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

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

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

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"

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

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

"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.