BRAPA is a hero of mine, up there with Tony Wilson and Kate Nicholls of UK Hospitality and Mrs RM.
But I do burn with envy when he gets whole days of successful marking up of the Guide; 6 (six) new GBG pubs within walking distance of each other in London.
My own ticking days can be more frustrating, as I whined to Si and Dunc on Friday;
“What sort of idiot drives 3 hours for a half of Marston’s EPA just so he can mark out a Gloucester micropub? “
This is Angie’s, a small bar in an alley just off Gloucester’s main drag.
After two failures to tick Angie’s just before Lockdown, and complete silence on social media, Wednesday saw my third attempt after Angie herself welcomed us back. It ended badly;
Poor Angie. I hope she’s better.
But I will NOT be defeated as easily, and after a phone call to a bloke who may have been Angie for all I know, made another attempt two days later.
They’d made a statue of me at St Peter’s Catholic church, looking all stoical.
I love Gloucester these days. Some great pubs have emerged among the shadows of the Cathedral, and the city itself was noticeably busier than central Manchester.
Would it be fourth time lucky ? The sign was out, always a good, er, sign.
Grief it’s tiny. But they’d somehow managed to keep the tables safely apart, well done “Angie”.
Proper beers, too.
Well, one of them, anyway. The two lads who beat me in both had the Mango IPA, which was a “brave” and “interesting” choice.
Look at my lovely foamy EPA.
Music came from The Four Lads, The Stranglers, and some ’70s disco SO obscure that “What’s That Song Called ?” said “What’s that !”.
It was a bit wonderful.
The two other beer tourists started to slag off Doom Bar, right in front of the President of National Doom Bar Day (me), claiming it was now brewed in Burtonwood. I tried to join the debate, but it’s hard when you can’t wander over and shout “Doom Bar is an artisanal beer from Cornwall” so I probably came over as a prat, not for the first time that week.
The guy with a hat, who seemed to be in charge, confirmed that despite minor inconveniences you could still talk total bollocks in Angie’s which is as good a marker of a Proper Pub as I’ve heard.
“All the best, Martin” said the bloke who’d taken my details, possibly sending them on to the Doom Bar Fan Correction Police, which was a lovely touch after a week of “Sirs” and “Mr Taylors”
Gloucester just gets better and better.