retiredmartin

30th December 2022.

Unfortunately, due to Mrs RM’s belated shopping spree in Chesterfield,

and my determination to get a shot of “the infant BRAPA” (not a Teesside micro),

I arrived at the tickers AGM in the Rectory too late to give the keynote speech, or to buy everyone a pint.

Never mind. As it was most folk seemed keen to avoid buying rounds,

POLL: If you are drinking (not dining) with others, how do you normally pay for drinks?

— Pub Curmudgeon 🌸🍻 (@oldmudgie) January 13, 2023

having heard tales of Mrs RM’s voracious appetite for high strength (and expensive) Imperial Stouts. I’m no fan of “the round”; I like to buy my own half after asking for tasters of everything on the bar.

Mrs RM had reflected the committee room with long table in favour of a grotesque corner of the pub with a giant sofa underneath a stuffed stag. It’s strangely symbolic. Of something.

Second only to “ticking the GBG” is, of course, ticking the tickers, and it was a delight to finally meet Wakefield Eddie, whose Hi-Vis jacket was unfortunately TOO bright to be captured on film.

And this is Jim, who’s clearly related to the estimable Quosh as they both live in the same pub in Greenfield or something.

Jim received his “Special Merit Award” for maintaining a vast spreadsheet showing ALL the entries since the dawn of time, and producing analyses of the new entries showing when they last entered the GBG (under a different name and geographical heading, by and large).

Unfortunately Jim’s award was stolen during the evening, probably by Emiliano Martinez.

Talking of the World Cup, I was able to quiz Ian aka Alfie who’d just spent a month in Qatar and managed to tick ALL the micropubs in Saudi Arabia while he was there, no mean feat. His curry recommendation for Doha left something to be desired.

Ian aka Alfie seemed to be the only one not drinking pints, mainly the Dancing Duck range (NBSS 3.5) in a pub with (again) mixed custom.

While the rest of the group headed towards a micropub in the ‘burbs on something called “a bus”, Mrs RM bravely offered to wait for Simon who had been doing something called “work” and was due in shortly. Pedigree (3.5) and olives, then.

Reader, BRAPA never made it.