First day of spring

The first Sunday in March proved rather different to those in the preceding month, in so much that the south east wasn’t battered by yet another named storm, or drowned by a deluge of rain!

Instead the day dawned bright and sunny, much to my surprise when I finally surfaced following a rare lie-in. After a substantial cooked breakfast, which doubled up as lunch, and the completion of a few domestic chores, I decided to venture outside and attempt a much needed tidy up of our garden.

We’d lost a couple of fence panels in one of the first of the winter storms, followed by our garden arbour seat. The latter had vanished through the gap in the fence, and ended up in the next door garden. The lad and I had dragged it back a couple of weeks previously, but after another battering from Storm Dennis, the structure was looking rather sorry for itself.

Mrs PBT’s was of the opinion that it was beyond repair, and until I’d looked at it more closely I was inclined to believe her, but after shifting what was left to a less expose position, it does look salvageable.

I’d sweated buckets over that arbour seat, after it was gifted to me by my parents. They’d bought the thing on a whim, but with old age and infirmity rapidly catching up with them, had left it as a collection of different sections and connecting parts, rather than erecting it.

It must have been six or seven years ago when, on a regular visit to their Norfolk bungalow, my mother had pressed me to take it back to Kent with me. I reluctantly agreed, only just managing to fit the various pieces into the back of my car. I then had the fun part of working out how it all fitted together – my parents having lost the instructions.

Once assembled and painted it looked pretty good, particularly after I’d relocated it to fit between a gap in the hedge, overlooking the patio, and there it stayed until the beginning of November, when the first of the winter’s storms struck. So having invested a considerable amount of time and effort in this structure, you can perhaps  understand why I am so keen to save it.

It was rather pleasant being outdoors and with the sun shining and the wind having dropped, it was quite warm in the garden. It was certainly warmer than it had been for a long time, but still far to wet to do much in the way of serious gardening. The lawn was very soft underfoot, and walking across it you could hear, and feel, the squelch of the ground underneath.

So after tidying up the remains of my arbour, re-potting a few plants ad sweeping the patio, I decided to take a walk down into Tonbridge – “Sunny Tunny,” as it’s sometimes referred to, for a look round and to pick up a few items ahead of this Friday’s trip to Burton.

It was a while since I’d last had a wander around Tonbridge, and as with many towns up and down the UK, things aren’t looking too good on the High Street. The saddest news is the loss of Beales, our only department store, which is due to close at the end of the month. A combination of high rents, even higher business rates and changing consumer tastes and demands, has forced the parent company into receivership.

Beales share a site with Sainsbury’s, and the rumour is that the supermarket will expand into at least part of  the soon to be vacated site, but once the store finally closes, there will be nowhere left in Tonbridge for us gents to buy our clothes. The ladies, of course, are still catered for, although one independently-owned  fashion emporium will soon also be shutting, but I will miss Beales next time I want to buy a winter coat, a new fleece or a light-weight jacket for summer.

To make matters worse, our local branch of Millets is also due to close, its demise probably hastened by the opening a couple of years ago of a branch of Go Outdoors, on a newly created retail park on the edge of town. Fortunately, son Matthew’s shop is still open and trading well, so I was able to buy the “C-type” charging cable I was after.

No venture into Tonbridge should be undertaken without calling in somewhere for a pint. I decided to head towards Fuggles, diverting along the perimeter of the "Sports Ground."  Parts of the latter are still impassable, due to floodwater, so I made my way back towards the High Street and eventually arrived at Fuggles.

This laid back café-bar was fairly full, but fortunately there were still a few seats and tables going spare. It was sometime since my last visit, but there was still that pleasant buzz about the place that comes from discerning people, chatting and socialising, whilst enjoying a choice of beers that is the widest in Tonbridge.

I made my way to the bar, and was presented with the difficult choice of Burning Sky Plateau or Thornbridge Jaipur.  Although tempted by the latter, I decided to go with something slightly more sensible, and opted for the Plateau. I was glad I did, as that as the beer was pale, hoppy and crystal clear with just the right amount of condition. It was worthy of a 3.5 NBSS.

I was tempted to stay for a second beer and possibly go for the Jaipur, but I received a text from Matthew, offering me a lift home. He had just finished his shift, so with the prospect of a nice pot-roast in waiting in the oven at home, I took him up on his offer. I walked back down towards where he was parked, and we headed off for home.

Tonbridge didn't seem to have changed much, and despite the aforementioned closures, there are encouraging signs of a few independent shops springing up amongst the  hairdressers, charity shops and estate agents that seem to dominate the town. The latter are a sign that the town is still desirable place to live, and with some decent places to drink in at last, and a new one due to open at Easter,  Tonbridge continues on its upward journey as a very desirable place to live.