BRAPA in ...... THE NORFOLK COUNTDOWN : PART 3/6 (MID TABLE MEDIOCRITY)

Hello, and welcome to six more pubs from my recent six day pub ticking quest of Norfolk.

I didn't think any of these were poor, I just had the odd gripe with them.

A bit like a half decent football team, if they just had a better striker, had stayed injury free, or THAT blatant offside goal at Coventry hadn't been awarded, their fans are convinced they harboured playoff ambitions. But we all know in reality that was never going to happen.

22. Three Horseshoes, Warham All Saints

Like Brancaster Staithe, and pretty much every pub I visited on my final Saturday up near Nelson country, this pub was a victim of circumstance 'on the day', being packed full of families and diners. It was a delicious old place, tricky latch to get in, narrow corridors to fight through to the bar whilst kitchen staff and milling barmaids all blink at you expectantly through misty windows! Barmaid was very pleasant, but again, I overdid the 'familiarity' and 'chatter' , then kept bumping into her after that, plus the fact I was the only person not eating, think she had me down as a weirdo after that! Luckily, a friendly Mum at the bar saved the day. Apparently, her Midwitch cuckoo child of blonde curls and piercing blue eyes was 'transfixed' by my pint. "#Pubman of the future" I comment, which amazingly gets a laugh. First time I'd made a Norfolk person laugh in a pub? After a torrid ten minutes sat in a hot dining room, smell of toilets and chicken diners pervading, I start to feel physically ill. I'd already been contemplating getting my feet out to put a plaster on my little toe, so I decide to enjoy the remainder of my pint outside at the same time, where Mum and child are also lurking. Child tells me he dislikes his grandparents dogs immensely, Mum says he's lying, they leave, I pop plaster on, no doubt barmaid saw, and that's about it!

No Colin, you're supposed to drink it, not wee in it!

21.Gunton Arms, Thorpe Market

Most intimidating and difficult route to a pub of the entire holiday, the bus up to Thorpe Market taught me that this particular A road was not pedestrian friendly. Like less than Bransgore. No way I was attempting it! So I had to come up with an elaborate back fields approach, which eventually took me under a posh arch into a deer park, before this imposing attractive posh hole came into view. The GBG had spoken of the deer fuelled poshness, so to see a load of suited blokes drinking red wine, and a bunch of geriatrics in a restaurant to the right, I wasn't surprised. I squeezed into a tiny corner seat between Laptop Daddy and a forlorn dog with the face of Jonjo Shelvey. Two by Two Session from Wallsend, a beer I'd had in North Shields on Saturday and loved, was probably about the least likely beer I was expecting to see here, but you never can tell, and it was kept superbly here. Actually a lot more pleasant experience than I'd been expecting. But a bloody awkward location.

20. Cock, Dereham

If ever a town and pub combination summed up the frustrations I felt with Norfolk this week, it was Dereham and the Cock. I'd had to wait 20 minutes for a bus to turn up earlier to Ashill, an icy wind whipping about. Such an odd place. On the surface, 'pretty little market town' would be the lazy desciption, but you didn't have to delve too deep to feel what a mean spirited, miserly, down and out, miserable place full of random shouters and self satisfied elderly crones it was. It was like Stamford listening to a Leonard Cohen album. The pub was the perfect epitome of the town. Attractive on the surface, with its curved central bar, wooden low roofed outlook. A barman not afraid of a cheeky 80's hairstyle seems nice. I nod at the man at the bar staring at me. He turns the other way in panic, before engaging with two locals about horses and farming. An old lady with a tube attached to her face tells them she misses alcohol but she can't have it any more. Her husband wheels her out. There are two sinister blues brothers figures - creeping me out throughout. Thank the lord for nectarish Titanic Plum Porter, some nice olde worlde pub features and the odd sympathetic glance from our hairstyle hero, or I'd have actively disliked this experience.

19. Malt & Mardle, Norwich

A rare foray into Micropub territory late on the Thursday evening, safely back in Norwich after a day in the sticks. This one hadn't opened til 4pm Wednesday, so I was glad to get it done. A tiny corner 'bar' to the left immediately greets me, I realise the Iron Pier is the only ale I haven't had so far, and the sullen individual behind the bar hears my order, gives me the Norwich death stare, then scurries off in the other direction! What's going on? I'm left hovering, next the red PVC gloved gang Ahhh, hang on, this is sort of a 'show bar' (so to speak), no real pumps, and as so often happens in SE micros, the beer is pulled out of view in some kitchenette area. It isn't a bad place, very beery, quite a bubbly vibrant crowd for Norwich, pleasing and slightly surprising. If any pub genre is going to suffer from sullen unfriendliness, it is the humble micropub - because them's the values they're built on. The Iron Pier is drinking as Iron Pier should - very well, and whilst I'd not be rushing back, this was a decent place.

18. Dock Tavern, Gorleston

Let me apologise to the Dock, 'fifth pub of the day syndrome' had kicked in at my third and final Gorleston tick on the Wednesday and as such, it is my least memorable of the entire week. A shame as I seemed to quite enjoy it. Perhaps not quite as much as the other Gorleston offerings, but it had a happy rugged local crowd, and on the whole Gorleston was one of the more positive places I visited this week. A skeleton sat in the corner, I remember zooming in on that photo. Drifter by Green Jack did a good job. The loo plunged me into darkness. And apparently, according to Twitter I witnessed a woman rearranging the cupboard under the stairs to much incredulity. If you say so, Former Si. If you say so.

17. Oddfellows Arms, Gorleston

"WE ARE OPEN, HONEST GUV!" screams this backstreet oddity, my first of three Gorleston boozers, making you go through the back entrance. But unlike most back entrances, this is on a totally different street meaning a two minute walk around the corner. It set the scene for a peculiar but likeable boozer - it had that airy seaside town seafront bar atmosphere with a dollop of old fashioned pubness, a huge gig room with a very impressive drumkit. And a quirky local crowd. The Woodforde's Reedlighter was in superb condition. It made the perky barmaid realise she'd pulled the wrong one earlier for a local. "Don't matter, they probably all come from the same pump!" he gargled in a Norfolk growl. He got a slap on the wrist for that comment! An asthmatic dude counts coins in the corner. A dirty looking hat has been handed in at the bar. Barmaid sees me watching her give it a sniff! "Ugh" she calls across, "but you know, sometimes you can work out who something belongs to from the scent!" I knew sniffer dogs could do this, but not barmaids. Gorleston - a Norfolk town which restores your faith in humanity.

Well, there we go, pubs are getting better. We're getting to the squeaky bum stage now. Good job we ain't in Whitley Bay's Split Chimp eh? Join me on Sunday for Part 4 - the playoff contenders that just fell short.

Thanks for reading, Si