The O2 shop, a bus ride to Lewes, followed by pasty heaven

Having decided not to attend the Bluebell Railway Beer Festival, for reasons previously explained, I thought that a visit to Lewes would be a decent substitute, as well as a good idea. Travelling by bus, via Tunbridge Wells, would enable me to call in at the O2 shop in the town in order to sort out the data allowance issues I'd been experiencing with my Samsung mobile phone. These had arisen whilst on holiday and occurred because I was, quite rightly, too tight to pay the £100, yes £100 for onboard internet connection! Like many cruise lines Ambassador rely on Elon Musk's Starlink system for communications and web browsing whilst at sea, so that's another reason not to cough up a tonne for someone who’s already got far more money than sense.

I didn't miss not being connected at all in fact it was rather than nice but when we docked, and bearing in mind that we primarily sailing around the British Isles, I did occasionally log on to catch up with emails and in particular, an ongoing application to unlock one of my frozen pension funds. Anyway, I jumped on a bus going towards Tunbridge Wells, and since I was travelling before 9.30am, the start time for UK bus passes during the week, I had to pay for my fare! It was the princely sum of £3.00, but the price didn’t really justify knocking 10 minutes off my journey.

I called in at the O2 shop, as planned, to confirm I was paying the correct tariff for my phone and to establish how much many months were left on my current contract. There was just over a year remaining, but I must surely have paid for my Samsung Galaxy several times over, since acquiring it two years ago! Moving swiftly on I walked along to the bus stop but unfortunately, I’d just missed the No. 29 Brighton bus, which meant a 25-minute wait for the next one.

One of the reasons for going to Lewes was to return a dozen or so empty bottles to return to the brewery shop. I’m sure some readers will recall me undertaking a similar journey earlier in the year, for the exactly the same purpose. There were too many to carry on that occasion, hence me making a return trip, but since last Christmas a large number of empty Harvey's beer bottles had accumulated in our summer house. 

As I've written in the past Harvey’s are one of the very few UK breweries that still wash and reuse their bottles, and good luck to them, because I think it's an excellent idea. Far better for the bottles to be refilled, rather than perfectly decent specimens ending up in bottle banks, smashed to smithereens. It’s worth noting too that a lot more energy has to be used to create to create brand new bottles rather than simply cleaning and washing empty ones, ready to be used again.

I received the princely sum of £1.20 for those bottles, and with my load considerably lightened, resisted the temptation to buy more. I could perhaps, have picked up a few cans, and I did at one stage have the intention of returning later to the shop and doing just that, but it never happened. I set off to find somewhere to eat, and I also wanted a drink, as foolishly I didn't bring any water with me. 

The bus journey had seemed to take forever, primarily because after reaching Crowborough the bus was routed round what I would call, for what of a better phrase, the “arse end” of the town. That’s not implying there's anything wrong with that part of Crowborough, and it’s certainly not rundown or anything like that, in fact it's quite well maintained as one would expect from a well-to-do, leafy suburb. It's just that without any pubs or shops, it comes across as one area of sterile housing after another, some of it very much “des reses” but boring all the same.

Eventually, the bus worked its way back around to the south of the town and rejoined the A26. It’s that part of the journey where the imposing bulk of the South Downs escarpment first comes into view, bringing back memories of a succession of long-distance walks, along the South Downs Way, twenty or more years ago.  Time was marching on though, and there was still the bottom end of Ashdown Forest to negotiate, before the bus eventually pulled into Uckfield. Further delays followed as we pulled into the bus station, before eventually making our way out of  the town and on towards Lewes.

There was no escaping the South Downs as the bus approached Lewes, but I was already having serious doubts about how I should make the return journey, especially if it was after a belly full of beer. Spoiler alert, I made the return journey by rail, despite having to pay for it, and missing the free ride home that my bus pass would have given me.  As things turned out I didn't have more than a few pints of beer, but still enough for me to make use of the toilet facilities on the train home.

So, something to eat, and a coffee to drunk as well, before getting stuck into a few of Lewes’s finest pubs. I noticed the presence of a Gail’s Bakery, just before I alighted from the bus at the bottom of School Hill, after first returning my empty bottles to Harvey’s Shop, I retraced my route and set foot inside the much-vaunted Gail’s for the first time. It wasn’t surprising to find this upmarket bakery trading in an equally upmarket town like Lewes, but posh nosh or not, they didn’t have the Cornish Pasty I was lusting after.

However, on the other side of the road, was a branch of the rapidly expanding Cornish Bakery chain, where I was able to obtain exactly what I was looking for, as evidenced in the attached photo. I sat outside enjoying my artisanal lunch, which was just right for the occasion. So much so that it was worth asking what Copilot had to say about my spot of al fresco lunch.

“That looks like a proper little moment of calm, Paul — a pasty with a decent-looking coffee, the sort of simple pairing that somehow feels more restorative than it has any right to be. The pasty’s crust has that slightly blistered, golden finish that suggests it’ll give a satisfying crack when you bite in, and the coffee’s foam looks like it was made by someone who actually cares about getting the milk right rather than just blasting it with steam          “.

“It’s the kind of table you linger at for a few minutes longer than planned, letting the warmth of the cup settle you while the world keeps moving around. A small, quiet pleasure — but those are often the ones that stick”.

It’s quite scary for AI to be summarising my lunchtime treat like that, and all from a simple photograph, but that’s the direction we appear to be heading, at the moment. In the meantime, let’s leave things here, before getting down to the nitty gritty of what this blog is still all about, a decent pint, in a decent pub. See you in the next post.

 

A change of plan

It’s often said that it’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind, but truth be told, men are just as capable of a last‑minute rethink. Case in point: my plans for the Bluebell Railway Beer Festival, which takes place this weekend. It was a festival I knew nothing about, until Thursday evening, when I accidentally stumbled across a press release on behalf of the railway. Running across multiple stations, with steam trains linking bars, live music, food stalls, and more than 80–100 ales and ciders, depending on the source, the Bluebell Railway Beer Festival is one of the biggest heritage railway beer events in the country.

In full swing this weekend, 18–20 September 2026, the event sounded like a good idea: heritage trains, good beer, and a railway that now runs right through to East Grinstead, where you can hop straight onto the National Rail network. Getting there seemed straightforward enough, even though it would still involve a couple of bus journeys, but Metrobus 291 runs hourly between Tunbridge Wells and Crawley (via East Grinstead), making the trip perfectly doable. More importantly, it offered the ideal excuse to ride the “new” - relatively speaking — Bluebell Railway extension from East Grinstead all the way down to Horsted Keynes and Sheffield Park, the two stations that formed the original heart of the line.

I don’t need to go into the full history of the Bluebell Railway here, although it’s fair to say I’ve watched its progress with interest for decades. Heritage railways have become numerous over the years, each facing its own hurdles as they’ve worked to reconnect isolated stretches of track to the national network. The Bluebell’s long‑awaited extension to East Grinstead reached its triumphant conclusion on 23rd March 2013, marking the end of one of Britain’s most ambitious heritage railway projects. After decades of fundraising, land purchases, engineering work, and the monumental task of clearing around 80,000 tonnes of domestic waste from the Imberhorne cutting, which the local authority had used as a rubbish tip, the preserved line finally reconnected with the national rail network.

Steam trains rolled into East Grinstead for the first time since the 1950s, crossing the restored Imberhorne Viaduct and arriving at a newly built platform in the old goods yard. The opening day saw packed trains, celebrations, and a sense of achievement shared by volunteers and supporters who had spent nearly 40 years turning the dream of a northern extension into reality. Today, the extension not only completes the Bluebell’s historic route but also makes it one of the most accessible heritage railways in the country—allowing visitors to step off a modern Southern Railway service and straight onto a steam train bound for the Sussex Weald.

I was all set to head to the festival the following day, the plan was made, the route mapped out, and the anticipation building. And then, as sometimes happens, life (and my own mind) decided to intervene. The stumbling block was the beer festival, rather than the railway, especially as it was the latter that I was much more interested in attending. With an entry price of £12, which included a souvenir glass, but then with tokens required for beer purchases, the event was beginning to look more and more like a CAMRA beer festival, without the campaigning aspect. Then there was the cost of travel on the Bluebell Railway’s trains, with an Adult Rover 3^rd Class Ticket, allowing all day travel up and down the line, between East Grinstead and Sheffield Park, costing £30, the event was starting to look like a rather expensive day out.

So, time for a rethink? Looking at this subjectively, I would prefer to visit the railway on a normal weekend, primarily to ride up and down on the trains, and yes, I don’t mind paying 30 quid to do so. Furthermore, if I fancy a beer or two, which I invariably will, then there are pubs at both Sheffield Park and Horsted Keynes, and also at East Grinstead.  I’ve basically gone off the whole concept of beer festivals, CAMRA – run or not, and whilst I appreciate these events have to cover their costs, I object to paying an admission charge, especially when on top of that I have to purchase a souvenir glass that I don’t want, and which sometimes doesn’t include a cash refund for handing the thing in, at the end of the day.

Looking further at admission charges, the best known and most famous beer festival in the world, namely, Munich’s Oktoberfest, doesn’t charge visitors to get in. The same applies to other, similar European events such as Annafest or Fränkisches Bierfest,. I’m sure there are other examples, although in most cases, I’d rather go to a local pub or bar, and help out the local economy, at source.

What did I do instead? Well, watch this space, but before leaving the Bluebell Railway, I’d like to recall a visit I made to a scaled-down beer festival, at the very same venue. Forty years ago, I visited the railway with my friend John, from Maidstone. This is the very same John who I met up with in Lenham, a couple of months ago. We drove over to Horsted Keynes in John’s VW Polo, complete with a tent in the boot, ready for an overnight stay.

After pitching the tent, we introduced ourselves to the organisers, as we’d both volunteered to do a stint behind the bar. I can’t remember much else about the event, apart from it being busy, although despite the rush of people, we still found time to take a train down to Sheffield Park. Arriving back at the adjacent campsite – a field, with the odd, strategically placed, chemical toilet, I’ve no recollection on how we slept, although I imagine the several beers we’d both consumed, must have helped us drift off to sleep.

John had brought a camping stove with him, a two-burner affair sufficient for a kettle, plus a frying pan, so a welcoming morning brew, to help with the start of the day, plus that all important fry-up. Eggs, bacon, sausages and possibly some beans as well, but also some field mushrooms that we harvested the previous afternoon. We thought they were probably field mushrooms, and they certainly looked as though they were, but seeing as neither of us were expert on fungi, we were taking a bit of a gamble.

We ate the mushrooms, along with the rest of the fry-up ingredients, but there was still a very slight nagging doubt in the back of both of our minds which said, “supposing those mushrooms weren’t supposed to be eaten, what would happen next?” We kept an eye on one another for possible symptoms of poisoning, although in those pre-internet days, there wasn’t much information for us to help us, or even to refer to.

On the drive home, we stopped off at the legendary, Dorset Arms at Withyham, for a quick pint of Harvey’s. I remember John phoning me later that evening, just to touchbase and establish that we were both still OK. So, a bit of risk, but fortunately no harm done. I don’t think I’d take such a chance today, despite all the online advice relating to which mushrooms are safe to eat, but thinking about the Bluebell Railway, brought back memories of our little escapade.

I’m fairly certain that our 1985 visit, was the last time I attended the Bluebell Railway, although it’s possible that Eileen and I took young master Matthew there, during his primary school days. Whatever the case, I’m looking forward to a return visit, without the unnecessary distraction of a beer festival, and the chance of a return journey, by train, along the line, between East Grinstead and Sheffield Park.

 

 

Tobermory re-visited. Two pubs plus a distillery

I'm pretty certain that this wasn't my first trip to Tobermory, as back in the mid-1970s I took part in a two-week botany, field course on the island of Mull. This was at the end of my second year at Salford University. Our accommodation during our time on the island, was a large, rented country house that had probably seen better days, although it was ideally suited for the purposes of the course. 

The accommodation was divided on strictly gender lines, with female students billeted in the house whilst us male students had to sleep outside in a number of tents. There was no problem with that apart from the fact we were plagued by biting insects that were at their most prevalent during late June - mosquitoes but also horseflies. Fortunately, in the main, these biting critters left me alone, but one poor fellow student was practically eaten alive.

I digress, but one fact worth noting was those one of the two laboratory technicians employed by the university, who accompanied us on the course, had the foresight to bring a couple of firkins of Boddington's Bitter along. The pair had been to Mull before and knew how dire the local beer scene was, especially to for people coming from the Manchester region. Boddington's was still a highly regarded beer, back then, and the two casks were welcomed by students and university staff, with the possible exception of the course leader. Our rather eccentric lecturer was not amused and claimed that the support staff had left some important equipment behind, to make room for the beer! Complete rubbish of course, and just sour grapes on his part!

For the record our country house field course base was in the village of Bunessan, a tiny settlement of just 200 souls in the far south of the island, in the area known as the Ross of Mull. The village watering hole was the Bunessan Inn (previously the Argyll Arms), and although we made a couple of visits there, the locals weren’t exactly friendly. So, with Boddie’s bitter on tap, back at our study centre, and just keg McEwan’s in the village pub, we did most of our drinking back at the ranch, so to speak. At some stage of the trip, we made a brief visit to Tobermory, although after 50 years I can't quite remember why we would have done that, given the remoteness of our country house base. However, the memory of that visit stuck in my mind, and on day five of our “Treasures of the British Isles” cruise, the opportunity of a return trip to Tobermory arose.

With no significant docks or other berthing facilities on the island, our cruise ship anchored out in the sound, with passengers being transferred ashore by tender, in effect three of the ships’ lifeboats. Mrs PBT's remained on the ship, as she is not particularly mobile at the best of times, and didn’t fancy clambering in and out of a relatively small boat. 

The journey across on the tender took about 20-25 minutes and when I stepped ashore in Tobermory, the sun was shining, and all seemed well with the world. I headed along the waterfront into the town pausing first for a quick look at the Tobermory Distillery, a business that was visited several years ago by Eileen’s late brother, David. The town of Tobermory and the single malt whiskey produced there, were items that were high on David’s list of places to visit. His chance came when, along with his partner Lynn, he embarked on a similar, “Round Britain Cruise” to the one that Eileen and I were enjoying. 

Sadly, David never had a chance to properly enjoy the bottle that he purchased from the Tobermory Distillery, although Lynn kindly passed the bottle on to me. I’m no whisky connoisseur, although I do enjoy the occasional “dram”. Those snifters are very occasional though, as two-thirds of the bottle I inherited remains un-drunk. This is despite the 12-year-old, single malt Tobermory whisky, being very distinctive, with a palate that is described as gently sweet, un-peated and floral. The distillery itself dates back to 1798 and is one of the oldest commercial distilleries in Scotland. It’s true to say that the whisky embodies the character and feel of Tobermory, so much so that whilst writing this piece, I was tempted to pour myself a dram and drink a toast to Eileen’s late, and much-missed brother. Note: it’s a very intense, and strong-tasting single malt, that is definitely one for sipping and savouring, rather than throwing down one’s neck. Here’s to you, David Cosham!

Moving away from the quayside, I continued on into the town and found it a charming and delightful place, with the brightly painted and colourful buildings, that are home to a myriad of local independent shops, hotels, restaurants and bars. Before sampling a few of these for myself, I strolled along to the far end of the seafront and then followed a path going uphill, to the location of the Isle of Mull War Memorial, from where I enjoyed a panoramic vista out over the town below. I then joined another path that led back down the hillside, and into the town. Before reaching the first watering-hole of the day, I stopped to take a photo of the Tobermory Youth Hostel, which is reproduced here for Stafford Paul’s benefit. I wonder if he’s stayed there, at all?

I then ventured inside the Mishnish Hotel, a busy, multi-room pub on the harbour front near the ferry terminal. Painted in a stand-out shade of bright yellow, this recently refurbished establishment offers a number of en-suite rooms, alongside a well-regarded restaurant, serving local produce. The bar is open until 1am in the summer, if the trade is sufficiently busy, and food is served until late. The Mishnish was already starting to get busy when I stepped inside, and not just with people like me who’d come on the cruise ship. I discovered a number of inter-connected rooms, on the right-hand side of the building, and this is where the main bar is, whilst the aforementioned restaurant is on the left. 

On tap was Jarl, a legendary, Citra-session, blonde ale from Fyne Ales. The beer was in good form and slipped down a treat. There was an additional cask offering, in the form of No. 47, a house beer, also brewed by Fyne, but it was taken off service before I departed. 

Satisfied with just the one beer for the time being, I headed back belong from seafront, calling in at the local bakery where I purchased a tasty and rather flavoursome Cornish pasty. I sat enjoying this lunchtime offering, whilst overlooking the sea front, and followed it up with a small tub of locally produced, ice cream. I then continued back along towards the embarkation point for the return journey to the ship, but before joining the queue there was time for one final pub visit.

The pub in question was called McGochan’s, and this red-painted, two storey pub and restaurant facing the car park at the western end of the harbour was just the place to say goodbye to Mull. The pub didn’t open until 3pm, which is why I didn’t notice it when I arrived in Tobermory. I clocked it on the way back though, and with plenty of time before the final tender, back to the ship, I left the queue I’d joined a few minutes earlier, and headed off to the pub.

McGochan’s is part of the Rocks Leisure Group, who operate a number of similar pubs in four other, picturesque, Scottish locations. Their Tobermory outlet was a real gem, with the mixture of contemporary and traditional working well. There were a couple of cask offerings on the bar, in the form of Ardgou Brewery - Goghar Odhar, a bit of a mouthful, but a pleasant beer, nevertheless, alongside the Fyne Ales, Jarl, that I’d sampled earlier.  My unpronounceable beer was served to me, in tip-to condition, by a pleasant and rather chatty Australian barmaid.

I was pleased not to have missed this excellent, harbourside pub, which rounded off nicely, my return visit to Tobermory. After picking up a full complement of passengers, the tender set off for the ship. The sea da was a little choppy out on the main channel, where the ship was anchored, but it wasn’t something I couldn't really cope with. Arriving back on Ambience, I was in time to join Mrs PBT’s for afternoon tea, an event that seems something of a tradition on British cruise lines. It was a fitting end to what had been a most enjoyable day out in what was our final Hebridean port of call.

A day in Belfast: first impressions, a classic heritage pub, plus a rather stubborn anchor

Our cruise ship, Ambience, eased into Belfast on a slightly overcast but mostly dry September Saturday, just after 8:00. The wind was brisk enough to remind us we were in Northern Ireland, but the weather was kind enough to let exploration win the day. It was our first visit to Belfast, and both Mrs PBT's and I were keen to get off the boat and see what the city had to offer. Breakfast on board was a modest affair — nothing much appealed, so I settled for some granola and a couple of slices of toast before we got ourselves ready and disembarked.

Arrival and first impressions

Ambience was berthed in the port area not far from Belfast City Airport, something we didn’t notice at first but certainly did on our return when planes were taking off almost overhead. From the terminal we boarded a double‑deck shuttle bus into the city centre, passing the famous Harland & Wolff shipyard on the way. With its two colossal yellow cranes dominating the skyline, there was no mistaking where we were; this was the birthplace of the ill-fated Titanic.

The bus dropped us right in front of the impressive Belfast City Hall. We wandered around the shops for a while — mainly for Mrs PBTs’ benefit — and found all the usual UK suspects: Primark, Boots, and even a hardware shop tucked away nearby. Afterwards, we sat for a while on a bench in the pleasant grounds of City Hall, watching the city wake up around us.

The Crown Liquor Saloon

Our main objective for the morning was the legendary Crown Liquor Saloon, which is a must-visit venue for visitors to Belfast. This Victorian gem, which dates back to 1898 and now owned by the National Trust. It’s one of those pubs you hear about for years and seeing it in person doesn’t disappoint. Ornate tiles, carved wood, stained glass, snugs- the full Victorian fantasy.

Despite arriving shortly after its 11:30 opening time, the place was already buzzing. We managed to secure a booth opposite the bar, and I went to fetch drinks: a Diet Coke for Mrs PBT’s and a pint of Abbeydale Moonshine for myself. Unfortunately the Abbeydale tasted off, and was definitely on the turn, so I took it back. The young lad behind the bar tasted the beer and straight away swapped it without fuss for a pint of Timothy Taylor’s Landlord. Predictable, perhaps, but reliably drinkable.

The booth next to us was occupied by a rather noisy group, possibly a stag party, or maybe something connected to an Orange Order demonstration scheduled later in the day. Whatever the reason, the pub was heaving, and as our booth was reserved for a larger group from 1:00 onwards, we drank up and may our way out, but only after exploring the pub’s wonderfully old‑fashioned toilet.

Lunch and people‑watching

On the walk back to the shuttle bus pickup point, we stopped at one of the bakeries in the city centre and bought a couple of hot sausage rolls. We ate them whilst sat on a bench in the City Hall grounds, a simple but satisfying lunch, and a convenient spot to sit and watch Belfast go by.

We concluded that the Crown’s early rush was probably down to stag and hen parties using it as their first meeting point. It certainly felt like the sort of place you’d want to start a big day out, even if 11:30 is a touch early for some.

Back to the ship — and an unexpected delay

We caught the shuttle bus back to the cruise terminal and browsed the small quayside shop for souvenirs. Departure was slightly delayed: a rock had become jammed in the prongs of the ship’s anchor. Lowering and raising it didn’t help, so a mobile crane was brought in to remove the offending stone. Once freed, Ambience was soon on her way again, heading south.

We spent the next day cruising steadily southwards, before arriving the following morning in the lovely little town of Cobh — a place we’d visited on our first round‑Britain cruise the year before.

 A few facts & figures about the Crown Liquor Saloon

Located on Great Victoria Street, the Crown is a Grade A listed Victorian gin palace, renowned for its extravagant interior and exterior decoration. Together with Liverpool’s Philharmonic and the Vines, the Crown is one of the UK’s three most spectacular pubs. Built in the 1840s, it was refitted in late Victorian times.

Originally opened as The Railway Tavern in 1826. The pub was renamed and lavishly refurbished in 1885 by Patrick Flanagan, who employed Italian church craftsmen to create its signature tiling, stained glass, and woodwork.

Purchased by the National Trust in 1978, restored extensively, and leased to Mitchells & Butlers, who operate it under the Nicholson’s brand. The pub contains ten snugs, each with original bell systems used to summon staff. The snugs were designed for privacy during the Victorian era.

The exterior is covered in polychromatic tiles, including the famous mosaic crown in the entrance, which is the source of the joke that visitors “trample on the British Crown.” The bar retains gas lamps on its ornate carved ceilings, contributing to its atmospheric period feel. The stained-glass windows feature painted shells, fairies, pineapples, fleurs‑de‑lis, and clowns. There is also a substantial amount of decorative acid-etched glasswork.

Conclusion

The Crown is definitely worth seeing, and for a dedicated pub man like me, it was like being in heritage pub heaven. On that score, alone, it was well worth the trip into Belfast City centre, and if you love classic pubs with equal devotion to my own, this is the absolute “Crown” as far as British and Irish pubs are concerned.

Our recent round Britain cruise: a few notes from the journey

In case anyone was wondering, my most recent post relating to my drinking habits and early pub experiences, was written before we set off on our recent round‑Britain cruise. I’d sketched out the bare bones of the article, but there simply wasn’t sufficient time to “polish it” - no chance to add the bold text that certain readers so much adore, and no opportunity to drop in the photos, most of which are still on my phone. Additionally, there was certainly no time for a proper re-read, prior to hitting the “publish” button. So now that we’re back, what of the voyage we’ve just returned from?

For those paying attention, Mrs PBT’s and I embarked on a ten‑day cruise around the British Isles. The official title was “Highlights of the British Isles,” and our route took us from Tilbury, the home port of Ambassador Cruise Lines, up to the Orkney Islands, then down to the Hebrides, including the islands of both Lewis and Mull. From there we headed across the Irish Sea to Belfast. After leaving Ulster, our ship sailed down to Cobh in the Republic of Ireland, the port for nearby Cork, which is southern Ireland’s second‑largest city.

An evening’s south-easterly cruising brought us to the Isles of Scilly, that small, sub-tropical archipelago off the south-west tip of England. From the Scillies, we enjoyed a slow, scenic sail home, hugging the coasts of south-west and southern England before joining the shipping lanes that funnel traffic through the English Channel. This meant crossing over to the French side of La Manche and followed the coastline for a while, before heading back to Blighty in the early hours of Thursday morning. We then picked up the local pilot and entered the Thames estuary, arriving in back Tilbury in good time for an early disembarkation.

Those who’ve been following the blog, will know this was our second round‑Britain cruise. The first took place in May, last year, aboard the Queen Anne, travelling anticlockwise. That itinerary included Leith (Edinburgh), Invergordon, Stornoway, and Greenock, before heading down to Liverpool. From Liverpool we crossed the Irish Sea to Cobh and then returned to Southampton. A similar itinerary, but different towns, different cities, and different experiences. Both cruises were good, and both were distinct in their own way — so I’m not going to start making comparisons.

Highlights

There were plenty. Kirkwall, in the Orkney Islands, was a delight - a lovely little town, untouched and unsullied by many of the 21st‑century woes that afflict mainland Britain (litter and mindless graffiti, posing as art). Stornoway was enjoyable too, even though our visit was practically identical to our previous visit, last May.

Mull was different, and very enjoyable. I’ve got enough notes to write a separate post about the visit I made to Tobermory, the island’s largest settlement, so I shan’t elaborate too much, here. But with no suitable berth for even a relatively small cruise-ship, passengers were ferried ashore by tender — essentially a repurposed lifeboat — landing at the east side of the town. Mrs PBT’s didn’t join me for that one, and despite her absence I enjoyed a smashing day wandering around Tobermory, with its gaily painted houses, shops, bars, and restaurants. Sunshine, wind, colour, atmosphere, and more, and all spot on!

Belfast was a complete contrast and represented a first visit for both of us. I’m pleased to report that Belfast is a thriving, dynamic city, full of recent developments and new investment. It’s a city that’s clearly determined to put the infamous “Troubles” firmly behind it. We called in for a drink at the famous, "CAMRA Heritage" Crown Liquor Saloon, a pub which met all our expectations, and more, although surprisingly, at just after 11.30 am, the place was absolutely heaving, and incredibly busy. (More about the Crown in a separate post).

We didn’t do anything overly ambitious in Cobh, just a stroll along the waterfront, a sit‑down overlooking the sea, a bit of shopping, and a visit to a different Irish pub from last time. Not Professor Pie Tin’s former local, I’m afraid, but quite close to it, and it must be said that the Rob Roy was a cracking place that served an excellent pint of Murphy’s. Murphy’s, of course, being one of Cork’s two rival breweries that challenge Guinness’s hegemony. In common with a number of fellow cruisers, we sat outside at one of several tables and watched the world go by.

The Isles of Scilly were another story. The transfer ashore involved an open boat belonging to local fishermen rather than a ship’s tender, and with choppy seas I decided to give St Mary’s a miss. I’ve got a few regrets about that, and perhaps I made the wrong call, especially as conditions had calmed down by the time the transfer boats were running steadily. But I really didn’t fancy the two, 30-minute crossings, sitting on an uncomfortable wooden seat, bouncing about in the swell – and that’s coming from someone who doesn’t suffer from seasickness! There’s always next time, although perhaps not?

A Few Final Thoughts

Ambassador Cruise Lines’ Ambience is obviously quite different from Cunard’s Queen Anne, and whilst there are aspects of the former that I prefer, there are also things I missed from the Cunard vessel. You can’t have everything, and in summary, both round‑Britain voyages were interesting, enjoyable, and memorable. The later one was blessed with mainly fine weather, unlike the first, where Liverpool, in particular, gave us a couple of very wet days, but that’s the “joy” of cruising in home waters!