Copilot to the rescue

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

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

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

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

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

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.