A quiet evening in Tunbridge Wells

So after six days away from home and, with one notable exception, six days of drinking some of Cologne’s finest Kölsch offerings, it was back to these shores and time to get stuck into a few native beers.

I actually took a four day “holiday” from beer, or indeed alcohol of any description, to allow my body, and my sense of general well-being, to recover following what were some quite intense beery sessions. The trouble with knocking back small (20 cl) glasses of beer is that it’s very easy to lose count, and the temptation to have “just one more beer” when it’s such a relatively small measure, is hard to resist.

By Thursday though I felt suitably recovered and whilst still tired from going straight back into a still hectic work environment, the temptation of a CAMRA social in Tunbridge Wells, was enough to persuade me to make the short train journey from Tonbridge across to the Wells.

The branch had advertised a mini pub-crawl, starting off at 8pm from the Sussex Arms, before heading up to the Grove Tavern, but that time was a little too early  for me. Many West Kent CAMRA members are retired, but for us folk who are still working, getting home after our labours, having something to eat and then going back out again, does tend to eat into the evening. I said as much, but agreed to keep in touch via WhatsApp.

After some initial confusion, I met up with the group en route to the Grove. They'd had to leave the Sussex earlier than planned as it was quiz night and they'd been asked to either keep the talking to a minimum, or go elsewhere. They chose the latter. The Grove is a small backstreet pub, which is tucked away in the "village area"  of Tunbridge Wells. It is probably the oldest pub in town, and whilst it is very much a locals pub, it does offer a warm welcome to visitors.

Yesterday evening though, the welcome did not include the bar-flies sitting in front of the counter making room for us visitors to see the beers on offer. I understand it's "their pub" and "their space", but don't be too surprised if someone spills their beer down your back as they try and manouvre themselves and their pint away from the bar!

There were three cask ales on tap; Harvey's Sussex Best, Taylor's Landlord plus a beer called Phoenix, from Bedlam Brewery who brew at Plumpton Green, close to Brighton. Phoenix was a very pale 3.9% American Pale Ale which for me, plus several of my companions, didn't really deliver.

The brewery promise some of the"boldest US hops", in the form of Citra, Amarillo and Cascade, but as one of my friends said, they must have skimped on the amounts added to the copper. I moved swiftly on to the Landlord, which was in good condition, and well worth a 4 on the NBSS. I know it's been quite a while since I enjoyed a pint of Knowle Spring's finest, but I do think the beer has become slightly darker in colour than I remember it.

Putting the beer and bar-hogging customers to one side, the two pints I enjoyed at the Grove gave me the chance to catch up with a former work colleague, who retired a year ago, before disappearing off on a three month trip to Australia and New Zealand. As well as telling me about his adventures, he was keen to hear about the many changes which have occurred at the company, since he left last April.

After two pints at the Grove, the majority of us decided to move on. Several of us had trains to catch, so we headed down the hill towards the station and the nearby Bedford. Here we had the final drink of the evening. Three pints was plenty for me, especially on a "school night", and there was a good choice of beers adorning the bar .

As well a a couple of offerings from Greene King, there were beers from Pig & Porter, Cellar Head, Iron Pier and Great Heck. If truth be known, there were probably one or two too many beers on sale, as my pint of Citra from Great Heck was somewhat disappointing.  To be fair, it was probably the penultimate pint out of the cask, and wasn't bad enough to return, but it was slightly hazy with what is sometimes described as "yeast bite".

Despite my slightly below par pint, I was impressed with the friendly and knowledgeable barman who served us. He obviously knew his beers and he also knew how to nip potential trouble in the bud. I dislike using the term, but there was a group of "hipsters" sitting at the largest of the Bedford's tables, and one of the group was using the "f" word rather indiscriminately and rather loudly. This same individual was also hugging his pet Dachshund, which was wrapped in a blanket. 

After several more expletives were broadcast to all and sundry, the barman shouted over to the offender and told him to moderate his language or leave. Our hipster friend chose the former course of action; a sensible move given the size and build of the barman.

That was enough excitement for one night, certainly as far as I was concerned. Most of my fellow branch members had already left, but having just missed a train, I left it until shortly before 11pm to walk over to the station. In my book, it counted a good night, and after the bustle of Cologne, a relatively quiet night in Tunbridge Wells was just what was needed.