could manage, a WiFi password, hurrah. Now I can tell Xwitter how good the Goyt was, and how thoroughly decent this place is. The happiest room is the back room, lots of smiles, and lots of expectation for the Grand National starting any minute. Ahhh, so maybe that's why they've opened early? I stay in the cliquier front bar, surprisingly homely, not unlike an episode of Postman Pat where you go in to chat with Mrs Goggins and Pat is having a cuppa. The Dark Mild drinking very well and unchallenging for pint 5, when a man randomly shouts "I can't believe it's not butter!" which unless it is the name of a horse, made very little sense. My cue to get moving.

Never did find out the full story behind the Gin & Tonic double wow deal

Back on the Manchester train, my big question now was 'can I squeeze in a final tick and still board a train for York before there is any chance of the Aintree massive catching up with me?' I did NOT want to share a train with this lot again, a few extra hours of drinking inside them.

I worked out that as long as I kept it central Manc, it was on. I'd been withholding three 'easy' ticks for emergencies such as this. Top tactical BRAPPING. And with the news that Hull City had pulverised QPR, I walked from Piccadilly in a Victoria direction with a new found glory in my step.

Shame about the scaffolding because what a frontage that could've been, but nevertheless, pow, I'm thrown into a reet hive of activity at the Lower Turk's Head, Manchester (2760 / 4921), a swarm of folk, ALL older than me, and I reckon I've not done a Manc GBG tick since 2014 where the average age has been over 30! And a better pubman than me, he's still called Jim, will tell you this is its GBG debut. How is this possible? Especially when I learn from Xwitterers that a recent refurb of this place has made it decidedly less pubby than it is now. Well, you'd never know it, as I jostle and grab at the one corner of the bar I can, shouting over three people for the guest Holt's mild because it is the only beer I can see. Behind me, six folk sit stock still in a line on a sort of raised bench like they are on a jury, not unlike Whitstable's Handsome Sam in that respect. Two Pinot Grigio ladies let me sit down, as long as I behave, carpet a weary 7, and a toothless bloke rushes outside, presumably to shout at a cloud, or ask oncoming traffic for a cigarette. A heartwarming tick though hard to get comfortable.

I made the next train from Victoria with no Grand National interference (even had time for a coffee, proper showboating). Sorry for the classically long BRAPA post, but I'm determined to catch up so I can do something #ThirstyThursday this week!

See you tomorrow where we'll have a brief chat about Twickenham.

Si