Paul's Beer & Travel Blog

"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.

Trondheim - a delightful, and cultured city on Norway's central, west coast

2026-04-01T21:32:00.007+01:00

This post examines Trondheim, an historic port, and Norway’s third largest city. The settlement lies on a sheltered peninsula on the southern shore of the deeply indented Trondheims Fjord. As a significant industrial and commercial hub for the surrounding region, Trondheim offers visitors an authentic experience of urban life in Norway.

Our cruise ship docked conveniently close to the city centre, allowing for easy access. Upon disembarking, I joined numerous other passengers making the brief walk into town. We traversed the train tracks and marshalling yards via an elevated walkway. Although I had obtained a map upon leaving the vessel, I ultimately chose to follow the crowds as they made their way towards the centre of Trondheim.

The day began with overcast skies, though the sun eventually emerged. One aspect of Trondheim that stood out to me was its abundance of shops, cafés, and dining establishments; initially, there appeared to be fewer locations serving beer. However, prior to considering refreshments, I wished to explore some of the city's cultural highlights. My primary destination was Trondheim’s renowned Nidaros Cathedral, burial site of King Olav II, who became the patron saint of the nation. The cathedral is the traditional location for the consecration of new Norwegian monarchs.

On my way to the cathedral, I paused in a garden situated opposite the Stiftsgårdsparken, an elegant Baroque-style townhouse belonging to the Norwegian royal family. I sat there for a while studying the map, looking for likely watering holes - more about that later. Upon arrival at the cathedral, which is widely regarded as one of Norway’s most exceptional stone structures, I learned that admission required the purchase of a ticket.

As I was on a tight schedule, I chose not to enter, and whilst I understand the necessity of admission fees for churches and other religious sites—given the significant maintenance costs for such landmarks—I have mixed feelings about their implementation.

Once I had taken the obligatory photographs, I decided to exchange some of the Euros I had brought with me—a decision I now recognize as a mistake. My reasoning was influenced by a travel blog authored by an American writer who claimed that Euros were widely accepted in Norway.

Consequently, instead of converting Sterling into the local currency and potentially ending up with notes or coins not usable elsewhere, it seemed logical to use Euros. In hindsight, this was misguided, and I acknowledge that I should have conducted more thorough research on local currency requirements prior to my trip.

While passing a foreign exchange office (FOREX), I decided to follow through with my plan to trade some Euros for Norwegian crowns (Krone). There were a few students ahead of me in the line, so I waited until they finished their transactions before approaching one of the windows myself.

Watching these two young women being asked to show their passports, I was reminded that, for security reasons, I'd intentionally left mine back on the ship. I had a sinking feeling that my request to exchange currency might be denied. Sure enough, when I spoke to the cashier and told them my passport was back on board, they asked if I had any other form of identification. I did and handed over my UK driving license. Although it's not quite as good as a passport, it does feature my photo and is an official piece of UK government-issued identification.

“I’m afraid your Driving Licence is unacceptable”, said the cashier, “because United Kingdom is not part of the European Union”. “I know”, I replied, “but surely neither is Norway, and unlike the UK it has never been part of the EU”. He smiled and laughed, before countering with the remark that whilst Norway was indeed not part of the European Union, it was part of the European Free Trade area, unlike the UK.

Membership of the EFT was part of the deal originally offered to the UK by the EU, but the offer was rejected by Boris Johson's Tory government, in order to appease the hardliners of the cynically named, European Research Group (ERG). I accepted my defeat, with good grace, and a couple of days later, when our cruise ship docked in Tromso, I took my passport with me and, at a different Forex, managed to change some of my Euro’s into Norwegian Krone.

The day was wearing on, and it was time for some refreshment, but first I found a supermarket where, under instructions from Mrs PBT’s, I picked up a selection of biscuits, nibbles and other “healthy snacks” from a well-stocked supermarket. But where to go for a beer? I had compiled a shortlist of possible places and thought it would just be a matter of navigating to them using my phone, even though I’m not really a fan of following directions on a small screen.

I set off, in the approximate direction of the port, and when I happened to glance up, I noticed a large building, with an impressive frontage. It turned out to be a craft beer bar named "Habitat", and what more it was open. I stepped inside and found an inviting open-plan layout, that was offering some delicious-looking pizza, as well as an extensive selection of “craft beers”.

It seemed the perfect spot, and after ordering a pizza, I chose a selection of three different beers. A pale ale, an IPA, and then a rather weighty Imperial Double Stout, which came in at an impressive 14.5% abv. The pale ale and the IPA both paired nicely with the pizza, though I’m less sure about the double stout! It was still an excellent beer, even if it hadn’t been part of my original plan. Habitat wasn't overly crowded, and I had the pick of the tables. This was despite signs indicating they were reserved, but this turned out to be for later that afternoon.

I was therefore quite happy, sitting there enjoying the beer, just taking in the atmosphere, but after that heavyweight double stout, thought it best to make my way back to the ship. I took a slightly different route back to the port, which enabled me to see a different part of Trondheim, even if it was just the area close to the river and the docks. As for the city itself, as well as being the principle city for this part of central Norway, Trondheim is well worth a longer stay in order to do it proper justice.

Åndalsnes and the Golden Train

2026-03-29T21:51:00.000+01:00

The second port of call on our Norwegian adventure, was the small, and attractive settlement of Åndalsnes, located at the mouth of the river Rauma, on the shores of Romsdalsfjord. The village is approximately 12 hours sailing from Ålesund, so after an early evening departure from the latter, the following morning saw our cruise ship, Ambience, berthed in the calm and reflective waters of the fjord.

The town has a population of just under 2,500 persons in an attractive setting close the end of field small settlement and it is visited every year by many cruise ships, including our own vessel, Ambience. Its harbour, which is within easy walking distance of the moorings, is called "Tindekaia", and looks out across to the small town of Åndalsnes itself.

Åndalsnes is known as the mountaineering capital of Norway, and lies at the start of the Rauma Railway, described as "one of Europe’s most scenic train journeys". The line is the home of the famous "Golden Train", which takes passengers on an unforgettable journey through beautiful Romsdalen, as it moves along the Rauma Railway. On the way it passes Europe’s largest vertical rock face, where the sheer and intimidating 1,100 metre-high Trollveggen (Troll Wall), acts as a magnet for sightseers and climbing enthusiasts alike.

The Golden Train is named after the secret mission undertaken by the Norwegian government during World War II, when the line was used to transport the country’s gold reserves as part of efforts to safeguard these national assets from the German occupiers. The gold was disguised as mundane cargo, and secret routes were used to evade enemy patrols and checkpoints.

Norwegian resistance fighters played a crucial role in facilitating this secret operation, which saw the gold travelling down the train-line to Åndalsnes, and then on to safer overseas destinations, including such as the United Kingdom, and Canada. The successful evacuation and safeguarding of the nation’s gold reserves held significant symbolic importance for the Norwegian government plus its people and demonstrated resilience against the German invasion. It also helped to maintain Norway's financial sovereignty during the occupation.

The journey followed by the Golden Train is a round trip from Åndalsnes to Bjorli, which allows travellers to experience stunning views of Norway's majestic landscapes. These include the emerald, green Rauma river, the aforementioned Troll Wall, the Kylling Bridge, and the impressive Verma Waterfall. A short break at Bjorli train station, which is the last stop on the line, allows travellers to disembark from the train and breathe in the fresh mountain air, while experiencing a part of the Raumabahn's history up close. Passengers then rejoin the train for its journey back to Åndalsnes. The entire round trip takes about 2½ hours and having written those words I’m wishing now that we had booked tickets for this fascinating ride.

Although we didn't ride on the train, Åndalsnes itself was a real gem in a fantastic setting. The weather was kind, in spite of a slight chill in the air, the only disappointment being the town’s single pub was closed. It was Sunday afternoon, and the place was also closed on Mondays as well - shades of back home! We visited as couple of shops before finding a nice coffee shop, attached to a local bakers, and sitting at one of the outside table, whilst watching the world go by, was a nice way to while away the time. Some children nearby were attempting to catch crabs from the jetty, using a hand-line, an activity both Eileen and I were familiar with from our own childhood.

Before returning to the ship, we watched the Golden Train departing from Åndalsnes, which again left me wishing that I’d booked a ticket on this legendary service. Perhaps I should have carried out a little more research prior to embarking on this cruise, but Hey-Ho! An overnight voyage, further up the Norwegian coast, saw Ambience docking at the city of Trondheim, a city on the Trondheim Fjord, in central Norway.

Dating back to the 11th century, Trondheim is the third most populous municipality in Norway and is the fourth largest urban area in the country. Trondheim is a major land and sea transport link that connects the more densely settled south with the far-northern regions of the country. The city is also a major centre for manufacturing, plus food processing area. It is also home to a number of pubs, one of which turned out to be the surprise find of the holiday, as we shall discover in the nest post.

A Norwegian saga

2026-03-27T23:50:00.000+00:00

Mrs PBT’s and I arrived back in the UK at around 11pm, last night, when our ship docked at Tilbury, or should I say the slightly pretentious London Cruise Terminal. I’m actually being rather unfair to Tilbury, because as departure and arrival places go, the LCT was a very smooth operation. This location in Essex hardly constitutes a town, although we did notice the presence of Tilbury Town rail station on our drive back toward the Dartford Crossing earlier this morning.

Our departure from this slightly maligned location brought back a few memories from childhood, that harked back to my one and only previous visit to childhood, which predate the opening of the first Dartford Tunnel. The Gravesend-Tilbury ferry was the only option for drivers wishing to cross the Thames, downstream of London, and I can remember the excitement of driving down the ramp, in the family car, and onto the limited capacity car ferry at Gravesend, before leaving the vessel at Tilbury, on the opposite side of the river. That was on a trip to Suffolk, to visit my recently retired paternal grandparents, and as it represents my only memory of crossing the river, in this manner, I imagine the Dartford Tunnel must have opened to traffic soon afterwards.

Before going any further, an apology to both regular followers and casual readers of the blog, for the lack of any posts whilst away. I obviously failed the digital-nomad test, as for some reason, best known to Google, I was unable to access my Blogger account whilst away. This was probably a blessing in disguise, as even attempting to type out meaningful text, on the small screen of a Smartphone, has never been a task I’m particularly fond of. Instead, I took copious notes, detailing not just the locations we visited on the cruise, but all sorts of observations about Ambience, the ship that acted as our home for the past 16 days.

Spoiler alert- due to atrocious weather conditions in the Norwegian Sea, the final five days of the voyage were all spent at sea, after being unable to berth at Narvik, which was the final destination of our cruise. Instead, our captain took the decision to “run for home” which meant being tossed and turned by the heavy seas, and strong winds we encountered on our journey back to blighty.

The choppy seas led to the evacuation, by helicopter, of at least one injured passenger, and possibly more, following an incident in the ship’s restaurant. Eileen and I remained in our quarters that evening and ordered a meal from the “room service” option, although we heard, and witnessed at least one helicopter hovering above our cabin, on Deck 10. The chopper was rather too close for comfort, as it hovered just feet above our heads, but despite atrocious conditions the casualty was winched to safety and flown away for further treatment. Speculation on board was that Lerwick, in the Shetland Isles, would have been the nearest suitable hospital, but like many things on board ship, this is only speculation.

Leaving bad weather and disasters at sea to one side for a moment, here’s a brief synopsis of places visited, along with alterations to the schedule. We discovered after booking our trip back in December that the itinerary formerly included a visit to the aforementioned Lerwick, on the outward journey, although this was eventually cancelled. I’m not sure why, and I for one would have liked a visit to Shetland, but removing the latter from the schedule meant a three-day sailing to our first port of call, the lovely town of Ǻlesund.

This was followed the day after, with a visit to Åndalsnes, a tiny town, at the end of a lengthy fjord,and starting point for the Rauma Railway. The latter has been voted "Europe's most scenic train journey", as it follows the line of the Rauma Valley, up into the mountains. An overnight sailing took us to Trondheim, the third most populous municipality in Norway, and a city with a number of cultural treasures. A “sea day” took us to Tromsø, a city known as the "Gateway to the Arctic", and a place with a real buzz about it.

Our ship spent two days in Tromsø, and whilst the second day was marred by rain, there were a number of bars that proved well worth visiting. Our penultimate stop was the small, and very modern-looking town of Alta, where we spent a couple of days, Situated on Norway’s northern coast, at the head of Alta Fjord, the town is renowned as one of the best places to observe the Northern Lights.

True to the town’s reputation we were rewarded with sightings of the, at times, elusive Aurora Borealis. We set sail on the evening of 21^st March, bound for Narvik, a town on the Norwegian coast, and best known as the port where iron ore, mined in nearby Sweden, is shipped across the world, after being transported across the border, by rail. Unfortunately, we never got to see the town, as it was whilst sailing to Narvik that our captain made the decision to head for home instead.

The above, is just a brief synopsis of our Norwegian adventure, an experience that took us beyond the Arctic Circle and to the northernmost edge of continental Europe. I shall be elaborating much further over the next week or so, as I attempt to play catch-up on what was an amazing and unmissable experience. In other words, there’s plenty more to come!

Getting away from it all

2026-03-10T23:17:00.000+00:00

There’s just two days left at work until Mrs PBT’s and I set sail on our spring cruise to Norway, and with my case almost packed, I’ve been scratching around catching up on one or two outstanding jobs around the house. I shan’t bother you with the details, apart from saying the fast-draining, super-grip shower mat that I ordered online is proving to be most satisfactory. (I told you it was boring.) I took a short walk around the block afterwards, it was actually several blocks, but despite the dull conditions overhead, the chill in the air, and the threat of rain, it was good to get out of the house, even though it was only for an hour or so.

I headed down towards the former Somerhill pub, where work seems to be progressing nicely, although with the building hidden behind the ubiquitous Heras Fencing, and the windows still “white-washed” out, it was difficult to see what is going on inside. The exterior is looking good, although I’m not over-keen on the bright green paint used to mask the 1950’s roughcast finish. I’m banking on the pub being finished and perhaps even open by the time we return from our Norwegian adventure.

The thought of calling in for a pint at one of the remaining local pubs crossed my mind, but as I’ve already visited every pub within a 20-minute radius (on foot), of Bailey Towers, there weren’t any that I fancied revisiting. (Like last year, I’m aiming to call at as many different hostelries as possible, and duplicating visits at this early stage of the game, has a disrupting effect on my strategy).

Instead, I returned home and finished off the last of the packing. For once we’re ahead of the game, and I’m including Mrs PBT’s here, as well. She’s also slimmed down on the number of bags and cases she’s taking – still too many in my view, but two medium sized cases, plus a couple of bags, is a major improvement on previous cruises. I’m taking one large, hard-shell case that I bought on promotion at Tesco, prior to Christmas, plus a medium sized rucksack.

The case contains a few items of Eileen’s, but I’m rather pleased with my packing, especially as I managed to squeeze in the hiking boots, mentioned in the previous past. It also contains my “whistle” – Cockney rhyming slang, don’t you know! I’m not a fan of dressing for dinner, or dressing for anything, for that matter, but I’ve been cajoled into it by the lady of the house.

There’s just one day left at work now, and I’ve managed to clear my in-tray, as well as my desk, but it does lead on to the question of how long do I wish to continue in the world of nine to five? In six weeks’, time, I shall reach the grand old age of 71, and in five months’ time I will have completed 20 years’ service with the company. This is by far and away the longest stretch I have spent with any organisation, and when that magic two decades is reached, I shall be inline for a long service bonus. Not a life-changing amount, but still a nice little sum, so it’s going to be autumn before I make any decision, regardless of which way I decide to turn.

I’ve still got mixed feelings here, as turning up to work, even for just three days a week, gets me out of the house and allows me to spend time with colleagues who are, on the whole, intelligent and interesting people. I also strongly feel I am making a real difference to the company, not just on the Health & Safety front – which is my main remit, but also to the project work I have been involved with. It also gets me out of the house, which is another big plus point. Mrs PBT’s is very much a home-loving girl, and whilst there’s nothing wrong with that, to a point, I am very much someone who likes to get out and explore, especially when there’s a decent pub or two involved.

Well, time to finish up and get ready for bed. We’ve got a mid-morning departure for our drive to Tilbury, where the rather grandiose-sounding London Cruise Terminal is situated. Any posting I do will be made via my phone, as I experienced some real difficulties on the last two occasions trying to connect my laptop to the internet. Wherever possible, I will attempt to steer the subject matter back to the main topics of the blog, which are beer, and travel, but for the time-being ta ra for now.

In search of Ambience, beyond the Arctic Circle

2026-03-07T22:20:00.000+00:00

In this fast moving, ever changing and increasingly manic world it’s sometimes hard to remain grounded and focus on the things that really matter in life. I write these words whilst just four days away from setting sail on another cruise and providing I can steer my Tele-addict wife away from the likes of Sky News, our voyage should be a welcome escape from the madness that’s occurring in the world at large.

You see that after nine voyages on Cunard – all “Queen” ships, we’ve decided to cut loose and try something completely different. In doing so, we’ve moved away from Carnival’s flagship brand – thereby saving ourselves a tidy packet. Only time and experience will tell whether we’ve made the right decision, as we’ve booked a 16-night voyage on Ambience, one of three cruise ships operated by Ambassador, Britain’s newest cruise line.

Ambassador sail from seven regional UK ports to a wide variety of different destinations, and the company prides itself by offering affordable quality at a price that offers some of the best value on the high seas. They claim to offer excellent service coupled with outstanding cuisine and all served with the warmest of welcomes. According to the company’s promotional literature, “you’ll get a decent cuppa, as well as a traditional afternoon tea, coupled with some great entertainment - all at an affordable price.” What is it about the Brits and their cups of tea?

The regional port that we’re sailing from is Tilbury, just 45 minutes’ drive from Bailey Towers, via the M25 and the Dartford Crossing. Our destination is Norway, and nowhere else, and our cruise will see us sailing right up the coast of the country, visiting various towns and cities on the way. These settlements include Alesund, Trondheim, Tromso, and Narvik. After crossing the Arctic Circle, we’ll have an overnight stop at Alta, a settlement close to the northern tip of Norway, and uncomfortably close to the Russian Federation.

We can expect some spectacular scenery, and if we’re lucky a glimpse of the Northern Lights, or the aurora borealis, but as long as the accommodation is of a high standard, and the food equally good, we don’t really mind. Ambience, which is a refurbished former P&O Australia ship looks well presented, and with just 1,400 passengers, is considerably smaller than the Cunard vessels we’ve become used to. After running into IT issues on our last cruise, I’ve decided against taking a laptop, although I shall be taking a notebook. This does mean that postings, whilst away, will be few and far between.

From a personal point of view, it will just be nice to escape from all the bad stuff that’s going on in the world at the moment. I shall be taking a nice thick book as well as a pair of binoculars. As for clothing, temperatures are likely to be just above freezing during the day, and slightly below that figure after sunset. I’ve got a thermally lined coat, that is still unworn, but with a high TOG rating it should be warm enough to wear whilst ashore. I will also be taking my Meindl hiking boots which, when worn with a pair of thermal socks, should be sufficient to keep my feet warm, as well as providing sufficient grip on potentially slippery surfaces.

This forthcoming cruise is not our first visit to Norway and its famous fjords, because in June 2022, Eileen and I took a cruise to the aforementioned fjords. That voyage was made onboard Cunard Queen Mary 2 and included two visits to Hamburg – one on the outward sailing, and the other on the return journey. The reasoning behind this was one of simple economics, because by making two calls to Hamburg, was to pick up and then drop off parties of rich German passengers eager to combine a visit to the fjords with a trans-Atlantic crossing to New York.

On that voyage, Alesund was the most northerly settlement that we called at, whereas on the forthcoming one, this attractive Norwegian town will be the most southerly port. So, apart from Alesund, all other anchorages on this cruise will be new destinations as far as Mrs PBT’s and I are concerned. And this is where we must say farewell to Norway for the time being, apart from revealing that the photos used to illustrate this post, date from that 2022 cruise to Norway.

Random pub conversations at the Punch

2026-03-05T22:43:00.000+00:00

Just a short post regarding an experience I had earlier in a local pub. The hostelry in question was the Punch & Judy, in Tonbridge, a back-street local, with a Tardis-like interior, looking across the rear of the town’s police station. It’s a pub that has seen several changes of name, and when I first moved to Tonbridge, it was known as the Gardener’s Arms. Despite these changes, the pub’s current name appears to have stuck, even though it is usually abbreviated to the Punch, or sometimes, just the PJ.

Despite its proximity to the police station, or perhaps because of it, the Punch is very much a locals’ pub although it is none the worse for that. I called in, earlier today, for a swift pint, having just missed a bus back up to the top area of town. This part of Tonbridge is less than 5 minutes’ walk away from Bailey Towers, although the bus ride back from the own does save a lengthy uphill walk.

Back at the Punch, I ordered a pint of Harvey’s Best, a beer that is usually the go-to beer, not just in Tonbridge but across large swathes of the south-east. The beer was cool, foamy and in tip-top condition. Looking around there were just two other people in the pub; one was the landlady who had just served me, whilst the other was a middle-aged man who was probably a few years younger than me. There was sport of some description on the TV, although no-one was taking any notice of it.

The conversation was a little stilted, until the arrival of a group of official-looking fellas at the entrance to the car park at the rear of the police station. The damaged, brick wall across the road wasn’t hard to miss, and seeing the group of hi-vis, clad gents, the landlady marched out of the pub, and across to the group. They turned out to be insurance assessors, as confirmed to me and the other customer, and from what our hostess reported back, the wall had been struck by a bomb-disposal truck. No-one seemed sure of the connection or the relevance, although it appeared this wasn’t the first time the perimeter wall had been struck by a careless driver.

Excitement over, the conversation turned to beer glasses, because the other customer had called in at the pub, to pick up a box of superfluous glasses. I wasn't sure why this person wanted them, or what he was going to do with them. (Reading between the lines, the glasses were destined for a social club, of some description.) The landlady told the customer that the glasses were ale glasses, rather than lager ones. “What’s the difference?” inquired the customer. “The lager ones are etched at the bottom, to maintain the head”, was the reply.

The customer was somewhat miffed, so I waded in about the “nucleation point”, stealing the hostess’s thunder somewhat, before she explained further about the etched, interior, at the bottom of the glass. She referred to this part of the glass as a “widget”, which confused the customer even further, so with my scientist’s hat on, I explained that the laser etched mark on the inside bottom of the glass, acts as a nucleation point, that assists the release of the beer's carbonation, creating a steady stream of bubbles and maintaining a head on the beer. The customer still didn’t seem to get it, although the landlady agreed with my explanation. She explained that largely due to the action of the glass rinser behind the bar, the laser etched marks gradually wear out over time. The customer was informed that such “worn” glasses would still be fine for bitter, although not for lager.

It was time for me to leave and catch my bus, but these random encounters and equally random conversations, are what make pub life so refreshing and enjoyable. Now, should anyone ask you about “nucleation points” you will know they are referring to pouring a perfect pint of lager, rather than the all-out war the orange-idiot in the White House seems determined to provoke.

The Honest Miller, Brook

2026-03-04T20:52:00.000+00:00

This article is the one I mentioned in the last post and is the one that has remained unpublished for almost as long as I have been writing this blog. It remains unfinished, for reasons that will become apparent towards the end of this piece, and it continues as an article that I would like to put to bed, sooner, rather than later.

The small village of Brook nestles at the foot of the North Downs, to the east of Ashford, overlooking the gap made through these hills by the river Stour. I spent my teenage years in the village, and it still retains particularly fond memories for me. Brook's main claim to fame is its unspoilt Norman church, which is also home to some remarkable medieval wall paintings. These had been discovered early in the last century after having been hidden by the Puritans, behind layers of whitewash, during the 17th Century. Attractive and historic the church plus its paintings may have been, but apart from the former family home, the place which holds the fondest memories for me is the village pub.

Brook is served by a single pub called the Honest Miller; a handsome, typically white-painted Kentish building with a weather boarded upper half, topped with a peg-tiled roof. It dates back to the reign of Queen Anne, although exactly when it became an alehouse is uncertain. Up until the late 1960's it served ales brewed at the Mackeson's Brewery in Hythe, but when I first started drinking there the beer was brewed by Whitbread Fremlin’s, initially at Maidstone, and latterly at Faversham.

I was fourteen when my family moved to the village. Neither of my parents were pub-goers, and besides money was somewhat tight. It therefore fell to my grandparents, on one of their trips down from London, to take me for my first visit to the Honest Miller. It was perfectly legitimate for both me and my sister to enter the pub as, despite its relatively small size, it possessed a children's room. I can still remember sitting in there, as a family, enjoying a drink and finding my attention being drawn to a strange-looking device sited in a corner, just below the ceiling. It turned out to be an early warning alarm, designed to give a four-minute warning of impending nuclear attack.

Fortunately, this device was never put to the test, although I wonder if it would have worked, and what use such a short warning period would have been, anyway. By the time I was old enough to drink (or to pass myself off as old enough to do so!), the children's room had been knocked through into the adjacent saloon bar. Even though the removal of the dividing wall had virtually doubled it in size, the saloon was everything a saloon bar should be - warm, cosy, comfortable, low-lit and intimate. It was also popular, particularly in term time, with students from the nearby Wye Agricultural College.

If the saloon bar was traditional, the public bar was doubly so. It had white-painted, rough-plastered walls, a low, plastered ceiling and a patterned floor of red and black quarry tiles, worn smooth over the years, and faded by the passage of time. The public bar attracted its own loyal band of regulars, who were always willing to take on all-comers at either darts or cribbage. In common with the saloon, it was heated by an open coal fire during the winter months, whilst during the summer, its thick walls ensured that it stayed cool, even during the hottest weather.

Although the saloon bar had a proper bar counter, the public bar just had a small serving hatch, set into a two-foot-thick wall. The serving area was situated behind this wall; the beer being dispensed straight from casks kept on a substantial wooden stillage. The latter was branded with the words “Mackeson & Co. - Hythe Ales”. From what I recall, the casks were 18-gallon kilderkins rather than the more common 9-gallon firkins that one normally sees today. The fact the casks were this size was an indication of the amount of draught beer the pub sold. It obviously had a reputation for the quality of its beer so imagine the look of horror on the landlord's face when, as a somewhat naive, and wet behind the ears seventeen-year-old, I asked for a pint of Whitbread Tankard.

I had asked for this heavily advertised brew out of ignorance; an ignorance born of the fact that I knew virtually nothing about beer and hadn't a clue what was in the anonymous looking barrels stillaged behind the bar. To a man who prided himself on the quality of the cask ale that he kept, such a request must have been a personal affront to his dignity. "Are you certain you're eighteen?" he scowled at me, as he began pouring what was probably the only pint of that fizzy keg brew, he had served all week.

Not long after that incident, a story had featured on the local television news programme "Scene South East". The story concerned the launch of a new "local" beer. The launch also coincided with the closure of the old Fremlin’s Brewery in Maidstone, and the transfer of production to the former George Beer & Rigdens Brewery in Faversham. The beer was to be called "Whitbread Trophy". Of course, as I was later to discover, Trophy was Whitbread's replacement for a whole range of local cask beers which Fremlin’s had brewed at Maidstone, the best known of which were their Three Star Bitter, and County Ale.

This aside, on my next visit to the Honest Miller, I sidled up to the bar and asked for a pint of "that new beer called Trophy". I was somewhat surprised to witness the beer being dispensed straight from one of the very plain-looking metal casks which I described earlier and was concerned that I would not like it. I need not have feared though, as I soon discovered the beer to be extremely palatable, consisting of a well-balanced blend of malt and hops. At least I was in favour with the landlord now; I was drinking (and enjoying) his carefully nurtured cask ale, rather than that nasty, fizzy, insipid Tankard.

Less than six months after I was legally old enough to drink, I left home in order to go to university. Moving from a small village to live in a big city (Manchester) was something of a culture shock and, for a while, left me rather homesick. In particular I missed the evenings in the Honest Miller, so it was with a sense of eager anticipation that I looked forward to vacation time when I could, once again, visit this gem of a pub. I introduced several of my college friends to the Honest Miller, as well as several girlfriends. My involvement with CAMRA, which began in early 1974, saw me recommending the pub for the Good Beer Guide; its first appearance being the 1975 edition

I spent many a happy hour in the Honest Miller, varying my choice of bars to suit both my mood, the company I was with, and the occasion. One of my fondest memories is of sitting in the public bar early one Christmas Eve. Apart from a couple of people in the other bar, I had the place to myself. A welcoming coal fire was burning in the grate whilst, from behind the servery, the traditional Christmas service of Twelve Carols & Six Lessons from Kings College Cambridge, could just be heard coming over the radio. As I sat there, enjoying my pint, I was enveloped by a deep-seated feeling of contentment, and I felt totally relaxed and at one with the world.

I believed that whatever else changed in the world, the Honest Miller would remain the same, and that it would still be there, as a haven, for me to retreat to every time I returned home. However, dark rumblings were afoot. The landlady had mentioned, on more than one occasion, that if the pub relied totally on the village for its custom, it would have closed long ago. Fortunately, its patronage by the college students and the increasing popularity of its food trade (its cold table in particular was held in very high regard) kept it going.

During the mid-1980’s, the pub suffered a disastrous fire, which started in the kitchen, before spreading to the rest of the pub. By this time, I had married and was living in Maidstone, but my parents kept me updated on what was happening in the village. It is my firm opinion that, so far as the brewery was concerned, the Honest Miller was not realising its true potential, and that the enforced closure, caused by the fire, gave them the excuse they had been looking for to make some alterations. During the re-building work the pub was extended, increasing in size by approximately one third.

It must be said that the architects and builders did an excellent job on the exterior of the building. The new section was clad with matching weatherboarding, the peg-tiled roof was extended, and identically styled sash-windows were fitted. The work was so well done that it was virtually impossible to distinguish the new section of the building from the old. Unfortunately, the excellent job which had been done on the outside did not extend to the interior of the pub.

I visited the Honest Miller shortly after it re-opened, expecting to see some changes, but totally unprepared for what greeted me. The former entrance lobby, with the public bar leading off to the left and the saloon leading off to the right, had been done away with, as had the main staircase which had risen up straight ahead. Instead, the door opened into one large bar, with about as much character as a barn! There was one long bar-counter replacing the former serving hatch, and whilst the beer was still cask-conditioned, it was no longer served direct from the cask. The open fire, which had heated the public bar, was still there, but had been knocked through to the other side, as had the walls on either side of the chimney breast. The entire bar area was carpeted throughout and whilst there was still a dart board in the area formerly occupied by the public bar, no-one was playing.

The cosy, intimate atmosphere of the pub had vanished. There would be no more jolly evenings playing cribbage or darts. Piped music was oozing out of strategically sited loudspeakers, with no escape from it. The locals were missing, no doubt driven out and moved on elsewhere. The food was from the brewery's own standardised menu, rather than the extensive cold table selection the pub had formerly offered. The white-painted, rough plastered walls had been papered over with chintzy wallpaper and decorated with a series of tacky "hunting" prints. In short, an unspoiled and unique pub, which was very popular with its locals, and which served the needs of the local community, had been lost forever. In its place was yet another standardised beer and food outlet, of the type that is virtually identical to hundreds of others up and down the country.

What annoyed me, more than anything else, was the fact there was nothing wrong with the pub as it was. There was no need to change anything. Even the outside toilets were fine the way they were! As seems the norm, in such cases, the brewery didn’t bother to consult the locals about the proposed changes; instead, they were just imposed with a “like it or go elsewhere” attitude. What saddened me most though, was the fact that this pub was formerly my local, and to see the place desecrated in such a fashion, was heartbreaking.

I haven't been back since then, preferring instead to forget what I saw that day, and remember the Honest Miller as it was. Besides, not long afterwards, my parents retired to Norfolk, a county where there were still plenty of unspoiled pubs. I therefore had no reason to visit the village of Brook, a settlement that in common with many other villages, slowly turned into a dormitory for well-to-do commuters, rather than a place that was home to a thriving agricultural community.

I’m going to leave the narrative here for the time being, partially because I still haven’t been back to the Honest Miller, but also because there have been quite a few changes affecting the pub. I didn’t experience any of them at a personal level, and instead I have relied on information about the pub that I discovered online. For example, the pub was closed and boarded up for the best part of three years following the COVID-19, before re-opening under new ownership in July 2024. Even then, its opening hours were limited as the new owners beavered away to get the place up to scratch again.

It closed again, last year, whilst one of the new co-owners underwent a bout of chemotherapy, but the aim is to reopen sometime in April, next month. When the Honest Miller does finally open its doors again, I expect to pay the pub a long overdue visit, as there is a lot of catching up to do! So, watch this space and be prepared for a lengthy update.

Rural English public houses in the mid-1970's - a nostalgic look-back

2026-03-01T14:44:00.004+00:00

As you might imagine, I’ve seen more than my fair share of changes over the past fifty years, and nowhere is this more true than when it comes to the nation’s pubs. Not all of these changes were good, in fact the majority were the opposite, but to be fair most were the result of changes in tastes, fashions and society in general. I spent my formative years living in East Kent, and the pubs I knew in my youth were a mixture of both town and country ones. When I first started drinking, most of the pubs I visited were real in the sense that they were unspoilt "pubby" type pubs, even though most of the beer sold in them was not, certainly in the CAMRA accepted meaning of the word. Most of the beer was cask-conditioned back then but served by "top-pressure" a dispense system unacceptable to the Campaign for Real Ale.

I look back on those days with a considerable amount of nostalgia. Life in general was much simpler then, with far less restrictions, rules and regulations. Landlords were free to police their own pubs, without interference from, or "sting operations" by the likes of trading standards officials, the police, or public health inspectors. Licensees were also much more free to run their own businesses as they saw fit, rather than as the owning brewery or pub company dictated to them.

It’s hard to recall the first time that I set foot in a pub on my own, although I do recall visiting pubs with a handful of school friends. This was in the Ashford area of East Kent, where I lived at the time. What seems remarkable now, is that as seventeen-year-olds we had no trouble getting served in these pubs. We were accepted by landlords and locals alike and sometimes took on some of the latter at darts, even though we invariably lost! What most of these places had in common was the fact that they still functioned as traditional pubs, acting as focal points for the communities they served. Most had separate public and saloon bars, the former particularly appealing to my friends and I as we several of us were aspiring dart players. Beer was inevitably cheaper in the public bar, the furnishings fairly basic, with lino or tiled floors being the order of the day. The saloon bars, on the other hand, tended to be more comfortably furnished and were earmarked as places where one could go to on a date, should we manage to find and persuade "Miss Right".

Unfortunately, there was no Miss Right in the small village of Brook, where I lived with my parents and sister, although there were one or two living in nearby Wye. That’s another story and one for another day, as I want to continue with the theme of unspoilt pubs, and those I remember from my late teens and early twenties. I’m fortunate to belong to a generation that was lucky to have known this world unspoilt of pubs, even though it was soon to disappear.

There might have been an absence of suitable girlfriends in Brook, but this small village nestling at the foot of the North Downs, overlooking the gap made through these hills by the river Stour possessed a classic, two-bar pub called the Honest Miller. From the time I turned 18, and was old enough to drink, to the time I left the family home to go to university, this lovely old pub was the place where I spent many an evening. I’ve written a lengthy treatise on the pub, but it’s one which, for various reasons, I have never published. I fully intend to rectify this, although I will do so as a separate post. In the meantime, here’s an exert from an article I released 14 years ago, and it concerns a long-closed pub that I was lucky to have visited, shortly after my 18th birthday.

The Woodman’s Arms at Hassel Street, near Hastingleigh high up on the North Downs between Ashford and Canterbury, was a classic pub that has long since disappeared. I only had the pleasure of visiting it once, and having just turned eighteen regrettably did not, appreciate the finer points of this time-warp village inn, at the time. The pub was brought to my attention after it featured on the local television "news magazine", programme "Scene South East".

This was back in the days of "Southern Television" the ITV franchise for the south. Southern were based in Southampton, which meant a distinct bias towards Hampshire, leaving Kent and Sussex lucky to get a mention. The only exception to this was on Friday evenings when the aforementioned programme was broadcast from the company's rather secondary studio in Dover.

What had caught the presenter’s eye was the fact that the Woodman’s Arms did not have a bar, something which, even 50 years ago, was highly unusual. Instead, drinkers sat around a table in what
appeared to be the licensee's front room. Having seen the pub featured on the programme, I decided to check it out for myself. So, one evening in June, I set off on my motorbike, in search of this highly unusual pub. Hassel Street was only a few miles away from my home village of Brook, but being tucked away amongst the maze of narrow lanes that lie at the top of the North Downs it took a bit of finding. I eventually succeeded and found the pub located half-way down a “No- Through Road”. From what I remember, it was an unassuming, white-painted building which was considerably older inside than it looked from the outside.

According to “Kent Pubs”, a guide to published by Batsford in 1966, the Woodman’s dated back to 1698, and had three rooms. One was a side room, that doubled up as a children’s room, one was for darts whilst the third acted as the bar-parlour. It was the latter that I made my way into, and I do vaguely remember there being a darts room to the left of the entrance. As shown on the television programme, the room was plainly decorated and simply furnished. There was a table, complete with tablecloth, in the centre of the room, and along one of the walls, was a dresser on which were placed various bottles of wines, spirits and bottled beers, plus a selection of glasses. Pushed up against the other three walls were some hard wooden chairs, occupied by about half a dozen or so customers.

Walking in, I could see no evidence of any beer pumps, so I enquired as to whether the pub sold draught beer. I was told that it did but, feeling very conscious of the lull in the conversation, decided to opt for just a half of bitter. The landlady retrieved a half-pint mug from the dresser and disappeared down some wooden stairs to the cellar below. The beer was almost certainly cask Whitbread Trophy from the former Fremlin’s Brewery in Faversham.

When the landlady returned with my drink, I made some half-hearted attempts at conversation but felt increasingly awkward and out of place. I had only recently reached the legal drinking age and was a somewhat shy and slightly introspected youth, who had still not properly acquired the necessary social skills to be able to mix well with different age groups. Most of the clientele seemed to know each other, and whilst they were not unfriendly, I quickly decided that one swift half was enough. This was a great shame as this turned out to be my only visit to the Woodman’s.

Not long afterwards I went off to university, and apart from short visits to see my parents, during vacation time, never returned to live at home on a permanent basis. I am not certain exactly when, or indeed why the pub closed, but one possible clue to its demise is again given in “Kent Pubs”. The landlord of the Woodman’s worked as a postman in the mornings, which suggests that his main income came from delivering letters rather than serving pints. This indicates that the pub may not have been viable on its own, and given its isolated position, it is perhaps easy to see why.

The Black Bull at Newchurch, on Romney Marsh was a similar pub, with beer that was served straight from the cask, kept on shelving behind the bar. It was a Whitbread house when I first knew it, having called in with a school friend. Both of us had motorbikes, and had spent much of the summer (when we weren’t working), exploring some of the local pubs. The bar, where the beer was kept, was rather “posh” – presumably the “Saloon”, but to the left of the entrance, and along a corridor, there was a really basic room, complete with a stone floor, where one could play darts.

Sometime afterwards, Shepherd Neame acquired the pub from Whitbread, and the Black Bull held on for quite some time after those mid-seventies, summer time visits. It was around long enough for me to take the present Mrs PBT’s there, whilst honeymooning at the Mermaid Inn, in nearby Rye. She was not impressed, and after removing my rose-tinted spectacles, I could see why. There was an unkempt look and feel about the place which, with hindsight may have hinted at the pub’s imminent demise, but despite this I was saddened to learn of the pub's closure, not long afterwards.

Given the Black Bull’s isolated position, with very few chimney pots nearby, and the lack of a car-park – customers had to park on a narrow road and close to a bend, it’s closure was perhaps inevitable. I’m not even sure that the pub had a kitchen, although the aforementioned “Kent Pubs” does state that snacks were available. Perhaps the final line in the Black Bull’s entry, says it all. “The village still uses the house, but Major and Mrs Kely, retired here after service in the Far East, also attract the more sophisticated drinker.”

Half a century ago, it wasn’t unusual to find retired service personnel behind the bar, although they invariably seemed to be of a certain rank. One particular notice, that appeared on the wall of both bars of the Bybrook Tavern, on the outskirts of Ashford, was the source of much amusement to my friends and me. It read, “Shirts will be worn!” An obvious reference that the former major, who ran the pub, didn’t take kindly to half-dressed builder types, propping up the bar in his pub. My father would have described such wannabe artisans, as “sweaty oafs”, a term that still tickles me to this day, and on that note, we shall draw this article to a close.

Return to the Chaser

2026-02-26T21:50:00.000+00:00

Just a short catch-up post, as this morning I took young master Matthew out for a spot of breakfast. He’s got a week off from work and is ~~using his time wisely,~~ catching up himself on things that needed doing- getting the MOT on his car renewed, sorting out his room, arranging finance to cover the final settlement figure on his car, spending time with his girlfriend, who isn’t off work this week. Oh, to be young again, or perhaps not, more likely being young, but knowing what I know now, but not really that either, as learning and finding things out for oneself are the natural way of things, and are part of growing up.

Anyway, on the first day of my long weekend (Thursday), Matthew surfaced at the same time as Mrs PBT’s and I, and once all three of us were washed and dressed, we jumped in the car and drove over to Mabledon Farm, which is where Eileen does her regular, weekly book-keeping stint for a local scaffolding firm. We dropped her off and then set a course for Shipbourne, a small and attractive village, situated on high ground, to the north of Tonbridge, which also happens to be the home of the Chaser Inn.

Our visit was a virtual repeat of the one we made back in November, which was the day before my day trip to south Devon, and the lovely little town of Topsham. There are no similar epic journeys planned at the moment, at least not on dry land, but in just under a fortnight’s time, Mrs PBT’s should be venturing forth on the high seas, as we embark on a 16-night cruise along the coast of Norway. Matthew will be house-sitting whilst we’re away, a task he’s undertaken for several previous voyages.

The Chaser breakfast represented a continuation of what had once been a regular occurrence, but one that was understandably somewhat curtailed by the appearance of a new person in Matthew’s life. I chose the Chaser, because I wanted to move away from some of the greasy spoon type places, Matthew and his mates like to frequent. I’ve mentioned this before, but I’m a great believer in establishments which not only use top quality ingredients, but meat and eggs that are locally sourced. In addition, breakfasting at a pub, gives a welcome boost to a sector that is facing enormous challenges, at the moment.

We arrived in Shipbourne, shortly before 10am, and not surprisingly found all the parking places close to the pub, already taken. It wasn’t looking that good on the extensive common, opposite either, and whilst we eventually found a vacant spot, it was quite a hike back to the Chaser. The cause of this congestion/popularity was the weekly Farmers’ Market, held every Thursday at the nearby church of St Giles. According to their website, the church organises the Market as a service to the local community and judging by the number of diners and coffee drinkers at the Chaser, it appears to have a positive knock-on effect for the local pub as well.

I’m not sure if we could have had a beer with our breakfast, but the great big porcelain pot of tea was a more than adequate substitute. Both of us went straight in with a full English, of bacon, sausage, tomato, hash brown (I know they’re not English!) and black pudding, cooked to perfection, and served with two slices of thick, slices of toast. There were a lot more people in the pub than on our previous visit, and there was quite a few walkers too, amongst their number.

The Chaser itself is a large and impressive building with a tile hung exterior and a white veranda at the front. There is an attractive conservatory at the rear, plus a wood panelled and timber roofed dining area at the rear. If you haven’t twigged already, the Chaser is an unashamed, food-led pub with plenty of seating intermingled with unsegregated drinking areas and open fires. For the record, The Chaser is owned by pub-group Whiting & Hammond, whose portfolio includes the Little Brown Jug in Chiddingstone Causeway, the Cricketers at Meopham, the Bull at Otford, and the Rose & Crown at Orpington. The latter pub seems to be recent addition to the chain.

Technology and me - we don't agree!

2026-02-25T13:59:00.000+00:00

There’s something about me and technology which means we quite often don’t get on well together. Regular readers will probably recall the trouble I had with my Smartwatch, a few months ago, when this time piece stopped recording the number of steps I’d walked, followed by a period when I was virtually locked out of my Google account. Fortunately, I was able to rectify these errors without too much trouble, even though there was a fair amount of soul-searching, on social media. I felt especially proud of solving the issue affecting the step counter, which in the end turned out to be a matter of trial and error.

This might seem a little fluffy, if that's the right word, but a week or so ago another tech problem reared its head, and this time it was a problem with my Smartphone. I appreciate that not all readers possess such a device, although I’m assuming that the majority of followers do, and even if, like one of my colleagues, your mobile phone is exactly that – a device for making and receiving calls, whilst on the move, or from different locations, you will appreciate what I am talking about.

So, the other week I noticed my Smartphone was advising that it could make or receive emergency calls only. Given the rural location of my workplace, I wasn’t overly surprised, as reception on mobile networks locally, are patchy at best, and non-existent at worst, but when the on-screen message persisted, when I arrived home, I began to suspect that something was up.

Everything else though, associated with the phone was working, so I could send and receive emails, listen to music downloads, take photos as well as surfing the net. In fact, my phone could do everything except make and receive phone calls – proof that the humble mobile phone, the device the Germans refer to as a “Handy”, has evolved far beyond its original purpose. I asked a work colleague who is far more “tech savvy” than me to take a look, and after accessing the device’s self-diagnostic features, told me that the SIM card wasn’t working.

A SIM card is a small plastic card with a computer chip that slots into your phone. It holds information, including your phone number, and allows you to connect with your network. SIM cards are assigned a unique identification number that stores information about your phone plan (type of plan, available data, voice minutes, and text messages.) Carriers then use this information to verify your account status and charge you accordingly on your monthly bill.

Everything else that isn't your phone number will still be on your phone after you remove the SIM card, although you won't be able to call or text those contacts without a phone number. Also, some apps may not work without a network connection. My colleague tried removing the SIM and then cleaning it (wiping it on a piece of clean cloth), before re-inserting it, but this made no difference.

Long story short, I contacted O2, my contract provider, using a landline, explained the problem, and after correctly answering the various security questions associated with my account, O2 agreed to post a replacement SIM to my home address. The latter duly arrived a few days later (a Saturday), and that afternoon I followed the instructions to swap the existing SIM for the new one. So far, so good, except it still didn’t work, and the new SIM was displaying a “Number Unknown” message.

This was where Mrs PBT’s stepped in, especially as she considers herself to be far more tech savvy than me. Despite this, the card stubbornly refused to connect to the network, which led her to advise that “SIMs can sometimes take a while to do this”. Despite my skepticism I checked online, and saw the same message, but one that seemed to contradict the instructions supplied with the new SIM. “Leave it until the morning”, was her sage advice, but come Sunday morning, my phone still had no network connection, which is when I decided to seek outside assistance.

There used to be an O2 shop in Tonbridge, but that closed several years ago, so just before midday, I headed over to the group’s Tunbridge Wells outlet. My bus pass allowed me a free return journey, even though services aren’t quite as frequent on a Sunday. I made my way to the O2 shop, and as it wasn’t too busy, a helpful young lady dealt with my enquiry straight away. After a series of checks, on both the phone and me, photo-ID driving license, bank card, plus verification of my mother’s maiden name (standard ID question), she informed me that despite having just replaced the SIM, it too was faulty. “I shall install another new SIM card”, she said, and joy of joy, the replacement, “New one” worked! After thanking her profusely, it was time for a celebration pint or two, but first I had one more shop to visit. M&S, everyone’s favourite retailer, and the store I was directed to by the staff in outdoor clothing retailer, Trespass.

I was after a pair of thermal undergarments aka,“long johns”. Norway is still quite cold in mid-March, especially beyond the Arctic Circle, and that’s the destination where Mrs PBT’s and I are heading to in a couple of weeks’ time. Norway to be precise, and what Trespass were unable to deliver Marks & Sparks had the said garments in various sizes, including one that would fit me, and keep out the Arctic chill, when I’m wandering the streets of Tromsø or Narvik.

Finally, it was time for a pint, and my plan was to head away from the shopping area of Tunbridge Wells, and choose a couple of hostelries, close to the route of the bus home. I headed up towards Mount Ephraim, and the area opposite the old Tunbridge Wells Hospital. The former Kent & Sussex, usually referred to as the “Kent & Snuffit”, is no more and a mixed development of expensive looking apartments and town houses has taken its place, but directly opposite is Sankey’s.

I wrote about this family-run pub and brasserie a few months ago, but as it had been quite a few months since I actually set foot in the place, I was keen to find out what was occurring. Sankey’s offers a wide range of mainly keg beers, from various Kent and Sussex microbrewes, supposedly alongside a couple of cask ales. I saw no evidence of the latter, but perhaps they were available downstairs, as Sankey’s is spread over two levels. Keen to get a beer, I opted for a glass of Silver Lake, a pilsner-style beer from Lakedown Brewery. The latter is based at Who front-man, Roger Daltrey’s family estate and fishing lakes, close to the Sussex village of Burwash. The company’s beers are a regular find in many pubs in this part of the world and have acquired a good reputation. My pilsner-style beer certainly slid down well, especially after I managed to find a seat.

I’ve actually got one of the bar staff to thank for that, as with the pub absolutely rammed, mainly with people dining it was Sunday lunchtime, after all, seats were at a premium. The very pleasant young lady who’d served me a short while before suggested I park myself down at one of the stools in front of the fireplace. Fortunately, the fire wasn’t lit so I didn’t roast and instead had a good vantage point over what was going on. Apart from people watching, the walls and ceilings of Sankey’s are well worth a look, as they are festooned with what must be one of the most comprehensive collections of enamelled metal advertising signs in existence. Most of this memorabilia relates to long lost, but not forgotten local breweries, so if brewery history floats your boat, take a look the next time you are in Tunbridge Wells.

It was time to move on, and it wasn’t far to the George, a pub I last visited back in the summer. Like the previous pub, the George was heaving, and after elbowing my place to the bar, and ordering a pint of Fonthill Best – one of several beers brewed onsite, in an old stable building. In 1739, the George was a coaching inn for those travelling between Tunbridge Wells and London, and with its graceful exterior, plus an interior full of exposed beams, brickwork, fireplaces, and oak floorboards, the building still exudes warmth and nostalgia from every corner.

I managed to find a stool, set with its back to the window, where I could sit in full view of the punters, enjoying their Sunday lunches. With hindsight, it hadn’t been the best time to be in either pub, but circumstances being what they were, and the fact I managed to get my phone sorted out, were compensation enough. What was encouraging and heartening, was seeing both establishments not just thriving, but buzzing with it.

I’d timed my walk to the nearest bus stop, just right, so didn’t have long to wait for the next bus back to Tonbridge. Unfortunately, there was a lengthy wait, until the next service, so I had to hike back up the hill to Bailey Towers. Sunday services are limited, so I ended up walking home, after mission accomplished. Phone sorted, plus thermal leggings, ahead of our forthcoming Arctic holiday.

Rainy day blues, and trouble in publand

2026-02-20T23:06:00.001+00:00

With a four-day weekend opening up in front of me, the question of what to do and where to go, once again raises its head. I shall be giving that question a lot of thought, over the next few days, but ahead of any trips out, the question of what to write about in the meantime also springs to mind. Before attempting to answer that question, the one constant at the moment is the never-ending rain. We’re over six weeks into the new year now, and I don’t think that a day has passed where there hasn’t been any rain. Instead, the downpours have been pretty incessant, and it’s the sort of weather that would have led to my dear old dad making one of his quips about having to plant rice in the garden, because that would be the only thing capable of withstanding the permanently wet conditions!

Rainfall is obviously part of the natural cycle, although it normally occurs in more measured quantities. For me, it is not so much a case of wanting to get out in the garden, even though there are some things that require my attention, but my main gripe is that excessive rain has an adverse effect on our cross-country footpath network, making many of them impassable, at worst, or slippery and excessively muddy at best.

Some intrepid individuals are still managing to get out into the countryside, and whilst some of them come across as foolhardy, or even reckless, other appear not to care, and throw all caution to the wind. James Pavlou, the intrepid individual behind the Walk Tonbridge website, is one such character, and is the person putting all of us armchair walking enthusiasts to shame. James’s website, which he originally set up during lock-down, sets out a couple of dozen walks, in and around Tonbridge, as well as including several audio recordings featuring older residents of the town, looking back at what Tonbridge used to be like. Looking at some of his postings on social media, he comes across as someone who rarely lets the weather interfere with his outdoor activities, so maybe I should allow him to shame me into going out, no matter what conditions are like underfoot.

These consideration aside, there’s no getting away from some of the other stories that are dominating the news, at the moment. One of the biggest news item is that many pubs are feeling the pinch, or worse, particularly when the belt tightening and associated money troubles, turn into abject closure. The causes of pubs going out of business are nowhere near as simple as some commentators would have us believe and are normally down to a combination of many varied factors, rather than, as certain newspapers, would like us to believe, are the fault of Rachel from Accounts!

I wouldn’t like to name them all, and I’d be pushed to identify more than a handful, but if I were a betting person I’d say changing demographics play a key role, along with changes in both society and peoples’ behavioural patterns. Put bluntly, people don’t go to pubs in the same numbers, or as frequently, as they once did. I know this from looking back at my own behaviour, because 40 years ago, it was quite common for me to wander a few hundred yards down the road, and enjoy several pints of beer, in the local pub. This was quite normal behaviour and was something that was repeated on most nights. It may have been a hangover (not literally), from my student days, when most evenings were spent in the pub, but back in the early 80’s, it seemed quite normal behaviour.

On top of enjoying a drink, most evenings, lunchtime drinking was still quite common, even though it wasn’t actively encouraged in the workplace. Those were the days when a boozy lunchtime session, (two or three pints), especially on a Friday, marked the unofficial end of the working week. Beer prices were also relatively cheaper than they are today, so for someone who enjoyed a few pints, such behaviour didn’t exactly break the bank.

The other main changes have been those involving the pub industry itself, and here, I’m afraid, the self-proclaimed beer drinker’s champion, CAMRA, the Campaign for Real Ale, has a lot to answer for. I don’t want to dwell too much on the effects of the 1989 Beer Orders, apart from saying that a well-meaning attempt to improve consumer choice and encourage more competition into the pub trade, had the opposite effect.

There are a lot of different threads leading into this story, so rather than attempt to explain what happened, this link, from the Morning Advertiser, details both the thinking behind the legislation, and how it ended up going horribly wrong. CAMRA’s fault, was its naivety in whole-heartedly welcoming the changes because of the supposed boost that it offered to cask ale, whilst conveniently ignoring the considerable downsides, associated with this deal. (For the record, I was one of the many CAMRA members who thought the Beer Orders were a good thing, at the time!) Failing to anticipate the inevitable fall-out, led to many pub owners – individuals, or pub-owning companies, being saddled with enormous amount of debt, as the traditional low-cost, pub-tie, disappeared, allowing market forces to dictate both rent and drink prices.

Finally, I must mention the sad news that I saw on Chris Dyson’s excellent, Real Ale, Real Music website. In an article about legendary Keighley brewer, Timothy Taylor, Chris describes how the company has been divesting itself of pubs within their traditional Yorkshire heartland, and with particular respect to some of their more rural outlets. He mentions three specific rural pubs in Calderdale, which were well-established Taylor’s pubs back in the 1970's, when he first came across the brewery. They were all in attractive rural settings, with two of them within a mile of each other in the parish of Wadsworth.

Chris goes into some detail about all three pubs, but I’m going to reserve mention for just one of them, namely the Hare & Hounds at Lane Ends, high in the Pennines above the town of Hebden Bridge. I visited the pub in 1976, back in my student days at Salford University, and at the time thought it was one of the most wonderful pubs I had ever visited. Chris had also been to this pub, probably around the same time as my visit. He described how it proudly served the full range of Taylors' beers, including their premium bitter, Landlord. At the time, the Hare & Hounds was one of only three pubs - all tied houses - who were allowed by the brewery to serve the beer – a fact which seems incredible these days!

I wrote about visiting the Hare & Hounds, in an early blog post, and whilst you can read that piece here, it’s worth recounting it for the sake of continuity. Back then, one of my housemates was a keen cyclist, as well as an intrepid pub explorer, and on one of this trips he’d discovered the Hare & Hounds, a marvellous Timothy Taylor’s pub, high up in the Pennines. Fired up with enthusiasm, the pair of us, along with a group of fellow students, borrowed the Student Union van for the evening. We’d persuaded a non-beer drinking, fellow student to be our driver for the evening, and armed with a map, set off for the Hare & Hounds.

It was quite a drive across the Pennines from Greater Manchester, but as it was a June evening we arrived at our destination whilst it was still light. I can still remember our driver parking the bus in the bottom car park to the left of the pub and then walking up with the rest of us to the entrance. We were rewarded with an unspoilt, stone-built pub, enhanced by its rural location set amongst some striking Pennine scenery. To a country boy like myself, who’d been stuck amongst the grime of urban 1970’s Manchester, both pub and location, were heaven sent. We enjoyed an excellent evening at the pub, especially as the licensee didn't seem at all bothered about closing time. It was rather late by the time we left, and we were all a little bit the worse for drink!

Chris’s experience of the Hare & Hounds appears to match my own, but sadly he reports that this marvellous old, rural has now closed. He describes how, over the years whilst still being a mecca for Taylor’s drinkers, the pub became more food-focussed and gradually lost its way and its customers. This was despite an attempt at providing overnight accommodation. I had sometimes dreamt of making a return visit to the Hare & Hounds but now that such an experience will not be possible. These closures serve as a stark reminder of the effects of the changes that have affected the pub industry, over the past four decades, and now, more than ever it really is a case of “use it or lose it” when it comes to our cherished pub stock.

A Sevenoaks selection

2026-02-15T17:22:00.002+00:00

On a rather cold Friday, I took the bus over to nearby Sevenoaks, with the express purpose of visiting a couple of pubs, at the top end of the town. By “top end” I am referring to the old part of Sevenoaks, that is close to the historic pile of Knole Park. Travelling over from Tonbridge by road-based transportation rather than rail was a deliberate decision on my part, and it wasn’t a money saving one either. You see, whilst I can travel by bus f.o.c. arriving in the town by motorised transport allows the option of reaching the precise area of Sevenoaks that suits your agenda. This is in complete contrast to arriving by train, because the town’s rail station is right at the bottom of the town (northern end), meaning a steep climb up to the centre of Sevenoaks.

This suited my agenda, as the pubs I had in mind are all at the top end of town, which is the oldest part of Sevenoaks. Travelling from Tonbridge, I took the No.4 Go-Coach service, a fairly new operator on the route between the two towns, although if I’m honest, I only boarded this bus because it turned up a few minutes before the No.402 Arriva service that I planned to take. The bus dropped me at Sevenoaks bus station, a facility that is now missing from the majority of UK towns. The compact, but functional bus station has its own café, plus some all-important toilet facilities, handily situated for use, prior to boarding the bus home!

I’d originally bookmarked two pubs to visit, but after passing the recently re-vamped Chequers Inn (possibly the oldest pub in town), I couldn’t resist calling in for a quick look – and a quick beer! St Austell Tribute was my choice, but I could have gone for Harvey’s Best or “Chequers Ale” a house beer, brewed by Greene King apparently, and probably just re-badged, GK IPA. As mentioned, the pub had received a makeover, although apart from new carpets and comfy chairs, the two bars didn’t seem that different to what I remember.

I ended up drinking up quickly, because the quiet area I was sitting in, admittedly quite close to the bar, was “invaded” for want of a better word, by what seemed to be a pre-arranged, works reunion. Mostly female, with a token male participant, it was rather OTT and "lovey-dovey", for my liking. With hindsight I’d have been better off round in the other section of the bar, where a log-burner was radiating some welcome heat. No pictures, I’m afraid, as there was just too many people present, and not for the only time either, that day.

Departing via the rear entrance, which was close to the toilets, I crossed London Road and then turned into South Park. This road is home to Sevenoaks Post Office, and it's a real rarity these days to find a proper PO, rather than just a counter crammed into a local newsagents or convenience store. This configuration might be because there is still a postal sorting office to the rear of the Sevenoaks facility.

A short distance along South Park, and just opposite the sorting office, is the South Park Tap, a micro-pub which opened in May 2023 in a former café and sandwich bar. The Tap is a welcome addition to the town’s drinking scene and features a green-tiled facade leading into an attractively furnished and decorated interior. There are two drinking areas, set on different levels, with the rear one accessed down some quite steep steps. There is also a very small outside courtyard, but with temperatures hovering around 6° Celsius, I gave that area a miss.

With two Tonbridge Brewery beers on tap, along with one from Canterbury Ales (The Pardoners), there was a reasonable sized group of drinkers milling around the bar when I arrived. Unfortunately, by the time I’d finished my pint of Tonbridge IPA, there was only me, sitting by myself on the comfortable bench seating, opposite the bar. Something I said? I asked the young lad, sitting behind the bar and glued to his phone, how trade had been.

He said business had been OK, and he was waiting for a pre-booked group of drinkers to turn up alter in the afternoon. As well as a well-kept pint served to me in a dimpled mug, the Tap had Tayto ready-salted crisps as part of their snack offering. Tayto crisps are a rare sight, on this side of the Irish Sea, but Mrs PBT’s and I enjoyed a few packs last spring, when our cruise ship stopped off in Cobh (the port town for Cork).

It was time to move on, and there wasn’t far to go to the third pub of the day. I’d walked past it earlier, when looking for somewhere to purchase a roll, or similar lunchtime snack. Tucked away, down a pedestrian access running between London Road and the High Street, is the Restoration, a Shepherd Neame pub. Formerly known as the Black Boy, the pub changed its name to its current one, a few years ago, and underwent a complete makeover at the same time. The name change is said to maintain the link to Charles II, known at the time of his reign as a “black boy”. Regardless of its name change, the pub dates back to reign of the aforementioned king, although given the extent of recent alterations, it’s difficult to confirm its antiquity.

The Restoration was certainly buzzing last Friday afternoon, primarily with “ladies that lunch”. The “Reserved” signs on many of the unoccupied tables, hinted at the expected trade, later in the day. Master Brew plus Whitstable Bay Pale were the two cask offerings, and I plumped for the latter, served to me by one of two pleasant and friendly girls behind the bar. As with the Chequers, opportunities for internal photos were non-existent, so you’ll have to make do with a couple of exterior shots. This issue aside, it was good to see the Restoration enjoying a buoyant and vibrant trade.

I left the pub, and headed back towards the bus station, stopping at the town’s Bagel Station shop to pick up a cream cheese and smoked salmon bagel, served warm, straight from the griddle. This was my first visit to the Sevenoaks bagel outlet, and with the décor and signage practically identical to the recently opened Tonbridge store, I naturally assumed they were both part of the same group. Sorry for mentioning it, I thought, as the individual serving me was quite off when I referred to the Tonbridge outlet – so perhaps it is a breakaway store, that split away from the established one, after a falling out. People can get quite petty and protective, but in response to a perfectly innocent and well-meaning question on my part, why be such an arse?

That aside, the shop was doing a roaring trade, numbering office staff, shop workers and sixth former's amongst its queuing customers. I wandered back to the bus station, plonked myself down on a bench and got stuck into my bagel. A trifle too rich perhaps, but it was the combination written up on the menu board that caught my attention. I finished my lunch just before the 402-bus turned up, which was just as well, as eating on board is no doubt frowned upon. I’d already upset one individual at his place of work and didn’t want to upset another.

After a speedy journey back to Tonbridge, I waited for the connecting bus that would take me close to the top of my road. As I walked down the road, I bumped into the neighbour I’d spoken to earlier that morning. Nick has agreed to carry out a spot of tree work for me, on a couple of trees that have got a little out of hand. As we were both passing Bailey Towers, he came over for a closer look, and on that note my trip over to Sevenoaks, drew to a conclusion.

Trying to find my mojo

2026-02-14T17:49:00.001+00:00

In my previous post about encouraging other people to take up writing about beer, or even to start their own blog, I mentioned that I was rarely lost for something to write about. Well, be careful what you wish for, as for the past few days, I’ve been stuck in just such a rut. I’ve got a few ideas formed now, as well as something more concrete, but after scrolling through some of the rambling jottings I knocked out on our return from last autumn’s Atlantic cruise, I realised there was sufficient material for a brief post.

After our departure from Madeira, Queen Victoria headed towards the Portuguese mainland and the sea port of Leixoes. The latter is the entry point for Porto, Portugal’s second largest city and the centre of the country’s renowned port wine trade. It was somewhere I’d wanted to visit for some time, not only because I’m partial to the occasional glass of Port, but because I’m interested in the way this legendary drink is produced, and the maturation process it goes through before reaching the customer’s glass. I’ve got some form in relation to this, because I started my career with a position in the wine trade, and the company I worked for were keen for their employees to expand their knowledge in this field.

I shall leave that particular story for another day but suffice to say I was excited to be visiting the centre, and indeed the home of what is probably Portugal’s most famous export. I'd booked a coach excursion for the pair of us into the centre of Porto, a drive of 30-40 minutes from the coastal port of Leixoes, where our cruise ship was berthed. The day before we were due to dock, I developed a really annoying summer cold which fellow cruisers identified as the infamous “Cunard Cough”. Such bugs are quite common onboard ship, and are probably spread around via the air-conditioning system, but over the course of the intervening sea day my symptoms worsened to the point that I agreed with Mrs PBT’s that I ought to abandon the excursion.

As my good lady wife pointed out, it wouldn't really have been fair for me to be coughing and spluttering over my fellow coach passengers, during the drive into Porto. I reluctantly agreed, and headed down to the Purser’s Office where, I fortunately managed to get cost of the excursion credited back to my account – less a small processing fee. I was really lucky and certainly used all my charm on the lady behind the shore excursions desk, as such trips aren't normally covered by the cruise line’s refunds policy.

The following morning, after a good night’s sleep, I typically felt much better, although I would definitely have been pushing my luck to try reversing my cancellation. Despite missing out on the Port Houses of Porto, Eileen and I spent a quiet, but enjoyable day on board ship in Leixoes, where we were blessed with the proverbial wall to wall sunshine. The sea was calm seas and there was very little wind blowing. With most of Victoria’s passengers ashore, along with many of the crew, there was a nice quiet feel about the ship, with plenty of space to chill out and relax. I briefly ventured ashore, but only as far as the cruise terminal. There wasn't exactly a lot there, apart from a small souvenir shop, so I called in and bought a tin of sardines (well you’ve just got to, haven’t you?), plus a small ceramic Portuguese knick-knack for Mrs PBT’s.

I could see the beach, stretching out on the other side of the breakwater, and I found out, from one of the women at the shop that I could have got a bus there, into the port, and then to the beach. That would have been nice, if only just for a beer and an ice cream, but I had just gone back through security. I mentioned that to the shop staff, who just shrugged their shoulders in typical Mediterranean manner, and said “Don't worry go back, and then come through again, once you’ve been to the beach”. I didn’t, in the end, as it seemed poor compensation for having missed visiting one of Porto’s wine lodges. I'm rather fond of a glass or two, especially over the festive season and at the time of writing, I had a bottle left unopened, from the previous Christmas.

Our next port of call was the Spanish port city of Vigo, which is almost just around the corner from Leixoes, where the coastline changes from Portuguese, and back into Spanish territory. We’d been to Vigo on a previous cruise and it's a place where you literally walk straight off the ship and into the centre of town – or at least the dock area. Our previous visit took place on a Sunday, and with Spain being a staunch Catholic country, not many shops were open. This time it would be different, and the city would redeem itself as a good place to buy the odd present for the folks back home or, more importantly for us, a selection of Spanish cooking ingredients.

Now I’m going to end this part of the narrative, as I covered it earlier, and not long after we returned to the UK. For those with poor memories, or those who can’t be bothered to refer back, our ship was unable to dock at Vigo, thanks to a severe storm developing out in the Atlantic, and heading towards the Bay of Biscay. Rather than heading into the deepening depression, the captain took the decision to “run for home,” and we arrived safely back in Blighty after having missed the worst of whatever name the local Met Office had assigned to this annoying storm.

Back home, I reflected that there were quite a few places on the northern coast of Spain that probably aren’t affected by these Atlantic storms, as the exposed west coast. Bilbao is one such place, but I was thinking more of the Basque city of San Sebastian, located close to the border with France, and in that corner of the country where the coast heads off in a sharp, northerly direction. I might have referred to San Sebastian in the past, but 50 or so years ago, the previous Mrs PBT's and I spent the best part of a week in this attractive city, before heading south into the interior of Spain and ending up on the Costas – Alicante, to be precise. On that particular trip we travelled by train, after boarding a cross-channel ferry, as foot passengers, from Dover to Dunkirk. An early morning train took us to Paris, and after an overnight stop in the French capital, we took one of the fast Corail services southwards, towards the Spanish border.

For the train buffs amongst you, Corail pre-dated the super-fast TGV trains, and provided a fast, pleasant, clean and direct service between Paris and Bordeaux (and several other French cities). We found a cheap hotel in the city, which was a lot more industrial than we were expecting and, as in Paris, had to surrender our passports at reception, so they could be vetted by the local Gendarmerie. I’m not sure when this practice ceased, but it was the same in Spain as well, although back then the country was ruled over by that nice man, General Franco!

From Bordeaux we took a slightly slower train crossing the border into Spain, at Irun where it was necessary to change trains, due to the different loading gauge of the Spanish railways. More train geekery coming up, as a change of country meant a change of trains, due to the fact that the Spanish railways operated on a wider gauge than the universal standard. I'm not sure if that still applies to Spanish rail system or whether the tracks have been converted to European standard gauge, but once onboard the local Spanish train, we continued our journey towards San Sebastian. My previous wife had spent for four months living and working in the city, as part of her Modern Languages degree course, so she knew the city well.

San Sebastian had a bright and airy feel to it, partly enhance by it situation overlooking the Bay of Biscay, but also by its fine architecture. I’m guessing the city emerged relatively unscathed from the Spanish Civil War. It did seem a little bit edgy back then, which was due to the activities the Basque separatist organisation ETA, who weren't averse to committing the odd atrocity.

Their attacks were mainly aimed at government buildings, although there was the occasional bomb, timed to go off in a crowded market square. What was really nice about San Sebastian, was the cuisine, especially the seafood. If you’re a fan of fresh fish, lobster or crab, then this is the place for you, and the local wine wasn’t bad either. I can’t remember a thing about the beer, so if you do decide to visit the city, you will need to do your own research. The thing that was missing was the wall-to-wall sunshine I had been expecting, which of course brings us back to the situation that had preventing us from docking in Vigo, some 50 years later.

It’s time now to say goodbye to northern Spain, but if you’re not put off by strong westerly winds, and the odd bit of rain, then Vigo, La Coruna and San Sebastian are all well worth a visit.

Why not start your own blog? Boak & Bailey claim that you can, and I believe they are right!

2026-02-11T21:02:00.000+00:00

Here’s an interesting challenge for you all, because veteran bloggers, Boak & Bailey have made it their mission to encourage people to write about beer – get them blogging for want of a better description! The pair claim, quite rightly in my opinion, that anyone can decide to write about beer. The couple say that posting on your own blog, that you own and manage, is the best approach, and very much an antidote to the problems of social media and platforms “run by arseholes” (their words, rather than mine, although I whole heartedly agree with the sentiments expressed.)

The duo advise starting your blog quietly, and then building up gradually, which is what I did, when I started my own site, back in November 2008. I’d been writing my own material for quite some time, prior to starting Paul Bailey’s Beer Blog – the rather unimaginative original title for Paul’s Beer & Travel Blog. I had also edited two local CAMRA branch publications, a task that involved, in both cases, writing most of the copy.

For the record, those publications were “Draught Copy” – the Newsletter of Maidstone & Mid-Kent CAMRA, and “Inn View” the branch magazine of West Kent CAMRA. Both publications were successful, in their own right, although the Maidstone newsletter had been around for quite a few years, before I took over the reins. Inn View, started as a branch effort, but the mantle of chief copywriter soon fell to me. In both cases the services of a friendly and sympathetic printer, were essential, as was the army of volunteers responsible for delivering the publications to CAMRA – sympathetic pubs.

Blogging is obviously a lot easier, and involves little in the way of physical effort, as apart from the necessary research, nothing could be easier that sitting in front of your PC, in the comfort of your own home, bashing out a post or two. Spicing it up with a few, photos to illustrate the post, add further depth and interest to your blog, although to avoid falling foul of the UK’s strict copyright laws, make sure they’re your own snaps, rather than lifting one straight off the web.

Before going any further I want to make special mention of a former blogger, called Paul Garrard. Paul was the person responsible for getting me interested in blogging in the first place, via his excellent, but now sadly long defunct Real Ale Blog. Paul hosted this blog for a number of years, and it was in response to a request on the site for guest writers to contribute articles, that led to me becoming involved. As mentioned earlier, I had been writing articles on beer and pubs, for a number of years, with the aim of eventually getting them published, so it wasn’t a massive leap of faith to get one published, online.

Spurred on by Paul’s request, I emailed him, one of these articles, and a day or two later, was delighted to see it posted on the Real Ale Blog. I followed this original post with a couple of other articles, one of which was freshly written, and on a topical subject. I hadn't at the time, intended to start my own blog, but after looking into it, and discovering how easy it was to open a Google account, I took the plunge and set up a blog of my own. I chose Google’s Blogger as the platform to host my new creation, primarily because that was the one Paul Garrard was using. In addition, I wasn’t even aware of alternatives, such as Word Press.

Those initial posts were fairly basic, as it took me a while to discover how to upload photos, but the platform was easy to use, as well as being free, so I bashed out a few more posts, and the rest, they say, is history. With small steps to begin with, plus a few very welcome words of encouragement in the Comments Section, I was raring to go. One of the first commentators, was Paul Garrard, congratulating me for taking the plunge. Another was veteran blogger, Tandleman, a real character and one of the few writers from those early days, who is still posting today.

I only made eight posts in that first year (2008), although in defence, I didn’t start writing articles until November of that year. The following year saw 80 posts, followed by 90 in 2010. I hit a rough patch in 2011, before bouncing back in 2013, when I passed the magic 100 posts, in a year. That figure has remained at around the 110 – 130 mark, with my highest total for a single year, hitting 150 in 2017.

Going back to those early days, for a moment, I’m not sure what happened to Paul Garrard. I’m assuming that he just lost interest. Online searches reveal very little about him, but despite is disappearance this was an individual who deserves credit for his early efforts, and boundless enthusiasm. I met up with Paul, in Maidstone, back in 2009, at the Rifle Volunteer, an unspoiled back street pub, owned by Goacher’s Brewery.

Despite his relatively young age, Matthew insisted on coming with me, after all meeting up with someone, I’d only chatted to online was fraught with all kinds of danger – or so he thought! Talk about a vivid imagination, even though he had my best interests at heart. Like Eileen and I, Paul Garrard had run his own beer shop for a while, although by the time we met, he had moved on to something else. I’m fairly certain that Paul’s shop was located in Norwich, although I never found the time to ask him.

Coming back to the “now”, blogging is much more than a numbers game though, and my prime aims remain to inform, and entertain those who call by and click on the blog. I find it quite relaxing to write, and whilst there are the odd lean patches, it’s not often that I find myself “lost for words.” I’ve also met some really nice and interesting people, and have enjoyed shared experiences with them, days out – usually to classic pub towns, plus the occasional night away from home. As a “hobby”, if that’s what you wish to call it, then I can thoroughly recommend it, but blogging is far more than that, and in ways that are often difficult to describe. My blog is as much a part of me as I am of it, and long may it continue!

Footnote: Clicking on this link will take you to the very first post on Paul’s Beer Travels – or Paul Bailey’s Beer Blog as it was formerly known. Looking back, that initial article seems a little amateurish, which it almost certainly was, but everyone one has to start somewhere, and that represented my first tentative steps along the road to where I find myself today.

Jaipur goes from strength to strength

2026-02-07T22:07:00.000+00:00

Since its founding in 2005 Thornbridge Brewery, who are located in the heart of the Peak District, have been dedicated to producing high-quality beer. Their best-known brand is Jaipur, a beer that was one of the first beers produced by the company, and one that requires little in the way of introduction to UK beer lovers. Available in cask, keg, bottle, and can formats, Jaipur is widely regarded as the country’s first craft IPA, and since its launch, it has earned more than 100 awards. More importantly, to real ale afficionados like me, the beer is widely regarded as one of the UK's top modern cask beers.

In addition to brewing Jaipur, Thornbridge produces a diverse selection of cask beers and houses the world’s last working Burton Union system. This traditional brewing equipment enhances their offerings, allowing the brewery to create distinctive, classic beers and collaborate with famous brewers worldwide. Recent figures show that Jaipur is now ranked as the ninth best-selling cask beer in Britain—a notable accomplishment for this flagship IPA. Its success highlights not only the strength of the Jaipur brand, but also the increasing popularity of contemporary, hop-forward beers across the country.

In 2025, Thornbridge had its most successful year ever, with over 3.5 million pints of Jaipur contributing to this success. The beer was chosen for Wetherspoon’s "Class Act" promotion, an event that features premium brands from around the UK and introduces Jaipur to new drinkers. In addition, Jaipur has been made available nationally by major pub and hospitality chains such as Mitchells & Butlers, Molson Coors, and Stonegate.

Support from the all-important Free Trade sector, remains crucial to the category’s continued success, especially given its ongoing dedication to high-quality cask beer. Thornbridge now distributes its products throughout the UK and exports to over 40 countries globally, having received more than 350 international awards. Looking forward, the brewery is positive about the future. With Jaipur leading the way and renewed interest in cask beer, Thornbridge aim to build on this success and continue promoting modern cask beers for years to come.

Final word from Simon Webster, the Co-Founder and CEO of Thornbridge Brewery. “After several challenging years within the industry, the brewery is pleased to announce a return to profitability, representing a pivotal milestone for long-term sustainability. This progress is the result of prudent management, a sustained commitment to quality and consistency, and renewed confidence in the future prospects of cask beer.”

After reading that, I have a real craving for a pint of Jaipur, preferably although not necessarily, essentially in cask form. The nearest outlet to Bailey Towers, where I am likely to find Jaipur, is my local Wetherspoons, although I have not seen the beer on sale recently, at either of their two local outlets - Humphrey Bean (Tonbridge) or Opera House (Tunbridge Wells). Tonbridge drinkers were spoiled last year, by the welcome appearance of a batch of Jaipur, brewed using Thornbridge’s then recently acquired, Burton Union set, mentioned above. A repeat of that experimental brew is eagerly awaited by West Kent drinkers, so how about it, Thornbridge?

Lewes - renewing my acquaintance with two classic pubs, and experiencing two unfamiliar ones

2026-02-06T20:38:00.000+00:00

Right, we’ve covered the travel details, we’ve admired the pretty pictures as well, so now it’s time to take a look at the four Lewes pubs that I visited last Friday afternoon. Having worked in the town for a three-year period, I know the town quite well, and even though the time I spent there was over 30 years ago, I still retain much affection for the Sussex county town. During those three years, I visited a fair number of Lewes’s many pubs, but it’s important to remember that I was based in the town for business reasons, rather than ones of pleasure, and whilst there were no real restrictions against the occasional lunchtime pint, it wasn’t something that I indulged in that often.

There were two reasons for this, one of which was shortage of cash, whist the other was one of road safety. I wasn’t terribly well-off back in 1992. I’d recently become a father, and with Mrs PBT’s swapping the workplace for domesticity, we’d changed from a reasonably well-off, two wage-earning household, to one that was having to rely on just the one wage. Furthermore, my travel costs had increased significantly, changing from a short car journey of around 5 miles to a return, cross-country drive of just under 60 miles. Quite a difference, especially when it came to putting fuel in the tank, and an added expense I had to be aware of. This is where the road safety bit comes in, as that 30-mile journey to and from work each day, meant keeping my wits about me behind the wheel, so any lunchtimes drinking, if it occurred, had to be kept to a minimum.

Despite these restraints, I still manage the odd lunchtime pint, although most likely my regular walks into Lewes, served a different purpose, because two or three times a week, I would call in at the Harvey’s Shop, in Cliffe High Street, to fill up my 4-pint, carry-keg with draught beer. Cask, of course, and not always Best Bitter either, because the shop normally had a cask of whichever seasonal brew was on sale at the time, so XXXX Old Ale in winter, Porter for January-February time, Tom Paine in July, and Armada Ale most of the time, as an alternative to the Best. I was a regular customer at the shop, and always addressed properly as Mister Bailey, and never as Paul.

My walks into town took me along South Street, a quiet side street these days, following the construction of the Cuilfail Tunnel. Opened in 1980, the tunnel allows the busy A26 to bypass Lewes to the east of the town, thereby removing much of the through traffic that used to clog the narrow streets of the county town. Close to the northern end of the tunnel, is the Snowdrop Inn, a welcoming and friendly free house, nestling under the cliffs on the outskirts of Lewes. Offering a range of beers from local Sussex breweries, the pub has quite a quirky feel to it, a feature I recall from the time when I worked in the town. Seeing as that was 30+ years ago, I decided to check out the Snowdrop, to see whether anything had changed at the pub.

My choice of the Snowdrop was in line with the plan that I hatched earlier, of avoiding some of Lewes’s better-known pubs, in favour of some that I was less familiar with. It was quiet as I walked along South Street, and when I eventually reached the pub, it did seem as though little had changed. There was a handful of people, scattered around the bar, plus a large, husky type dog, splayed out in front of the side entrance. I noticed Harvey’s Old on sale, but to begin with I opted for a coffee. My rather rushed train journey from Tonbridge (see previous article), had left little time for non-alcoholic refreshment, and I was missing my mid-morning caffeine fix, so a flat white, prior to the XXXX Old, was just the thing to set me up for the day.

Both drinks were good, and also very welcome, as I positioned myself at a table that gave me a good look at the proceedings. Several customers had ordered, and the food I saw being brought out, looked very good. I noticed on the pub website, that the pub has an additional, upstairs seating area, a facility I’d completely forgotten about. Eileen’s niece and her husband, who live in nearby Uckfield, have a fondness for the Snowdrop, so I must let them know about my visit. That aside, it was good to renew my acquaintance with this welcoming, but slightly offbeat pub, so I’m pleased to have made the effort to call in.

Departing the Snowdrop and managing to get out of the door without stepping on the hound, I retraced my steps, back towards the Cliffe area of Lewes, for the next pub on my list. For many years, the Dorset was the nearest Harvey’s pub to the brewery, and whilst that distinction has now passed to the John Harvey Tavern, the former still gives the impression of its position in the local pecking order, reinforced by it being the home of the Cliffe Bonfire Society - the largest of the Lewes bonfire societies.

The Dorset was refurbished in 2006, which is probably why the interior looked completely different, from what I remember. There are several drinking and dining areas, a large patio affording views back towards the brewery, plus six reasonably priced en-suite bedrooms. There are at least four Harvey’s ales on hand-pump, plus an extensive menu featuring traditional home-cooked dishes along with a seafood menu, using freshly caught fish from nearby Newhaven.

There were two pleasant and helpful girls working behind the bar and looking after customers’ food requirements. With the time and place being just right, I ordered a bowl pf potato and leek soup, served with thick-cut, crusty bread. It was the perfect accompaniment to the excellent Old Ale. As with the previous pub there was a good mix of customers, that included an extended family in the room on the other side of the bar. The Dorset was definitely worth visiting, even though there was little that I recognised from three decades ago.

It was quite a hike up to pub No.3, and this was an establishment I wasn’t 100 percent sure about. Situated in Lewes High Street, at the top of School Hill, and a short distance from the town’s famous law courts, the "Rights of Man" takes its name from American revolutionary, Thomas Paine’s best known works. Paine lived in Lewes for a while, and to commemorate this fact, Harvey’s produce a strong pale ale in his honour, which is a available in cask form on and around the 4^th July.

United States Independence Day, of course, so
the wrong time of year for cask Tom Paine to be available but made up for by some rather good Armada Ale. The latter is available all year round, but in my experience isn’t seen on the bar as often as it should be. I said that I wasn’t sure about the Rights of Man, and CAMRA’s local pub pages for Lewes, have since confirmed that the pub only opened under this name, in 2012.

Conclusion, this was definitely my first visit to this bar, which extends back a fair way, as if it is making up for the rather narrow frontage. The style of décor at the pub is of cosy old-fashioned booths, etched glass and wood panelling, all adding to the rather upmarket feel of the place. The toilets are at the top of a rather steep staircase that isn’t that easy to navigate after a few beers. It is worth persevering in summer though, as there is an external roof terrace, that is almost hidden away. After that hike up from the River Ouse, it was another route march to the fourth and final pub of the day, and this time it wasn’t a Harvey’s pub.

It was further to the Pelham Arms than I thought, although not quite as far as the Black Horse – a pub which back in the day, offered rather basic bed & breakfast accommodation. Eric and I discovered this on our South Downs Way hike, after traipsing along the banks of the River Ouse, in the pouring rain. I digress, although I must have walked past the Pelham on several past occasions, but never recognised the Pelham as a Hall & Woodhouse pub.

It’s a large, white painted building, dating back to 1640, with plenty of original oak beams, an inglenook fireplace, plus a courtyard garden, and is full of age-old charm. The pub was the original home of the Abyss microbrewery which was housed in the pub's cellar but has now moved to larger premises elsewhere in the town.

This leaves Badger Tanglefoot and Fursty Ferret, as the offerings for cask devotees, and I’m pleased to report that, after the bar manager pulled the line through for me, the Tanglefoot was in first class condition. As I said earlier, I must have walked passed the Pelham on a number of occasions, without noticing the owning brewery – I must be slipping, as I am normally aware of such things, so I’m assuming the pub is a fairly recent addition to the Badger stable. It’s certainly unusual to find an H&W pub this far east, and away from the brewery's Dorset home, but it’s well worth taking the trouble to visit.

The Pelham has a good reputation for its food, and even has its own smokery – get, you! It’s a bit of a hike up from the town centre, but there are regular buses, which include the No. 29 Brighton & Hove service, that operates between Brighton and Tunbridge Wells on a half-hourly basis (hourly on Sundays). There wasn’t time for me to linger though, so I made my way back along the High Street, before turning right into Station Road, and the train home.

As reported in the previous post about Lewes, my homeward journey passed surprisingly smoothly, even if it did involve an additional change of train at Gatwick. It still took two hours which, when you consider that until 1969, there was a direct rail service between Tonbridge and Brighton (via Lewes), is proof that things have gone backwards in this country. Vested interests, corrupt politicians and a general lack of joined up thinking, have a lot to answer for, but that’s another story.

The beer gods have been smiling, recently

2026-02-03T23:14:00.005+00:00

Before I continue the narrative that I began a few days ago, about my recent trip to Lewes, I’d like to highlight a few unexpected beer moments. By that I mean those occasions when you weren't expecting anything special from the beer, and then, quite out of the blue, it surprises you, transforming an ordinary experience into an exceptional one, and rewarding you with something that restores your faith in the brewers art. Exceptional is probably too strong a word, but when you come across something good that you weren't expecting, then it’s well worth shouting it from the rooftops. There has been three such events recently, including the one I’m about to write about, so let’s get stuck in to that one, before moving onto the other two.

The first event occurred last Thursday, when I visited the Humphrey Bean, which is the Wetherspoons outlet in Tonbridge. My decision to stop there was primarily due to time constraints, that arose after spending too much time attending to matters at home. The morning had started badly, as Eileen wasn’t required at her part time Thursday morning job until 10 am, which is 30 minutes later than usual. Seeing as I act as her chauffeur, that half hour delay impacted my schedule as well. My chauffeuring duties continue later in the day, as I also have to collect the lady of the house, from her workplace, so as you can see, there’s not a lot of time, withing that morning-early afternoon window.

Undeterred, I headed down into Tonbridge on foot, in order to pick up some shopping. On the way, I gave some thought to where I could get a quick lunch. Greggs seemed the obvious choice, and with the Humphrey Bean, virtually next door, my liquid refreshment requirements could be met as well.

It was Spoons before Greggs, and the Bean seemed surprisingly busy for a Thursday lunch time. I'm no expert on this, of course, but with the majority of the middle tables, and the ones directly in front of the bar, occupied, there wasn’t much in the way of spare space. Fortunately, there were two vacant, small tables on the raised area, immediately in front of the window, but before grabbing one, I took a quick wander along the bar, to see what was on offer. This was despite the efforts of an overzealous barman, who seemed determined to rush me.

It didn’t take me long to settle on TEA (Traditional English Ale) from Hog’s Back Brewery. This long-established independent brewer has been turning out top-notch beers from its Manor Farm
base, just outside the Surrey village of Tongham, since 1991. The brewery takes its name from the nearby Hogs Back, a ridge of hills that looks just like a hog lying down. In medieval times, the Hogs Back was a route used by pilgrims and traders between Farnham and Guildford but now it is less glamorously known as the A31! Hogs Back beers were a quite familiar sight in this part of West Kent a decade or so ago, but given the competition from more recent and more localised startups, it's been quite a while since I last saw any of the Tongham brewed beers on sale.

Without hesitation I ordered a pint and was pleasantly surprised by the advertised price of just £1.49! Wow, how can they make any money on that? Still, that’s Tim's problem not mine, and whilst the thought crossed my mind that they were selling the beer off cheap to get shot of it that didn't seem to be the case. Instead, I’m pleased to report that the TEA was on top form, and I awarded that pint a well-deserved 4.0 on Untappd. There was only time for one pint, and a further disappointment was in store, when I arrived at Greggs, just after half one. To my intense annoyance, I discovered that all the pasties had been sold, so I had to make do with a steak bake – a poor substitute for a pasty, if ever there was one.

Surprise No.2 came the following day, during my visit to Lewes – see previous post. I won’t spoil too much of the story, but I’d chosen a Harvey’s pub called the Dorset, at the top end of Cliffe High Street. As you will learn, once I get to writing up the article, I hadn’t been in this particular pub for some considerable time, which was a pity, as it certainly exceeded my expectations. I enjoyed a spot of lunch there, but even more enjoyable was the pint of Harvey’s XXXX Old Ale.

This rich, dark, seasonal ale was in first class condition, so much so that I enjoyed every last drop. I scored it at 4.5 on Untappd, but with hind sight, it was worthy of an even higher score, possibly even an exalted 5.0. I wasn’t the only one to have thought so highly of the Dorset and its beers because in the comments section of that particular post, West Midlands legend, Stafford Paul, recorded that in his opinion the Dorset, was the best of Harvey’s Lewes pubs.

The third, and final, top-class beer associated with last weekend, was a can of Ouse Booze, that I acquired from Harvey’s excellent shop, in Cliffe High Street - after I had returned all those empties. Ouse Booze was originally brewed to commemorate, if that's the right word, the devastating flood that hit the centre of Lewes, 15 years ago, on 12^th October 2000. When the waters of the river Ouse inundated the brewery, staff were in the middle of brewing. Several days later, after the floodwaters had receded, the brew was rescued, combined with several other partially completed gyles, and left to ferment, prior to being bottled and sold for charity. To reflect what had happened, the beer was named Ouse Booze.

Twenty-five years later, a replica of this brew was produced using the same traditional methods, with malt and hops sourced from the original growers. The resulting beer was a smooth, full-bodied brew, with a gentle sweetness and notable fruit and hop character. Brewed to an abv of 6.5%, this beer is a real standout, and its availability in cans was an added bonus. I really enjoyed the one I brought back with me from Lewes and was left wishing that I should have purchased a few more.

So, there we have it, three stand-out beers, all of them different, and all of them representing the pinnacle of the brewer’s art. As for that devastating flood, the entire brewery yard at Harvey's has been enclosed by a substantial brick wall which, in theory, should keep the majority of flood water out, if the River Ouse should decide to rise by that amount again.

Lewes on a mission

2026-01-31T17:17:00.013+00:00

Friday’s trip to the charming Sussex town of Lewes, saw me notching up a further four pubs, taking my total for the first month of the year to 20. If I can keep this rate up over the next 11 months, then I should quite easily pass last year’s total of 106 different hostelries. Despite this flying start, I’m not really in the numbers game, as if I was, then I’m sure I could squeezed in a few more pubs.

My reasons for travelling to Lewes were two-fold, and despite my protestations of innocence, Mrs PBT’s quite easily saw through my non-too cunning plan. That plan was to return twenty or so, empty beer bottles to that jewel in the brewing crown, Harvey’s of Lewes. These bottles had accumulated over the past 18 months or, and were taking up space in the garden shed, Admittedly, not a massive amount of space, but I still wanted to return them to the brewery and do my bit for the environment. More to the point, a trip down to Harvey’s would provide the perfect opportunity to visit a few of Lewes’s charming pubs, as well as being an enjoyable day out, with a welcome change of scenery.

With three shopping bags full of these rather sturdy returnable bottles, waiting by the back door, it was just a matter of time before the lady of the house noticed them. “You’re not going to lug all those bottles down to the station?” she asked. “Why not”, I replied, but then, after thinking about it some more, I had to agree that my wife was right (she quite often is!) She suggested waiting, until we were going down that way, by car, but if I was to agree with that, the reasoning behind my trip to the town, would be lost. I compromised, by taking just two bags, which was the far more sensible approach, although I didn’t tell her, so!

I set off for the station, with the intention of taking the 10am train, but as with my trip to Hastings, a couple of weeks earlier, it was a question of history being doomed to repeat itself. I had allowed sufficient time for the walk, and for purchasing my ticket, but what I hadn’t allowed for was being caught by a former neighbour, who ambushed me as I strolled passed the local newsagents. My protestations about not stopping, as I had a train to catch, seemed to fall on deaf ears, and by the time I’d managed to extricate myself, I was in serious danger of missing my train. (What is it with well-meaning neighbours, with far too much time on their hands?

As things turned out, I missed the Redhill train by the same margin as a couple of weeks ago, but only because the three-coach Southern train was parked at the far end of platform one, due to a twelve coach South-Eastern service, seemingly abandoned, and taking up most of the available space. I heard the departure announcement, and tried legging it along the platform, but it wasn't easy with two bags of bottles hampering my efforts to put a spurt on. Unfortunately, the Southern driver ignored my arm waving and impassioned pleas for him to wait, and the train departed dead on the dot of 10am.

I seemed doomed, and what was worse was the alternative option of the Hastings train, was just pulling in on platform 3. This meant a hurried sprint, back along platform 1, up the stairs and then back down. Fortunately, I managed to hop on in time, although it was a close-run thing. Who says this pub-ticking lark doesn’t keep you fit? So, once again it was a journey along the 1066 Line, if the successors to British Rail still call it that, with a change of train, and platform at St Leonards. This is a slightly strange journey, because for a while the route follows the coast, and the pebble beaches of Bexhill and Pevensey, before heading into Eastbourne, where the imposing heights of the South Downs rise ominously to the left of one’s vision. The service then reverses back out of Eastbourne, before heading off in a north-westerly direction towards Polegate and Lewes.

This visit to the Sussex County Town, was going to be different, because I would be avoiding the familiar honeypots of the Gardeners, the Lewes Arms, the John Harvey Tavern and several other hostelries, for a selection of the lesser visited, but no less worthy of Lewes’s pubs, places that I either hadn’t visited before – quite difficult after working in the town, for three years, during the early 90’s, establishments I hadn’t been back to, since that time. But first there was the question of those empty beer bottles to deal with.

I arrived in Lewes, shortly before
midday, relieved to have left the rather crowded train behind me. I walked up, across the bridge towards the Landsdown Arms, a corner pub that also titles itself as Platform 6, due to its proximity to the rail station. Continuing along Landsdown Place, I eventually reached the area of town known as Friars’ Walk. On the way, I couldn’t help but notice the independent shops and businesses whose number increased, the closer to the town centre that I reached. Over several visits to Lewes, during recent years, I’ve come away with the impression that the town has a real independent streak, running through its heart, and by the later comment I feel that nonconformity is the name of the game, but without any of the religious baggage associated with that term.

I’m reminded of several other UK towns that have a similar feel to them, places such as Hebden Bridge, and Totness, even though it is many years since I last visited either settlement – note to self, I must rectify those anomalies, sooner rather than later. However, it was whilst sitting in a pub, in the Cliffe area of Lewes that I was reminded of the “free spirit” vibe associated in the town that manifests itself, every November 5^th that encapsulates the town, even if the events commemorated on that day do have a religious significance – “We wunt be druv,” as the official motto of the county of Sussex so succinctly puts it!

Arriving at Harvey’s attractive and well-stocked brewery shop, the first thing I did was to hand over my stash of bottles, which was gratefully received by the counter staff. Whilst there, I couldn’t resist picking up a couple of new Harvey’s beers, although as they were both in canned form, they wouldn’t need returning to Lewes, to be recycled. And then for the pubs – four of them, and each with their own individual stories to tell. As a clue, all but the final one were Harvey’s tied houses, and the one that wasn’t, forms the lone outpost of a brewery a couple of counties to the west, of Sussex.

I’m afraid their story will have to wait until next time, in order to do them justice, but what I will mention instead is that after the dramas of missed connections, and which route to opt for, my homeward journey passed surprisingly smoothly, even if it did involve an additional change of train. After being advised by booking office staff, at Lewes station, I joined the 15:35 service to London Victoria. With no connection to Redhill, I had to hop off at Gatwick and join a Thameslink train. Arriving at Redhill, the conveniently timed service to Tonbridge was waiting to depart from the adjacent platform, enabling me to make a virtually seamless connection. Now, if only my outward journey had been that simple!

Pre-loading in Tunbridge Wells, prior to dinner with the directors

2026-01-25T15:48:00.000+00:00

I was in Tunbridge Wells on Friday night, for what can best described as a “Works Do.” Technically, it was a meal out with a group of directors from our Japanese parent company, who had flown over for a board meeting. This visit is an annual event, although this time it was beefed up by the presence of the group president, in what was his first visit to our company. The dinner took place to wrap up the two-day visit, and as a member of the senior management team, I was invited to join the group for an evening meal.

This was despite Friday being a “non-working day” for me. It might come across as a little mercenary of me to show up for a “free meal”, but there were some genuine reasons for me to attend, not least of which was the opportunity to meet up with those Japanese visitors who I knew from previous visits to the UK. These visits were rather more than fleeting business trips, because it is head office policy to second one of their employees to come and work as a “researcher” at our company, normally for an extended three period of three or more years. Providing they can manage being away from their home country for that length of time, it’s an ideal position to be offered, because the chosen individual will be allowed to bring their spouse over with them, along with any children they might have. They are able to choose a suitable flat, or apartment, which will be provided at a nominal rent, for the duration of their stay.

They are also given a car, to enable them to drive into work and back, each day. The final perk is the hours they are required to work, as whilst they are in line with our normal working times, they are invariably considerably less than the insanely long attendance times that are common in Japan. Two former “interns”, were amongst Friday’s group, and they have done pretty well for themselves, with both appointed as company directors for the UK business.

It was therefore good to catch up with them, that evening, at a rather nice Mediterranean restaurant called, Rocca, situated at the bottom end of Tunbridge Wells High Street. I didn’t carry out a headcount, but our combined groups occupied a couple of tables, on the first floor of this imposing building. The food was top notch, and the company equally good. The beer wasn’t really up to much, but that was to be expected, and the couple of pints of Estrella Damm I consumed were still a good match for the rich and spicy Mediterranean food.

Prior to meeting up with the joint UK-Japanese group, I took the opportunity to call in at a couple of local pubs, located in the Pantiles area of the town. The outlet I want to make special mention of is the Mad Dog Brewery Taproom, which opened recently, in the premises formerly occupied by the Pantiles Tap.

I wrote about this impending overcharge in November last year, but having now has the chance of visiting the place I can report that the Tap is ticking over nicely. Located partially underground in the old cellar/kitchen of what was the first pub on the Pantiles, the Tap’s interior provides a stylish yet relaxed atmosphere, with a rustic wooden décor, and communal tables that encourages visitors to linger over a pint or two.

I had an informative chat with the friendly and knowledgeable girl behind the bar, who has been at the pub since it reopened under its new owners. She told me that whilst things were understandably quiet in mid-January, they had enjoyed a good Christmas that was preceded by an equally good December. The pub needed quite a bit of work, following the departure of the previous owners, and one thing the new management were determined about, was not to let the clutter that had accumulated, to build up again. This was a reference to, but not a criticism of, the previous owners. I didn’t count the number of beers on sale, but Mad Dog produce a range of 14 vegan-friendly and preservative free beers, with five of them being gluten free, as well.

I said to the bar manager, that I found it strange to be opening a pub that is so remote from Mad Dog’s Cardiff home, but she told me that the brewery owner lives relatively close to Tunbridge Wells, and with a further outlet in Brighton, plus one in Cheltenham, perhaps this is part of a gradual expansion strategy. I couldn’t stay too long, although I did explain I was a lapsed CAMRA member who still kept in touch with the local branch. She mentioned one, well-known character, who lives nearby, although I won't embarrass him by revealing his name. As with the previous owners, no cask is available at the Tap, but that could change in the future.

Before saying goodbye, I enjoyed a glass of Mad Dog’s oatmeal stout which, despite its daft name – Stouty McStout Face, was rather good. So, the Tap is well worth a visit, next time you are in the area, and whilst no cask is currently available, what is on sale still provides a welcome addition to the local drinking scene. Guests can expect a rotating selection of seasonal specials and experimental brews exclusive to the taproom, so watch this space. Final note on this post, I also called in at the Fuller's-owned, Duke of York which, although not full to capacity, wasn't far off it. This was followed by a very swift half, at the Ragged Trousers, which seemed popular that evening with "loved-up" couples, and their canine companions.

As German beer sales tank, some unwelcome changes start appearing

2026-01-22T23:37:00.000+00:00

I was saddened, and also puzzled, when I learned the other day of developments affecting the world’s oldest monastic brewery. I’m talking here about the historic Weltenburg Abbey, which has been brewing beer for the best part of 1,000 years. The monastery, which lies to the south west of Regensburg, occupies a spectacular setting on the banks of the river Danube, and acts as a place of pilgrimage for both religious devotees and beer lovers.

However, the news story, which featured recently in the Guardian, and several other publications, seems confused regarding what is really happening with the Kloster Weltenburg beer brands, and to get to the bottom of what is going on, we have to journey back 50 years, to a time when the monastery brewery was experiencing capacity problems that are opposite to what is happening today.

Back then capacity restraints had led to the transfer of a number of the paler Weltenburg beers to the Regensburg based, Bischofshof Brewery. Brewing of the monastic beers was carried out alongside Bishofshof’s own brands but now, in what seems like a cruel twist of fate, production of both Bischofshof and the Regensburg Kloster Weltenburg brands will transfer to the Schneider Weisse Brewery, in nearby Kelheim. Wheat beer lovers will be familiar with Schneider beers which are widely available throughout Bavaria, and beyond, but the brewery isn’t particularly well known for traditional beers brewed from malted barley.

The company obviously have the capacity to handle the additional production, and the move will provide a welcome cash saving for Kloster Weltenburg and the Catholic Church. Kloster Weltenburg remains in the hands of that particular religious body, and production at the monastery will carry on in the same vein as it has done for the past millennia, but has the church played a part in the closure of Bischofshof, by throwing it under the proverbial bus? I write this because I noticed, in the news article, that the Regensburg Diocese is seeking placement for the 56 Bischofshof workers who are being made redundant, as an historic brewery, that was founded in 1649, closes its doors and ceases production at the end of 2026.

These developments are the result of a dramatic decline in beer sales, not just in Germany, but in many other western countries, including the UK. Beer is suffering from an image problem in Germany, as consumers turn their backs on classic beers, bound by the historic “purity law”, or Reinheitsgebot. According to Germany’s main industry body, turnover has shrunk by a quarter in the last 15 years, and in 2025, consumption fell by 5 million hectolitres, the biggest decline in 75 years.

Despite this decline, the German beer market has, remained, stubbornly different, with just a few dozen national or global players jostling for space against the output of around 1,500 small and medium-sized breweries. A result of this fierce loyalty to regional brands, is that Germany does not have a single brew among the world’s top 10 selling beers. This is rather surprising given its long and proud tradition, of brewing and enjoying beer.

I am particularly sad to see the historic Bischofshof Brewery close, as son Matthew and I called in at the brewery tap on several occasions, during our first visit to Regensburg in 2008. On two later visits to this lovely old, medieval city on the river Danube, this time with Mrs PBT’s accompanying us as well, Bischofshof beers seemed widely available. Our first time in the city involved a couple of trips to the brewery, which is tucked away in a residential area of Regensburg, where there are some rather expensive looking houses. Perhaps property values and redevelopment opportunities are also factors behind the closure of what to me, appeared a quite modern and efficient brewery.

It was on that first visit to Regensburg that we took a trip out to Kloster Weltenburg, where we enjoyed some of the beers brewed at the monastery. Our journey there involved a train ride and then a local bus to the small town of Kelheim, situated on the banks of the river Danube. Upon arriving in the town, we located the waterside departure point and booked ourselves a return ticket. The boats which ply up and down the river, between March and November, are similar to those you see on the Thames, and in order to make the most of the scenery we would soon be passing through, and the glorious June sunshine, we sat outside on the top deck of the boat, in order to enjoy the views.

Our journey took us past the impressive Walhalla Monument, before we approached the entrance to the steep-sided Danube Gorge. The boat made slow, but steady progress against the fast-flowing river, and before long we were surrounded on both sides by high limestone cliffs, towering majestically over the river, as our boat continued its voyage along this spectacular gorge.

Then, as we rounded a bend we could see Kloster Weltenburg ahead on the left-hand bank. The ship’s captain slowed our vessel down to enable us to approach the landing stage and moorings, which were a few hundred yards away from the monastery, and a five-minute walk. Making a careful note of the departure times, we made our way to the monastery which sits on a spit of land made up of fine white pebbles, which juts out into the river. This was definitely the most pleasant and most relaxing means of arriving at this Baroque style abbey, which remains the home of a monastic community that has been here since the 11^thCentury.

As mentioned earlier Weltenburg’s darker beers are still brewed at the monastery, and we were able to sample a few of these (Barock Dunkles plus Anno 1050), in the shaded, courtyard beer garden. We also enjoyed a hearty Bavarian lunch of Leberkaas and potato salad, in the company of several dozen other beer enthusiasts. Afterwards we had a brief look inside the impressive monastery church, which has ceiling frescoes painted by the renowned Asam Brothers, before catching the mid-afternoon boat back to Kelheim. The return journey took half the time of the outward one, as we were now travelling with the swiftly moving current, rather than fighting against it.

Whilst saddened at the impending closure of the historic Bischofshof Brewery, I enjoyed putting this piece together. I particularly found it interesting to look back at the events of 18 years ago, when I visited the beautiful city of Regensburg for the first time, an event that allowed me to enjoy beers from the three local breweries. Most importantly, was the opportunity of looking back on that boat trip, through the spectacular Danube gorge, to the historical gem that is Kloster Weltenburg.