Paul's Beer & Travel Blog

Rusthall - rocky crags, hidden valleys, plus a couple of decent pubs

2026-06-19T21:27:30.088+01:00

Well, it’s good to be back in harness once more, if that’s the right word, but the issues I had in trying to access my Blogger account, were enough to try the patience of a saint. In the end, the problem boiled down to a conflict between my username and my chosen password, where just one digit was incorrect. I’d spotted it, but wasn’t sure how to rectify the problem, and when, after numerous attempts, I eventually managed it, I realised the issue dated back to when I registered my latest Samsung phone – two and a half years ago.

I won’t bore you with the details, but when several devices are inter-linked (Smart Phone, laptop + desktop), it only takes a minor error with one of them, before several others end up being locked out. A cool head, plus, an unwavering conviction that I’d solve the problem paid off in the in the end, but with the whole process being a staggering waste of time, I’m glad that particular nightmare is over now, and I can get on with some more enjoyable, and important things, such as writing this blog.

The first thing to write about is the visit I made, last Sunday, to Rusthall, a large village located approximately two miles to the west of Tunbridge Wells. Hidden among the trees and surrounded by rocky sandstone outcrops, Rusthall is a village with two centres. One centre developed in the 1800s as a summer retreat, around a particularly large and distinctive lump of sandstone, known as the Toad Rock. The other is Lower Green, which is the oldest part Rusthall, dating back to the 8^th century.

Despite its proximity to Tunbridge Wells, Rusthall possesses a feel that seems almost “other worldly”, a sensation that I’d almost forgotten about because whilst I visited Lower Green, towards the start of last year, it must be a decade or more since I visited the “resort” area of the village. On that occasion Mrs PBT’s and I attended a family function at the Toad Rock Retreat, which was the second of the two pubs visited last weekend, (see below).

My journey over to Rusthall was made using the Arriva 281 bus which, even on Sunday, operates a half-hourly service, between the village and High Brooms station. As we arrived in Rusthall, the bus dropped me in the High Street, where I noted a pub that I hadn’t seen before, let alone been in. The Oak Inn appears to have morphed, from a traditional town pub into a cross between a bar and a Chinese takeaway, although according to the CAMRA website, the place is still awaiting a full survey. The Campaign’s “Gateway to Kent Pub Guide,” published 2009, describes the place as “A comfortably furnished, open plan, locals pub”, but times obviously change, so let’s look at Rusthall’s two surviving village pubs instead.

First up is the Red Lion, a former Shepherd Neame and Grade II listed building that can trace its history back to 1415. The pub has served the local community since the days when Lower Green was regarded as a hamlet in its own right, but despite such claims the Red Lion isn’t actually that far from the main A264 road, even when one is on foot. Today, the pub is known for its live music events, and for the quality of its Asian food, with the claim of offering the Best Thai Food in Tunbridge Wells.

I last called in at the Red Lion 18 months’ ago, on a rather chilly January day, which was in complete contrast to Sunday’s visit. Given the fine weather, many customers had chosen to sit outside, which left plenty of space inside. I couldn’t help noticing that the cask range had been slimmed down from two Harvey’s beers, to just the one, which of course was the company’s Best Bitter. Harvey’s Old probably wouldn’t have been the best choice for a summer offering, but I did find the brewery’s Pell’s Pale on sale at the next pub, which was the aforementioned Toad Rock Retreat.

This particular pub took a bit of finding, although those approaching it from the Tunbridge Wells-East Grinstead road, will find things a lot easier. The retreat is best reached by following Harmony Street down off the Rusthall Road, just past the famous Toad Rock formation which gives the pub its name. The pub was seriously damaged by a fire, a dozen or more years ago, and despite being extensively restored, still has that “just built” feel about it.

As mentioned previously, I last visited the Toad Rock Retreat, when it hosted a family engagement party, held for Eileen’s eldest niece, and whilst that particular relationship has since fizzled out, we all enjoyed a good night at this landmark pub. Walking back from the pub, and passed the famous sandstone formations, brought back memories of the time I took a young Matthew Bailey for a spot of low-level rock scrambling. I mentioned this to him, earlier today, when we enjoyed a father and son cooked breakfast, at a local “greasy spoon” establishment, at the rear of Tonbridge station. His memories of the car we had at the time, are more vivid than the rocks themselves, but at least he remembers our little rock-clambering expedition.

Being a hot day, I sat outside on the sunken terrace, between the raised car park and the pub itself. The Harvey's Pell's Pale was on good form and this light and refreshing, pale ale was just the thing for the time of year, and the unusual location. So, if you've had your fill of rock scrambling, as well as exploring this tucked away settlement, that’s within a stone’s throw of Tunbridge Wells, why not round off your visit by calling in at either of these pubs or, perhaps try both of them. They are quite different pubs from one another, but both are places where you can relax in, and enjoy a refreshing pint or three of fine, locally-brewed, ale.

A short test piece to re-establish my connection to Blogger

2026-06-16T21:04:20.427+01:00

This isn’t a new blog post, although it is a sightly re-jigged one, and my prime purpose in publishing it is to check that my numerous attempts to access my Blogger Dashboard have been successful. In effect it’s a test post, based on a Word document I produced last summer, relating to the Beer & Pubs Forum visit to the Hampshire town of Farnham. As it’s a test piece, I make no apologies if some of it looks familiar, but by using this part-written post as a “base”, so to speak, I want to confirm one way or the other, that my numerous attempts to log on to Blogger, have been successful.

I had previously been to Farnham, having passed through en route to Southampton for a cruise. On that occasion, we stayed overnight, and I spent part of the day near Winchester. On this occasion I would be seeing Farnham in a different light, but first before talking about the pubs, I want to continue the travel theme and describe the journey I undertook to get there, from my home in Tonbridge.

I travelled across country using the Tonbridge-Redhill line, before switching onto the North Downs Line at Redhill. This then took me to Guildford, where a further change of trains took me through Farnham and then on to Alton. The Tonbridge-Redhill line acts as a useful diversionary route for London bound trains, when the tracks north of Tonbridge are blocked by engineering works. This probably explains why it was kept open despite the infamous Beeching cuts of the 1960’s and early 70’s, but it wasn’t until 1994 that the line was finally electrified.

Electrification continues as far as Reigate (the next stop after Redhill), but really the whole line should have been electrified, as today this stretch of the North Downs Line is operated by a fleet of noisy and diesel multiple units. Despite the noise, and the rattling of the rolling stock, travelling back along this line brought back fond memories, from three or four years ago. This was when I was walking the North Downs Way between Redhill and Guildford, and where intermediate stations, such as Betchworth, Gomshall and Chilworth, served as useful staging posts. On each occasion it meant a steep climb after leaving the station, before reaching the top of the escarpment, to pick up the trail. Happy days, and with much of that stretch of the North Downs covered by beechwoods, pleasant memories as well.

Two steps forward & one step back

2026-06-13T21:07:34.036+01:00

It's a case of two steps forward, and one step back at the moment, but the main thing is I'm moving in the right direction. The good news - the two steps forward, is my desktop has been repaired, and is now back up and running, faster and more efficiently than it was before it gave up the ghost, and crashed. It's a while ago now, but looking back that incident occurred around Easter time, and was the result of a regular Windows update that failed to install. I could still use the machine, but I wasn't able to get online - something to do with two critical "drivers" that had failed. I left it for a while, and switched to using the neat, little laptop PC, that I originally purchased to take on holiday with me. That didn't work particularly well, due to difficulties of connecting to the internet, whilst at sea, although I did use the device for typing up articles in Notepad - a rather basic, but quite handy word-processing app. I'm using it at the moment, but that's for later.

I asked a work colleague, who's a lot more tech-savvy than me, to spec me up a new desktop, a powerful one, with plenty of RAM, don't ask me what that does, although it's something to do with processing speed - and you thought it was just down to the chips! Curry's were offering a machine, that matched my colleague's spec for £540 +, but he did say to me, why not look at seeing whether my current Lenovo desktop could be repaired. And that is what I did, after taking it to the computer repair shop, in Tonbridge High Street. The tech-savvy owner, quickly diagnosed the problem, and basically it was due to the aforementioned RAM, and there not being sufficient disc space to allow memory-hungry, Windows 11 to run smoothly. The system basically got its knickers in a twist, and crashed. His solution was to install a "spare", SATA (solid state) drive, that would take care of Windows, whilst allowing the PC to access all the rest of the stuff I'd built up over several years - Word files, music files, plus of course, hundreds of photos!

The cost of this fix, came in at slightly over half that of a new machine, but the good news was I wouldn't lose any of the aforementioned documents and photos. I gave him the go-ahead, and picked up my repaired and fully functioning desk-top on Thursday afternoon, and I am still finding my way around the beast. There have been quite a few programmes, plus other software that I needed to re-install, and so far it all went smoothly, despite the inevitable password changes, but with one notable exception. This fly in the ointment is I have so far been unable to access my Blogger Dashboard. This programme acts as the interface between myself and Google's hosting platform - Blogger. I can access the finished pages, and can even post comments, but so far, Blogger has stubbornly refused me access to the software that allows me to create new posts, on my own blog!

I'm fairly certain it's a password issue (user name, most likely) that is not letting me in, and so for the time being, I have reverted to the laptop for those occasions when I want to add copy (text and photos), in order to create new posts. This is the one step back, but rather than waste even more time with usernames and passwords, (for a lay person like me, even attempting to sort out IT problems, are not only a tremendous waste of time, but are also extremely frustrating), I shall carry on with this neat, little, lap top until the issue is resolved. (The laptop is quite nice, atm, because I can sit outside on the patio, tapping away at the keyboard, whilst enjoying the fresh air and warm sunshine, of a typical English summer).

News wise, us three Baileys attended an extended family wedding last Saturday, although the least said about that, the better. What was good, was the venue itself, a restored, medieval barn, situated in the tucked away village of Stansted, high up on the North Downs above Wrotham. Not to be confused with its Essex namesake, Kentish Stansted does not have an airport, and neither does it have a pub, at the moment, because it's the same old story about the owner, running the place into the ground, in order to redevelop the site, for housing. The villagers are not impressed, and neither is the local council, so watch this space.

That's about it, for the time being. The house/offspring's bedroom clearance, is progressing slowly, and the recent damp weather has softened up the ground, allowing me to carry out some much needed weeding. "Just let everything grow naturally", says Mrs PBT's, little realising that it only takes a couple of seasons before unwanted plants (weeds), such as bracken and brambles, start taking over the garden. Incidentally, the latter is the one thing that would persuade me to sell up and buy something smaller, as a space where youngsters can play, and run about safely, is all well and good, when they're growing up, but it eventually becomes a tedious chore. More serious is when it's a task that keeps me from the pub, then it's time to ask "Do we really need all that extra space?"

Exploring the pubs of Samuel Palmer's "Valley of Vision"

2026-06-12T11:40:52.139+01:00

I'm going to Shoreham for the day this Saturday, I told Mrs PBT's, little thinking that my good lady wife was thinking that I meant the seaside town of Shoreham, in West Sussex. I quickly put her right, and explained that I was off to the much smaller and much less well-known Kentish settlement of Shoreham, a delightful village in the idyllic setting of the Darent Valley, which runs in a northerly direction, through the chalk hills of the North Downs, from just north of Sevenoaks to the Dartford Creek Barrier, the point at which the Darent flows into the River Thames. The reason for my visit was a short ramble, along the Darent Valley, towards Shoreham in the company of members of West Kent CAMRA, naturally taking in a few local pubs along the way. The journey, by rail, from Tonbridge involves a change of train at Sevenoaks , and then a short ride up the valley towards Shoreham. There was a dozen or so of us who left the train, except it was the larger settlement of Otford, where we alighted, rather than the next stop of Shoreham.

The idea was to walk from Otford, along a short stretch of the Darent Valley Way, to Shoreham, where we would be meeting up with those members who had decided not to walk. Leaving the train at Otford, meant the chance of calling in at one of two local pubs in the village, and the pub chosen was the Bull, a former coaching inn in the heart of Otford, and the largest pub in the village. Ten years or so ago, the Bull belonged to Scottish & Newcastle, remember them? but the pub is now part of the Whiting & Hamond group, a small, independent chain, based in West Kent, with an estate that also includes, the Little Brown Jug, at Chiddingstone Causeway.

The latter is the small village where my current employer is based, and the Jug, as it's known locally, is just a short 5 minutes walk away from my workplace. Pubs within the group are quite heavily accented towards the food trade, although they normally manage to sustain a healthy wet trade. Quite sensibly, the pubs restrict their cask range to just two or three beers, and these tend to include local favourites, such as Larkin's, or beers from further afield, such as Gun Brewery. Both establishments fit the image of a welcoming country pub blending classic charm, modern food, plus friendly service all enjoyed in a cosy interior, offering a relaxed atmosphere that is perfect for any occasion.

It was time to move on, so after crossing the road opposite the Bull, we skirted the village cricket pitch, before heading into woodland which provided a much welcome chance to escape from the rather oppressive heat. As mentioned earlier, the path followed roughly the route of the Darent Valley Way, although for the pedantic amongst us, the official path is slightly lower down in the valley.

To cut a long story short, we entered Shoreham close to the vineyards, that overlook the easterly slopes of the Downs, before skirting the edge of the village itself. The plan was to enter Shoreham from the north, stop off at the Crown, which is the furthermost pub in the village, and then work our way back towards the station, stopping off at the King's Arms, before finishing at the Samuel Palmer. From there it would be a short, but steep walk back up the lane, towards Shoreham station, and the train home.

Shoreham is unbelievably picturesque, so I was appalled to learn from local CAMRA Branch Chairman, Tony, whom I was walking with, that this picturesque gem, surrounded by some equally beautiful countryside, nearly disappeared beneath the concrete and tarmac of the London Orbital Motorway. The original planned route of the M25 was designed to cut directly through the Darent Valley and straight through Shoreham village, with the planners intending for the motorway to pass right through the landscape made famous by the 19th-century artist Samuel Palmer.

The route change was forced by a massive public outcry, because the proposed motorway would have carved right through the heart of Palmer’s "Earthly Paradise" and spoiled for ever, Shoreham village and its picturesque river valley. Such a horror story, would be unimaginable today, but in Thatcher's Britain, environmental and aesthetic concerns were quite low down on the list of priorities.

Fortunately, the strong protest mounted by environmental and local campaigners succeeded in forcing a change of heart, which led to the authorities diverting the motorway north of the village, and pushing the road roughly a mile to the west of Shoreham. I do vaguely remember the "lucky escape" that Shoreham and the Darent Valley had, from the hands of the planners, but the story serves as a reminder of the need for constant vigilance against the worst excesses of those who would concrete over some of the country's most beautiful locations, in order to make a quick buck.

We arrived, quite suddenly at the northern end of Shoreham, after crossing the Darent by a narrow, wooden footbridge. A short distance in front of us was the second pub of the day, and the first of the village's three remaining pubs. The Crown of Shoreham, as the pub calls itself, is a cornerstone of village life, offering a friendly retreat where locals and visitors connect over great food and drinks in a cosy, inclusive setting. This multi-room pub, spread across two different levels, was busy with walkers - like ourselves, but was also holding a barbecue out in the rear garden.

Thinking, correctly as it happened, that something from the barbecue would be quicker than a full-blown meal from the main kitchen, I ordered a pulled-pork burger, which arrived promptly and filled the appropriate gap in my hunger. There were two cask beers - Dark Star Hophead, plus Young's Ordinary. I opted for the former, as am not a fan of the resurrected Young's beers, which taste nothing like the classic, Wandsworth brews I remember with fondness from three decades or so, ago.

After people had finished their lunch and/or their beer, we headed off, passing on the way the sadly closed Two Brewers in the High Street. This establishment transitioned from a traditional pub, to a food-led restaurant in 2019, before closing its doors permanently in August 2020. You can still see its old name boldly incised on the front wall. The demise of the Two Brewers, reduced the number of pubs in the village down to three, from a highwater point of five, within living memory. The previous closure was that of the Royal Oak, which also in the High Street. The Oak shut up shop in the late 1990's, although I'm not sure that I ever visited that particular hostelry.

We were making for the third pub on our itinerary, the Kings Arms, an attractive, weather boarded pub, close to one of the bridges over the Darent. This is the Shoreham pub that I remember best, but unfortunately, some football match or other, was taking place that afternoon, and with the pub showing it live on TV, the place was packed, both inside and out. I was bringing up the rear, so was more than a little surprised at finding the lead walkers in our party leaving the pub, just as us stragglers, arrived.

They reported that it had been difficult to get served, despite a preponderance of bar staff, most of whom appeared to be "just hanging around". This was a shame as I would have liked to, at least, have had a quick pint there, but there's always another time. Instead, I followed the rest of the group along the relatively short distance to the final pub on the itinerary.

This was the Samuel Palmer, at the southern edge of the village, and just a short stroll down from Shoreham station. After closing in 2020, "Ye Olde George Inn" reopened as the "Samuel Palmer", in April 2022. The pub is named after Samuel Palmer, a 19th Century landscape painter who lived in Shoreham - and the pub is decorated with prints of his work. It is now owned by the nearby, Mount Vineyard, and a substantial amount of money has been spent renewing this historic old inn, but without ruining its essential character. A new courtyard/terrace area has been opened up, at the rear of the building, although as we discovered the majority of the pub's patrons seem to prefer sitting out at the front of the pub.

I visited the Samuel Palmer, a couple of years ago, and wrote about it here, and then, as now I'm pleased to report that the Samuel Palmer remains very much a pub to drop into to for a beer or two, selected from a range of mainly locally-brewed, cask ales. I opted for the Larkin's Traditional and can confirm that it was on top form. The pub was certainly buzzing that Saturday, with lots of customers sitting outside, enjoying the early summer sunshine. This allowed our group to grab a couple of tables inside. The service was quick and professional, so I don't know what went wrong at the Kings Arms, but the pub's loss was the Samuel Palmer's gain.

It was a 20 minute, uphill walk, to Shoreham station, but I allowed plenty of time because with an hourly service (unusual for a Saturday - and possibly due to engineering works, elsewhere) I didn't want to miss the train. For those wishing to duplicate all, or just part of this day out in Shoreham, or at other locations within the Darent Valley, Thameslink operate a half-hourly service from London Victoria, with additional trains during peak hours, from London Blackfriars. For those travelling from Tunbridge Wells, Tonbridge, or the Kent Coast, it will be necessary to change at Sevenoaks. Whatever your means of getting there, do go and explore Palmer's "Valley of Vision", and as you enjoy a pint or two, in one of Shoreham's surviving three pubs, give thanks that this peaceful and beautiful corner of Kent, escaped being buried under a tide of concrete and tarmac.

Station House pulls a Crafty pint of Pride - and yes, it was drinking well

2026-06-07T22:51:26.486+01:00

I mentioned, in the previous post that in my quest to track down a drop of cask Doom Bar, the beer that was the subject matter of the article, I had called in at the one Tonbridge pub where I thought I'd be guaranteed of finding a pint of this once legendary Cornish brew. The pub in question was the Station House, a pub that in its heyday, had been known as the South Eastern, the name coming from the pre-grouping name of the railway company that constructed the original line from the capital, and down to Tonbridge and beyond.

Given the pub's proximity to the town's station, it was no surprise for it to have been given a railway themed name. When I first moved to Tonbridge, initially for work, but later as a place to live, the South Eastern was a bustling and busy, multi-roomed town boozer, owned and operated by Whitbread Fremlin's. In those pre-"Beer Orders" days, that company owned the majority of pubs in the area, followed in terms of number of pubs, by Courage, Ind Coope & Charrington's.

The South Eastern was an obvious favourite for train crew and other rail workers, clocking off at the end of a shift. However, given changing practices and cultures within the rail industry, the pub witnessed a drop off in demand from that sector of the working community. Some time in the nineties', the multi-roomed interior of the South Eastern, was knocked through into one, creating in the process a much more uniform and utilitarian interior, at the expense of losing a great deal of the pub's character. It was around this this time that the change of name to the Station House, occurred. It's a pub I'd largely forgotten about, even though for as while, it was one of three local pubs managed by legendary Irish landlord, Colm Powell.

Fast forward to the 21st century, and the re-vamped Station House is now a Craft Union House. Now I don't know a lot about this company, but Google (NOT AI!!), tells me that "Craft Union operate over 650 community pubs right at the heart of High Streets and neighbourhoods across the country. We believe the pub should be the beating heart of its community – a place where strangers become locals, and locals feel right at home". Now you know, and so do I, and from the moment I stepped inside the Station House, I could tell that the company have got it right. I should have known as the evidence was already there, because a couple of month's ago, the pub's exterior was obscured by scaffolding, allowing the rendering to be painted in a contrasting colour scheme of cream and pale blue.

The other thing that surprised me was how much space there is inside the pub, and how far back the interior extends. Of course, back in the pub's 1980's heyday, when it was a multi-room establishment, the amount of space would not have been so obvious, but it has to be said that the pub's new owners, have made sensible use of the extensive interior. The bar, is situated along the right hand wall, so is not immediately obvious on entering the pub.

There are a number of alcoves with a mixture of bench seating and stools, and these help divide up the interior, and help add a sense of intimacy. The pub seemed busy for a Thursday lunchtime, and I couldn't help wondering whether the current, six week closure of the Humphrey Bean - Tonbridge's JDW outlet, was providing the Station House with a welcome influx of new customers. The Bean is undergoing a major refit, that whilst probably overdue, is happening at a strange time, given the sporting events happening, both globally, and at home.

The one thing I wasn't expecting was the non-availability of Doom Bar, but in its place was London Pride, and yes, before anyone trots out the tired old cliché, yes the Pride certainly was drinking well. It was keenly priced, too, at just over £3 a pint, which was another welcome surprise! There was a friendly barmaid behind the bar, who told me, when asked, that she was from Dublin. Without sounding too patronising, she was an obvious asset to the pub, with just the right amount of welcoming cheeriness, mixed in with a pinch of banter. So, despite the failure of my mission to track down a pint of cask Doom Bar, and compare it to the bottled version I'd recently enjoyed, of the same beer (Ed. they're NOT the same beer, at all), I had the joy of experiencing an unexpected gem of a pub, and one that I shall certainly return to.

Never saying never, to Doom Bar

2026-06-05T23:13:20.933+01:00

"Never say never", no, this is not another article about the former Hilden Manor, Beefeater restaurant, that recently reopened under the above title, instead it's more of a post in which yours truly ends up eating a rather large slice of humble pie! To cut a long story short, the article boils down to a beer that many drinkers are familiar with, and a brand that had been the best-selling cask ale in the UK for 11 consecutive years, holding the top spot by both volume and value from 2013 until late 2024, when it was overtaken in sales value by Timothy Taylor's Landlord.

The beer in question is Sharp's Doom Bar, a beer that had been produced in Rock, Cornwall, since 1994, before being acquired by multi-national brewing behemoth, Molson Coors in 2011. Before the takeover, and before its meteoric rise to fame, Doom Bar had been a well respected, and much sought after beer, and one I'd been really impressed with. My infatuation with the brand began after sampling it, for the first time at a drink's industry trade show, in London. That would have been in the early 2000's, when Mrs PBT's and I had our off-licence, in Priory Street, Tonbridge.

That initial taste of Doom Bar was as a bottled beer, and I don't know (or can't remember) when it became available in cask form. For all, I know the brand might have started life as a cask beer, but whatever the case, these details aren't really relevant to the narrative. What is relevant, is that Doom Bar's reputation was such that not only did the brand continue to increase its availability, but it also grew in terms of brand loyalty, so as to eventually attract the attention of a large, brewing group, in the form of Molson Coors. I liked the beer and enjoyed it, whenever I saw it on sale, although by this time it must have become widely available in cask form.

I don't recall stocking either the cask or bottled version of Doom Bar at our off-licence, although we largely relied on wholesalers such as the Beer Seller, or East-West Ales for our cask supplies, with just a small amount delivered directly by brewers, such as Harvey's, Larkin's, Goacher's, or Badger. Somewhere along the line, Doom Bar changed in both taste, and appeal. The two of course are related, although both seemed to coincide with the enormous growth in the brand's availability and appeal. I found, particularly with the cask version that the beer had become increasingly bland in taste, and had lost its earlier appeal, and it wasn't just me that had noticed this change.

Things reached the stage that whereas I would once have ordered a pint of Doom Bar, without hesitation I was now actively avoiding the beer. It became slightly embarrassing in the early days when friends, relations and even casual acquaintances who, knowing that I enjoyed a beer or two, seemed puzzled when I refused their offer of a Doom Bar. My increasing, active dislike of the brand became something of a standing joke, especially with people who knew me through this blog. One fellow blogger, who shall remain nameless, went to the extent of offering bottles of the stuff as a sort of trophy or prize. He was joking of course, or perhaps not, but the example illustrates just how low Doom Bar's reputation had fallen amongst fellow beer enthusiasts.

Fast forward to the other night, when supplies in Paul's beer stash, cupboard were running low. There, lurking at the back of the cupboard was a 500 ml bottle of Sharp's Doom Bar, just ripe for the taking, so guided by the thought of nothing ventured, nothing gained, I cracked open the bottle, after chilling it slightly in the fridge. Now humble pie, and all that, but after raising the glass to my lips, there is no way I can describe the beer as bland.

It isn't particularly hoppy, but there is a firm malt base that immediately shone through, so much so that I found myself actively enjoying the beer. The maltiness, goes hand in glove with Sharp's description of the beer as an "Amber Ale", a term I've never really understood, and one chosen by the late, lamented West Midlands, Bank's Brewery, who used the term for their mild ale ("mild" having been deemed, to have bad connotations, especially amongst younger drinkers - "Gen whatever", the current term might be).

So will this "Road to Damascus" conversion inspire me to order Doom Bar in a pub? The answer remains unclear, as despite both bottled and cask variants carrying the same name and iconic branding, the two versions of Sharp's Doom Bar are entirely different products. They posses different alcohol contents, are brewed hundreds of miles apart, and undergo completely separate production processes, so the jury is still out on that one. I did attempt to find an outlet stocking the cask version, but it wasn't easy. I would probably have been successful at Wetherspoons, but our local Spoons is currently undergoing a major refit and is closed until the start of next month.

Instead, I headed for another Tonbridge pub which, according to the CAMRA website, was listed as stocking Doom Bar. It didn't, although the Station House served me a very acceptable, and keenly priced, pint of London Pride. This Craft Union establishment was the sole remaining Tonbridge pub that I had not set foot in, since commencing my quest, at the start of last year, to visit every pub in the town. I was pleasantly surprised, at what I found, but that's a story for another day. My taste comparison between bottled and cask Doom Bar, remains incomplete, awaiting another attempt, in a different pub, but what this experience has demonstrated, is the importance of keeping an open mind about things.

He's leaving home, bye, bye

2026-06-04T16:59:30.591+01:00

Last weekend, after nearly 35 years of living with Mrs PBT's and I, son Matthew finally moved out of the family home. He'd been hinting and threatening to do so for a while, but last Saturday the big move began in earnest, leaving Eileen and I to experience being "empty nesters" for the first time. It hasn't quite sunk in yet, especially as he's been making regular car journeys back to Tonbridge, in order to pick up more of his clothes, and personal effects, but whilst it still seems a bit strange, I'm sure the pair of us will get used to it.

Eileen in particular is enjoying not having to wait until almost 7pm, before serving up our evening meal, because with a 5.45pm lock-up of the hardware shop that Matthew manages, followed by a 45 minute drive back from East Grinstead, it was getting om for 7pm, before we were sitting down to eat. My commute, is a mere 15 minutes drive, and then that's only for three days a week. Matthew hasn't gone far, as he's only moved to nearby Southborough. It's not the posh part that he's gone to, and by that I mean the area bordering the common, instead he's relocated to a mixed residential area of the town, close to neighbouring High Brooms. He's moved in with Charlotte, his girlfriend of the past couple of years, so it's not as if he's suddenly jumped into it this relocation.

She's a nice girl, sensible and level headed, and with space in her rented flat for young Mr Bailey, I think the move will be good for the pair of them. It will certainly be good for Matthew, as it couldn't have been that much fun for him, shacked up with his aging "P's". Whilst he virtually had his own "wing" on the first floor of our house, with a reasonable sized bedroom, plus an en-suite bathroom, it was more than a little cramped at times. So whilst, obviously missing him - to a point, flying the nest will undoubtably do him good, and it will do the same for Mrs PBT's and I as well, especially after 35 years of us all living under the same roof. We shall see how things pan out, but the move will allow his mother and I both time and space to continue the clear out of our own junk, as well as his - a task I alluded to in the previous post.

That's it, for the time being, apart from saying we've a family wedding to attend at the weekend. As is sometimes the way with weddings, this isn't an occasion that Eileen and I are looking forward to. Ask me why, the next time you see me and I might tell you the reason, but then again, I might not! I'm sure there will be other updates and further developments, as we go along, but for now it's high time that I signed off.

Six months into the new year

2026-06-01T21:15:41.315+01:00

Well we're halfway through the year, and it's time to take stock on what's happened over the past six months. The undoubted highlight during this time, was the sixteen night cruise that Mrs PBT's and I undertook to Norway. Although our cruise ship embarked on this voyage to northern Norway at the beginning of March, travelling as far as we did beyond the Arctic Circle, was always going to be chancy, especially with regard to the weather, and associated sea conditions. And so it turned out, even though despite careful consideration, I don't think either of us were quite prepared for the strong winds and high seas we experienced.

Despite the adverse weather, and full in the knowledge that such conditions are not exactly unknown, that far north, we still had a good time, even though my good lady wife kept reminding me that all she wanted was a few days spent in somewhere hot and sunny. I kept reminding her that to reach somewhere warm and sunny, by boat, in early spring would still have meant navigating the notoriously rough, Bay of Biscay, even though, as I privately admitted, both the North Sea, and the waters off the coast of Norway, had the potential to be rougher still.

The main thing is we survived, and leaving a few really rough "sea days" to one side, we enjoyed a really good holiday, experienced some spectacular scenery, and visited several charming towns and cities, that exuded bags full of Scandinavian charm. Most importantly, we were able to view the spectacular Northern Lights - twice in my case, but the viewing from the deck of our cruise ship, as we departed the far northern city of Alta, was every bit as rewarding, and meant that Mrs PBT's was able to experience this amazing natural light show, for herself.

Turning to matters closer to home, and apart from some important family news, that I shall release next time, there's not that much to report. Eileen and I have been busying ourselves with an ongoing clear-out. In my instance this tasks also extends to the shed, summerhouse and greenhouse. Certainly in the first two cases, these outbuildings have become dumping grounds for things we're either no longer certain that we need, but also as a "holding place" for items destined for the local tip. Somewhere in between are items capable of being recycled, and since returning from Norway, I've taken loads of stuff to one of several charity shops. The process hasn't finished, although I've certainly stolen a march on Mrs PBT's, who's an itinerant hoarder - especially of clothes. I'm letting her sort that area out, under the auspices of not trying to force things.

All that sorting out, has eaten into valuable pub-going time, although checking back I've ticked off 60 different pubs this year, although I've obviously visited quite a few of these on several occasions. Now three-score isn't that impressive by some ticker's standards, but I'm quite pleased with it, especially when it comes to pubs that I've never visited before.

I shall shortly reveal which of these pubs impressed me the most, but before doing do, it's worth noting that most of them were the result of "one -off" visits, rather than as part of a concerted group effort. I say that, because what has really been missing, so far this year, are the "Proper Days Out". That's not to say there hasn't been any, as there has, but they just seemed to clash either with work, of with family matters. Even so, off my own bat I've enjoyed some excellent days out in Hastings, Lewes, Sevenoaks, Hook Green, Birmingham and London plus, most recently Shoreham (Kent).

All these days out allowed me to enjoy some excellent pubs, with Pelham Arms - Lewes, Wellington - Birmingham, Wenlock Arms - London, Crown - Hastings, plus, of course, the Elephant's Head, at Hook Green, on the Kent-Sussex border. There were also a couple of standout bars that I experienced during our cruise to Norway. Expensive, yes, but atmospheric, welcoming whilst at the same time being ultra laid-back, as only Scandinavians really know how to. The off-beat, Puskas Platebar & Pub in Alta, where I sampled my most northerly beer ever, plus Trondheim's Habitat Craftbar - offering a wide range of Norwegian craft beers, alongside some truly excellent pizza.

There's two or possibly three "Proper Days Out" planned for the second half of the year, where the Somerset town of Frome has been set aside for a "carefully curated pub crawl", plus a month earlier, Coventry has been earmarked for a similar exercise. Frome will be a completely new town for me to be visiting/drinking in, and whilst I have made a couple of visits to Coventry, on both occasions, I was under the age, as far as visiting pubs and drinking alcohol is concerned. That brings us right up to date, and with temperatures having dropped to something more approaching normality, its time for me to sign off and say goodnight.

Cloudy Murk

2026-05-29T09:24:46.517+01:00

I've never really seen the attraction of "cloudy murk", a phrased used by others, but most dismissively, by northern-based, vintage Beer Blogger, Tandleman, to describe a style of beer that seemed to come from nowhere, before coming something of a sensation in the land of its birth. The style is New England IPA - NEIPA, for short, and the land of its birth, as well as its conception, is the US of A. No surprises there, but as far as I am concerned this is nothing more than a "made-up" style, and one that has little to offer the serious beer enthusiast. Unfortunately, NEIPA's seem to be all the range these days, and whilst some of the enthusiasm behind this "cloudy murk", appears to have abated, there are still plenty of industry "experts" and "influencers", (hate that word), who have fallen for the hype surrounding this artificial style of beer.

We'll start with cask, because in the UK at least, that is the style of beer where drinkers are most likely to encounter a hazy, or cloudy pint of beer. Historically, a pint of cloudy cask ale was a sign that a beer had not conditioned properly, that suspended yeasts had not settled properly, or that your pint was full of end-barrel finings (ugh!). Whilst there is no real evidence to back up the statement that a pint of murk will give you an upset stomach, regular beer drinkers, have learned over the years to avoid hazy beer. Indeed for decades now, there has been a consensus among beer drinkers that a perfect pint should either look crystal-clear, or as close to this state as possible.

Apart from poorly treated, or mis-handled cask ales, cloudiness in beer, is normally due to a haze caused by suspended yeast, proteins, or hop compounds, and is often associated with styles such as hefeweizens, or other unfiltered beers. Whilst traditionally viewed as a defect (indicating inadequate fermentation or poor handling), modern "murky" beers aim for an opaque and smoothie-like appearance to achieve low bitterness, combined with an intense fruitiness and a creamy mouthfeel. Somewhat surprisingly many of these murky beers contain little yeast, despite their appearance. Practices such as over-hopping, particularly where dry hopping (adding whole, fresh-leaf hops to a cask, or container, to increase hop aroma), is concerned, can often result in hazy beer, as does over-hopping a beer, although what we are looking at here, are beers that are deliberately brewed to be cloudy.

Many UK based, craft brewers now produce some hazy, unfiltered beers but over the past few years "murky" has become a phenomenon that seems to have acquired cult status. This development is not confined to the New World, where the style originated, but is also present here in the UK, as more and more brewers look to New England-style IPAs, for inspiration. Dubbed the "haze craze”, East Coast IPA's are pointedly less bitter than their West Coast rivals, and are sometimes described as "juice bombs". Brewed from a grist that often includes a significant amount of protein-rich wheat and oats, prior to fermentation with hazy yeasts, the resultant beers are then massively dry-hopped to create a deliberately opaque and milky-looking finished product. Devotees describe such beers as "juicy", but these aren't the attributes that the majority of drinkers are looking for in a beer.

The murkiness of these brews is mainly thanks to two things: using high protein grains in the mash and heavy dry hopping at the end of—or post-fermentation. Simply put, when protein molecules from the grains merge with the polyphenols in hops, something rather strange happens, in the form of a visible haze, known to brewers and scientists as a "colloidal haze". This cloudiness remains stable and intact because the molecules formed don’t easily dissipate in water, and scatter light throughout the liquid. The resultant haze is known as the "Tyndall effect", but it's effects are not just visual, because the suspended matter not only gives the beer a creamy mouthfeel, but also imparts a number of juicy, and "mouth-watering" flavours. If beer is only lightly-hopped the juiciness will dominate and overpower the flavours normally associated with beer. This is all well and good if you're a NEIPA fanatic, but most drinkers, myself included, prefer something a little less extreme, and tasting of malted barley and freshly harvested hops, rather than orange or tropical fruit juice.

There are people who actively seek out hazy beer, resulting in "craft murk", becoming a blossoming, cult phenomenon, with devotees describing New England IPA, as a "luscious experience, thanks to a style that is the most modern and approachable iteration of IPA". Their words, rather than mine, but a statement purposely designed to enrage drinkers of proper beer, borne out by a backlash against NEIPA's, with "murk-shaming" gaining ground amongst ardent critics of the style. Horses for courses, but like all trends, I'd like to see this one last as short as possible, and for the pendulum to switch back the other was and for clarity to prevail once again. If you've read this far, you'll probably be mulling over your own thoughts about "cloudy murk" and wondering what effect, if any, this upstart of a beer style will have on your drinking habits. The answer to that question, ultimately depends on what you think about NEIPA and other intentionally hazy beers, but for the record I am NOT a fan of the style!

A couple of months ago I celebrated the birthday that comes after the proverbial "three score years and ten". Along with a few other beers, son Matthew bought me pack of Faith, an unashamed, hazy, 5.0% pale ale from Leeds-based, Northern Monk. I'd been aware of this brewery for some time - they were founded in 2013, and looking at their website, they are a substantial operation, especially after opening a second brewery, a few years later - also in Leeds. I was particularly pleased that Matthew had moved away from his usual choices of "dad beer" especially the Hobgoblin and Old Speckled Hen pish of the mainstream beer world, so a day or so later I cracked open a can. Unfortunately, the beer was as described above - hazy and juicy, but lacking the characteristics normally associated with a traditional pale ale. Full marks though, to Matthew not just for trying, but for thinking outside of the box, and I'm really pleased he took the initiative.

In the meantime I've been doing a spot of research into Northern Monk, and I think I'm right in saying that the vast majority of their beers are filled into cans, as opposed to bottles or kegs. This probably explains why, apart from on supermarket shelves, I haven't seen their beers on sale in pubs or bars. "From West Coast pine and bitterness to New England haze and juice, our great IPA beers are brewed in our Leeds brewery and shipped fresh", says the rather sinister looking monk, who acts as the brewery symbol, as he peers out from under his cowl. I'd certainly be interested in learning what other people think about the company and its beers, as what they are doing, is obviously working well for them, even though it's something that doesn't fit in my ideal of a traditional, cask-focussed, independent brewery, selling into the free trade.

Checking in on an old friend, before renewing my acquaintance with a couple of favourite, pubs

2026-05-24T11:05:36.344+01:00

On the hottest day of the year - so far, and it's going to get even hotter as the weekend progresses, if the weathermen are to be believed, I found myself in that there London place. I wasn't there to experience some of the capital's finest watering hole, but instead was there on a visit that can best be described as "compassionate". Showing some care and support for an old friend/colleague who is currently languishing in a hospital bed, following a fall, and temporary loss of mobility. I'd been alerted to my friend's predicament, by a post on social media, so I got in touch with the lady responsible for the post, and she put me in the picture, as well as forwarding the hospital details, along with other information necessary to facilitate my visit.

I won't go into too many details, as they're not really related to the narrative, and also, unless you knew the friend concerned, they wouldn't mean a lot, but the person I was visiting is someone that both Eileen and I knew when we worked for a Tonbridge-based, engineering firm, back in the late 1970's-early 1980's. We'd lost touch over the years, and it wasn't until a chance remark, that I made on social media, that we learned that our friend was in hospital, recuperating from his fall, and waiting for a transfer into rehab, to enable him to get back on his feet again. University College Hospital London, is the name of the large and impressive establishment where our friend is being looked after, and for the record this new state of the art hospital is situated on Euston Road, close to Warren Street and Euston Square Tube stations, in other words, easily accessible.

I set out, on my own, as Mrs PBT's isn't a fan of crowds, the heat, or of the Underground system, and my plan was to visit our friend, before adjourning to a suitable hostelry or two, for some liquid refreshment. I wasn't planning on a lengthy hospital visit, as we'd been led to believe that our former colleague wasn't in a terribly good way. Fortunately, the situation was far better than I thought it would be, meaning a lot more time reminiscing, plus laughing and joking with the patient, and substantially less time to enjoy some of the public houses, I'd originally envisaged. All in a good cause, though, and something I wouldn't have missed for the world. I'd drawn up a potential list of six pubs that I wanted to visit, in full knowledge that three or possibly four would be a more realistic total.

I'd made a point of visiting the first hostelry straight away, in fact as soon as I'd exited a very busy, Charing Cross station. My reason was the pub in question is small and, given it's historical connections, almost certainly on many tourist itineraries. An early visit, would help beat the crowds, and arriving just after 1pm, certainly proved a sensible move. The pub in question was the Grade II listed, Lamb & Flag, tucked away along a maze of alleyways and courtyards.

Reputed to have first been licensed in 1623, making it the oldest such premises in Covent Garden, the building is one of the very few left in central London with a timber frame. It's not the easiest pub to find in Covent Garden but that doesn't stop it becoming very busy at times, with office workers and visitors often spilling into the street summer and winter. However, unlike many other pubs in the area, being hidden away, means it is not quite as touristy, as some of the other, nearby pubs. On my journey up to London, I was wondering whether or not I'd visited the Lamb & Flag, in the past, but after navigating my way to that tucked away courtyard, memories of after-work pints, supped in that cramped space, outside the pub, came flooding back. even though those times would have been half a century or so previously.

The pub had been tied to Courage, back then, but now the Lamb is owned by Fuller's and offers a wide range of the company's beers. The ground floor bar consists of two small, dark rooms with low beams, wood panelling and bare floorboards. The back room has a fireplace and plain wooden seats. There is also an upstairs bar and restaurant, where the main food service is available (table service only), but I have never ventured that far inside the pub. I managed to find a seat in the back room where I enjoyed a pint of Seafarers, one of seven Fuller's beers on sale -Taylor's Golden Best, was the odd one out, but all too soon it was time to finish supping, and head off towards University College Hospital. I ran into one of the inevitable delays that often besets the Underground, but this one was due to a medical emergency, on one of the trains in front of mine.

I left the train at Warren Street, and after heading up the escalator, found that directions to UCH were clearly signposted. Now this is one heck of a building, with beds for 665 patients, 12 operating theatres, plus the largest critical care unit in the NHS. There are around a dozen floors, with the ward that our friend was in located on the seventh. There was certainly an impressive view right across central London, from where his bed was situated, taking in the Shard, the London Eye, St Paul's cathedral, plus a host of other famous London landmarks. At night, the view is illuminated by tens of thousands of lights, providing a spectacular visage across the capital. As our friend pointed out "you'd pay a lot of money for a view like that!"

It took some time to track down his location, as I hadn't received precise instructions from the lady who'd first alerted us to his plight, but with the help of a number of staff members, who checked various computer screens, I found him, sitting up in bed, looking slightly puzzled at first after seeing me walking round the corner. Once over his initial shock, and expressing how pleased he was to see me, we settled down and enjoyed a lengthy, and at times, quite humorous, catch-up.

Apart from urgently requiring a haircut, our former colleague looked quite well and certainly far better than I had expected. Amongst other topics the conversation turned to pubs, and reading my mind he asked would I be stopping off at a pub, on my way back to the station? Well, yes, of course, and in a moment of real serendipity the Wenlock Arms cropped up. This legendary pub was on my list, so after hearing from my friend about the Wenlock's come-back from the dead, I settled on the Wenlock, promising that I would raise a glass to him, whilst there. I said farewell and then navigated my way out of the hospital. Stepping out from the carefully controlled, air-conditioned coolness of UCH, the heat hit me like a blast furnace, but despite the warmth, I was pleased to be on the move again. I headed down the Euston Road, before cutting in at St Pancras, and back down to the Bank branch of the Northern Line.

I left the Underground at Old Street, and then it was over to my phone, and Google Maps. Despite previous navigation problems, the App worked well on this occasion, even though it was further to the Wenlock, than I remember. Thinking back, previous visits had usually been after the lunchtime sessions at "London Drinker", an annual CAMRA beer festival held at Camden Town Hall, and an event I remember with fondness. I was normally accompanied by a couple of West Kent CAMRA members, and had relied on their navigation skills in order to reach the Wenlock. This time I was on my own, but following Google Maps, I headed up along the City Road, until I reached the Eagle pub, immortalised in the rhyme, "Pop goes the Weasel". ("Up and down the City Road, in and out the Eagle, that's the way the money goes, pop goes the weasel"). A right turn, followed by an eventual left, brought me to the Wenlock, which had received a much needed, and long over due, makeover. My friend and I had joked about the former state of the pub's toilets, or at least the Gents, but with a king-sized thirst, I was much more interest in topping up the tank, rather than draining it off!

All joking aside, the re-vamped Wenlock certainly looked the part, and whilst it was obviously busy, the majority of customers were stood out on the pavement, enjoying the early evening sunshine. I made my way to the bar, where a choice of beers from either Burning Sky or Five Points, greeted me. Tempted initially by the former, I went for the latter instead, where a pint of Five Points Best, proved the ideal thirst quencher. It's no exaggeration to say that this single-hop beer, brewed using Fuggles grown locally in Kent on Hukins Farm, really hit the spot, so much so that it hardly touched the sides. Time for another, and this came in the form of Railway Porter, also brewed at Five Points, just a short distance away, in nearby Hackney.

As well as being thirsty, I was also hungry, having had nothing to eat since the two slices of toast and marmalade I enjoyed at breakfast. I knew from the pub's write-up, that the Wenlock included Pieminster Pies, in their lunchtime offer. Well they don't anymore, and seeing as the time was getting on for 5.30 pm, it was past lunchtime anyway. After seeing my look of disappointment, the kind lady behind the bar took pity on me, and said she could rustle up a toastie - cheese and ham, too, if I fancied one.

Did I fancy one? and does the Pope pray? so of course, "Yes please". My snack took a little time to arrive, but the wait was worth it, and the toastie brought back memories of why such items were once a pub staple, especially in pubs lacking cooking facilities. I didn't rush my beer this time, instead I savoured it, marvelling at how it complemented my tasty, pub snack.

It was time to go, I'd already phoned Mrs PBT's and told her to leave my "ready meal" curry in the oven, but not wanting it to be burnt to a cinder, and in the interests of marital harmony, I began the route march back to Old Street Underground. Fortunately the connections were all good, both at London Bridge, and also at Tonbridge, where I managed to hop off the train and then, almost immediately, onto a bus that took me to the top of my road.

So, a good day out, with not only the chance of cheering up an old friend, but also with the opportunity of strolling around the nation's capital. There was a really nice, and almost joyful atmosphere pervading the city, that day, and this seemed to extend to virtually every pub, café or outside drinking place that I passed. It was possibly encouraged by the weather, but more likely it was down to people socialising, enjoying themselves and celebrating the end of the working week. It was a great feeling to be a part of this, and escape from the doom and gloom of recent headlines, largely dominated by world events that are often beyond our control

The Kentish Tap, at the Rose Revived

2026-05-20T09:21:51.484+01:00

Hot on the heels of the last post - the one that included a prestigious pub changing its name, here's new of another one changing its name. The Rose Revived, situated on the edge of the village of Hadlow, is now known as the Kentish Tap, at the Rose Revived. The idea behind the name change is to promote all things Kentish, whether they be animal, vegetable or mineral - perhaps not the last one, but definitely a celebration of the very best of all that Kent has to offer.

So, in no particular order, customers at the Kentish Tap will find fresh Shellfish from Whitstable, seafood from Sankey's Fishmongers - Tunbridge Wells, Beef supplied by Chart Farm in Sevenoaks, apples and Apple Juice from Hadlow College - just down the road, farmed Venison from Chart Farm, Carrots, Root Vegetables & Potatoes from Deal, Seasonal Grass Fed Lamb, Taywell's Kent Ice Cream from Paddock Wood, Beer from a variety of Kentish Brewers, Kentish Cheeses - the list goes on.

This new concept was launched during the first week in March, when the Kentish Tap opened its doors, revealing the new look. The pub exterior has certainly received a makeover making customers aware of the new name, plus the idea behind it, although I'm not so sure whether or not the interior has been given the same treatment. I say that because I'm not exactly a regular customer to the Rose Revived, even though I've always had a soft spot for the pub.

The Tap's promotional literature claims that the changes are a bid to re-establish the pub as a lively hub for the local community, by creating a Family Friendly establishment. I'm not quite sure what is meant by this, but I'm guessing the Rose wants to move away somewhat from the "fine dining" approach to some thing more down to earth. The pub management claim that the Taproom and Restaurant, with all produce from the local area, is a unique concept. I'm not sure about that claim, but what you will find on offer, is certainly a novel one.

The Rose Revived has everything you could wish for in a country pub, including; log fires, a cosy bar taproom, guest beers, local food, attractive gardens plus a restaurant. Visitors will find an exciting range of local beers, cider, wine and other beverages. As the promotional literature says, the Kentish Taproom concept is proud to be supporting British farmers.

As for the pub itself, the Rose Revived, is an old coaching inn dating back a number of centuries. Looking at the layout of the building, it is certainly quite a rambling structure, with add-ons and outbuildings that would have served as stables, in years gone by. It is now one of only two pubs left in Hadlow, a village that once supported five Public Houses. The other three have all closed fairly recently, and certainly within the 40 year period that I have known Hadlow - an attractive village in its own right, with a famous agricultural college on the southern perimeter, and an attractive centre with a village square, flanked by a number of local shops.

Hadlow is also home to Hadlow Tower, a 19th century folly that has undergone a major renovation in recent years. Hadlow Tower, known locally as "May's Folly", is a Victorian Gothic tower, and one of the largest in Britain at 53 m (175 ft).[5] The top 40 feet (12 m) is an octagonal lantern. At 6ft taller than Nelson's Column, it is thought to be the tallest folly in the country, and surely one of the most eye-catching. built by a local land owner and merchant, Walter May, for reasons of pure jealousy. According to local folklore, May's wife had left him for another man, so in 1838 he had this huge tower built alongside the family home, Hadlow Castle (built by May's father) in order to could keep tabs on his wife and the farmer that she had gone to live with.

I called in last Sunday, and whilst the Rose wasn't exactly bursting at the seams, it was ticking over nicely. I received a friendly welcome from the person behind the bar, whom I assume was the landlord, and pleased at seeing Goacher's Goldstar on tap, ordered myself a pint. This pale, and well-hopped, gold-coloured ale is a rare sight, in this part of Kent, even though it's brewed less than 20 miles away, in the county town. Being a bright and sunny day, I took my pint outside, and was surprised to see so few other punters, taking advantage of the fine weather. The garden is quite extensive though, so there were probably more outside drinkers present, than I thought.

My brief visit made a pleasant change, and when I arrived home, I told Mrs PBT's about the changes. The Rose is another favourite of my wife and her girly friends, so I shall be interested to learn what they think about it, after they've made their obligatory inspection visit. As for those closed Hadlow pubs, I had to think long and hard to recall some of them, and a nostalgic look back at some of them, would make a good article. That's for another day, but the pubs were, the Blacksmith's Arms, the Harrow, the
Albion (aka the Fiddling Monkey + the Two Brewers), and finally the Prince of Wales. The Harrow has been raised to the ground, but the other buildings are still standing, and have been adapted to other purposes (fish & chip shop, antiques shop, plus the boarded-up, Two Brewers). The latter is a Harvey's pub, that a succession of landlords have failed to make a go of, probably because it was the wrong pub for the brewery to have bought in the first place, but that story will have to wait though for another time, .

It's all happening again, in Tonbridge

2026-05-15T23:37:57.690+01:00

There's been a number of interesting developments recently, on the local pub scene, and whilst none of them are connected, or similar in any way, they all concern changes for a number of Tonbridge pubs. Some of these changes have already occurred, some are taking place, even as I write, and two or three are still to happen. Let's get started then with a well-known Tonbridge establishment, the Hilden Manor, that acquired new owners, back in the late summer.

This Grade II-listed pub and former Beefeater in Hildenborough, had been a familiar, local fixture for several decades, but after closing its doors in August, this characterful building underwent an extensive renovation. It reopened under new ownership in December and with a new, and quite puzzling name, as well. Now known as the Never Say Never, the pub opened just in time for the all important Christmas trade. Its new owners, are Elite Pubs, a name that is already quite familiar to pub goers across Kent and Sussex. The group pride themselves on running a collection of stylish and character-filled venues across both counties, by expanding slowly, and carefully.

I have already visited a number of Elite Pubs in both Kent and Sussex, and these include the Poacher & Partridge, at nearby Tudeley, the Vineyard, Lamberhurst, the Lazy Fox at Mark Cross, and the Dirty Habit at Hollingbourne. The latter has only recently re-opened after a serious fire, but I remember the pub providing a welcome and much needed break whilst walking the North Down's Way. A couple of days ago I increased my tally of Elite establishments by one, when I popped into Hildenborough's Never Say Never, on the outskirts of Tonbridge.

I was never a frequent visitor to this former Beefeater inn, so there wasn't much for me to compare things with, but the pub seemed pleasant enough, and I quite liked the way that signage in the internal entrance porch directed customers to either the bar - LHS, or the dining area, which is on the right.

There wasn't much going on, but as my visit took place shortly after 10.30 am, I wasn't expecting a lot. Harvey's Sussex Best and Larkin's Traditional were the two cask beers, but given the early hour, and the fact I had a lot to do at home, I swerved the beer and opted for a flat white instead. Apart from a couple of women, discussing a theatre outing, I was the only customer, although a chap did turn up later. It will be interesting to see how the pub fares, but there is a captive audience next door, in the form of a Premier Inn. The NSN has probably had a lucky escape, seeing as former owners, Whitbread, have announced the closure of all their Beefeater outlets.

Moving swiftly on, we come to the Humphrey Bean, Tonbridge's Wetherspoon's outlet. The pub is scheduled to shut its doors on 26th May and will remain closed until its grand reopening on 7th July. The closure is to allow a major upgrade, what ever that means, but in the meantime, local fans of any early morning pint, with their breakfast, will have to look elsewhere.

The 9 o'clock, "shaky-hand" brigade will be a bit stumped, as the nearby Gatehouse, closed at the end of March 2024. The timing of the closure means the Bean will be closed during some of the summer’s biggest sporting events, and football enthusiasts will be especially affected, as the FIFA World Cup runs throughout June. The closure of the Humphrey Bean comes as a bit of a surprise, as the pub has always been well-regarded, amongst local residents and victors alike, and the six-week timescale suggests something major might be at hand. Whatever the outcome though, a fresh new design will definitely be a welcome addition to the High Street, and to one of Tonbridge’s most popular pubs.

The third pub on my list of changes, is the Man of Kent, a lovely old inn located on the Tonbridge Road, at Little Mill, East Peckham. Renowned for its riverside setting along the River Bourne, its rustic, low oak-beamed ceilings, and a large wood-burning inglenook fireplace, the pub was a popular watering hole with locals and visitors alike. Offering excellent food, and scenic outdoor seating, during the summer months, where children could feed the fish in the neighbouring stream, the Man of Kent's sudden closure towards the end of February, came as something of a shock to both visitors and locals. The pub, which dates back to 1588, had been a staple of the East Peckham community for decades, so it closure came as a real blow for a village that once boasted half a dozen pubs.

Locals and visitors alike will therefore be heartened by the news from owning pub company Stonegate, that the Man of Kent should be welcoming customers back next week under new management. Especially heartened by the news will be Mrs PBT's and her group of girlie friends, still known as the "ante-natal" group, three and a half decades on from the off-spring who all arrived, in the autumn on 1991. Over the years, the pub has been their gathering place for at least one of their twice yearly, get-togethers. So some potential good news there, and good luck plus best wishes to the new owners.

Next on the list is Tonbridge's Rose & Crown Hotel, an old English former coaching inn, set in the heart of the town. Located towards the top end of Tonbridge High Street, and opposite the town's 12th century castle and Tonbridge Public School, the Rose & Crown is an impressive Tudor building with an 18th century brick facade, that was once a busy posting and coaching house. Refurbished to modern standards, with many parts of the hotel retaining its original character, with oak beams and Jacobean panelling.

This Best Western hotel, changed hands last year, after being on the market for five years. Boasting 56 bedrooms, plus two function rooms, the Rose & Crown remains as Tonbridge's most prestigious hotel. For many years it was the favourite overnight stop for members of the company's Japanese board of directors, who liked its old world charms, but in recent years, seems to have fallen out of favour.

The hotel has also fallen from grace with several local residents, due to the state of the large porch, which stretches out across the pavement. Traditionally, this was the place from where election results were announced, but in recent years the portico has started to exhibit signs of wear tear, which has caused the local council to step in. Their building control team has issued a seven-day deadline to the hotel owners, requiring immediate safety works to the building’s portico to address risks identified in a recent structural report.

Work is now under way, to restore the building to a satisfactory standard. I called in to the Rose & Crown, shortly before Christmas. It was mid-morning, so the place was relatively quiet. I was pleased to notice that the new owners had restored the many exposed beams to their former glory, removing the white wash that a previous owner had obviously thought was trendy, but to my mind it just looked a mess. It's still early days, but I feel confident that despite the recent issues with the porch, the Rose & Crown is in good hands with its new owners.

I was going to end the piece here, but there's one final development that I'd like to share with you, and it concerns Fuggle's. I'm talking here about their Tunbridge Wells outlet, so strictly speaking it doesn't fall under Tonbridge. It's still worth noting though as Fuggles has officially revealed plans to expand its Tunbridge Wells venue later this year, to include more seating, plus a bigger kitchen. This will be achieved by taking over the neighbouring former mobility shop next door, significantly increasing the venue’s footprint and creating a brighter, more spacious experience for customers. Again, it's early days, but you can find more details here.

Chipstead fails me again!

2026-05-13T21:47:24.602+01:00

I mentioned recently, in comments made on another blog, that I hadn't been getting out as much as I would have liked to, and there are a variety of different reasons behind why this should be true. Fortunately, this all changed last weekend, when I took a ride out on a bus service that only runs on Sundays. This enabled me to visit three different pubs, but the strange thing about the trip was that none of the pubs I ended up visiting, were on my original list, as I shall explain shortly.

Before going any further, you probably know that I'm a huge fan of travelling to the pub by bus, even if they're often found to be running late, or sometimes not at all. Unlike trains, which operate along dedicated tracks, buses operate on public roads, and have to take their chance alongside all the other road users, such as cars, lorries, coaches, farm vehicles, and even the occasional mad cyclist, all intent on snarling up our increasingly overcrowded, public highways.

Despite these drawbacks, buses still represent the best means of reaching those isolated and hard to get to country inns, without having to get behind the wheel of a private car. I have of course, written quite a few posts about days out by bus, all released under the generic title of "Pub Friday", but last weekend I embarked on a "Pub Sunday", same theme, but different day.

My plan was to take the Go Coach 401 service, which operates between Tonbridge and Westerham, solely on Sundays. I specifically wanted to visit the Bricklayers Arms, a rather good Harvey's pub, on the edge of Chipstead village and overlooking Chipstead Lakes. The latter are man-made structures, rather than natural lakes, that started life as gravel pits. Today, they are home to a wide variety of wildlife, and are popular with both anglers and amateur yachtsmen.

I attempted to visit the Bricklayers, back in November 2021, only to find the pub inexplicitly shut, due to "unforeseen circumstances"! Surely this time things would work out alright? Looking back at the post I wrote at the time, I noticed that failed attempt also took place on a Sunday, and I had cited the exact same reasons for taking that 401 bus, although the service was operated by Arriva, back then.

The time table had also been revised, and I noticed that the bus would drop me off in Chipstead at 11.15, which was a tad too early for the Bricklayer's. Fortunately, the CAMRA website came to my rescue, as I discovered that the Bullfinch in nearby Riverhead opened its doors at 11.30, so if I alighted from the bus on the edge of Chipstead, and then walked back towards the nearby Tesco superstore, I would be rattling the door of the Bullfinch, dead on opening time.

The Bullfinch is a tied pub that belongs to the Hertford brewer, McMullen's. It is Mac's only pub south of the Thames, and has been owned by the company since 2009. In short, this stylish pub is a lone outpost, for the brewery, but is none the worst for that. The Bullfinch is home to a modern, spacious restaurant with a roaring log fire during the winter months, and is ideal for meeting up with friends and family.

The pub also hosts a cosy bar lounge and a luscious, spacious green beer garden. McMullen's beers attract a mixed response amongst drinkers, and many in CAMRA are quite dismissal of the brewery and its brands.

I remember well, the late chairman of my local branch (West Kent CAMRA), being less than complimentary when it came to McMullen's, a stance I believe he developed whilst living in Hertfordshire. Strangely enough, Iain was Scottish, so why there should be this antithesis towards Mac's beers, is anybody's guess. There was a choice of two McMullen beers at the Bullfinch that day, IPA or Country Best Bitter, with the former being the stronger of the two, although not by much.

Now this is where I should have headed back into Chipstead, and found my way to the Bricklayer's, but deciding to be clever, I reckoned there was sufficient time for a pint in the Miner's Arms, first. The latter is in Dunton Green, and was originally built to quench the first of navvies, working on the nearby railway. The Miner's is now a local family-friendly village pub with a strong sense of community. During refurbishment work, several years ago, the landlord uncovered and restored the 100 year old signage at the front of the pub, advertising the long now defunct brewery of Kidd and Son's Brewery, who were based in Dartford. As you can see from the photo, the sign provides an attractive feature on entering the pub.

I received the strangest of welcomes from the landlady, who greeted me with the words, "Oh, you've had your haircut." As it happened I did have a trim, a couple of day's previously, but despite being tempted to play along with this case of mistaken identity, I gently reminded the good lady that neither of us had met, previously. It took a bit of gentle ribbing from a couple of local characters, to make her realise her mistake, but both parties accepted the error, in good grace. By way of compensation, I enjoyed a well-kept pint of Tonbridge Easy Street Pale. This visit was probably only my third or fourth visit to the Miner's, but on each occasion the pub has always delivered in terms of good beer, conviviality and a great atmosphere.

Onwards and upwards, but still with plenty of time on my hands (or so I thought), I retraced my steps back towards the Bullfinch, and then up a lane of rather expensive-looking houses, towards the edge of Chipstead. It was here that I took my eye off the ball, because on arriving at the village green, I took a wrong turning. I'm tempted to blame Google Maps here, as the App has an unfortunate trait of realigning itself (on screen), with every change of direction encountered, but blindly following the on-screen map, I reached the busy A25 main road. It was only then that I realised my error, and once again retraced my steps, back towards the village green. En route, I meticulously checked the various bus stops I encountered along the way, but information regarding the 401 Sunday service seemed to be missing from most of them. Puzzled, I continued along a downhill road which I was sure would lead me down to the lakes, and my eventual goal of the Bricklayer's.

The beer that I'd already consumed, had worked its way down to my bladder, leaving me bursting for a pee, a situation which led me into the nearby George & Dragon. The latter is still very much a "food-led” pub, although the welcome I received was much more friendly than that which I faced, nearly four years ago. I therefore wasn't shoved out into the garden (it was bitterly cold, that November), and I wasn't made to feel like a pariah, either. Instead, I managed to engage with the two friendly girls behind the bar, even though their knowledge of the local buses, and the village bus stops, was unsurprisingly rather limited. There were two Westerham beers on sale, Grasshopper plus, in a nod to Roald Dahl, a "house" offering, called "George's Marvellous Medicine", also brewed by Westerham.

I'm not normally a fan of so-called "house" beers, as they are invariably just one of the brewery's standard beers, re-badged, and sold at inflated price. The Grasshopper was good, and added extra weight to the fact that after over 25 years in the business, Westerham must be doing something right. However, the rather biased thinking of a former branch chairman, who had dismissed Westerham Ales out of hand, fuelled a lengthy,but period of distrust between CAMRA and Westerham's owner, and founder.Fortunately, the biased complainant is no longer actively involved with the local branch, but damage of that sort takes a long time to repair, and to my way of thinking it didn't help CAMRA's reputation, locally. For the record, this character was a different individual to the one who didn't like McMullen's.

By now, I'd given up on reaching the Bricklayer's, primarily because I was uncertain where the return bus stop was located. I didn't want to miss the 14.15 bus, because it was the final one continuing on to Tonbridge. So, somewhat reluctantly, I walked back to Riverhead, through a very posh Chipstead, keeping an eye out for strategically placed trees or hedges, where I could once again empty my bladder - spoiler alert, there weren't any!

The Bullfinch came to the rescue, although there wasn't time for a beer, in exchange for the use of the pub's facilities. I waited at the Tesco stop for the 401, which arrived early, which was bonus, as I was glad to take the weight off my feet. So, after two failed attempts, will it be third time lucky for me and the Bricklayer's? I'm in no great hurry to return to Chipstead, at the moment, and I might even contemplate driving there, next time, despite my reluctance to use the car. Watch this space then, although at the same time, don't hold your breath!

The Holy Goat is coming along nicely

2026-05-10T20:59:22.163+01:00

After my preliminary visit to the Holy Goat, almost a month ago now, I thought it was high time that I gave this latest addition to Tonbridge's drinking scene a further try. The recent May Day holiday seemed as good as any for another look, although if I'm honest, I managed to squeeze in a visit a couple of weeks previously. The slightly chaotic scenes described in my initial piece, had fortunately disappeared, and a responsible and more mature crowd seems to have taken over. Even better is the appearance on the bar of a handpump, dispensing Harvey's Best Bitter - what else?

The Holy Goat describes itself as a friendly neighbourhood pub. Situated roughly halfway along Pembury Rd in Tonbridge, the pub serves good food and offers a warm and friendly welcome to regular and casual customers alike. As the Goat's website says, the new management have given a fresh start to a much-loved old pub, and have achieved this by keeping much of the original character. They have added some great food, that includes the renowned Saint John’s Yard burgers, complete with filthy sides (whatever that might entail) because, if you haven't already guessed, the Goat is owned and managed by the same people who run the slightly off-beat Saint John’s Yard, in Tunbridge Wells.

As its name might suggest SJY is situated in the St John's area of the town, which lies between Southborough and the top end of Tunbridge Wells. To my great shame, I have never set foot in SJY in either its current incarnation, or under its older, and far more traditional name of the Red Lion. Eighteen months ago, I attended my firm's Christmas bash, at the next-door Shuffle House, although my understanding is this establishment too is currently closed, awaiting a further make-over. Perhaps it will revert to being a traditional pub, or it that too unusual, and too much to ask? Whilst on the subject of Shuffle Board, it's worth pointing out that Molo Brew, a cavernous craft beer establishment, close to the cruise terminal in the lovely Norwegian town of Ǻlesund, had a couple of shuffle board tables.

I realised that I haven't written anything, so far, about Ǻlesund, but that will have to wait, and returning to the Holy Goat, the pub seems to be doing well. The amended pub sign is still missing though, an issue the Goat's manager isn't very happy about, because, as he told me, some people still haven't caught onto the pub being open. He has chased the sign writer on several occasions, and each evening, as I drive past, I look - so far in vain, for the appearance of the new pub sign

There is a secluded and well-laid out garden at the rear of the Goat, which is set at a slightly lower level. During the recent, but now annoyingly vanished, hot spells the garden with its wooden pods along the edges, has proved extremely popular, particularly with family groups. No photos then, for the time being and at least until the weather changes, or the garden is empty. The garden does seem a popular meeting place for catching up with friends, popping in for a quiet pint or settling in for a long warm, summer evening. The pub itself is developing into a friendly local, and is a welcome addition to the . Tonbridge pub scene.

MS Ambience - a few thoughts and observations

2026-05-07T19:36:21.518+01:00

A month or so after returning from our Norwegian adventure, and its heavy seas, I realised that I hadn't written much about Ambience, the cruise ship we sailed on, or the cruise line, Ambassador, behind our voyage. Choosing this particular operation wasn't quite a spur of the moment decision, but it was strongly influenced by Mrs PBT's and I looking for a holiday that would provide a welcome break between Christmas and Easter, a period where it seems as though winter is never going to disappear and spring is never going come along.

A voyage to the Norwegian Fjords seemed like a good idea, so we looked at cruises heading in that direction, with particular reference to our cruise-line of choice (up until that time at least), on Cunard. Unfortunately, the Cunard voyage to the Fjords that was our cruise of choice, was already fully booked - or at least with regard to the class of accommodation we wanted. That was when we decided to give Ambassador a try.

A couple who we'd met on a previous cruise, and who Eileen had kept in touch with, had given a glowing report on this cruise line, so with nothing to lose I picked up the phone, and managed to book a 16 night cruise to the Norwegian Fjords. We secured a good deal, largely due to an early booking, and for allowing the cruise line to allocate our room, whilst remaining within a certain band of cabins. What was even better, was Ambience sailing from Tilbury, a port that is just 45 minute's drive from home, as opposed to two hours, plus to Southampton - home port for the majority of the major cruise lines.

So, what are Ambassador like to sail with? Well, they're obviously different from the likes of Cunard, but as far as service and food is concerned, both Eileen and I enjoyed the experience. What was particularly refreshing was the absence of the snobbery that is sometimes quite evident on board Cunard. In addition rooms are referred to as cabins, rather than the pretentious "State Room" moniker, used by Cunard. The staff are friendly and hard working, a trait that applies to the vast majority of cruise ships.

We discovered that on Ambience, our room steward worked as a waiter in the buffet, for the evening shift. This meant there was no evening "Turn Down", as found on Cunard, where the top sheet, your already made-up bed, is turned down in readiness for you to slide into, and there are no chocolates laid out on your pillow. The latter touch, in particular, is an unnecessary extravagance, and one that the customer ultimately ends up paying for. Cunard are almost certainly thinking along the same lines, and are rumoured to be dropping this practice.

I personally think that the cabins on Ambience are laid out far better than those on Cunard ships, with what in effect is a "walk-in" wardrobe area, that separates the bathroom area from the rest of the room. In addition, thanks to strategically-sited magnets, the cabin doors can be held open, when necessary, thereby making any deliveries to the room, much easier. A small point, perhaps, but when you witness the waiting staff on Cunard, struggling to hold the spring-loaded doors open with their feet, or even their backsides, whilst manoeuvring into the room with a tray loaded with your morning breakfast, this simple little trick makes life a lot easier for all concerned.

I'm going to gloss over the onboard entertainment, as this applies equally to Ambassador as well as Cunard, but basically I've never been a fan of "West End" style shows. Mrs PBT's is rather more ambivalent towards such presentations, but as she has an irrational fear of contracting something nasty in a crowded theatre - and that applies to being on dry land, as well as at sea, she is unlikely to drag me off to one of these shows.

Lectures, and similar style presentations are a different beast, and we have both seen, and listened to some really good talks. Cunard have the edge over Ambassador, probably before they've got a lot more financial clout, and they also have the advantage of the talk/presentation being streamed, directly into passengers cabins. Guests can then either watch live, or play catch-up, at their leisure, later on. There is also live music, but many of the covers bands engaged to "entertain" passengers, leave much to be desired when it comes to raw talent.

Ambassador Cruise Line was established in 2021 by Christian Verhounig, who was the former CEO of Cruise & Maritime Voyages, a company which went into administration in 2020. Ambassador are a British cruise line, with their headquarters in Purfleet. The company launched with the purchase of its flagship MS Ambience in May 2021 and commenced sales to the public in the following month. Ambassador tailors towards premium-value no fly cruises which target the adult market, including over 50s. Ambience is one of the oldest cruise ships still operating, having started life as the Regal Princess, operated by Princess Cruises. The vessel was constructed at the Fincantieri shipyard in Monfalcone, Italy, and the elegant Italian design, is still evident in the ship today.

Despite the choppy seas, and stormy weather experienced on our recent voyage along the coast of northern Norway, Eileen and I enjoyed our time aboard the Ambience, so much so that we have booked a further cruise, but one that will be sailing much closer to home. The "Treasures of the British Isles", sets sail on the last day of August, and as its name suggests will be taking in ports right around these islands of ours.

Principal ports of call will be Kirkwall in the Orkneys, Stornoway, in the Outer Hebrides, Belfast, Cobh (the port for Cork), and St Mary's in the Isles of Scilly. In some ways, the cruise mimics the voyage we undertook on Cunard's Queen Anne, just over a year ago, and it will be nice to revisit places like Stornoway and Cobh, that we visited on that voyage. But we'll be sailing on a smaller, and more personal ship, and a vessel that is more suited to berthing at some of the smaller ports around Britain and Ireland.

Footnote: I received news today that our travel insurance will be compensating us financially, for being unable to call at Narvik, the port we missed on the last leg of our recent Norwegian cruise. Whilst we were obviously disappointed at missing our stop at this important town, with its memories from World War II of resistance by Norwegian and British forces, against the German invaders, the money received will help erase those five days of being buffeted by some of the stormiest seas we have encountered over the past six nautical years afloat.

Mid afternoon in Birmingham, but where on earth is that pub?

2026-05-03T22:10:33.461+01:00

You left me at the end of the last post, heading towards the first pub of a day, that had so far proven rather pointless. Chasing around for a pub that might or might not be opened, had wasted the best part of an hour, and after already having traipsed around a busy, and at times packed exhibition hall, I just wanted to take the weight off my feet and get stuck into a pint or two.

Frustrated, is the word that best describes how I was feeling, but this was mitigated by the benign, warm weather and the general sense of bonhomie, that seemed to exude from the crowds walking around central Birmingham. It wasn't even a Friday, but the combination of sunshine, a sprinkling of stunning looking new buildings, plus the aforementioned populace at large, was sufficient to lift my spirits, following the earlier disappointment.

I'd already decided that the Wellington would be my next stop, and for those not in the know, this specialist cask ale pub situated in the heart of the city's business district, is something of a local legend in Birmingham. Opened in 2004, and occupying the ground floor and cellar of a solid-looking Victorian building, the Wellington has enjoyed continued success, expanding a decade later into the former offices on the two floors above. I visited the pub, three years after opening, when it was already establishing itself as one of the city's premier alehouses in terms of its beer offering alone. Coincidentally, that visit was on the back of a previously business trip to Birmingham where, once again, I was just passing through!

The Wellington has undergone a considerable expansion since that 2007 visit, adding an upstairs bar, function room plus a roof terrace, but the ground floor bar appeared to have changed little, apart from a dramatic increase in the number of handpumps. The bar seemed surprisingly quiet, which left me guessing that most of the punters were in the upstairs bar and roof terrace, taking advantage of the glorious spring weather. Perhaps I should have joined them, but after the hustle and bustle of the Health & Safety Exhibition, and the time spent trudging the streets, looking for the Waterside Tap, I was just glad of a place where I could take the weight off my feet, enjoy the peace and quiet, alongside the comfort of a very welcoming pint of beer.

Oxwich IPA, from the Gower Brewery, was my beer of choice, and I remember enjoying this particular offering on a visit to the Gower peninsular in late February 2020. That was just a few weeks before the start of the COVID pandemic, when Mrs PBT's and I were staying in the area, after travelling across to Wales, for the funeral, of a favourite aunt. The Gower itself had brought back happy memories, of childhood holidays, in a caravan, at Oxwich Bay, with my parents, and two sisters, and whilst it was an obviously much more solemn occasion had brought me back to the area, it was still a delight to be back. Eileen and I had stopped for lunch, at the atmospheric Worms Head Hotel, overlooking Rhossili Bay, with its miles of golden stands, pounded by enormous waves breaking over everything in their path, a few hundred feet below us. It was the distinctive Gower Ales, pump clip, that brought those more recent memories back, along with the taste of this refreshingly hoppy, golden ale.

Despite being tempted to stay for another - there was nearly two dozen other beers to choose from, I decided to move on and head towards the Prince of Wales, a beautifully restored pub in the heart of the city's theatre district. Owned and operated by local legends, Black Country Ales, the POW seemed an excellent choice for the second pub on my mini-crawl around central Birmingham. It almost certainly have proven so, had I not walked past the imposing frontage of Albert's Schloss, a Bavarian-style restaurant and Bier Hall. Having read about a similarly-named establishment in central Manchester, I was intrigued, and couldn't resist calling in, despite this meaning a change in my plans.

This cavernous establishment was ticking over quite nicely, as I stepped inside. Checking a couple of the photos on my phone, indicated the time was 4.30 pm, and my assumptions that it would soon start filling up, with the afterwork crowd, proved correct. The thing that had drawn initially drawn me in, was the availability of draught Pilsner Urquell, stored in and drawn from a shiny and well-polished, refrigerated copper tank. The brewery have a name for this type of storage/dispense, that I think is called Tankovna.

I've come across this system in other European destinations, although mainly in Prague, but I do remember the brewery shipping over a whole tank of the stuff, and then presenting it at one of the European Beer Writers' Conferences I attended, back in 2016-17. The venue for that year's was Brussels, but then in a move that to me looked like bad planning on behalf of the organisers, there was a pub-crawl of the city, planned for the same evening. I'm fairly certain that a substantial proportion of that tank, remained undrunk, and ended up being poured down the drain, but such wasteful extravagances don't seem uncommon in the corporate world. I digress, but can confirm that the fresh, and un-pasteurised Pilsner Urquell was every bit as good as what I've previously enjoyed, in the Czech Republic.

As predicted, Albert's Schloss soon started filling up, and not just with the usual, after-work office brigade. I'd already twigged that this area was close to the university, and other academically inclined institutions, so there were quite a few students present, enjoying the selection of mainly Bavarian beers on offer. The cavernous, open-plan interior was divided up with various tall tables, and equally tall stools, none of which are my favourite, but there was also a number of long wooden tables and benches that I thought were much more in keeping with what you find in Bavaria and Czechia. The food offerings looked good, but I wasn't particularly hungry.

I had planned on continuing along to the Prince of Wales - the pub that had been my original destination, but I'm sorry to say I cried off. I've been feeling quite tired recently, a condition that is probably a sign of advancing years, so I decided to head back to New Street, and take the first available, London-bound train. I could enjoy a pint or two there, and seeing as I'd purchased (or rather the firm had purchased) an Open Return ticket, I wasn't tied to a particular train.

I called in at Greggs, before my intended train, and grabbed a ham and cheese roll, along with the proverbial flat white, just to satisfy the inner man. Greggs though, have gone right down in my estimation, ever since they stopped serving pasties - and before anyone says it, a steak bake (slice), is a very poor substitute for a pasty (Cornish or otherwise). This regression is a nationwide decision, as confirmed by the manager of their Tonbridge outlet, and for me plus, I imagine quite a few other customers, an extremely poor one. Having seen off the competition (there are no other bakeries of this type in Tonbridge), a pasty, hot or cold is no longer available in the town, so thanks for nothing Greggs!! I'm almost wishing for a branch of Gail's to open locally, despite their higher prices, thereby breaking Greggs monopoly.

My train back to Euston was less than two-thirds full, so there was plenty of room to stretch out. The journey was uneventful, but before heading off and finding a pub, I responded to a text message from son Matthew, offering to pick me up from Tonbridge station. I was glad of this kind and, it must be said, rare offer, but it did entail my not going too far off the beaten track, when searching for a suitable pub. Whilst never my favourite (too noisy and too echoey as well), the Euston Tap, probably fitted the bill, but it wasn't until I cut through a passageway, at the northern end of the station, that I noticed the Doric Arch, tucked away, and accessible via an internal staircase, just behind the door.

The place looked familiar, and with a reasonable range of beers on offer, it looked ideal. I could have chosen Sambrook's or Stroud, but with a couple of Fuller's offerings also available, I opted for the ESB. Always a good choice, especially in the capital, and as I watched my pint being pulled, I suddenly remembered that I had been there before. "Didn't this pub used to called The Head of Steam?" I asked as the friendly barmaid finished pouring my pint. "Why yes", she replied and the conversation then turned to cask beer and the Campaign for Real Ale.

The girl asked if I was a CAMRA member, so I truthfully told her that I wasn't anymore, having cancelled my membership after 40 years. I explained a few of the reasons that caused me to leave "Europe's Most Successful Consumer Organisation", and she understood where I was coming from. She still offered me a CAMRA discount on my pint, which was a nice gesture, but I won't try that approach again, as pubs, rather than entitled CAMRA members need all the help they can get.

So, not quite the lengthy stagger around Birmingham I originally had in mind, but still an enjoyable and useful day out - especially from the company's point of view.

Making an exhibition of oneself, in Brum

2026-05-02T00:25:06.065+01:00

I enjoyed a rare day out on Wednesday, and it was rarer still, because it was work-related. I've been employed in my current part time position for around four and a half years, and apart from a four day spell helping to man the company trade stand in Cologne, at what was the world's largest dental show, I've been largely office-based.

That changed the other day, when I took time out from my busy schedule, for a visit to a Health & Safety Event, at Birmingham's NEC. I'd received previous invites, of course, but when you are only on site for three days out of five, you have to manage your time very carefully, in order to squeeze everything in. I travelled up to Brum by train, taking advantage of an off-peak return, on Avanti West Coast, which offered a fair degree of flexibility. I know the company was paying, but it all comes off the bottom line, so there's no point in wasting money, just to get somewhere at the crack of dawn! I might do that, if I was going off on holiday, but I wouldn't do so for work, and certainly not for a trade show.

A few observations before launching in to the main topic, and the first one was I enjoyed a fast and comfortable return train journey to Birmingham, along part of a route that I first travelled on back in my student days, when I was studying at Salford University. Avanti may have had teething issues when they first took over the West Coast franchise from Virgin, but from what I experienced the company has certainly now got its act together. The other observation is one I am not sure that I want to share with you, chiefly because it is an unwelcome reminder of growing old.

The South Eastern service I took from Tonbridge was crowded, and whilst I could have got a seat, I wanted to speak to a work colleague first, concerning the successful resolution of a problem that had cropped up the day before. By the time our conversation finished, the train had called at Sevenoaks and taken on a further load of passengers. As I walked down the corridor, looking for an empty seat, a young lady obviously took pity on me, and offered me her seat. Thanking her for her kindness and consideration, I politely declined, not sure to be flattered or ashamed. Surely I didn't look that much in need of a seat? Later on, the same thing happened on the Northern Line tube, between London Bridge and Euston. Talk about chivalry in reverse!

These events aside, the train dropped me at the NEC just after 11.30. I then made my way towards the exhibition halls, pausing to reflect that whilst the NEC does exactly what it says on the tin, it is just that - a series of interconnected concrete and metal sheds. What it isn't is somewhere to host a beer festival, and not just any old beer festival, but the UK's premier, national, beer-related event. I understand that CAMRA had to do something last year, when Olympia became unavailable, but a little thinking outside the box would have gone a long way. If you've ever been to Munich's world famous Oktoberfest, then you'll appreciate the effort that goes into staging the event, with the so-called "tents", in reality, large wooden temporary structures, that reappear every year.

These rustic-looking buildings, designed to look like hybrids of a tent and a beer hall, are capable of accommodating large number of revellers, and supplying them with large quantities of beer, as well as food, in a matter that is efficient, cost-effective as well as atmospheric. Contrast the structures at Oktoberfest with the soulless NEC, or even Olympia and its predecessor, Earls Court, and you quickly realise that in over 40 years of running beer festivals, CAMRA has failed to learn there is more to such events than a massive list of beers that are often indistinguishable from one another.

Rant over, because whilst totally wrong for a beer festival, and a flagship national one at that, the NEC delivered fully when it came to "The Health & Safety Event". There, under one roof, were stands exhibiting safety equipment, protective clothing (lots of boots and hi-vis jackets), systems, and virtually everything connected with keeping workers safe, whilst at work, whether that is indoors or outside. My main areas of interest were, systems and equipment to protect lone workers (not that we do much where people have to work alone, or out of hours). I also looked at provisions for first aid in the workplace, plus software for generating and managing risk assessments and method statements. I shan't bore you with any more details, but from my one point of view, as well as that of my employer, it was well worth my attending an event that certainly delivered on all fronts.

Being a warm day, it was nice to escape outside into the Piazza that is bounded by several of the inter-linked halls. It was where I took my genuine Cornish Pasty, courtesy of the Cornish Bakery chain. Their stand also delivered a fine cup of coffee as well, so a decent, and moderately-sized lunch, unlike last week's gargantuan offering at the Elephant's Head.

After that, it was a short walk back to the station, where I purchased a return ticket to Birmingham New Street. The journey into central Brum was short too, lasting all of 10 minutes, but as the train approached New Street, I was somewhat surprised at the lack of progress in linking and converting, some of the mega-structures, associated with HS2, into a viable railway.

So now for the other main event, namely a few of Birmingham's finest hostelries. I'd done a spot of research, but as things turned out, it wasn't quite sufficient. I was aiming for a pub overlooking one of Birmingham's many canals, at a location known as Gas Street Basin. My route from New Street took me past the now sadly closed, Post Office Vaults, a pub which, as its name suggests is partly underground. It was the first pub, and initial meeting point, on the Proper Day Out in Birmingham, a stagger around some of Brum's finest alehouses. Looking back the event took place three years ago, a fact that both surprised and shocked me, but now, according to the notice on the door, the POV is no more, due to insolvency.

Onwards and upwards, I skirted the front of the imposing, Victorian Town Hall, now almost free of the scaffolding and netting that spoiled its appearance, back in April 2023. There was also a significant improvement in the weather, with sunny skies and warm temps, contrasting with the wind and rain of three years ago.

What I hadn't banked on was the maze of roadworks and ensuing street closures, which made my way to the Waterside Tap something of nightmare. I'm not a fan of using my phone, for navigation purposes, preferring instead a good, old fashioned, paper map, but after a number of false starts, I felt I was getting somewhere, only to see, also online, that the pub wouldn't be open until 5pm! Checking at home, earlier today, that information appeared not to be true, which left me wondering did I miss out on this attractive, canal-side alehouse, owned and run by Joule's Brewery.

Now I know that Stafford Paul isn't a massive fan of Joule's pubs - something to do with the amount of repro advertising, and artefacts adorning the walls, and other flat surfaces of the company's, but I was really looking forward to this one, and a pint or two of Joule's beers into the bargain. As for actually trying to find the pub, I decided to call it quits, especially as the website advising the late opening of this pub, was CAMRA's own. Reluctantly I retraced my steps, and headed back in the direction of the town hall, where I knew I'd find at least one, and probably more of the pubs on my provisional list. We're going to have to leave these pubs until next time, as I've waffled on, for rather longer than I originally intended, so, until then, then!

Two rural, Harvey's pubs, by train and bus, plus three seldom seen, Harvey's cask ales

2026-04-25T23:45:19.588+01:00

It's been quite a while since I last set off on a beer-related, bus trip, the sort of outing that in the past, I've described as a "Pub Friday". With this is mind I was thinking where to go, especially as the weather this particular Friday was set to be unbroken sunshine. But where to go, and looking for inspiration I turned to a list of potential destinations that I'd drawn up, some time last year. I hit upon the last pub on that list, which was the Elephant's Head, in the tiny hamlet (if you can even call it that), of Hook Green, situated on the boundary between Kent and East Sussex.

The reason I chose that particular establishment was, it had been mentioned on the local WhatsApp Beer Chat Group, that I'm a member of. From memory, I knew that the Autocar 256 bus service, ran through Hook Green, as part of its route between Tunbridge Wells and Wadhurst, and I also knew there was a stop, more or less opposite the pub.

So, with times pencilled in, I was then struck by the thought that if I took the train from Tunbridge Wells, to Frant, I could leave the rails close to the station, and switch to the road, for the final few miles of the journey. That particular plan did involve a 40 minute wait at nearby Bells Yew Green, just up the road from Frant station, but as luck would have it, services on that line were running late, which cut the waiting time at BYG, down to a much less arduous 15 minutes.

The return journey worked out even better, as after taking the 13:45 bus from Hook Green, I could call in at the Brecknock Arms, prior to catching a train from Frant, straight through to my home in Tonbridge. These connections worked out well, even though the 256 bus was running 10-15 minutes late, in both directions, but that's buses for you! I'd used the service, several years ago, again for a visit to the Elephant's Head, and the day seemed very similar, even though the timing of this particular visit was a little later in the year.

Upon reaching the pub, I sat outside in the garden, enjoying the welcome sunshine, whilst waiting for the place to open, which it did, just before the stroke of midday. I held back for a couple of minutes, to allow the small group of drinkers who'd arrived by car, to get their beer orders in first. Call me sceptical, but I'm always slightly wary of that first pint out of the beer lines. As it happened, it wasn't a problem, although I'm fairly certain that those initial punters weren't drinking Armada, which was my first drink of choice. There was quite a line up from the Harvey's stable, on the bar with Old Ale, Porter, and Pell's Pale completing the line-up, but interestingly, no Sussex Best - unless that was available from the bank of pumps, in the other bar.

The Armada was in fine form, but before heading off to find a table, the landlady uttered the immortal words, "Will you be dining with us, today?" There was a reason for her question, as the pub was hosting a wake, for some, dearly departed soul, and whilst the event would be taking place in the conservatory, behind the pub, the kitchen was likely to be busy. Full marks, therefore, for her question. I opted for what I thought would be a relatively light lunch, but when my sausage and fried egg sandwich arrived, it turned out to a feast worthy of the most voracious of trenchermen.

The photo saves a lengthy explanation, but I struggled to finish this gargantuan sandwich. (Note to kitchen, at Elephant's Head, one fried egg would have been ample, but two was just too much. The salad garnish, smothering half of the plate, was also excessive, whilst the doorstep slices of bread were much too dense, for my liking). The landlady mentioned that the pub baked its own bread, so I suspect my slices were taken from a loaf that was only partially baked, but full marks for trying, and apologies for coming across as a grumpy, old git.

It wasn't long before the pub started filling up, and not all the arrivals were attending the wake. There seemed a good mix of customers, and whilst most seemed of retirement age, there were several who were obviously younger. Apart from me though, all had arrived by car. There are very few chimney pots in the vicinity, and only those who are tired of living would be foolhardy enough, to walk along the B2169 running between Bells Yew Green and Lamberhurst, where the notorious "Bayham Straight" acts as a magnet for every wannabe boy racer, in the area.

After my ginormous sandwich, another pint was called for, and this time the seasonal Porter was my drink of choice. As with the Armada, this full bodied, dark beer was also in good condition. There was just time for me to finish it, settle my tab, and then head along to the nearby bus stop. I arrived a good 10 minutes early, as I didn't want to be stranded at Hook Green, or even have to contemplate walking along the aforementioned Bayham Straight. Me being early, meant of course that the bus was late, and almost 15 minutes behind schedule, but the fact that it arrived was the main thing, and also there were no time constraints as far as the next pub was concerned. The pub in question was the well-known Brecknock Arms, situated just off the crossroads in Bells Yew Green, and just 5 minutes walk away, from Frant station.

I've been using the Brecknock, on and off for the past forty plus years. It's convenient and easy to get to, being just three stops away, by train, from Tonbridge. It's a neat, and quite compact pub that has belonged to Harvey's, ever since I've known the place. There's been a few, relatively minor, internal changes, one of which was removing the partition wall between Public and Saloon bars, but this was a little haphazard, as all it did was to enlarge the former, whilst leaving the latter relatively unscathed. There's been a succession of different landlords as well, some obviously better than others. The jury is out on the current incumbent, primarily because I haven't made many visits to the Brecknock recently, and I have to say the pub seemed rather quiet when I called in, just before 2pm last Friday.

As with the Elephant's Head there was an interesting selection of Harvey's beers on the bar, including their relatively scarce, Dark Mild. The landlady pulled me off a pint, it tasted fine, so wishing to take advantage of the fine weather, I made my way through what used to be the Saloon bar, and out into the spacious and well-laid out garden at the rear of the pub. On my way through, I passed what I took to be the licensees family, all female, and with talk of babies it was a gentle reminder of a new arrival, on Eileen's side of the family. I was the sole occupant of the garden, but when I popped back inside, to return my empty glass, and use the facilities there was another customer (a mature male), in the bar chatting to the landlady about one of the live acts, due to appear soon, at the Brecknock.

There was a 20 minute wait for the London bound train, although with the sun shining it was pleasant sitting on a bench, waiting for the service to arrive. I'd mis-timed my journey to coincide with school chucking out, but the students (that's what you're supposed to call them these days), were well behaved, albeit a little noisy. Crossing the road outside Tonbridge station, and dodging the tidal wave of school kids, heading in the opposite direction, whilst thinking that the 219 bus, up to Bailey Towers must be due any moment, actually worked out well. The bus was running late (no surprises there), but again this worked in my favour, and I was dropped off at the top of my road. So, a successful "Pub Friday" outing which allowed me to spend time in two classic, but very different, Harvey's tied houses.

Two Alta pubs, as the ice slowly melted

2026-04-21T21:10:00.001+01:00

Apart from a thriving and modern shopping centre, there isn't that much to see in the town of Alta. In the previous post, we covered the town's location, its role as a well-protected naval anchorage, that provided a safe refuge for the Nazi battleship, Tirpitz, as well as its troubled history in the final weeks of World War II, but in what continues to be something of an enigma, we haven't really looked at why our cruise line decided to mark our visit with a two-day stay. Speculation remains that it was Alta's location, and reputation as a centre for snow-related outdoor activities, that appealed to the organisers of our Norwegian cruise, but leaving this aside, what attractions are there for those who live and work in the area?

My own, admittedly rather limited and somewhat biased research, was based on things that Alta can offer to beer lovers, like me, but in the end that didn't boil down to much either. I travelled into the town on both days of our stop-over in the spectacular setting of the Altafjord, taking thee free shuttle-bus on both occasions. My research had revealed just a couple of potential candidates in the form of a restaurant called Nori, and an establishment known as Puskas Platebar & Pub. This self-styled beer café was the clear winner, and was the place I patronised on the first day of my visit.

There was a real good feel to Puskas, with its well laid out, Scandinavian style interior, a good selection of Norwegian beers, plus a pleasant and friendly girl working behind the bar. She was chatty and informative, as well, and served me up a bottle of Dream Porter, from Oslo Brewery, which weighed in at 6.5%. She also fixed me a waffle, filled with slices of traditional, Norwegian brown cheese, plus a large dollop of sour cream. Describing the waffle as a traditional Norwegian bar snack, this tasty offering proved more filling than it looked, and was also a good match for the porter, with its well-balanced mix of milk chocolate and liquorice flavours.

As well as its beer selection, Puskas was a place that specialised in vinyl. Just round the corner from the main bar, there was a separate area where punters could look through the pub's extensive record selection, and then buy any that took their fancy. I didn't realise this, until I got chatting to one of the pub's other customers, an individual who'd travelled to Alta on the same cruise ship as me, and confirmed by the girl behind the bar.

This fella seemed pleased with his vinyl purchases, but not to the extent of revealing what they were. "Geeky", would be the right word, but each to their own, so as this fellow cruiser quite obviously didn't want to chat further, I left him to it. I was tempted to stay for another, but with an evening excursion booked to Helman Husky Lodge, I thought I'd better get back to the ship, grab a light evening snack from the buffet, don my thermals and then meet up on the quayside, with the rest of the party.

That excursion gave me my first sighting of the Northern Lights, but the morning after I took a further ride into downtown Alta, primarily to pick up a few more goodies for Mrs PBT's. I was unable to persuade her to accompany me, a decision that given the slippery conditions underfoot was almost certainly the correct one.

Arriving back in Alta I was surprised, and also disappointed at seeing how much snow had melted. Walking around in the slush wasn't what I'd anticipated from Alta. One of the tour guides later confirmed that the unseasonably warm temperatures were an anomaly, and really we should have been experiencing temperatures of minus five to minus twenty! Whatever the reason for this "glitch" it was already starting to affect some of the local attractions, not least of which where the rather sorry-looking, snow sculptures, melting slowly outside one of the entrances to the shopping centre.

Undeterred, I grabbed a coffee from one of the interior kiosks, before having a further look around. Wanting to sample something different, I decided to give the ultra-modern looking Nori Restaurant a try. My prime reason for doing so was to grab something to eat, alongside a beer or two. Nori seemed quiet when I pushed the door open and after waiting to be directed to a table, I enquired about a snack to go with the Tromso-brewed, Isbjorn Pilsner. I ordered a toasted Foccia, filled with avocado, olives and tomatoes, all very healthy, but what I really fancied was a couple of freshly filled, cheese cobs, as stocked, and served, straight from the bar at the legendary Great Western, in Wolverhampton!

Nori didn't get any busier, so after drinking up and finishing my Pilsner - supplied by the ubiquitous Mack Brewery, from Tromso. I settled my tab and headed off towards the town's gift shop, primarily because I wanted a souvenir fashioned from the locally quarried, and ultra-hard, grey slate. It's the mineral that the town is best know for, but, as I soon found out, it's most expensive sliver of rock. So, another fridge magnet to add to the growing collection at home. The shop was busy selling all sorts of souvenirs/tourist tat, but you don't go that far north without coming away with something local.

I then made my way back to the shuttle bus, and re-boarded the ship. I went up to the top deck with Eileen, after dinner, which was the time that the Northern Lights put in their second appearance. Mrs PBT's was especially pleased, as she'd missed out on this spectacular light show, the previous evening. We watched as our ship slowly slipped anchor, and began our departure from Alta. Little did we know this was going to be our last sighting of land for five days. Returning to the cabin Eileen mentioned our steward had warned that the sea was likely to be rough, once we left the sheltered waters of Altafjord, and had advised not to leave any glasses. full or otherwise in a place where they could slide off.

True to the steward's word, the seas became increasingly rough during the night, and the following morning we discovered that our ship would not be able to call at Narvik, as originally scheduled. The captain's midday announcement confirmed we would not be able to berth there, and worse still, the area of deep depression we were experiencing, was the first of several such weather systems. So, with no port to call at, we grudgingly settled down to five days of being tossed about on the high seas, experiencing the worst that the Norwegian Sea could throw at us.

Alta - a modern shopping centre, husky dogs, and the Northern Lights, experienced from the far northern tip of Norway,

2026-04-17T18:43:00.000+01:00

After learning a bit more about some of the bizarre ceremonies associated with "Crossing the Line", we're off to Alta, the final destination on our recent cruise. I say final because Alta ended up being our last port of call, even though that honour should have gone to Narvik. Unfortunately, the weather took a turn for the worst, after our ship departed from Alta, with the captain warning us of a number of deep depressions developing off the coast of Norway. This was a pity, as Narvik represented the final Norwegian coastal settlement, of any size, that we haven't visited during our two cruises to this part of Scandinavia.

Alta is considered the northernmost city in the world with a population surpassing 10,000. Alta is located in Finnmark county, at the inner end of the Alta Fjord and is the largest town in the region. Situated at approximately 70 degrees north, far above the Arctic Circle, the city serves as a regional hub and is surrounded by impressive mountains and forests.

Alta is also the gateway to the vast Finnmarksvidda, which at 8,500 square miles is Norway’s largest mountain plateau. It is a functional town made up of several communities strung together along the E6 highway, but also serves as a centre of transportation in Finnmark county. The town's port facilities are situated along Altafjorden, just alongside Alta Airport, where there are direct flights to Oslo and certain other cities in Norway like Tromsø. Our ship was berthed close to the end of the runway, which gave us a good view of the planes landing, and taking off, even though there weren't that many flights in and out of the airport.

During the German occupation of Norway during World War II, Alta was a key strategic location for the Nazi forces. The battleship Tirpitz was based in the Altafjord for two years and served as one of the main threats against convoys delivering supplies from Western Allies to the Soviet Union. The area around Alta held the Nazi’s largest naval base outside of Germany during World War II.

Alta was devastated at the end of the conflict, as the Nazis instituted as scorched earth policy in the wake of their retreat. The Germans felt pressure from an alliance between Finland and Russia and initiated a forced evacuation of the local people around Alta. About 45,000 people were forcibly relocated to the Tromsø area, and before they left, the occupying forces destroyed almost everything including buildings, infrastructure, mines and wells.

Modern day Alta has risen from the ashes of war, and now boasts a well-laid out town centre, that incorporates an extensive and modern shopping centre, and one that isn't dominated by multi-national retailers. I visited on both days of our stop-over in Alta, and whilst not normally a fan of shopping arcades, was impressed with what I saw. In the absence of much else, Alta's modern and well-laid out shopping centre, seemed to act as a magnet for the local populace, by drawing in people from all walks of life.

There was also a number of cafes and bars - more about the latter, later, but if you live in an area that is perpetually dark for one part of the year, and then a location that remains light, for part of the summer, I imagine you will crave company and seek the comfort that goes with your fellow human beings - or some of them, perhaps!

Somewhat disappointedly, the weather was a good 10-15 degrees warmer than it should have been for late March, which meant that much of the snow had started to melt, something that was even more noticeable on the second day of our visit. This was quite noticeable, when I stepped down from the shuttle bus, and was saved from landing flat on my back, by a burly, local tour guide! Despite the slippery conditions underfoot, I made it across to Alta's ultra-modern place of worship. Known as Northern Lights Cathedral, this impressive church was consecrated on 10th February 2013. As well as a significant local landmark, the cathedral is visible from many parts of the city.

Apart from the shops, the cathedral, the bars, and the stunning scenery, there’s not a great deal in Alta to keep visitors occupied beyond a one-day stay, unless you’re a history buff, of course. So why, in common with other visiting cruise ships, stay for two day? The consensus seems to be, this is down to the large number of excursions available to passengers, most of which include outdoor, winter activities, such as dog sledding, or being pulled through the snow by horse-driven sleighs.

One such activity that I took part in, was a visit to the Holmen Husky Lodge, situated to the south of the city. The centre offers husky-pulled sled rides by day and accommodation in purpose-built glamping tepees, by night. I visited Holmen, not so much to see the huskies, but more so because I thought that the location of the lodge, away from the lights of the city centre, would offer the best chance of witnessing the famous, but elusive, Northern Lights.

I was right too, as towards the end of a talk about the dogs, and their work, we were hurriedly called away from the warmth of the large tepee, we were sitting in, and out into the cold, dark night, to see the Aurora Borealis in all its glory! And the lights were certainly glorious, and well worth travelling to the far northern reaches of the globe, to have the chance of seeing them. What started as just a faint glow, soon sprang into life, and we were treated to a spectacular display of heavenly illuminations.

The following evening, as our ship was preparing to set sail, we witnessed a further display, from the observation deck of our cruise liner. This time, Mrs PBT's was able to see the lights for herself and thus didn't feel cheated after missing them the previous night. Still to come, a few Norwegian beers enjoyed in a couple of far northern bars, plus some final observations on this wild and rugged part of northern Europe.

"Crossing the line" and becoming a "Blue Nose"

2026-04-14T20:59:00.000+01:00

One feature of life aboard ship, that both Mrs PBT's and I were blissfully unaware of, was the strange ritual associated with crossing the line on the map, known as the "Arctic Circle". Whilst both of us had heard of crossing the equator, by passing from the northern hemisphere into the southern hemisphere, and vice versa, we naturally assumed that was it as far as "Crossing the Line" was concerned. We turned out to be wrong, and as our cruise ship steamed steadily northwards, we realised that by passing beyond the line know as the Arctic Circle, we were passing into another part of the globe, and by doing so, we found ourselves facing another seafaring tradition that was worth taking note of.

The Arctic Circle marks the boundary for where you can experience the midnight sun in one part of the year, and the gloom of an Arctic winter at another. It's all due to the tilt of the earth's axis, and means that, the Arctic receives 24 hours of sunlight each summer, but 24 hours of darkness each winter. So, as with crossing the equator, traversing the Arctic Circle is another tradition that is marked, and quite often celebrated in nautical circles. The concept of commemorating line crossings is rooted in naval history. Sailors would engage in various ceremonial activities to mark the first time in their careers that they would navigate across prominent latitude boundaries – like the Equator, the Arctic Circle or its counterpart, the Antarctic Circle – as well as other important maritime milestones, like crossing the Panama Canal. So with those old matelots keen on letting their hair down, let's take a closer look at crossing this particular boundary.

First the myth and legend behind such a crossing which, in the best naval tradition is designated as the “Order of the Blue Nose”. This seafaring tradition dictates that when sailors cross into the Arctic Circle, they enter the realm of "Boreas Rex, King of the North", and the only way to be accepted into the order is to successfully complete his list of challenges. There is no fixed set of guidelines to celebrate crossing this crossing but, as the name “blue nose” suggests, it usually involves painting the nose of the participants in this colour, either by using dyes, paint or other blue-coloured substances. The term "Blue Nose” is self-explanatory, and hints, none too subtly, that some form of exposure to icy-cold water is about to take place, leaving the recipient with a "Blue Nose", and possibly other blue extremities!

It was Mrs PBT's who spotted a notification in the daily newsletter, distributed to all cabins, regarding traversing the Arctic Circle and inviting all passengers to witness and join in with the ceremony, up on the pool deck. We duly turned up, although with a stiff northerly wind blowing, and temperatures hovering just above freezing, it wasn't a day for getting wet, or for removing warm clothing. A handful of people, drawn from the ship's entertainment company, were in charge of the ceremony. They were dressed in a variety of different costumes, although one was clearly supposed to be King Neptune, one was a pirate, whilst the third was a bearded bloke, quite clearly in drag, with a long blonde wig, and a party frock! After a speech or two, volunteers, willing to become "blue noses", were called forward. Varying amounts of ice-cold water, drawn straight from the unheated swimming pool, were splashed, or even tipped over the, it must be said, quite willing volunteers, although Mrs PBT's and I had no desire to join them. It was cold enough just standing out on the pool deck, whilst wrapped up in a thick, insulated coat, topped off with a woolly hat. It was a bit of fun, and whilst the pair of us didn't technically qualify as "Blue Noses", at least in spirit, we did in reality.

Looking back, it reminded me of the time when I crossed another of these significant, but imaginary lines, drawn across the surface of the globe. The date was March 2007, and I'd just booked a week's break for myself, in the Maldives. The holiday came at the end of a very stressful period in my life, which involved starting work for my current employer, whilst at the same time overseeing the sale of the off-licence business that Eileen and I had been running in Tonbridge, for the previous five years. I was putting in the 8 - 5 hours at my new employer, whilst looking after the off-licence in the evening and at weekends. Finding a buyer for the business was relatively straight forward, but dealing with the legal side was the complete opposite. With three sets of solicitors involved, you can imagine the stress behind both the business sale, and the complications of re-assigning the lease on the property, to the new owners. It was small wonder that I needed a break, once the whole thing was concluded, and the thought of disappearing to somewhere hot and sunny, on the other side of the world, was what kept me going through those dark, autumn and winter days.

So where did the crossing the line come into things? Well, the Maldivian resort selected for me, by the travel company, was a further 90 minutes flight from Male - capital of the Maldives, so after an 11 hour flight from Gatwick, I found myself boarding another aircraft, but this time a small, twin-prop plane with a capacity of 15-20 passengers. It was a smooth and relaxing flight, and en route to our chosen resort we passed over quite a few other coral atolls, some of which had been developed as resorts, whilst others just left to grow wild. Approximately half-way though the journey, the cabin crew advised that we were about to cross the equator, and as a memento of this event, we were all given a certificate, commemorating our "Crossing of the Line". I still have that certificate tucked away somewhere at home, but no matter where it is, it represents one of the two, significant lines of latitude, I have crossed in my lifetime.

Tromsø reprised

2026-04-12T12:51:00.000+01:00

You'd have thought that an afternoon in Tromsø would have been enough, but you'd be seriously wrong in thinking that, because not only did I return the following day, but there was also another pub that I visited in the town, prior to boarding the shuttle bus back to the ship. The Rorbua Pub was literally a stone's throw away from the shuttle-bus, pick-up point, and it would be extremely difficult not to notice its distinctive, red-painted exterior.

I'd already clocked it when the bus dropped me and my fellow travellers off, earlier. From the outside it looked too good to miss, a view that was reinforced by several reviews I'd read, earlier on in the voyage. With shuttle buses running every 30-40 minutes there was no reason for not calling in at this rustic looking establishment, which is one of Tromsø's oldest pubs. Set out across two floors, with quite a steep staircase up to first floor level - which is where the toilets are, Rorbua is a very laid back establishment with a real rustic feel to it. This feeling is enhanced by the bare wooden floors and stripped back walls, and there was also another, stuffed polar bear, something that seems quite a feature in Tromsø.

After negotiating my way up to the "facilities" and back, I ordered myself a beer. Gullmack Lager, a full-bodied Dortmunder Export style beer, from local brewer, Mack, proved to be an enjoyable beer to end the afternoon on. Returning from the bar, with my beer, I found a seat on one of the comfortable-looking leather sofas, The one I chose was just below the stairs, and was partially occupied by a young couple. I asked if they minded me sitting there, and hearing my English voice, they replied that I was welcome to join them.

They turned out to be scouse couple, who'd flown over to Tromsø on a whim, for a long weekend. For some reason they'd flown from Luton Airport, but that location might have been where they were living at. I didn't catch their names, but their trip was a real, spur of the moment decision, as they'd flown over without proper boots, and had splashed out on hiring a pair each. An elementary "schoolboy error", as one of my colleagues would say, and he was probably correct as the roads and pavements were quite slippery.

The unseasonably warm temperatures, mentioned in my previous post weren't helping, when it came to getting a grip, but I'm sure they weren't the first visitors to the Arctic to turn up with inappropriate footwear. Despite this oversight, I had to admire their sense of adventure, and enthusiasm. I've a feeling the pair were staying at a nearby hotel, as I did read somewhere about a tie-up between the Rorbua and the Radisson Blue. I wished the pair well for the rest of their stay, and walked the short distance to the shuttle bus stop where, as luck would have it, a bus was just pulling in.

The following day I decided on a return bus ride into central Tromsø, partly in order to pick up some crisps, and other snacks for Mrs PBT's - I'd noticed a large, Co-Op store, a short distance from the harbour. I also wanted to experience another pub in the city, because it's not every day that you are able to enjoy a drink in a location that is 200 miles north of the Arctic Circle! I picked up Eileen's treats first, before setting off towards the city centre. The weather was foul, with persistent rain, driven by a strong wind blowing, yes you've guessed it, straight from the Arctic!

I found the pub I was looking for, situated in a block not that far from where I was the day before, at Ølhallen. This was the Goth-themed Blårock Cafe housed in an attractive, blue-painted building, on the edge of the city's main shopping area. Like the previous day's find, Blå was set out across two different levels, and had an equally relaxed atmosphere as well. I stuck to just the one beer, invariably one brewed by Mack. It was called Nordlysk, and was a Dunkel style beer, albeit not a particularly dark example.

The pub, which specialise in live music, had a real Bohemian feel to it. I imagine it is a popular place after dark, although I'd better re-phrase that seeing as Tromsø has long polar nights from December through to February, with only 2-3 hours of blue-tinged twilight to chase away the winter gloom. Leaving the pub, I walked back to the bus stop. The rain had stopped, as I said farewell to this northern outpost.

Had the weather been kinder, I would have walked across the impressive Tromsø Bridge, which connects the city with the settlement on the other side of the inlet. The bridge is tall enough to allow quite large ships to pass under, although it's worth remembering that tall bridges like this, are quite common in modern day Norway. There I would have found Tromsø's iconic Arctic Cathedral with its stunning architecture. Such a trek is best left to a warm, summer's day, or failing that, why not book a local tour. I also think that any return visit to the city, would be best left to summertime, when the weather is kinder, the hours of daylight are much longer, and the seas are considerably calmer!

Tromsø - gateway to the not so frozen north

2026-04-10T21:20:00.000+01:00

I’d dreamt of visiting Tromsø for a long time, as there was something about this far northern Norwegian city that really appealed to me. The city is located on the island of Tromsøya which sits in the Tromsøysundet strait, just off the mainland of Northern Norway. The mainland suburb of Tromsdalen is connected to the city centre on Tromsøya by the Tromsø Bridge and the Tromsøysund Tunnel.

The city centre contains the highest number of old wooden houses in Northern Norway, the oldest dating from 1789, and acts as a cultural hub for the region. Whilst Tromsø isn't as far north as Svalbard—which is separated from the European mainland and lies roughly halfway between the latter and the North Pole, Tromsø certainly evoked the atmosphere and look of a frontier town perched at the boundary of the frozen wilderness.

It reminded me of the town on the fringe of the frozen north, that was brought to life by author, Philip Pullman, in his work, Northern Lights - the first book in the original “His Dark Materials” trilogy. Those amongst you who have read this remarkable series, will recall the un-named, far-northern settlement, where the books’ protagonist, Lyra Belacqua, first encountered armoured bears and the adventurous balloonist, Lee Scoresby. So, when our cruise ship arrived at this town, close to the northern tip of Norway, I truly felt as though I had reached the edge of the Arctic, reminiscent of the setting from the novel.

Unlike the previous port, where myself plus most of the ships company walked into the city centre, that wasn't really possible due to the location of the docks, to the north of Tromsø. Given the mountainous nature of the surrounding area, and the associated scarcity of flat land in this part of the world, much of the area between the port and the city centre is given over to warehousing and associated light industries.

In theory, it was walkable, but it would have been a lengthy, and rather boring trek. Fortunately, the cruise line had arranged a complimentary shuttle bus service, operating every 20 to 30 minutes, between the berth and the town centre. A similar, free service, was also available in other ports, such as Trondheim and Alta, and Ambassador Cruise Line are to be commend for providing such free and reliable transportation between the ship and the various city centres.

The coach dropped us at the waterfront just a short distance from the city's main shopping area and, true to form, I began my visit by calling in at the local Tourist Information Centre, to pick up city map. Much to my family's amusement and son Matthew's annoyance, I’m an avid map reader, especially as I find navigating my way around a new or strange place, far easier with the aid of a paper plan, than it is using my phone.

Matthew, and to a certain extent Mrs PBT’s as well, is the one who normally relies on me to navigate our way around a new location, but surely, he must realise I don’t carry this information in my head! Perhaps he does! For the record, the TIC was situated inside the ferry departure terminal, where ships connecting Tromsø with nearby islands and other, outlying settlements, set sail from.

Next to the tourist office, was a FOREX outlet, where I was able to switch some of the Euro’s I’d brought with me, into Norwegian Krone. I then proceeded uphill towards the centrally located Tromsø Cathedral. Built in 1861, this attractive and unassuming building is Norway's only wooden cathedral, but due to its simplistic design, as well as its timber construction, doesn’t look out of place with the rest of the town. Just up from the cathedral, and running at a right angle to the latter, is Tromsø’s main shopping street. This area features a variety of interesting shops, cafes, restaurants, and bars, and includes, for those interested the world’s most northerly McDonald's restaurant, as well as the city’s own Hard Rock Café.

As I’m sure you will appreciate, I hadn’t travelled all this way, only to sell myself short with mas-produced pap from Uncle Sam, especially as I was in need of a locally brewed beer or two. I’d pre-selected a couple of pubs which looked promising, at least on paper, so I set off in search of the first of these.

Described as Tromsø’s oldest pub, despite only dating back to 1928, Ølhallen is the flagship outlet for the Mack Brewery. Founded in 1877, by Ludwig Markus Mack, this family-owned brewery was originally located in the centre of Tromsø, but moved out in 2011, to Nordkjosbotn, 70km to the south. The old brewery buildings remain in Tromsø and are used primarily as a visitor attraction. The move possibly means that Mack are no longer the most northerly brewery in the world, but let’s not get too excited over such details.

Despite the move, Ølhallen remains a “must” for visitors to Tromsø, and descending the steps down into what, for me, had the feel and character of a Bavarian or Austrian Bierstube added to the excitement and sense of occasion. Ølhallen is a place where townspeople of all ages meet and enjoy beers from the Mack portfolio, as well as other Norwegian breweries. The outlet boasts of having one of the largest tap selections in Europe serving Norwegian quality beer from 72 different taps!

Others describe Ølhallen as a place where people of all ages come together, to enjoy a wide selection of beers from Mack and other Norwegian breweries. Ølhallen state that their Beer Hall has long been part of the city’s everyday social rhythm, describing it as a daytime and early-evening meeting place, where people stop for a social pint after work or sightseeing. Even today, it typically closes early in the evening and remains closed on Sundays, reinforcing its role as a pub focussed on the local community, rather than a place for late-night drinking.

Mack claim that in decades past, the Beer Hall was a well-known gathering place for polar explorers, hunters, and fishermen preparing for journeys into the Arctic ice. This history is still visible inside, with a stuffed polar bear serving as a reminder of Tromsø’s hunting past, while photographs of well-known Arctic figures line the walls, grounding the space firmly in the city’s northern identity. Ølhallen retains its traditional layout, including long wooden tables designed for shared seating. This combination of history, beer culture, and communal atmosphere makes the Beer Hall a clear reflection of Tromsø’s social life, past and present.

With such an extensive variety of beers of offer, I was more than stumped for choice, so I did something I wouldn’t normally do by ordering a selection of five different beers, set out on a tray as a sort of “tasting wheel”. You see them laid out in the attached photo, but they ranged from a Pilsner, through to a full-bodied, Dunkel, with a Wheat Beer thrown in for good measure. Feeling slightly peckish and also wishing to soak up some of the beer, purchased a hot dog. Ølhallen was relatively empty when I first arrived, but by the time I worked my way through the selection of beers on the tasting tray, the place was starting to fill up.

For the record, I ticked and scored all five beers on Untappd, and should you wish, you can find details of them all, under my profile, on this global “ticking App”. We shall return briefly, to Tromsø, next time, before taking a look at the Arctic town of Alta, the most northerly point of Norway, that we reached on our visit to the frozen north.

The photos relating to this post have now been retrieved, and added in retrospectively. I trust that they help set the scene, even though the sharp-eyed amongst you will have probably noticed the lack of snow. We hit a glitch as far as the weather was concerned, and instead of temperatures 5 or even 10 degrees below zero, the mercury was hovering at just above freezing. It also rained on our second day in port - more about that later, but rain on top of previously fallen and compacted snow, did make things very slippery underfoot.

Mrs PBT's stayed on board ship, but I wouldn't have missed Tromsø for the world. In some ways, sub-zero temperatures would have given a much more authentic arctic feel, but with our visit taking place right at the end of March, that many have been asking a little too much.

Still to come, crossing the Arctic Circle, an evening at a husky farm, and the much anticipated appearance of the Northern Lights!

All hail the "Holy Goat"

2026-04-10T12:09:00.001+01:00

Last October, I wrote a post about a Tonbridge pub, called the Somerhill. Named after the nearby country pile of the D-Avidor Goldsmid family - the local big-wigs, cum-Lords of the Manor, the Somerhill has experienced quite a chequered history over the past 40 years or so. I won't go over any of that now, but the reason for last autumn's post was the renovation work being carried out at the pub, which followed on from a period of prolonged closure. All sorts of rumours began circulating, whilst at the same time work on the building's exterior continue apace.

From what we could see the renovation looked to be of a high standard, and having secured the outside, with a re-laid roof, replacement windows, and several coats of paint - including changing the exterior colour scheme from creamy white, to a rather striking green, work switched to the interior. It was difficult to see what was going on internally, especially after the fitters applied a coat of white-wash to all the window panes.

Speculation grew as to the pub's owners, as well as its new name, especially after the sign was removed, although most locals thought that the original name would be retained. They were wrong on that count, but it wasn't until Mrs PBT's and I returned from our Norwegian cruise that the name of the renovated establishment was revealed, even though the sign is yet to be replaced (the substantial, and original, concrete post remains in place, topped by an empty, supporting metal frame). I'm going to tease you all a while longer, especially as you are highly unlikely to guess the pub's new name.

The pub finally opened its doors over the Easter period in what is described in pub/club/venue parlance as a "soft opening." With family commitments over the holiday period, it wasn't until Easter Monday that I finally had the chance to set foot inside the bizarrely-named, "Holy Goat"! Yes, you read that correctly, the former Somerhill is now named after on of the most unlikely domesticated animals imaginable. The pub was buzzing as I approached, with drinkers spread out across the Goat's three interlinked bar areas, including the "snug" and, given the fine weather, sat outside in the surprisingly extensive garden, at the rear. I'd already been warned by some CAMRA friends that the pub wasn't stocking cask, at least to begin with, but I was advised that "must stock" local beer Harvey's Best would be making an appearance in the not too distant future.

The three staff members behind the bar had their work cut out keeping up with customer orders, and it was good to see the place nice and busy. It seemed that a limited food offer was also available, in the form of "hot platters", but I couldn't' really see quite what was on the menu. I would say the majority of the clientele were in the 30-40 year age bracket, even though I'm not that good at estimating peoples' ages, but what I wasn't impressed with was the arrival of a couple of "yummy mummies" with toddlers in pushchairs that took up a significant amount of space, internally. The two "little people" were then lifted out, and more or less left to their own devices - allowed to stagger, or perhaps I should say "waddle" around on their own whilst their entitled mothers, caught up with friends that were already present.

I know there has been a lot of controversy recently, regarding children in pubs, and this isn't really an avenue I want to go down, but unsupervised toddlers, barely able to stand and walk properly, should NOT be left to their own devices in a crowded pub environment, where drinks and/or hot food is being moved around. A number of slightly older youngsters, also found it amusing to run in and out of the toilets - again, in a totally unsupervised manner. As far as I could make out, nothing was said to the respective parents/owners, but with the bar staff rushed off their feet, the chance of a rebuke or reprimand was either missed, or perhaps felt inappropriate in the context of the re-opening.

I shall leave the matter there, but having made my views clear, await the inevitable backlash. It's easy to understand CAMRA's reluctance to get involved on this topic, as parents, understandably, are very defensive when it comes to criticism of their off-spring. What I would say to the yummy mummy/mother earth types is, by letting your kids run wild, you are doing them a disservice, and you are also spoiling things for the majority of parents who don't behave in this manner. With any luck, what I witnessed the other day, was just a glitch, although if it happens again, then I'm confident that pub staff will know how to deal with it. More to the point I don't wish to let a couple of isolated incidents spoil things for the majority of sensible and responsible parents. The same goes for the children themselves, as in common with adults, kids need barriers they can conform to and are happy with.

I shall keep readers informed on what is happening at the Holy Goat, and will advise, if and when cask is available. Finally, as one of three pubs within sensible walking distance of Bailey Towers, I have a vested interest in seeing this place succeed!

Small steps towards getting the blog back on the road

2026-04-08T22:49:00.000+01:00

This is a test post, really, and one based on a short article that I "discovered" on my budget-priced Chinese laptop. I'm having to use the latter after my desktop PC crashed on Easter Sunday. Basically the driver that permits a Wi-Fi connection to the internet, has failed, leaving me high and dry, and unable to access anything online. Before this happened, I'd uploaded the main body of text, relating to the previous article (the one about Tromso), but hadn't started on the photos. The latter are still lurking on my failed desktop, although I should be able to retrieve them at a later date. It's fitting then that the remainder of this post, was written some 18 months ago, whilst on a cruise. As the text states, I was having connections difficulties back then.

Once again I seem to be having IT problems when working remotely, and to be honest I've given up. Even worse is the fact I've lost all connectivity to Blogger, not just in relation to my own blog, but to all other users of the platform. So, for the time being at least, I'm unable to access all writers who use Blogger to host their blogs. The problem started when I tried logging on to Blogger Dashboard, and because it's a while since I connected to the platform using this laptop, the system asked me for my password, which of course I'd forgotten. I should have just left it at that, but trying to guess my Google password, when I've used a whole host of different ones was bound to end in disaster. Consequently, it's best left until I return home, so I can be sent recovery codes, or what ever else it is when Google is trying to resurrect one's account.

Fortunately, good old Notepad has come to the rescue. It's a basic, no-thrills programme without any bells or whistles, but it does have its advantages in so much that it is a standalone programme, rather than one linked in to Google OneDrive. I've had several disagreements with colleagues over the use of the latter "all-encompassing" facility, and despite them singing its praises because users can "access it anywhere in the world", that only applies when a valid internet connection is available, which rules out being out on the high seas - unless one is prepared to shell out for an expensive Internet package! There is the other issue of course, because so-called "Cloud Storage" doesn't really occur up in the clouds, but most likely in a power-hungry, facility somewhere in the Nevada desert!

So this isn't me just being an awkward old bugger, my opposition to remote data storage is based out of genuine concern for the welfare of our planet, rather than chasing an obsessive need to store pile after pile of meaningless data. The photos, btw are randomly selected, and are present just as a test, as I slowly get Paul's Beer & Travel Blog, back on the road.