Paul's Beer & Travel Blog

Annafest - a nostalgic look back

2026-07-29T21:30:05.843+01:00

Apologies if this post looks somewhat familiar, as this isn't the first time that it's seen the light of day. I'm re-publishing the article, with the odd tweak here and there, because the last week in July is when one of the world's best beer festivals takes place. I'm talking about Annafest; a folk festival, that attracts around 500,000 visitors each year over the course of the 10-day event. Despite its popularity, Annafest is relatively little-known outside the region of northern Bavaria, known as Franconia, and yet, providing the weather holds, there are few better places know of in which to enjoy some excellent locally-brewed beer, in a wooded hillside setting over looking the town of Forchheim.

In the summer of 2013, son Matthew and I enjoyed a week’s holiday in this picturesque town of some 20,000 souls. Forchheim is situated in the valley of the River Regnitz, roughly halfway between Bamberg and Nuremberg, and apart from Annafest, is a town that is well worth visiting at other times of the year, as we did five years later. (Forchheim has four breweries, plus some characterful and atmospheric pubs).

Annafest is quite unlike any beer festival I have ever been to before; but then German beer festivals aren’t the same as those in the UK. For a start they’ve been running a lot longer than home-grown events; sometimes by as much as a couple of hundred years. In addition, whilst British beers festivals are about sampling as many different beers as possible, German beer festivals are about having a good time, with some serious drinking forming an essential component. This is how I would best describe Annafest.

The event takes place at the Kellerwald, a wooded hillside on the edge of Forchheim, where there are a series of natural rock cellars cut into the hillside. These cellars were originally constructed for the storage and maturation of bottom-fermenting beer, in the days before refrigeration was developed. Today there are two dozen such “Kellers”, the majority of which are just open for Annafest, although a handful remain open all year. During the summer evenings the Kellerwald is the perfect location for a cool beer in the shady woods. The event is held over a 10-day period around the 26^th July, which is the feast of St Anna (Anne), the mother of the Virgin Mary.

Although pilgrims had been journeying to a nearby chapel consecrated to St. Anna since the early 16^th Century, Annafest in its present form began in 1840, when the Forchheim shooting club moved its main shooting ground from the “shooting meadow” on the river Regnitz to the Kellerwald. As well as plenty of beer drinking there are other attractions such as fairground rides, various stalls, plus six stages which feature a wide range of different musical acts. The local Forchheim breweries Hebendanz, Greif, Eichhorn and Neder all brew a strong Bock beer especially for this festival, the so-called Annafestbier, and a number of other local breweries also supply brews of their own as well.

With seating for around 30,000 people, the Kellerwald provides sufficient accommodation for the crowds. A regular shuttle bus service is provided from the town and surrounding areas to the Kellerwald and back again, so getting to the festival is not a problem. For those of a more energetic disposition, it is not that far to walk up from the town and many people choose to do this, working up a king-sized thirst on the way!

We attended Annafest on three separate days (Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday), with breaks in between visits to allow ourselves a bit of a rest. I don’t mean we overindulged, but with one litre (Maß) mugs the only measures the beer was served in, (unless one wanted a wheat beer that is), it can be quite easy to over-indulge, albeit unintentionally! What’s more, the beer on sale was the Annafestbier, which weighs in with an abv of around 5.7%, or more! The day’s in-between did afford a break though from the festivities and allowed us to explore other parts of the area. This was as much a part of our holiday as visiting Annafest itself.

On each occasion we visited three different Kellers, which meant three litres or nearly six pints each over the course of the day. We paced ourselves though and took our time, savouring the tasty, potent beer, served with one notable exception, in tall, ceramic stoneware mugs. For the record we visited the following Kellers: Tuesday - Stäffalakeller (Wolfshöher), Schlöslakeller (Hebendanz) and Loẅenbräukeller (Loẅenbräu – Buttenheim); Thursday – Greiffkeller (Greiff), Eichhornkeller (Eichhorn) and Weiß-Tauben-Keller (Rittmayer-Hallendorf); Sunday – Hoffmannskeller (Monschof-Kulmbach), Nederkeller (Neder) and Nürnberger-Tor-Keller (Wolfshöher).

Of the beers drunk, Hebendanz and Neder (both Forchheim brewers), stood out above the rest, although the beers from the town’s other two breweries, Eichhorn and Greiff were also very palatable. The beer from Kulmbach giant, Monschof, was different from the other local beers in that instead of the darker, Kellerbier common in Franconia; it was a golden, Helles-style beer, served in a glass Maß, rather than the stoneware ones used by virtually all the other breweries.

The beer I was least impressed with was Wolfshöher, a regional concern with expansionist designs, based in the village of the same name, near Neunkirchen. The company has an unduly large presence at the Kellarwald, due to its takeover, and closure of Forchheim’s fifth and largest brewery, Bräuhaus Forchheim. The brewery buildings, standing empty and forlorn, were only a stone’s throw from our rented holiday apartment, but at the time of our visit, there were signs that work was taking place on the site, to convert part of the brewery into residential accommodation.

There was plenty of food available to help soak up all of this beer. Most, if not all Kellers offered various cooked meals, ranging from sausages and potato dumplings to the usual knuckles of pork and roast chickens. There were also various food stalls grouped along the paths between the various Kellers, offering a variety of snacks, both savoury and sweet. This, interspersed with the live music at some of the Kellers, and the fairground attractions at the bottom of the hill, combined to produce a fantastic atmosphere.

We also made a visit to Bamberg as part of the same holiday, and whilst enjoying a few beers in the garden of Café Abseits, got talking to a party of English beer enthusiasts They were also very impressed with Annafest, saying how much better it was than Oktoberfest, and how much cheaper too. Obviously, Oktoberfest is internationally renowned and attracts people from all over the world, whilst Annafest is by nature, much more a locals festival. It is none the worse for that, and we are certainly glad we made the effort to get along to it. and I can thoroughly recommend that you visit.

To sum up, Annafest is very much an event which involves the whole town, plus quite a bit of the surrounding area. On those days when we didn’t attend, we couldn’t help noticing the full trains depositing expectant drinkers at the town’s station, and the crowded buses transporting them up to the Kellerwald. As I said earlier, the festival appeals to all ages, and it was good to see young people enjoying themselves, quaffing the beer and all without any signs of trouble.

Copilot to the rescue

2026-07-25T16:44:34.417+01:00

The sharp eyed amongst you, will almost certainly have noticed a distinct change in style with my most recent post. Some might be thinking this isn’t Paul’s normal style, and others might be wondering why this sudden change? You would of course, be right, and the answer lies with Microsoft Copilot, a generative artificial intelligence chatbot. Now that might not mean a lot to some of you, and it doesn’t mean that much to me either, but after witnessing this, and other AI assistants in certain workplace applications, I thought I’d give it a go myself. My prime reason for doing so, is to save time, and it is because bashing out many of these posts takes a lot of preparation. The process normally involves looking through a series of hastily scribbled notes and then scrolling through the numerous photos taken on my phone.

Or at least it does in the “Grand Day Out – What we did on our holidays”, types of post. Others, take a bit more research, but returning to the format mentioned above, a lot of typing is involved, and despite years of practice, I am still a relatively slow person when it comes to generating a coherent and readable, blog post. This is where I have looked elsewhere for assistance-thinking outside the box, if you like, even though it’s a rather cliched turn of phrase.

The first step was one I took two or three years ago, and that was to purchase a Windows-compatible microphone. These are readily available and compatibly priced, and I have been using this approach for quite some time. However, the technology has its limits, especially when it comes to speech recognition, and whilst some of the text that appears on the screen can be hilarious, other stuff can sometimes appear as pure gibberish. (Obviously it depends on how clearly one speaks, and at what speed, but also when you’re literally talking off the top of your head, whilst thinking on the hoof, it’s perhaps no surprising that what comes out doesn’t equate to what you thought, or indeed hoped, went in).

Now this is where artificial intelligence (AI) technology comes to the rescue. I had, in the recent past, used Microsoft’s Copilot software to both spell check and, where necessary re-write, certain chunks of text. This approach seemed to work well, but it wasn’t until yesterday, when faced with four pages of semi-ineligible text that I thought I’d try AI on a much longer piece of prose (such as a blogpost), that my “Day out in Lenham” article came about.

The software took a bit of getting used to, and involved quite a lot of trial and error, but as this approach is the best way to learn, I pressed on. So, the article dated Friday 24th June that you see on you screen is the result of my first, in-depth association with Copilot. It isn’t the entire article as first dictated, but that is deliberate on my part, as I wanted to see what the bulk of the post would look like, and more importantly read like.

I was pleased with the final result and only needed to make a small number of corrections. I did make a point of removing the sub-headings that Copilot added, as they broke up theft too much, and besides, that’s what I use photos for, but overall, the AI interpretation of my original, recorded text, sums up Friday’s day out in Maidstone and Lenham, perfectly. For the record, and for the sake of completion, here’s how my afternoon ended.

"After leaving the Red Lion, my friend John and I walked back to the bus stop with me before continuing a little further to collect his car. I caught the 510 Stagecoach bus back into Maidstone, and soon after, in the narrow village streets of Harrietsham, we encountered the horrendous traffic jam I referred to earlier. How the bus driver managed to get his vehicle through the inconsiderately parked cars, was beyond me. The situation wasn’t helped either by the odd lorry coming the other way.

The situation obviously delayed our journey back to Maidstone, and by the time we arrived back in the county town, the beer had caught up with me. I needed to pay a visit, as they say, and where nearer and more convenient than the imposing Muggleton Inn, which is the large Wetherspoon's pub in the town centre. I think it was either a bank or insurance company office, in a past existence, but whatever its past it’s a rather grandiose building.

I knew from previous experience that the toilets are upstairs, so I quickly bounded up the two-level ornate staircase, to the welcome relief that came with emptying my bladder. I treated myself to kind of one of the guest ales, in the form of Hop Twister, a 4.5%, pale ale from Salopian Brewery. This citrus flavoured beer didn't really touch the sides, as I was in a bit of a hurry. This was because I wanted to catch the 16:29 train back to Tonbridge, and I was aiming for this service because it's one of the few through trains running between the Medway towns and Tonbridge. Most services involve a change of trains, and platforms at Paddock Wood, but as this one doesn’t, it was worth making the effort to catch it.

Fortunately, I made it to Maidstone West station in sufficient time to board the train and then enjoy the pleasant, scenic ride back down the Medway Valley, and along to Tonbridge, without leaving my seat. I was lucky too with bus connection at Tonbridge, as I only had a 5-minute wait before the 219 bus came along. It dropped me in Pembury Rd, just a short walk from Bailey Towers. It was an excellent day out and a good opportunity to catch up with an old, and much cherished, friend".

A day out in Lenham: trains, pubs, old friends, and changing towns

2026-07-24T23:03:46.752+01:00

There’s something quietly satisfying about meeting an old friend in a familiar corner of Kent. A couple of weeks ago, my friend - now living out on the eastern side of the county - and I arranged one of our semi-regular catch-ups. We settled on Lenham, a village almost perfectly placed between us, and one with just enough pubs to make an afternoon disappear very pleasantly.

I opted for public transport, partly out of habit and partly because, after a few pints later on, the presence of a train toilet is a comforting thought. I could have taken the No. 7 bus from Tonbridge to Maidstone and then transferred to the Stagecoach 510 service, but instead I made a hybrid trip: train from Tonbridge to Maidstone West, then bus onward to Lenham.

Changing at trains at Paddock Wood, transferred me onto the Medway Valley Line - a wonderfully scenic route that winds its way up to Strood, following the river Medway through rolling hills and quiet countryside. It’s one of those lines that reminds you Kent is far more than commuter belt and motorways.

Arriving at Maidstone West, I took a stroll toward the river. The old Broadway Shopping Centre - once a must-have feature of any ambitious town in the 80's and 90's - now stood boarded up, a casualty of changing habits and online retail. Maidstone isn’t rundown, but it has undeniably changed since I lived there forty-odd years ago. The traditional shops have thinned out, replaced by vape stores, Middle Eastern groceries, and cafés. Not seedy, just different. A town with a new accent.

The 510 was late, but once aboard, the reasons became obvious. Roadworks, tight bends, and the usual assortment of cars abandoned seemingly at random in villages like Harrietsham - a place that seems to have no parking restrictions whatsoever. Rural bus drivers deserve medals; ours threaded that vehicle through impossible gaps with admirable calm.

Lenham’s village centre is known simply as "The Square", and it really is one. With time to spare before meeting my friend, I ducked into the Dog & Bear - an impressive white-painted Shepherd Neame coaching inn that still offers accommodation. I remember it from decades ago, when it had two distinct bars: Squirrel’s Saloon bar on the left, and Joyce’s Public bar on the right.

Squirrel, named for his great mutton-chop whiskers, had apparently been responsible for important work on radar installations during the war, and was regarded as something of a "boffin". Joyce, meanwhile, kept the local "lads" in line with effortless authority. There was never any trouble. The modern single-bar layout feels different, but the Master Brew was in good form - better than I’ve had in recent years. Spitfire was also on, but I’ve never been a fan.

Two doors down sits the Red Lion, a 14th-century former Fremlin's pub, now a free house. My friend was already there, sitting in the left-hand bar. We exchanged greetings, he bought the first drink, and I returned the favour, later on. Harvey’s Sussex Best was on tap, and in good form

We spent a couple of hours catching up - life, work, family, the usual threads that weave long friendships together. He’s made a full recovery from a cancer scare a couple of years ago, which added a quiet note of gratitude to the afternoon.

We reminisced about past holidays, including a boating trip with friends, and talked about his writing. His latest book, centred on his uncle Jack’s experiences as a POW on the Burma Railway, seems to be his best yet - full of human interest and extraordinary survival. Jack endured brutal conditions, survived being torpedoed by "friendly fire" from an American submarine, while being transported by the Japanese, and still made it home to live to a ripe old age.

The food looked good, and I went for the steak pie - proper shortcrust top and bottom, generous filling, succulent steak, rich gravy, mash, peas, and more gravy. Absolutely excellent. One of the best pies I’ve had in a long time, and I told the barmaid so.

It was one of those quietly perfect days: a scenic train ride, a nostalgic wander through a changing town, two characterful pubs, good beer, excellent food, and the kind of conversation that only happens with someone you’ve known for decades.

Sometimes the best days out aren’t grand adventures - just a village square, a couple of pints, and an old friend.

Return to the Rock

2026-07-22T22:30:38.482+01:00

Despite three intense heatwaves in rapid succession, it’s been nice and cool at our factory. This is because we’ve spent a small fortune over the years installing air-conditioning throughout the premises. So much so that it’s almost a pleasure calling in at the office – almost, but not quite! I had to call in last Saturday morning though, to oversee an outdoor project, that involved having our car-parking area delineated with some carefully measured and marked out white lines. The task was only possible out of normal working hours, so me and a colleague drew the short straws to go in and supervise the work.

The bonus was I got to go to the pub afterwards, although my colleague, who had a couple of extra jobs to attend to, was unable to join me. (Don’t feel too sorry for him though, as he is a self-employed electrician, engaged on a contract basis). I left the site, shortly after midday and headed for one of my favourite pubs, although given its isolated location, it’s I don’t often go to. This is a shame as the Rock Inn, at Chiddingstone Hoath, is an absolute gem of a pub, which certainly ticks all the right boxes, as far as I am concerned.

Regular readers of this blog will recall me having written about the Rock, an old drover’s inn, which has retained many original features. It is reported as being close to 500 years old and is so named because it is close to one of several rocky outcrops, which are a feature of this remote corner of Kent. Chiddingstone Hoath is a small, isolated settlement, consisting of a few houses, plus the pub, huddled together on a high sandstone plateau, to the south of the River Eden, in an area known as the High Weald.

The Rock’s antiquity is reflected in both the exterior and interior of the building, which has been lovingly cared for over the years, and the recent alterations have only enhanced this. I have known the pub for the best part of 40 years plus, and despite its remote location have tried to visit it whenever possible. So, last Saturday morning I left my colleague supervising the painting of the car-park, jumped in the car, and drove up to the Rock. My route took me down and across the River Eden - little more than a large stream really, and then up past Larkin's Brewery. The road then begins to climb more steeply, through woodland and then up towards the High Weald.

I left the car in the overspill car-park, just across the road from the pub. This additional space is a welcome addition to the Rock, as parking directly opposite the front of the building was often cramped and congested. Given the heat of the midday sun, it was perhaps not surprising that no-one was sitting out in front of the building, as I made my way towards the entrance, and stepped inside.

Barring my way were two enormous hounds, with thick bushy coats. I tried to get them to move aside and allow me to enter, but the dogs were having none of it. Fortunately, their owner, who turned out to be the landlord, moved them. They seemed indifferent, and certainly not bothered about being in the way, but they certainly were a size. I imagine they were sweltering, given their substantial woolly coats, and whilst I have no idea as to what breed they were, these beasts would certainly be sufficient to scare off burglars, or other unwanted intruders.

Once passed these hairy pub guardians, I made my way across to the bar counter, which was straight ahead. One feature of the Rock which has always impressed me, is the bare-brick floor, worn smooth by the passage of time, as well as by numerous feet. The large fireplace, with its equally large wood-burning stove, was of course unlit, in contrast to the winter months when a roaring blaze provides a welcoming warmth to that side of the pub. There is also a smaller, and cosier saloon bar leading off to the right, but that area appeared quite quiet. One fairly welcome addition is the opening up of a passage to the left of the counter, which leads down to the rear entrance, and the pub’s attractive garden, but do, however, hold on to the handrail and watch out for the two, steep, brick steps that lead down towards the garden area.

I was greeted by the friendly girl behind the bar, who asked me what I would like to drink. There were two cask offerings the perennial Larkin’s Traditional, or Off the Hook, a hitherto unknown beer (for me at least), from Lakedown Brewery. Lakedown is set on actor and Rock Legend, Roger Daltrey’s family farm, which is home to a brewery, trout fishing lakes, and also provides the inspiration for the business. Lakedown is very much a family affair and is run by Roger's son Jamie and sons-in-laws Des and Chris.

I originally ordered the Larkin’s, but the barmaid mistakenly started pulling me a pint of Lakedown. She noticed before I did, but realising her mistake, and full of apologies, offered to pour me a pint of Larkin’s instead. I told her not to worry and said I would give Mr Daltrey’s beer a go, instead. It was fine and feeling a bit peckish I asked her what snacks were available. I opted for a nice fat, sausage roll, straight out of the oven, and for a few short moments, the conversation turned to beer. I gathered she was a uni-student, home for the summer holidays, and similar in many ways to the girl working behind the bar last year, when I made a previous lunchtime visit.

I took my beer and sausage roll outside to the garden area at the rear of the pub. A strategically placed awning provided some welcome shade, and as if to rub salt in the wound, I forwarded a photo to my work colleague, just to wind him up. Being a vegan, he probably wasn’t over impressed with the sausage roll, although I’m sure the photo of my pint would have made him thirsty. With body and soul satisfied, I returned my glass to the bar and made tracks for home.

Fortunately, there were no massive dogs to squeeze past, as I left the pub. On the drive back to Tonbridge, I reflected on how lucky we are to live in such an attractive and picturesque part of the country, and of how blessed we are to still have such fantastic pubs. I really love this rugged, isolated, and quite wild looking, corner of West Kent, as it possesses something that really appeals to me.

I enjoyed the lengthy, and picturesque drive down into Penshurst, as the road slowly descends from the high ground, characterised by those rocky crags, down towards the river Medway, at the edge of the village. If you are ever in the area, do stop and take a look at the scenery, and if time allows call in for a pint at the unspoilt Rock, as you will have to travel far to find such a fine example of an historic and totally unspoilt country pub.

The Bean re-opens after major refit

2026-07-16T23:28:31.461+01:00

Exactly a week ago, I was in Tonbridge mid-morning, having left my car at one of the local garages, for a re-gas of the air-conditioning system, of all things. It was Mrs PBT’s idea to address the issue of the failing air-conditioning, even though she is not a regular occupant in the passenger seat, but with a week or more into the third heatwave of the summer, I had to admit that the prospect of yet another journey home from work in a steaming hot car, had definitely lost its appeal.

I agreed with my wife, as she knew I would, and consequently booked the vehicle in at a well-known chain that fits accessories and essentials, such as tyres exhausts, batteries etc. quickly. They also service and re-gas car air conditioning systems.

With the car booked in at 10am, and the work scheduled to take just over an hour, what was there for a poor boy to do? "As sleepy Tonbridge town just ain’t no place for……………" well, you know the rest of Street Fighting Man. Fortunately the solution came quickly in the form of a visit to the Humphrey Bean – Tonbridge’s JDW outlet, which had just reopened after a major refit. The seven-week closure saw the chain pumping £713,000 into a significant refit, which was definitely much more than just a lick of paint.

Stepping inside, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect, and the first, quite subtle change I noticed was the improvement to the front door arrangement, which looks as if it’s designed to cut down on drafts. Not an issue in the summer, of course, but a feature that undoubtedly, will come into its own during the rest of the year. The thing that hasn’t changed, of course, is the overall layout. I don’t know why, but perhaps I was expecting something a little bit more adventurous, to what we got. However, the layout of a lengthy bar along a substantial side of the RH wall, obviously works, so why bother changing it?

The interior scheme embraces deep, dark reds, complemented, of course, by a brand-new, and uniquely patterned Wetherspoon’s carpet. Whilst many people will be aware of Spoon’s policy on carpets for their pubs, not everyone is and so, as stated above, as well a reminder for those who already know, every one of Wetherspoon’s pubs has its own, unique patterned carpet. In terms of layout, there is a comforting mix of the familiar and the modern, especially for regular visitors. To the right of the entrance, the two large booth seating areas, flanked by bookcases have been preserved, although they now boast fresh upholstery. Further inside, the familiar long bar remains in its usual position, but it has been given a much needed update with illuminated pictures of Tonbridge across the front panels. The large firepit area towards the rear also remains intact as a central feature.

Customers can explore a range of displays, including the history of Tonbridge School, the story of local 19th century character Humphrey Bean, the life and work of war poet Sidney Keyes, the literary connections of E.M. Forster, and the intricate craftsmanship behind Tunbridge Ware. One of the most notable enhancements is the installation of a row of comfortable booths along the back right wall. Complete with accessible power sockets, they provide an ideal space for guests looking to work, study, or spend a few productive hours on a laptop.

Outside, the beer garden has been redesigned. The previously tiered section at the far end has been levelled, creating a more practical and versatile outdoor space for visitors to enjoy. The number of plants, plus shrubs has been reduced as well as the space devoted to them – probably good news for hay fever sufferers, and also good for water conservation in the current, near drought conditions. One observation I noted, from another commenter, concerned the toilets, pointing out that little, if anything, had changed in this area.

I didn’t venture inside to try them, despite the well-known diuretic effect of two mugs of coffee, but with outside temperatures already heading towards the 30’s, I had no pressing need to make use of the “facilities”. So, as the old saying goes, “If it isn’t broke, don’t try fixing it”. The only other change I noticed was that the former two banks of hand pulls, one at each end of the bar, have been replaced by a slightly larger, single set of pumps, which seems a far more sensible modification – one that makes a lot more sense for both punters and bar staff, alike.

Before wrapping this post up, it’s worth taking a look back at the lines I wrote describing what I saw, and how I felt on the first time I set foot in the Humphrey Bean. I stated that I was decidedly underwhelmed, even though then, like now I wasn’t sure what to expect. The issue lies with the building itself, and it’s worth remembering that the Bean was formerly Tonbridge’s main Post Office – a crown building, no less. The rear section of the building, was the section that none of the public ever saw, because back in the day, it was also the town's sorting office, and area, with its shed-like appearance is where the bar is situated.

So, given that the architects had a rather mishmash of a building to work with, it’s not surprising that the Bean looks like it does today. It's fair to say the pub is not one of JDW's most imaginative conversions, although the designers made the best of what was there. The smaller and more cosy section at the front, (the area with a ceiling of normal height), is where the Post Office counters were, originally sited. Contrast this with the shed/green house section and you’ll appreciate where I’m coming from.

To be fair, this section is bright and airy, with plenty of tables, and includes a raised area on the left-hand side. This section leads through to a large, attractive and well laid out garden, which looks out across the River Medway to Tonbridge's imposing 13th Century castle. This is without a doubt the Humphrey Bean's best feature. The Humphrey Bean has long been something of a Tonbridge institution, and it is hard to imagine what the town was like before Wetherspoon's came on the scene.

A warm, summer's day in Hastings - Pt. Two

2026-07-10T16:36:26.039+01:00

In the previous post, you left me at the Royal Standard, where I’d just received an update to the itinerary, from the CAMRA group I was travelling with. Consequently, I drank up and made my way towards the Jenny Lind. The pub was only a couple of streets away, which meant I actually arrived at this well-known Hastings establishment in advance of my companions. The group’s arrival, coincided with that of the ambulance crew, who returned our casualty. The paramedics had managed to stem the bleeding, and apart from feeling slightly embarrassed the individual concerned seemed none the worse for wear.

I’d managed to order myself a beer before the CAMRA crew arrived, and whilst the brewery responsible had rather a strange name, there was nothing peculiar about the beer itself. Easy Street, a session IPA, from the Loud Shirt Brewing Co, was a pleasant enough beer, as well as an appropriate tipple for one member of the group, who is known as Mr Shirts on account of the garish Hawaiian attire he likes to wear. There was also time for a swift half of Cast Iron Stout from Gravesend’s Iron Pier Brewery.

This visit marked the first time that I'd set foot in the Jenny Lind, and I liked what I saw. Once known as the Bell, this two-room pub is now named after a famous mid-19th Century Swedish Opera Singer, so it’s quite appropriated that the music inspired theme continues on into modern times. The musical connection has led to the Jenny Lind becoming famous for its regular and well attended musical events. There are two substantial bars, one at the front and one at the rear, both of a similar size, and both comfortably furnished. A set of stairs at the rear, lead to an attractive first floor garden behind the pub and there is also an upstairs function ring.

The trained eye might spot something unusual about the building, because this Georgian-style pub is not all that old, having been partially rebuilt in 1951, after suffering bomb damage, at the height of World War II. Some original woodwork was reused during the restoration, and this can be seen in the rear of the building. The beer connoisseur will find eight hand pumps adorning the bar, seven of which are cask ales, with the eighth reserved for traditional cider. All these points add up to make the Jenny Lind a pub that is definitely worth returning to.

A short distance along the seafront, brought us to the Jolly Fisherman, an establishment with an interesting history. The building dates back to 1769 and was first licensed in 1834. It originally served fishermen and the local community, before closing its doors as a pub in 1959. Amongst other things it became a pie and mash shop, before re-opening as Hastings first micro-pub 57 years later. Closed, all day Monday, and not opening until 4pm weekdays, we’d been advised to get to the pub at 4pm, before it became too busy.

Acting on this advice, we not only managed to get served, but we all managed to get a seat. The pub has an attractively decorated frontage and once stood directly on the quayside. Black-and-white photographs throughout the interior celebrate its long-standing place at the heart of the community, and a quirky mix of furniture creates a warm and welcoming atmosphere, with a wood-burning stove providing a cosy focal point during the winter months.

The pub interior is definitely on the basic side, but the layout is such, that the visitor can’t but help being drawn into conversation. The Jolly Fisherman serves seven craft keg beers, two cask ales, and around a dozen ciders and perries, offering a varied selection for real ale and cider enthusiasts, but as they’re all dispensed from what look like keg taps are supplemented by a large range of canned and bottled beers of both UK and foreign origin. My beer of choice was a glass of Bitter from St Alban's based, The 3 Brewers.

Finally, we move on to the Albion, the penultimate pub on the crawl, although it was the last pub for me. A combination of walking, heat, and probably too much beer led to my decision of calling it quits at this classic, seaside pub, which was once part of Edinburgh brewer, William Younger’s tied estate. I didn’t appreciate this at the time, and it was only whist carrying out a spot of research, upon my return home, that I realised the significance of this.

Formerly the Royal Albion, and first licensed for drinks in 1730, this spacious former hotel has been tastefully refurbished with many improvements including a stage for live music, beautifully designed bar tops, stylish furniture and some traditional hand-written signage. There is a smaller bar which can be shut off as a small function room and a separate larger bar. The pub has kept its traditional ambience because, as mentioned above, it was once a William Younger's house, and one of a number of traditional “Scotch Houses" acquired by the Scottish brewer, during the 1930’s.

Most of these pubs were in the London area, although the majority have been altered out of all recognition, but the Albion, and its ornate, period wood panelling, is one of the handful of survivors, and today forms part of its CAMRA’s National Inventory of historically important pub interiors. The Albion boasts six hand pumps, plus a changing range of traditional ciders, dispensed from poly-pins, kept behind the bar.

I opted the Albion East Sussex Pale, a 4.2% beer from Lakedown Brewing. I'm guessing this offering is a "house" beer, produced exclusively for the pub. The Albion has established a reputation for its award-winning pies and pasties, which are also available from the “Pasty Shack” on the seafront side of the pub. (Ever wish you’d done your research in advance??)

So, with a CAMRA NI listing, and award-winning pasties available next door, the Albion will definitely form part of any future visit to Hastings. As for me, I headed for the station, passing on the way the Seadog, the pub marked down as the final point of call on the day’s itinerary. Described on the pub’s website as “A proper independent pub, the Seadog is a family-run boozer with a touch of Irish charm”. Sounds good, although definitely somewhere for another day!

Brewers.

1066 and all that. A warm, summer's day in Hastings - Pt. One

2026-07-09T15:38:22.047+01:00

At the start of 2026, I made an all too brief visit to the historic, seaside town of Hastings, a settlement situated on the sunny south-east coast of Sussex and famed for a battle that took place 960 years ago. The Battle of Hastings took place between the Anglo-Saxon forces of Harold Godwinson, and the French-speaking invaders, of Duke William of Normandy. Both Harold and William had a claim to the English throne following the death of King Edward the Confessor, who died childless, and without naming a successor. This was a bad move on his part, but “shit happens” as they say, and worse still for the Anglo Saxons, William’s Norman forces won the day.

This bloody event took place seven miles inland from the town that gave the battle its name, although a new town grew up close to the site of William’s victory. Battle is not the most imaginative of names, but given the significance of William’s victory, and Harold’s defeat, it is perhaps an appropriate one. The event changed the face and the language of England, certainly for the next 200 years, when Norman French superseded the Anglo-Saxon, Old English of the conquered, native population, but eventually the two tongues merged into what eventually became the English language we know today.

History lesson over, and today, Hastings today is a thriving borough and historic seaside town, dominating this delightful corner of East Sussex. It later became one of the Cinque Ports, a mediaeval trading guild which as well as controlling the local commerce, was also tasked with providing ships, and crews, for the Crown. In the 19^th century, and following the arrival of the railways, the town became a popular seaside resort, as tourists and visitors flocked to the town, to enjoy its many attractions. Hastings remains a popular seaside resort today, but it is also an important fishing port, with the UK's largest beach-based fishing fleet, bringing in the catch.

Over the years, I’ve got to know Hastings reasonably well, but despite this there’s always something more to discover. It was that relatively short trip, back in early January, that inspired me to make a longer visit, and the chance for that came much sooner than I had anticipated. I'd spotted the Hastings trip advertised on the West Kent CAMRA website and whilst I’m no longer a member of the campaign group, these trips are always kept open for armchair supporters and sympathisers of the organisation.

So, after getting my pass stamped by Mrs PBT's, I headed down to the station in time for the advertised 10:58 train. Whilst a few the party had already boarded the train at Sevenoaks and more would be joining the service at Tunbridge Wells, the majority of the group travelled from Tonbridge, including several people I hadn't seen for some time.

This was all to the good, but what was wasn't quite so positive, was the differing ideas and aspirations held by various party members as to what the day should entail, especially when it came to which areas of the town we ought to visit. Should we play safe and stick to some favourite, tried and tested pubs or ought we perhaps visit a few untried and unfamiliar hostelries? It was during the train ride down to Hastings that these differing thoughts and opinions came to light, with some members wanting to leave the train at nearby St. Leonards on Sea, whilst others wanting to remain on board to the end of the line and disembark at Hastings.

The dilemma was further compounded by the level of fitness of people in the group, because several party members didn’t seem up the St. Leonards option, which involved a steep uphill slog from Warrior Square station, into the Old Town. So, whilst the majority of the group were in favour of the St. Leonards option, there was a small contingent who, due to various age-related conditions, didn't feel up to the walk. Those individuals remained on the train with an agreement to rendezvous with the rest of us, at the Dolphin in Hastings, Old Town. I class myself as reasonably fit, so I left the train at St. Leonards. Although I’ve driven through the area, that was my first time on foot in the town. The plan was to visit the “landmark pub” called the Tower that was reached after a stiff climb up from the station. One enterprising, but not overly fit member found a bus to transport him up from the station, but I was glad of the chance to stretch my legs after sitting on the train for the best part of an hour.

The Tower is described by CAMRA, as one of the last “true free houses”, although I'm uncertain as to what is meant by that statement. Stepping inside we found a spacious and well laid out room, overlooked by a semicircular bar. There was quite a selection of cask ales on tap, with Fuller’s supplying several of them, but my attention was drawn to a refreshing pint of Southern Summit, a 4.0% American Pale Ale from Loch Lomond Brewery. Clear and bright as nature intended, rather than cloudy murk that resembled a milkshake. Our group spread ourselves between several Britannia style tables, (look it up), with some opting for the rarely seen Gales HSB or Dark Star Hophead. There was a friendly and inclusive feel to the Tower, making it a popular choice for both regulars and new visitors like us.

Departing the Tower, we headed a little deeper into St Leonards to a stop where buses run down into Hastings Old Town. We alighted at the seafront, close to our agreed meeting point of the Dolphin, but the rendezvous was compromised somewhat by a member of the other party suffering from a nosebleed that was refusing to stop. I won't go into detail, apart from revealing that the individual concerned was the oldest member of the group. That aside the Dolphin’s landlady and her staff treated this poor chat with compassion and respect, even though they must have got through yards of blue paper towel, in an attempt to stem the flow of blood. Too much detail I know, but full marks to the staff at the Dolphin even though they eventually had to seek medical assistance and call an ambulance.

Annoyingly, the Dolphin wasn't serving food that day - something about the kitchen franchise changing hands, but the pub did serve up a fine pint of Kent Brewery, Quiet American, a US-style, citrus dominated IPA, which on a baking hot day was the perfect thirst quencher. Harvey’s Best, and Longman Best were the other two cask ales, and there might have been one or two more in the other section of the pub. The paramedic team arrived just as we were leaving, so most of us left them with the casualty, to sort things out. I was quire sorry to be leaving the Dolphin, as it really is one of the best pubs in Hastings. It was also the only hostelry on this trip that I visited on my previous trip to the town.

It was here that I somehow became separated from the rest of the group. I knew they were heading for one of the multitude of fish and chip shops along the promenade, but which one? In the rush to depart the Dolphin I was aware that I should have emptied my bladder before leaving, but rather than fight my way back up the steps, and through the pub to the Gents, I headed off across the Stade, past the rows of black, tarred, fisherman's huts, to an area overlooking the beach. This is where some relatively new and well-appointed public toilets are located, something I remembered from my previous visit. As one gets older, knowing the location of such facilities is a wise move, and these ones overlooking the beach were most welcome, and spotlessly clean as well.

But which chippy had my companions adjourned to? I wandered up and down the Stade without spotting them, so in the end I dived into the nearest chip shop and ordered something to eat. I wasn't overly hungry, a feeling that was probably due to the excessive heat, and a fact confirmed by the chip shop proprietor. He claimed, in answer to my question about trade, that the hot weather wasn't good for business. People seem to eat less, he claimed, and I'm sure he was right, but that didn’t stop me buying a takeaway portion of chips, wrapped in a paper cone, sprinkled with salt and drowned in copious volumes of vinegar. They still slipped down a treat, despite my previous comments.

There was still no sign of my companions, so I dived into the nearby Royal Standard, a quaint old fisherman's pub overlooking seafront, and a place I remembered from past visits to Hastings. The Standard belongs to Shepherd Neame, who own quite a few pubs in the town. The pub had a bright and airy feel to it, especially with both doors open due to the warm weather. There was plenty of people sitting outside too, taking in the sea air and topping up their tans at the same time.

Two cask ales were on sale, one the ubiquitous Whitstable Bay Pale, and the second a beer called Creekside. Described as a juicy IPA, the term “juicy” rang a few alarm bells with me, as it implied craft murk, and all that entails so I'm pleased I stuck with the tried and tested Whitstable Bay. Shortly before leaving I received a WhatsApp message from the rest of the group, saying they'd be in the nearby Jenny Lind at around 3:00pm. I set off for this well-known Hastings pub, but with three pubs under my belt, and three more to go, it’s time to take a break, and describe the remaining three, in the next article.

A farewell to a bygone era, and a welcome to a new one

2026-07-06T11:17:18.753+01:00

I’m getting behind with my posts again, although I shan’t bore you with what’s been keeping me from blogging. I’m part way through a write up of last Fridays’ day at the seaside, aka a day out in Hastings with West Kent CAMRA, but with six pubs involved, there’s a fair amount of detail to plod through.

Instead, I want to reflect briefly on the passing at the age of 81, of Humphrey Smith, the owner of Tadcaster-based, Samuel Smith's Old Brewery. A controversial and divisive figure, in many respects, but also someone who steered this staunchly traditional, family business, through the troubled waters of the late 20^th and early 21^st centuries. Those who have been through these times, in my case since the mid 1970’s, will be aware of the many changes that have occurred in the drink’s trade during this period.

Whilst organisations, such as CAMRA, might have welcomed some of these changes, with hindsight the introduction of the 1989 Beer Orders, caused serious damage to the drinks trade. The most damaging aspect of this legislation, however well-intentioned, it might have been, was the removal of the link between pubs and breweries, effectively turning the pub trade on its head. In the minds of many older drinkers, such as me and my contemporaries, the Beer Orders destroyed the pub trade we remember, and replaced it with an increasingly cut-throat, dog-eat-dog race to the bottom.

None of these changes had much effect on Samuel Smith’s, which was established in 1758, in the North Yorkshire town of Tadcaster. It is by far, the smallest of the three breweries based in the town, owning just 200 pubs. It is also an unlimited company, which permits it to maintain financial privacy, as well as allowing the directors to keep a tightly controlled family grip on the business.

Because of its relatively small size Samuel Smiths remained largely unaffected by legislation such as the Beer Orders, but that didn’t mean that when Humphrey took over the business, in the 1980’s, he didn’t bring in any changes. First and foremost, of these, was turning tenants into managers, directly employed by the brewery, a move which enabled the business to dictate the policies it has become well known for.

With regard to these, people tend to remember the more controversial edicts, such as banning television, the use of mobile phones, and also swearing in Samuel Smith pubs, but as the company website states, their outlets remain as "Havens from the digital world", where conversation and interaction with other customers is actively encouraged. Policies that few pub lovers could raise serious objections to (unless one is trying to find the time of that last bus or train home).

What is rather more concerning, is the often-arbitrary way in which quite a few Sam Smith’s pubs have been closed, seemingly on the whim of the brewery’s late owner. An online search will reveal further details, although some sources estimate the number to be just over half of the company’s tied estate of houses. Following Humphrey’s passing, it would be nice to see at least some of these outlets re-opening, especially in locations such as small villages, where communities have been left pub-less.

We shall have to see what happens, but as far as continuation is concerned, the London estate is already being run by Humphrey’s son, Sam. The rules still exist in the capital but apparently are applied far less rigorously. I admit to taking photos in several of Sam’s London pubs, even though I did so discretely, just in case! As others have pointed out, using mobiles for finding out bus and train times, will probably get the OK, but I am in complete agreement that noisy phone conversations, or sharing You Tube videos should remain on the “naughty list” and rightly so.

Commentators, such as Tandleman, whose own excellent review you can read here, have suggested that ad hoc sackings and closures will become a thing of the past, and pubs will be able to attract managers more easily. Furthermore, many of the closed pubs will re-open, and as TM suggests, young Sam will not throw out what makes the company’s pubs different and will definitely be keeping the best bits.

A final, précised piece from York CAMRA, Humphrey was a man with many quirks - but we'd do well not to forget that he presided over a family brewery that produces exceptional real ale and craft keg beers at very affordable prices and an estate of pubs that provide a huge social impact within their communities”.

"He leaves his son Samuel both a legacy on which to build but also a huge challenge in reopening many of their pubs that are currently closed and bringing some of their more arcane operational rules back into the 21st Century!"

For my part, I shall continue visiting the company’s London pubs, whenever I am in the capital, and the same applies to other towns and cities where Sam’s have a pub or two. In the meantime, it’s a question of “watch this space.”

Footnote: If I can stretch my memory back far enough, I might include a short piece about how, I lived just five minutes’ walk away from a long vanished, Sam Smith’s pub in the Lower Kersal area of Salford. This was back in my student days, and I’m pretty certain that the Old Brewery Bitter, dispensed from metered, electric pumps, was brewery-conditioned, “bright beer” rather than cask. I shall need to do some backtracking on this, but I believe the pub was called, the Prince of Wales.

Strange bedfellows, or you never know who you'll meet over dinner

2026-06-30T20:40:19.792+01:00

A recent comment, on Retired Martin’s blog, about sitting next to someone on a plane, whose country is at war, reminded me of a polar opposite experience that occurred on our not so recent, cruise to Norway. Martin mentioned about being seated next to a Ukrainian national, whereas my experience involved a person representing the other side in the appalling conflict that is continuing between two former, East European neighbours.

Mrs PBT’s and I were on our way back from Alta, in the far north of Norway, and it was the second of what turned out to be five days at sea. Our ship was supposed to have called at Narvik, on the return voyage, but due to heavy seas and storm-force winds, our captain had decided to make a dash for home. This sort of made sense from a seafaring point of view, but need to have a strong and stable relationship to be cooped up in a cabin, with your nearest and dearest for the best part of a week.

Fortunately, ours seems to have survived, but on the day in question (see above), I decided to have lunch in the Buckingham Restaurant. This is the posh, formal and slightly upmarket dining room on Ambience, but the good thing is stuffy dress restrictions only apply in the evening, leaving passengers free to dress as they wish (within reason), for both breakfast and lunch.

For some reason Eileen didn’t join me, possibly because the rough seas weren’t agreeing with her, or perhaps not. The exact reason doesn’t matter, but what does is it was getting quite late when I strolled into the restaurant, and seating options seemed restricted. I was asked if I was OK sitting opposite a rather frumpy, and slightly fierce looking woman, so I said yes, without giving much thought to the matter. I didn’t bother with a starter and instead went straight in on the main course. My dinner companion seemed rather reserved and also a little reticent, when it came to chatting, but I eventually managed to break the ice. I had this lady down as German, and a posh Teuton at that, especially as she reminded me of someone who’d participated in a reality TV programme that Mrs PBT’s is quite keen on.

“Four in a Bed” is a series, in which four B&B owners, couples in the main, although not always people in a physical relationship – so mother/father, son/daughter, or business partners, or just friends, compete by staying at each other’s establishments and then score one another on areas such as cleanliness, quality and standard of accommodation plus food. The last question, “Would you stay here again?” is the most telling, and quite often the most controversial, as well. As you can imagine, the luvvy TV producers go out of their way to find couples who are antagonistic, fussy, or living examples of Basil Fawlty and his long-suffering wife, Sybil. It makes for good TV, don’t you know, even though it’s probably a poor example of real-life situations.

One B&B owner who really stood out was, Mrs Tee, a rather eccentric, bossy, and somewhat outspoken German lady, and she was the spitting image of the person sitting opposite me in the Buckingham Restaurant. Imagine my surprise then when, after failing to guess the home country of this quite fierce looking lady, she came clean and confessed that she was Russian. “Is that a problem?” she enquired, “No, of course not”, was my reply, and the truth is that it wasn’t, especially once the conversation really started to flow. I never discovered her name, but she explained that she had been living in the UK for quite some time, after originally arriving in the country, as someone’s "pen-pal".

I probably missed the pen-pal craze by a few years, but as someone who hated writing letters (don’t forget to write and say “thank-you” for that birthday present to Aunty Margaret, or Uncle Donald), putting pen to paper was the last thing that I ever felt like doing. More to the point, what to say. And were these elderly relatives, I felt compelled to write and thank, overflowing with gratitude upon receiving a badly worded, poorly written and monosyllabic piece of boring, schoolboy waffle?

Going back to my Soviet era dinner companion, who definitely fitted the role of an austere Russian autocrat. She’d obviously been permitted to stay in the UK, where she’d raised at least one child, and possibly more. Unfortunately, having started talking, she obviously found it hard to stop. Despite her verbal diarrhoea, she managed to find room for all four courses on the menu. We ended up being the last couple dining in the restaurant, and whilst I could see that the waiting staff were itching to throw us out, and clear the table, their obvious discomfort went completely over my companion’s head.

A couple more points, before concluding, she’d been allowed to remain in Britain after forming a relationship with a UK citizen. She’d had raised at least one child, and despite its obvious faults, she remained fond of the former USSR and its Bolshevik rulers. She explained how the communist party was determined to bring art and culture to the masses, with heavy subsidies allowing the populace at large to enjoy the delights of the Bolshoi Ballet, the theatre and orchestral concerts, showcasing the best that the Soviet regime had to offer. She felt this was something that the west was unable to offer its citizens.

I didn’t want to argue too fiercely against what she was saying, first because I was onboard that cruise ship to enjoy myself, but also because I felt trapped. I also didn’t wish to appear rude, even though the Mrs Tee, from “Four in a Bed” that I was comparing her against, wouldn’t have batted an eyelid, if I had acted in such a manner. Even so, I heaved an enormous sigh of relief, after my “forced” dinner companion, polished of her final course of cheese and biscuits.

The waiting staff were also relieved to see the back of us, even though they were obviously too polite to say so, and I was also wondering what Eileen might be thinking, even though she’s quite used to me disappearing for long periods of time. Despite a further three days at sea, I never set eyes on this Russian Mrs Tee again, although I did make a point of avoiding the main dining room for the rest of the cruise. However, despite the warmongering stance of the current Russian regime, I still managed to find the experience both fascinating and enlightening. It was proof, if needed, of the old adage of never judging a book by its cover.

Wall to wall sunshine at the Greyhound, for the firm's summer party

2026-06-25T21:58:06.765+01:00

The Greyhound at Charcott isn’t the nearest pub to where I work, although it is the second closest. It’s a 10–15-minute stroll away, with a choice of two routes, one of which means keeping one’s wits about oneself due to the way drivers treat a country lane, as a racetrack. That road is known as Camp Hill, and I imagine here that the name refers to a former gypsy encampment, rather than the former grass-track airfield that occupied the flatland between the B 2027 and Camp Hill. Known both before and during the Second World War, as Penshurst Airfield, this rather primitive facility closed a year after the cessation of hostilities, and today its use alternates between arable purposes and sheep grazing.

With the Greyhound a short stroll away from my workplace, and close to the route of my regular lunchtime walks, it’s surprising that I don’t pop in that regularly. Tempting though it is, the reason I don’t often call in, is simply because I find it hard to stay awake, during the afternoon and even a single pint could see me dozing off in front of my computer screen. Wednesday was different though, as the Greyhound was the host venue for the company’s Summer Party. Despite holding an annual Christmas bash, yesterday’s event was the first summer get-together that the firm has arranged during the 20 years I have been employed there.

Apart from a small number of employees, who didn’t wish to attend, the majority of the workforce headed up to the Greyhound at 2pm. I’d caught the train in that morning, as whilst I wasn’t intending to have skinful, I still wanted the chance to enjoy a few pints that afternoon. To say it was hot walking up to the pub, would be an understatement on what has since proved to be the hottest June day on record. (I believe that today, was actually hotter!) Some keen members of staff were already there, having either driven up, or bunked off work early. We’d all been handed a couple of drinks tokens each, although for those not driving like me, or not wishing to return to work after (virtually no-one), the opportunity was there, to buy as many additional drinks as they wished. I ended up with an extra token, given to me by a non-drinking colleague, as did several others.

In view of the warm weather, the Greyhound had laid out an extensive buffet selection of finger food, inside the left-hand part of the pub, although given the glorious summer weather, and the pleasant shady (in parts) garden, virtually all of us chose to take our plates of food outside. As well as our party of 40+ persons, the pub had its own individual customers turning up, both regular and causal. It all made for an excellent and ultra-relaxed afternoon, and from many people’s point of view it provided the perfect opportunity to mingle with people from other departments and different areas of the factory.

Beer wise, there was a choice of three cask ales, with two from local brewer, Larkin’s, plus Best Bitter from Sussex-based, Three Acre Brewery. There was also a hand-pump dispensed, cask cider from Charrington’s (weren’t they once a brewer?). I enjoyed a cool, and well-kept pint of the rarely seen, Larkin’s Pale, plus one of Three Acre Best. For my final pint, I opted for a chilled pint of Hofmeister which, like the other beers, slipped down a treat.

By 4pm, people were slowly starting to slip off, so after reviewing the train times, I decided to beat a retreat of my own. I allowed plenty of time for the walk across the former airfield, and grateful to the cooling breezes that sprung up from time to time. I was grateful also that the train arrived on time, and that the air-conditioning was running. I then had a hot wait for a bus home, as there was no way that I wanted to walk back uphill to Bailey Towers.

So, all in all, an enjoyable and from the company’s point of view, a successful event. There’s not much in the way of photos, as not only have I lost the habit of snapping away wildly with my phone, but I wasn’t sure how my various colleagues would feel at having their visages slapped across my blog. If you want to know more about the smashing little country pub, that is the Greyhound, here are a few links to some previous articles I have written about the place.

Good things to come

2026-06-21T22:52:57.804+01:00

Pub visits have been somewhat curtailed over the past week, for a variety of reasons, most of which have been family related. There’s also been quite a lot of boring, DIY – home improvement projects going on, nothing major, but still time-consuming and not the stuff that people will necessarily want to read about. On the plus side though, there are a number of out of town* events on the horizon, so there is plenty to look forward to. *Out of Tonbridge.

This coming Tuesday, Mrs PBT’s has bought tickets for us to attend a presentation, at the Assembly Hall, Tunbridge Wells. The event relates to the Channel 4 series - the Great Pottery Throwdown, and is hosted by the show’s presenter, Keith Brymer Jones, aided and abetted by his partner Marj Hogarth. Keith is an experienced potter and ceramic designer whilst Marj is an actor and artistic designer. Eileen’s been an avid follower of this series, which is about pottery and all things ceramic. Keith and Marj’s latest, and most ambitious project, is the restoration of Capel Salem, a Grade II listed 19th-century chapel in North Wales. I haven’t watched all of the series, but the project certainly seems a mammoth endeavour, and the presentation itself promises to be an interesting one.

The following afternoon-evening, the company I work for will be holding its Summer Party. The event is a first for the firm, and follows on from a failed attempt last year, that had to be cancelled due to inclement weather. This time around, the event is being hosted by the Greyhound at Charcot, an award-winning pub, approximately 15 minutes’ walk from the factory. Despite the pub’s proximity to the factory, it’s been quite some time since I last set foot in the place. This is because I tend to give lunchtime pub sessions during working hours, a miss these days, not because the company frowns upon the practice, but more for the fact that I feel sleepy enough as it is – without the soporific effect of a couple of pints of beer (or even one). I’m therefore looking forward to seeing how the Greyhound is doing. these days.

In three weeks’, time the British Guild of Beer Writers, will be holding its annual summer get-together, an event that historically took place the night before the opening of CAMRA’S Great British Beer Festival. Sadly, the Campaign’s flagship event has bitten the dust, for reasons I’m sure most of us are familiar with, but the Guild’s party promises to be an interesting one. It’s an easy “do” for me to get to, being hosted by Bermondsey brewer, Ansbach & Hobday at their Arch House Taproom, in Druid Street, close to London Bridge station. I’m therefore looking forward to catching up with those BGBW members whom I still know, and to sampling some interesting beers.

The following week, I’ve a lunchtime appointment with an old friend from Maidstone. Neither of us live in the county town any more, and my pal John now lives in East Kent, close to the town of Hythe. We shall be rendezvousing at the Red Lion, in the large village of Lenham, which lies between Maidstone and Ashford, so the pub is sort of halfway.

John has a collection of vintage military vehicles, and in recent years has been quite heavily involved in publishing. Now after publishing a murder-mystery, plus a 3-volume series on the history of nearby (to where he lives), Lympne Airfield, John has turned his pen to matters closer to home, with a book detailing his uncle’s experiences as a prisoner of the Japanese, during WWII, where he was forced to work on the construction of the infamous Burma Railway – Bridge Over the River Kwai, and all that.

John’s relation survived, otherwise there’d be no tale to tell, but Uncle Jack had the unfortunate ordeal of being onboard a Japanese cargo vessel, that was torpedoed and sunk by an American submarine, in the South China Sea. “Rescued” by another Japanese ship, Jack and his fellow survivors spent the rest of the war, working for their captors in the docks of the port city of Sakata, in northern Honshu.

Finally, the first Friday in July*, should see me joining members from West Kent CAMRA on a day out, at the seaside, in Hastings. I visited this perennial south-east coast resort, at the start of the year, so it will be interesting to see the difference in the town, at the peak of the summer season. I haven’t a clue as to which pubs we’ll be visiting, but I’m content to go with the flow and see where we end up. We’ll be travelling by train, of course, so there’s always the opportunity to stop off somewhere on the way home. That’s probably not the wisest of suggestions, but you never know, as with a belly full of beer, a little bit of spontaneity often seems like a good idea.

*Date corrected, and post amended, thanks to a sharp-eyed reader!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Two steps forward & one step back

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Never saying never, to Doom Bar

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He's leaving home, bye, bye

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

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

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

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

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

Six months into the new year

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cloudy Murk

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Kentish Tap, at the Rose Revived

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's all happening again, in Tonbridge

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chipstead fails me again!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Holy Goat is coming along nicely

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

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

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

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

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

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