In the immediate lead up to this trip, I was asking myself what the fuck I was thinking when I booked myself on the 0535 train out of Blackpool on the Thursday morning ahead of the Pompey match on the Saturday. This necessitated an 0430 alarm. Urgh. But it was hollibobs so it was an EXCITING early start.
Southbound
I had, of course, booked a (relatively) cheapy train at £56.60. And the train from Blackpool North was direct to London Euston, so there was no faffy change at Blackpool East (Preston to the uninitiated – see this blog explaining the rebranding).
I boarded the train and took my reserved seat at a table, laying out my book (‘Why Has Nobody Told Me This Before?’ by Julie Smith), phone, cereal bars and the Earl Grey that I’d just bought from the buffet car.
Being a London commuter train, it was quiet, with fellow passengers tapping away on their laptops doing important work stuff. I, however, was on my hollibobs – with no work to do, following the completion of the first draft of my book a week earlier – so I sat back and chilled and read for three hours.
I was freaked out by the pharmacist last week, who told me if my blood pressure was any lower she’d be sending me to urgent care. Apparently I can raise it by having a cup of coffee of a morning but that’s a migraine trigger so I’m not doing that. Anyway a symptom of this is that I sometimes black out on the train of a morning. My doctor has told me that if it happens again I’m to go straight to urgent care. But I was going on hollibobs so I tried to ignore the fact I was feeling a bit woozy this morning.
I will not black out. I will not black out.
And I didn’t black out so I gave myself a pat on the head and told myself ‘well done’ on safe arrival in London, inspired by an email from my Fuck It Therapist, John.
Right. Now to navigate London. I have a fear of the Tube (I think because I can’t actually see where the trains are going and thus get confused where I am). I’ve decided to deal with this fear by navigating London on foot (so I can see landmarks and thus learn my bearings). This morning I had to get from Euston to Waterloo which, according to Google Maps, was a 47 minute walk. I was on a set train from Waterloo in (checks ticket) 45 minutes.
Shit shit shit!!!
I fleetingly contemplated getting a taxi before resolving to not be defeated and stick to the original plan of walking. I turned heel and engaged turbo mode. Google ALWAYS overestimates the time it takes to walk from A to B. If I walked extra fast and threw in a bit of jogging for good measure, it’d be reet. It would also raise my blood pressure, surely?
Dear reader, it was fucking hot jogging across London. I was travelling light, with just a rucksack, which meant I was wearing most of my clothes, including a thick shirt, bodywarmer and big coat. I quickly became aware I was sweating profusely, which wasn’t ideal when I was going to be wearing the same shirt and coat for the next three days.
During my power walking spells, I was also researching what platform I needed at Waterloo. I didn’t know Waterloo station at all, although I had read about the Battle of Waterloo in Ken Follett’s historical novel ‘The Armour of Light’, which (whilst a great read) was of no use right now.
I had to navigate several busy roads in dangerous positions but it all paid off because I arrived at Waterloo station with ten minutes to spare and found my platform easily. Phew! Well done me once again.
I read a bit more before taking a call from Karen, who informed me that she probably wouldn’t be making the trip to Portsmouth, as she’d sustained an injury. Then I lost her in a tunnel before arriving at Portsmouth Harbour.
The next leg of my journey was exciting and slightly scary. I was getting a FERRY across to Gosport. I hadn’t been on a ferry since a school trip to France back in the early 90s. The water looked choppy. Would I be sick?
Dear reader, the ferry was underwhelming. I was in Gosport in five minutes. But I wasn’t sick, so that was another pat on the head for me. I was doing well today.
I would soon learn that any reference to the Gosport Ferry was a trigger to anyone who’d ever experienced the night ferry which was – according to multiple sources – ‘a dinghy with a lantern’. I was relieved I was overnighting in Gosport tonight and not taking this horror cruise back across the water as had been my original plan.
I resolved to make enquiries about the above boat ship I spotted en route, which looked like it was made of Lego. It turned out to be some naval vessel that I can’t remember the name of.
I was met off the ferry by my friend Marcus, hoping I wasn’t too whiffy after my jog across London because THAT wouldn’t be a great first second impression. I’ll refer you back to my Southampton blog to remind you how we first met earlier in the year. Marcus was to be my chauffeur for the first part of the day, driving to the further out pubs of Gosport that he’d recommended. But first I needed food and that was obtained close by.
Katie’s Vinyl Bar & Kitchen
You know when you’re right at the start of a crawl and you REALLY want the strong beer but know it’s a bad idea but then do it anyway?
I had the 5.7% smoked porter because fuck it I was on hollibobs.
I soaked it up with this Scottish breakfast.
The square sausage and haggis were particular highlights. Potato cake meh.
As the name of the bar implies, it’s music-themed.
The vinyl is available to play (but not touch).
The bar is named after the owner’s daughter, local boxer Katie Smith.
Marcus and I discussed the plans for the day and he confirmed that the pubcats at the last pub of the day had been brushed ahead of my arrival. There was a rumour they wouldn’t be about tonight but there was no way I was leaving Gosport without meeting these promised pubcats. I’d extend my stay if I had to.
Now satisfied that I’d eaten enough to soak up the beer for the first part of the day, it was time to head on our road trip to the outlying pubs.
The Rose & Poppy
This one was a bit of a drive out to a village called Stubbington. But it was to a newly-opened place so it was virgin territory for both of us.
We were invited to take a seat and someone would come to take our order. We found a vacant table amongst all the pensioners having lunch. I ordered the Powder Monkey Hop & Hooker Pale Ale.
This place had a strong cafe vibe and the four craft beer taps seemed quite out of place. I’d be interested to see what it was like at night. Posters in the window indicated there was live music. Would there be a younger crowd? A livelier vibe?
Despite knowing our next stop wasn’t open yet, we made our way over there anyway.
A phone box that’s actually still a phone box and not a defibrillator or a cashpoint. How quaint!
Seafire Taproom
We arrived as our host, Dave, was still setting up outside, so we took a seat on the bench seating out front and waited patiently, basking in the sun. Marcus waited until everything was set up before offering to help.
Once we were allowed in (at the opening time of 2pm), I contemplated the drinks offerings.
I opted for a third of the (oops quite strong again) dark lager.
They do third paddles here too.
The tiny bar soon got busy. And it was here I got my first real taste of the quirky locals.
‘Ooh I used to work in here when it was a fishmongers…the toilets were through there…I fancy a coffee…with a drop of hard stuff…do you serve coffee?’
‘Well not really. But I can do you one from the staff coffee machine free of charge? Oh…hang on…no…the milk’s gone.’
‘How far gone is it?’
‘Well…two days.’
‘Oh that’ll be fine. Let’s have a sniff… Yeah that’s fine.’
As the bar was becoming crowded and I started to feel we were in the way, we moved to sit at the rear of the room. I sat on the bench seating against the wall, which was higher than the other seats. It’s not often I feel tall, so I enjoyed the moment while I could.
The clock was ticking now, so we got back in the car and headed to the next port of call.
On our way, I questioned something Marcus had said earlier about clouds. He’d said it would be cold tonight because there were no clouds in the sky. He said clouds were like a jumper that kept you warm. I wasn’t convinced by this but I loved the analogy so much that I wanted to believe it. This has since been confirmed by both Lee and Kerry (in separate conversations – and both without prompting). How have I got this far through life not knowing this stuff? I learn so much on my travels from talking to people.
Blackpool striker Jake Daniels had been on the radio earlier which I thought was funny because I’ve barely heard anything about him in Blackpool since he came out and here I was in Portsmouth and he was on the radio here.
I must have complained about the music in the car (it was Radio One, so this was justified, I think, as I’m WAY too old for that shit) so Marcus gave me control. I was curious by Radio Birdsong, which did exactly what it said on the tin. Then I think I found a Christmas channel and put that on.
Powder Monkey Brewing Co
On arrival at the brewery, I was handed over to Head Brewer Mark, who gave me a personal tour.
The building was a former gunpowder magazine, with walls three metres thick.
Half of the building is the brewery itself but we were starting the tour in the other half, which is a bar/function room.
The ‘aisle’ in the middle of the room used to be a tram/train track that was used to deliver to the nearby docks.
I asked about the significance of the flags on the wall and Mark said they spelled out POWDER MONKEY in flag language. I didn’t even know flag language was a thing. It’s a maritime thing, apparently.
Next we headed through to the brewery itself. I got a bit lost here as I don’t understand the brewing process, no matter how many brewery tours I go on and how many times it’s explained to me (thinking about this now, this could be because I’m always drinking at the time it’s explained). I did, however, get to taste the Cutlass Black Forest Gateau Stout straight from the (whatever that big tank thing’s called) and it was bloody lush.
I was entranced by this canning machine, as I’d never seen one before. Mark talked me through the process and I (almost) understood it, I think because I could actually see what went where and visualise the process. Those big tank things are a mystery because I can’t see what’s happening inside them. I suppose it’s a bit like my Tube fear in that respect. How can I understand what I can’t see? I have a similar issue with not being able to visualise made up worlds in science fiction novels.
Anyway Mark did a great job of my brewery tour (book yours here) before taking me on the short walk to the brewery tap.
The Powder Monkey
There were LOADS of beers on in here; I was spoiled for choice.
I couldn’t resist the toffee maple porter – and it proved to be an excellent choice. It was my favourite beer of the day so far – and, indeed, my favourite Powder Monkey beer (and I’ve tried a lot of them since first tasting them back in January). Mark told me that this was one of the first beers brewed by trainee brewer Olivia. Keep up the great work, Olivia!
There was lots to look at in this magnificent bar.
I got very excited by this sign. Were there really goats here? Apparently yes, on the grass out the front. Sadly there were none here today but I’ll obvs have to go back and keep checking.
Look at these views from the terrace out the back.
Barman Dean was charged with dropping me back at my hotel. I could get used to being looked after like this! En route we got chatting about towers. Here they have the Spinnaker Tower, which I was appalled to learn is taller than Blackpool Tower. Dean told me that there was an apartment at the top of the Eiffel Tower, which I did not know, but is verified here.
Premier Inn, Gosport
I had intended to have an afternoon nap in my room. It’s not something I usually do but I had been up since 0430 and didn’t want to start flagging early doors on our evening out. But I’d been at Powder Monkey for longer than I had planned (also not as long as I’d wanted in the end), leaving me little time for nappage. I therefore unpacked and pretty much headed straight down to the neighbouring pub for my tea.
I strode up to the bar and ordered a pint of pop (to give myself a break from the drinking) and a curry.
‘Do you want that with rice and chips?’
‘Ooh yes please.’
According to the till, I was charged £3 for the privilege of those chips. Cheeky upselling there!
I don’t know what it is about this mango chutney you get in some pubs but it tastes of vomit. The poppadom here tasted of a brewery. I barely touched the chips. I don’t know why I bother having chips in pubs because they’re seldom decent chips (I do have high standards when it comes to chips).
I didn’t hang around here, as I was keen to meet back up with Marcus and get cracking on the remaining five pubs on my itinerary. On my walk to the first of those pubs, I noticed that a lot of the houses had port hole windows, as a nod to the city’s naval heritage. I notice more when I’m walking around these days because I tend to study Google Maps at the start of my journey, mentally noting any landmarks or street names at the points when I need to change direction. The disadvantage here is that, if I set off in the wrong direction to start with, I don’t notice for ages. This is what happened on my way back to the pub in Liverpool last week, when I accidentally ended up back at the station. Anyway, the same thing happened tonight, so I was a little later arriving at the pub than I had intended.
Three Tuns
Marcus was already seated at the bar when I arrived, so he was easy to find, especially as he was right next to the pump clip (singular), where I automatically veered.
This bitter had the flavour (if not the condition) of Bathams and that Bitter Exe I had in Exeter. The brewery was a local one, from Droxford (where?) in Hampshire. I’ll confess I don’t really understand the geography of The South but I’ve just looked at Google Maps and it’s Due North of Portsmouth. Anyway I do enjoy trying local brews when I’m on my travels so this ticked that box.
I was well aware that – without my planned nap – I might not last long tonight, so we quickly headed on to the next pub to maximise my chances of making all of the remaining four pubs on my list.
33 Green Bottles
Oh my WORD – where to start with this place? It is worthy of a blog all of its own. I fell in love with it INSTANTLY, as a banging tune was playing when we walked in. I can’t remember what it was because (a) you can’t photograph sounds; and (b) there was SO much going on in here that I was already taking notes about something else before the track had finished.
Right, let’s start with the beers.
I went for the Staggeringly Good Best Bitter. I found this brewery on my virtual trip to Portsmouth during lockdown and was very excited about visiting it this weekend (in Part Three of this blog).
Gaffer Vic was busy laying out a selection of meats in front of the bar.
‘What’s happening here, then?’
‘It’s a meat raffle.’
‘So, how does it work? Does one person win the whole lot?’
‘No, it’s one prize per ticket. Do you want a go?’
‘Er, well, I would, but I’m not going to have access to a fridge for three days so I’d best not.’
As I turned around to look for somewhere to sit, I was greeted by this delightful sight.
Ohh I’d seen these online in the Gosport Beer Club group on Facebook and I wanted ALL of them. But I was conscious that I would be taking everything I was carrying with me into the match on Saturday and then on to the supporters coach home, so I couldn’t very well have any beer on me, could I? Grr I wished I’d seen these before I’d ordered my drink.
Mark (of Powder Monkey fame) had joined us in here and we took a seat on the sofas at the front of the pub, from which vantage point I had a prime view of the pub. Which proved to be a stroke of genius, because there was a LOT going on in here.
Then Vic stepped up to the mic to commence the draw for the meat raffle.
He apologised for cutting off Bohemian Rhapsody ‘just when we’ve got to the good bit.’ Note the Alexa to the right of the piano, through which the music was playing. Also THERE’S A PIANO.
‘What number?’
‘325.’
‘What colour?’
‘White.’
‘No, not me.’
One woman won a lot of meat, and Vic announced a barbecue at hers tomorrow.
After all the meat had been claimed, there was a booby prize draw, which was won by a man at the next table. We had a nose and it was some snack packs of Pepperami, which we thought was actually quite a good prize.
The great music continued and my eyes began to wander around the pub again. Hang on, is that…
I wasn’t for leaving at all, which also provided the opportunity to try this.
As I was at the bar, I spied something enticing behind the bar.
‘Ooh is that a Christmas Pudding rum liqueur?’
‘It is. Wanna try a bit?’
‘Ooh can I?’
I could and I did and I liked it.
‘Ooh it BURNS!’
The evening’s entertainment wasn’t over. Next up it was Play Your Cards Right, which had rolled over to a prize fund of £300. Vic stepped back up to the mic but was quickly interrupted.
‘Where’s Mike?’
‘He’s gone to the cashpoint.’
‘Can we wait?’
‘We’ll give him five minutes.’
‘Who’s Mike?’
I felt like I was in Phoenix Nights (not that I’ve watched it). There was SO much personality in this pub. It wouldn’t have been out of place in Stockton (home of many magnificent micros). It was also one of those rare pubs Down South where I felt so at home it was like being Up North. I think I’ve only experienced that once before and that was at the Brodies Brewery (RIP) pub in Actual London.
Anyway, Play Your Cards Right was won at the second time of asking on the night, which was a joy to witness, before almost erupting into a fight.
‘Are you getting a round in for everyone then?’
‘Er…no.’
‘Aw come on. It’s the rules. You’ve got to buy everyone a drink if you win.’
‘Tell you what, I’ll buy the drinks and I’ll let you pay my £850 a month rent.’
I could see both sides, to be fair, and we debated amongst ourselves whether we’d share the pot. Marcus argued that it was £300 we wouldn’t otherwise have had, but I argued that times were hard. I then argued with myself that I actually loved this pub so much I’d have loved to have bought everyone a drink because they’d entertained me so much tonight. But then it wasn’t as if I was a regular or knew any of them, so… It was a dilemma indeed, clearly not wrestled with at all by tonight’s winner. What would you do, dear reader?
Vic came up to our table with three shots of something unexplained for us to try. Ooh what was that sweet aroma? It tasted yummy too! Vic revealed it was Tough Nut Moonshine (Moonshine!!!) and it was Ferrero Rocher flavour. Oh could we stay here all night PLEASE?
Time for a loo review, which I knew wouldn’t disappoint.
Sadly, we couldn’t stay here all night because I had been promised pubcats and I think that was my sole motivation for leaving. Because by now I was pretty convinced that this was my favourite pub EVER. I love a pub that oozes personality and I can’t think of one that even comes close to this. Add to that the exciting beer, warm welcome and excellent people and that’s the recipe for the perfect pub for me. Well, it would be perfect if only it wasn’t 280 miles away (and had pubcats) but, hey, you can’t win ’em all, eh? I would be back here for certain because this pub demands a revisit (and a longer session).
Four Ale Taproom
Yay another micropub! And another belting range of beers.
I wasn’t quite sure why this pub wasn’t busier but I was ok with that, as I like a quiet pub because it allows me to take pictures of everything that catches my eye.
There was a mini Connect 4 on every table so of course we had to play. Above is my winning board versus Marcus. It was ‘winner stays on’ and I was a bit worried about playing Mark, who was apparently ’14 moves ahead’ with his scientific brain (he’s a biochemist) when analysing our match. This called for mind games, which I’m quite good at when I set my, er, mind to it. I made a point of telling Mark that I was Anchorsholme Primary School chess champion in 1987 and that was enough to do the trick. I was now the undisputed Connect 4 Champion of Gosport. Woohoo!
Right, now that’s that pub conquered, let’s move on to the next one, shall we?
Queens Hotel
This was a big, traditional, multi-roomed and very warm pub.
I went for the Goodens Gold because I don’t do IPAs, was scared of the Grand Reserve and was all bittered out for today.
And what’s with the obsession with meat raffles down here? I swear every single pub had one.
I was introduced to gaffer Simon, who was wearing a sherriff’s badge (as you do). I guess it saved any confusion as to who was boss. I wish I had a badge confirming my status as Connect 4 Champion of Gosport. I do actually still have my chess medal. Maybe I’ll start wearing that as part of my psychological armour when playing pub games.
This pub had something wonderful I’d never experienced in a pub before, which was this:
This was a local sea shanty group, which is apparently a thing in Portsmouth. They were brilliant – bringers of joy – and had the whole room singing along with them. More of this sort of thing!
The next and final pub (of pubcats fame) was, according to Google Maps, a ten-minute walk away. I was, of course, in follow mode now I was with local guides, which proved to be a grave error on this occasion. I swear this walk took about half an hour. I have no idea what route we took. I mean, it’s pretty much a straight line. Not that I’ve got any room to talk at all after getting lost en route to the first pub of the night and I was of course grateful to Marcus for being an excellent host today. Of course I ribbed him mercilessly about the long walk at the time and he blamed his gammy eye. He had some sort of waxy growth underneath his lower lid – a blocked tear duct or something – which he’d shown me earlier when I wasn’t expecting it (and hadn’t requested it).
Anyway, an hour later we eventually arrived at Pubcat Central.
Junction Tavern
Right – first stop after that two hour walk was a much-needed visit to the Ladies.
Right – now to the bar.
Marcus had specially requested an exciting stout for me tonight and bloody delicious it was too. I need a Marcus everywhere I visit because he’s simply the best concierge.
There was an important pool league match going on in the main room tonight and one of the pubcats apparently has a habit of jumping on the pool table. Consequently the pubcats were consigned to chambers this evening. But they were brought down into the back room so I could meet them. And here they are.
These are ragdoll cats and they were HUGE – and only one and two years old. Landlady Deana and her partner Chris confirmed that they’d had a Maine Coon previously and the ragdoll had been the bigger cat. Wowzers.
The cats were returned upstairs and we headed back to the main room. We stood up by the bar, watched the pool (the standard was excellent) and chatted with Chris, who seemed strangely familiar, although I hadn’t met him before. We got to chatting about football and he confirmed that Pompey had lost a couple of key players through injury for the season, including one of their centre-half pairing. This left me feeling encouraged that we might get something from Saturday’s match. After all, we were shit away and they were unbeaten at home, so the odds were already in our favour.
We’d missed the last bus home so Marcus arranged an Uber to drop us all off. Our driver was a woman from Scunthorpe. On arrival back at my Premier Inn, my phone informed me that I’d walked 19,317 steps today, 15,000 of which had been between the last two pubs (I jest, of course, as, when I blamed him for this tally earlier, Marcus had reminded me that I’d walked across London this morning, which was so long ago it seemed like yesterday). Let’s just say I slept very well tonight. But I had another full day ahead of me tomorrow. What adventures would that bring, as I crossed the water back to Southsea…?
Next Up: A Football Tourist’s Guide to Portsmouth – Part Two: Southsea.
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