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14-01-2022, 22:06
Visit The BRAPA site (http://brapa-4500.blogspot.com/2022/01/brapa-in-if-it-aint-stoke-dont-fix-it.html)
https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg18cPZrbgXxrngVSyGUBjze93bFDalWqTW6en34a3lGE hIH0g38UvpoTMTMjnNsvzdBwvcG4AWnAhhwF912A3eUQ-JQVHzgCEK2zLeT1gzZTSfKp8ALgUR4mVhU8S45j3W2D-p7mLK3s7VLzmVo2XO-f2d_ZNeMcUEo9I41KEYtpsZ22PBwHFhb7XDng=s320 (https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg18cPZrbgXxrngVSyGUBjze93bFDalWqTW6en34a3lGE hIH0g38UvpoTMTMjnNsvzdBwvcG4AWnAhhwF912A3eUQ-JQVHzgCEK2zLeT1gzZTSfKp8ALgUR4mVhU8S45j3W2D-p7mLK3s7VLzmVo2XO-f2d_ZNeMcUEo9I41KEYtpsZ22PBwHFhb7XDng=s4032)
A rare Saturday outing for KLO
https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgmNsWIbn7v6ctwHyHZeHa9R54i-Mrcu5whT-qxjvoEVOXlL_xEnWMnK66EMwaMUNeQrxO9igVqKkV4ja85k2_a sAAIQCmgaJcYLK79qAk1P7msAtacnglrKN7Rt8bDd7oHnQIk5K jjxwQ6E3QIqckcbgkFm94VPIu3BYQTmWmM2gDAbrAToL0rz3mr UA=s320 (https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgmNsWIbn7v6ctwHyHZeHa9R54i-Mrcu5whT-qxjvoEVOXlL_xEnWMnK66EMwaMUNeQrxO9igVqKkV4ja85k2_a sAAIQCmgaJcYLK79qAk1P7msAtacnglrKN7Rt8bDd7oHnQIk5K jjxwQ6E3QIqckcbgkFm94VPIu3BYQTmWmM2gDAbrAToL0rz3mr UA=s4032)
Crossing the Pennines last Saturday morning, somewhere 'twixt Marsden and Greenfield, I looked out of the train window where the sleet was coming down sideways. I remember that the breakdown of today's six required pubs is, in footballing terms, Micropubs F.C. 5-1 Old Pubs Athletic. All are in the Stoke area, and I can't help but feel a pang of guilt as I look across at Daddy BRAPA, currently enjoying a long run of consecutive appearances. Do I break it to him now or later?
https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi5jBs-KWtDICay_-DlueIgbd0xFYJO4A0oPTtXMA8uWTE2j8BgSvn7tU9UmstUpz3g TGeJb_VykEbMCXavAJm6hg70GNtiJbGuHFVIYV9PZx94U1WrHv QNlpuitL2cyZHKstH92Y-kHj0mwvnmAnmTlb3fqFqrbi-C6sw0RbyGknK3ok8kzFWKONKGcw=s320 (https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi5jBs-KWtDICay_-DlueIgbd0xFYJO4A0oPTtXMA8uWTE2j8BgSvn7tU9UmstUpz3g TGeJb_VykEbMCXavAJm6hg70GNtiJbGuHFVIYV9PZx94U1WrHv QNlpuitL2cyZHKstH92Y-kHj0mwvnmAnmTlb3fqFqrbi-C6sw0RbyGknK3ok8kzFWKONKGcw=s4032)
At least buttered malt loaf, cheese and coffee make everything okay
Keane Lewis Otter looks defiant. But I bet Colin the Cauliflower is delighted he is in the wash and gets to sit today out.
After a walk across Manchester thanks to some idiotic ticketing on my part, we change at the Picc. The sleet has turned to torrential rain by Congleton. Like someone has tipped a hundred buckets of water over the train roof.
Yes, I had serious doubts that today would be a classic. But then again, to underestimate the micros would be to underestimate the friendliness of Stokie folk. Micros live or die by the people within. And if 2021 Staffs ticking taught me one thing, it is that there's some good blokes in Stoke, no joke. And women too, but they don't rhyme. But don't worry ladies, at least the Colmore wants you ('get over it Si' 'NEVERRR').
The rain has eased by 1% as we reach Stoke, so with twenty minutes til noon, we make the bold decision to walk through Stoke 'proper' (one of the six grey gloomy estates towns - we do ourselves a quiz, the only one we didn't get right was Tunstall).
I'd checked social media thrice for this one, everything pointed to 12 noon. Guess what?
https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjyi231kIJeKaU864AQvM6hWsDeQDU0w44FcDWUAkwDNa viDdRYX5eX-Cq8R8cYtOf5dL4a_CVm-wMTy0ofOwCOSEIRywO7K-AEHkH4p_6hjBmMgONH2EfEuVJOLt1cL0ULRNebyZtphGj2lHyf bdRf4ynLL9QofGxRuv40PywFMhs4aoapCofX4vFj-A=s320 (https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjyi231kIJeKaU864AQvM6hWsDeQDU0w44FcDWUAkwDNa viDdRYX5eX-Cq8R8cYtOf5dL4a_CVm-wMTy0ofOwCOSEIRywO7K-AEHkH4p_6hjBmMgONH2EfEuVJOLt1cL0ULRNebyZtphGj2lHyf bdRf4ynLL9QofGxRuv40PywFMhs4aoapCofX4vFj-A=s4032)
SHUT PUB ALERT! We are well cheesed off. And very soggy. 'Oh well, we'll just have to come back later' I tell Dad. Problem with being a pub ticker, you can't afford to have any standards. The Simon Everitt in me says grumpily "if they can't bloody list their opening hours correctly, they don't deserve my custom" but BRAPA in posh Victorian child voice says "oh gosh, it's in my Guide, so we must go back father, oh father, we simply must!" I hate BRAPA.
A long trek back down the main road with the wind now lashing into our faces for increased sogginess, a selection of bat shit crazy locals at our bus stop, all with brightly dyed hair, lip piercings and Netto shopping bags and Aldi buggies, advise us to hop on the next bus for Newcastle-u-Lyme. Or 'Newcastle', as the locals confusingly call it like they've never heard of that place up north.
Low point of the day is this bus journey, it takes an AGE to negotiate the hospital, treating it like a town in itself with a plethora of different stops within. Burns Unit Ave, Paediatrician Way, it had it all. Bus driver is a right dude, and has Stock Aitken and Waterman hits blaring out for us all to 'enjoy'.
"Today has had everything you'd expect from a BRAPA day ...... except a pub and a pint!" I tell Dad. Well, that got a laugh. Gallows humour was the only way at this point.
Everything changes when we reach Newcastle-under-Lyme, as Robbie Williams once sang. The rain is easing, and N-u-L feels like it is a nicely self contained town in its own right, outside the Stokie Six, which I should remember from when M.Lawrenson gave us a guided tour around here a few years ago, but didn't.
https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhmDDXF5zGHLEEHaXSgPklHyYFQ2O59ao2r6Y79wWEFdg jlb1rH_WLi7SM1NSGbK1Y0NYSQDmK2UXW-2BuMMcp646oeXO_wYFlTPy3H3xYeufY9hleZEy_rrwfL6NTaZH la1FUBWjnrfJU3SjZaT7DN1OnYSbWp6hjupto10dSG2KB7nXUk lOX7JLvh7g=s320 (https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhmDDXF5zGHLEEHaXSgPklHyYFQ2O59ao2r6Y79wWEFdg jlb1rH_WLi7SM1NSGbK1Y0NYSQDmK2UXW-2BuMMcp646oeXO_wYFlTPy3H3xYeufY9hleZEy_rrwfL6NTaZH la1FUBWjnrfJU3SjZaT7DN1OnYSbWp6hjupto10dSG2KB7nXUk lOX7JLvh7g=s4032)
And tears form in the corner of my eyes as I spy our next pub is open, tucked down off the main road near that Lymestone Vaults thing I did on that previous trip ......
https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhzDdXUX4us5FqxnpTVkikKhhS6D0jdeA_RQdGjtbOLdz PK2FapDzmfMFeEXChSkRTxHeHWWkCT1ACIrf-wsENY-o-j36fNQhDoE_uUpfPtis0ndRRwkDFzNz9vVK7-n-dMCMSOUXhxle84UAbTxiggJlYvAK1B8ATaCwHuGPlXOEzU1jOo hz2skVh5iw=s320 (https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhzDdXUX4us5FqxnpTVkikKhhS6D0jdeA_RQdGjtbOLdz PK2FapDzmfMFeEXChSkRTxHeHWWkCT1ACIrf-wsENY-o-j36fNQhDoE_uUpfPtis0ndRRwkDFzNz9vVK7-n-dMCMSOUXhxle84UAbTxiggJlYvAK1B8ATaCwHuGPlXOEzU1jOo hz2skVh5iw=s4032)
https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgTqddiwEVHimBNonHII2OxTUUbk-V68mjoQp_gLxVaMNiwsDuoGOKJ3K_0Jt2fEs5Y3t1ebcf7auUz p4loYu3N8EBCj6eTEdLP2BaVhShOtRIwisMtn7dOo20w4DUv1M IVCEAdIYyGuM15-tjPipNrpwH3Ac1FJuVYh_3Nqwz6LxnxOfq-n7hXIJ2RNQ=s320 (https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgTqddiwEVHimBNonHII2OxTUUbk-V68mjoQp_gLxVaMNiwsDuoGOKJ3K_0Jt2fEs5Y3t1ebcf7auUz p4loYu3N8EBCj6eTEdLP2BaVhShOtRIwisMtn7dOo20w4DUv1M IVCEAdIYyGuM15-tjPipNrpwH3Ac1FJuVYh_3Nqwz6LxnxOfq-n7hXIJ2RNQ=s4032)
Wellers, Newcastle-under-Lyme (2001 / 3564) really lit the blue touch paper in terms of locals with bags of character, transforming a neat and tidy well run Micro into something resembling an old boys boozer with roaring guttural laughter, and unlikely tales and anecdotes aplenty. If it wasn't the smartly dressed tubby Rod Stewart and lady friend (wedding? funeral? or just very stylish folk who dress up for the pub?), it was the bloke with the white van who'd spent the last week travelling between Lyme Regis and Bournemouth, selling sunglasses to unsuspecting Dorsetians. The guv'nor was a bit less 'grrrarr' but knew when to mix it with the lairy ones, a top guy, and the Weale ales were cracking. I assumed Weale ales and Wellers must be an anagram, but no 'r', Dad tried to link in Keith Weller, what with one of his former clubs, Millwall, on the tele losing to Palace. But of course, it was Paul Weller, arty picture of him above the tempting sounding Oatcake Gin. Was he from Newcastle? I couldn't see he was, maybe he played his best ever gig here? Hadn't realised how damp I was til I'd sat down, could've wrung my coat out, but the rain was easing and maybe now today could really get going.
https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhqA3Z9jnlC-WepgMxslfW23lzldACyuRA6AYOVj4_deJ3dCeMhoZ2J6mus1oo jZkcdwFSENxxKJsJhD4jp0OT5zlvsBocNnEJ77tB0RUKOXOp1_ SoFzBmUP_BQkpQ71BC5E9BSUVR97egJpIRvylLHz456QQAf7y6 eCfwaeEGnyEk3kiI8-PGTF91upQ=s320 (https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhqA3Z9jnlC-WepgMxslfW23lzldACyuRA6AYOVj4_deJ3dCeMhoZ2J6mus1oo jZkcdwFSENxxKJsJhD4jp0OT5zlvsBocNnEJ77tB0RUKOXOp1_ SoFzBmUP_BQkpQ71BC5E9BSUVR97egJpIRvylLHz456QQAf7y6 eCfwaeEGnyEk3kiI8-PGTF91upQ=s4032)
Content at last!
https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhyhtP_IF1RhRr1e7Gdyd1iFrfeANBFcKBt6BWbrl8mPU 94Vvw5YEjtqvdwx3-JGJ_bA34S3XzB3pH7JucQHiR3P9ktNrhGJVNu85YZ6VrLkRjwq TrCRNtAYG2LwfNAwHn8cn9OtB5RuhSVDlGFG9QA7AIMYAXfitc R3UrU2Hf7KyW5odSxalCCSyRbFw=s320 (https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhyhtP_IF1RhRr1e7Gdyd1iFrfeANBFcKBt6BWbrl8mPU 94Vvw5YEjtqvdwx3-JGJ_bA34S3XzB3pH7JucQHiR3P9ktNrhGJVNu85YZ6VrLkRjwq TrCRNtAYG2LwfNAwHn8cn9OtB5RuhSVDlGFG9QA7AIMYAXfitc R3UrU2Hf7KyW5odSxalCCSyRbFw=s4032)
Weale Ale .... oh, sounds like 'real' ale, just got it!
https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi-5PFDy3pvoaRmdPMDqnfDTiddukZq8HqswwSlI3kBEnlch74tGB quVCnYaVJfEhwsLL9ffWJFhnHTexhYn6JlXPnmlWR6QVVN3S8f Wv_0dCf7_vLBxo1Dpq908m8K08w5okq9RQm3zm38NgdKZpW5QK Wialza-NXM9QXUeSm3w7C_mjLk8TfyLAbg0w=s320 (https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi-5PFDy3pvoaRmdPMDqnfDTiddukZq8HqswwSlI3kBEnlch74tGB quVCnYaVJfEhwsLL9ffWJFhnHTexhYn6JlXPnmlWR6QVVN3S8f Wv_0dCf7_vLBxo1Dpq908m8K08w5okq9RQm3zm38NgdKZpW5QK Wialza-NXM9QXUeSm3w7C_mjLk8TfyLAbg0w=s4032)
Mind the sanitiser KLO
https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEirNAtyxGDRX5b2IlmecVYjUBEg0FUycWUuOks6ECNeat ZmUg3m_7qD0yUCvYOp5aSvz5VNI_NKG7elp_GOd-wm5LQ8lqYMpNA_tlkJKRWNYlKURlbzqKdBGaWzFWdCgI7o89S_ ZeEUeCKlouAH8R8q8Y5zjHvAFtrnvZICCS5mHSGeRABeryq9Kj-fAQ=s320 (https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEirNAtyxGDRX5b2IlmecVYjUBEg0FUycWUuOks6ECNeat ZmUg3m_7qD0yUCvYOp5aSvz5VNI_NKG7elp_GOd-wm5LQ8lqYMpNA_tlkJKRWNYlKURlbzqKdBGaWzFWdCgI7o89S_ ZeEUeCKlouAH8R8q8Y5zjHvAFtrnvZICCS5mHSGeRABeryq9Kj-fAQ=s4032)
Joke : What's Paul Weller's fave flavour vaccine? Mod-erna (thanks!)
Across town, under this totally confusing multi-faceted underpass / subway monstrosity, and pub two was situated inconveniently on the other side, almost like it had been a canalside inn there for centuries longer, before evil town planning occurred.
https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiOwXQyeFOM5WuRwAH-T-QldqoP3RrRNLT1dc3wuz--aQcwM0Z-xFPv7P_loKlMTh94N7B82BPg5qJ9DzsNazxPa5L0j7Q_3W23fQ UQpZjBRqKxSFq4PEl2h6vUFt2CmKaPmTQRp8sevvZOe7k5q87i 3izxxc131GGNLqlH6z8zp7PsBpBqrdWw61fIJg=s320 (https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiOwXQyeFOM5WuRwAH-T-QldqoP3RrRNLT1dc3wuz--aQcwM0Z-xFPv7P_loKlMTh94N7B82BPg5qJ9DzsNazxPa5L0j7Q_3W23fQ UQpZjBRqKxSFq4PEl2h6vUFt2CmKaPmTQRp8sevvZOe7k5q87i 3izxxc131GGNLqlH6z8zp7PsBpBqrdWw61fIJg=s4032)
Gizza a wave Daddy BRAPA!
Boat & Horses, Newcastle-under-Lyme (2002 / 3565) , and the boat gets my vote from the moment we walk in to this atmospheric old pub, greeted by Dan the host who apparently is great in every barmanly way possible, apart from the art of fire-lighting. I'm always gonna order the Bass (it is Staffs BRAPA law) but that doesn't stop a elderly couple behind us saying 'spoilt for choice in 'ere!' as there's a good selection on. We take a seat next to them, obviously a highly educated pair who moved around the country but wound their way back towards their home. He tells me how he first used to come in here in 1953, when his Mum sent him to buy her off sales beer as a 10 year old lad. Otherwise, he wasn't allowed to come in here for many years as it had a rough reputation, hard to believe today. It's such a nice tale, only right I give him the honour of wielding the green stabilo - like his lifelong association with this pub has come full circle, or something, if BRAPA was hugely significant. Course it is!
https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEirG7d5evhhAY0eD_YU-oTCMlVGif5z-eY-U4bQDfrhJ_kZHywwGLTgsJuno32pNPFq3V81E40eNbF1J0iLCI _-sgGu_jktwf4QjMchfHF8nxQTIFwVtlv4CDF-ZAn32sTdnWwK1TayiH6KXO3MTvjCuNa6ar8IbsAsRyQaFM5M7l ULR06dduIKnTrDFA=s320 (https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEirG7d5evhhAY0eD_YU-oTCMlVGif5z-eY-U4bQDfrhJ_kZHywwGLTgsJuno32pNPFq3V81E40eNbF1J0iLCI _-sgGu_jktwf4QjMchfHF8nxQTIFwVtlv4CDF-ZAn32sTdnWwK1TayiH6KXO3MTvjCuNa6ar8IbsAsRyQaFM5M7l ULR06dduIKnTrDFA=s4032)
The otter is down!
https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjsdQgmh0c4GKNkUihXdMWRmq72GO4rj2THpsU8jBOoJo AgRa5NeYD6vhFbQU6T_5s4rgCh0uEslOqWUmVO3ldD-92h4LbV1pFMLG3NG35L_Yh4w9RcXrQyXkRwmWawkol_pSnphmP zrmIa-cue-uVm_iPG90LiKJM5u6AsPJ4DO7f28xE3xa_wKLAYxg=s320 (https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjsdQgmh0c4GKNkUihXdMWRmq72GO4rj2THpsU8jBOoJo AgRa5NeYD6vhFbQU6T_5s4rgCh0uEslOqWUmVO3ldD-92h4LbV1pFMLG3NG35L_Yh4w9RcXrQyXkRwmWawkol_pSnphmP zrmIa-cue-uVm_iPG90LiKJM5u6AsPJ4DO7f28xE3xa_wKLAYxg=s4032)
Ticking with aplomb
https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjuY9FzEXdmWolC_1a0AERmDA59mXeVwywwwyl7mBP3pE dWNkdnKwu1WmONeb90IPjURUQDxU0e0gqWv9XbIXt5WtEWj4In d1GC9R2PrJmmM-q59jOLdukIFWDJOAq4koz5HyMaY0-XCoj6rG6sQE9lj3HeL1qY-p97nQ4u1mcMxhJyqf8WPZIQ4HBhKw=s320 (https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjuY9FzEXdmWolC_1a0AERmDA59mXeVwywwwyl7mBP3pE dWNkdnKwu1WmONeb90IPjURUQDxU0e0gqWv9XbIXt5WtEWj4In d1GC9R2PrJmmM-q59jOLdukIFWDJOAq4koz5HyMaY0-XCoj6rG6sQE9lj3HeL1qY-p97nQ4u1mcMxhJyqf8WPZIQ4HBhKw=s4032)
Dan, possibly thinking he needs to light a fire
https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgcV0JyoFw6mIiW_9K5ReA6UxGb8aw4QJp_jcNZn9odqw EdTi4_kEdYXT_jzTJo5aK6EwnRaiqF88XQ0h7D6VCy_WRS1Fof MUDHXbZlruqjSecCJS6t7JO6dPBH9xBGik5NMKJA3m-Rrftgh95heO2ij9ggymrj7iZLN55_Aaftf5Rm0lhR07Moy3wVp w=s320 (https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgcV0JyoFw6mIiW_9K5ReA6UxGb8aw4QJp_jcNZn9odqw EdTi4_kEdYXT_jzTJo5aK6EwnRaiqF88XQ0h7D6VCy_WRS1Fof MUDHXbZlruqjSecCJS6t7JO6dPBH9xBGik5NMKJA3m-Rrftgh95heO2ij9ggymrj7iZLN55_Aaftf5Rm0lhR07Moy3wVp w=s4032)
"Please close the door!" kinda loses the French allure
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What a pub!
Time to negotiate the evil subway/underpass and try and find our way to pub three. I'll tell you about that, and the others, on Sunday. See you there, 9pm.
Best get to bed now, I'm off to either Staffs, Herts, Lancs or North Yorks first thing tomorrow.
Si
More... (http://brapa-4500.blogspot.com/2022/01/brapa-in-if-it-aint-stoke-dont-fix-it.html)
https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg18cPZrbgXxrngVSyGUBjze93bFDalWqTW6en34a3lGE hIH0g38UvpoTMTMjnNsvzdBwvcG4AWnAhhwF912A3eUQ-JQVHzgCEK2zLeT1gzZTSfKp8ALgUR4mVhU8S45j3W2D-p7mLK3s7VLzmVo2XO-f2d_ZNeMcUEo9I41KEYtpsZ22PBwHFhb7XDng=s320 (https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg18cPZrbgXxrngVSyGUBjze93bFDalWqTW6en34a3lGE hIH0g38UvpoTMTMjnNsvzdBwvcG4AWnAhhwF912A3eUQ-JQVHzgCEK2zLeT1gzZTSfKp8ALgUR4mVhU8S45j3W2D-p7mLK3s7VLzmVo2XO-f2d_ZNeMcUEo9I41KEYtpsZ22PBwHFhb7XDng=s4032)
A rare Saturday outing for KLO
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Crossing the Pennines last Saturday morning, somewhere 'twixt Marsden and Greenfield, I looked out of the train window where the sleet was coming down sideways. I remember that the breakdown of today's six required pubs is, in footballing terms, Micropubs F.C. 5-1 Old Pubs Athletic. All are in the Stoke area, and I can't help but feel a pang of guilt as I look across at Daddy BRAPA, currently enjoying a long run of consecutive appearances. Do I break it to him now or later?
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At least buttered malt loaf, cheese and coffee make everything okay
Keane Lewis Otter looks defiant. But I bet Colin the Cauliflower is delighted he is in the wash and gets to sit today out.
After a walk across Manchester thanks to some idiotic ticketing on my part, we change at the Picc. The sleet has turned to torrential rain by Congleton. Like someone has tipped a hundred buckets of water over the train roof.
Yes, I had serious doubts that today would be a classic. But then again, to underestimate the micros would be to underestimate the friendliness of Stokie folk. Micros live or die by the people within. And if 2021 Staffs ticking taught me one thing, it is that there's some good blokes in Stoke, no joke. And women too, but they don't rhyme. But don't worry ladies, at least the Colmore wants you ('get over it Si' 'NEVERRR').
The rain has eased by 1% as we reach Stoke, so with twenty minutes til noon, we make the bold decision to walk through Stoke 'proper' (one of the six grey gloomy estates towns - we do ourselves a quiz, the only one we didn't get right was Tunstall).
I'd checked social media thrice for this one, everything pointed to 12 noon. Guess what?
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SHUT PUB ALERT! We are well cheesed off. And very soggy. 'Oh well, we'll just have to come back later' I tell Dad. Problem with being a pub ticker, you can't afford to have any standards. The Simon Everitt in me says grumpily "if they can't bloody list their opening hours correctly, they don't deserve my custom" but BRAPA in posh Victorian child voice says "oh gosh, it's in my Guide, so we must go back father, oh father, we simply must!" I hate BRAPA.
A long trek back down the main road with the wind now lashing into our faces for increased sogginess, a selection of bat shit crazy locals at our bus stop, all with brightly dyed hair, lip piercings and Netto shopping bags and Aldi buggies, advise us to hop on the next bus for Newcastle-u-Lyme. Or 'Newcastle', as the locals confusingly call it like they've never heard of that place up north.
Low point of the day is this bus journey, it takes an AGE to negotiate the hospital, treating it like a town in itself with a plethora of different stops within. Burns Unit Ave, Paediatrician Way, it had it all. Bus driver is a right dude, and has Stock Aitken and Waterman hits blaring out for us all to 'enjoy'.
"Today has had everything you'd expect from a BRAPA day ...... except a pub and a pint!" I tell Dad. Well, that got a laugh. Gallows humour was the only way at this point.
Everything changes when we reach Newcastle-under-Lyme, as Robbie Williams once sang. The rain is easing, and N-u-L feels like it is a nicely self contained town in its own right, outside the Stokie Six, which I should remember from when M.Lawrenson gave us a guided tour around here a few years ago, but didn't.
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And tears form in the corner of my eyes as I spy our next pub is open, tucked down off the main road near that Lymestone Vaults thing I did on that previous trip ......
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Wellers, Newcastle-under-Lyme (2001 / 3564) really lit the blue touch paper in terms of locals with bags of character, transforming a neat and tidy well run Micro into something resembling an old boys boozer with roaring guttural laughter, and unlikely tales and anecdotes aplenty. If it wasn't the smartly dressed tubby Rod Stewart and lady friend (wedding? funeral? or just very stylish folk who dress up for the pub?), it was the bloke with the white van who'd spent the last week travelling between Lyme Regis and Bournemouth, selling sunglasses to unsuspecting Dorsetians. The guv'nor was a bit less 'grrrarr' but knew when to mix it with the lairy ones, a top guy, and the Weale ales were cracking. I assumed Weale ales and Wellers must be an anagram, but no 'r', Dad tried to link in Keith Weller, what with one of his former clubs, Millwall, on the tele losing to Palace. But of course, it was Paul Weller, arty picture of him above the tempting sounding Oatcake Gin. Was he from Newcastle? I couldn't see he was, maybe he played his best ever gig here? Hadn't realised how damp I was til I'd sat down, could've wrung my coat out, but the rain was easing and maybe now today could really get going.
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Content at last!
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Weale Ale .... oh, sounds like 'real' ale, just got it!
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Mind the sanitiser KLO
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Joke : What's Paul Weller's fave flavour vaccine? Mod-erna (thanks!)
Across town, under this totally confusing multi-faceted underpass / subway monstrosity, and pub two was situated inconveniently on the other side, almost like it had been a canalside inn there for centuries longer, before evil town planning occurred.
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Gizza a wave Daddy BRAPA!
Boat & Horses, Newcastle-under-Lyme (2002 / 3565) , and the boat gets my vote from the moment we walk in to this atmospheric old pub, greeted by Dan the host who apparently is great in every barmanly way possible, apart from the art of fire-lighting. I'm always gonna order the Bass (it is Staffs BRAPA law) but that doesn't stop a elderly couple behind us saying 'spoilt for choice in 'ere!' as there's a good selection on. We take a seat next to them, obviously a highly educated pair who moved around the country but wound their way back towards their home. He tells me how he first used to come in here in 1953, when his Mum sent him to buy her off sales beer as a 10 year old lad. Otherwise, he wasn't allowed to come in here for many years as it had a rough reputation, hard to believe today. It's such a nice tale, only right I give him the honour of wielding the green stabilo - like his lifelong association with this pub has come full circle, or something, if BRAPA was hugely significant. Course it is!
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The otter is down!
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Ticking with aplomb
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Dan, possibly thinking he needs to light a fire
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"Please close the door!" kinda loses the French allure
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What a pub!
Time to negotiate the evil subway/underpass and try and find our way to pub three. I'll tell you about that, and the others, on Sunday. See you there, 9pm.
Best get to bed now, I'm off to either Staffs, Herts, Lancs or North Yorks first thing tomorrow.
Si
More... (http://brapa-4500.blogspot.com/2022/01/brapa-in-if-it-aint-stoke-dont-fix-it.html)