Early on New Year's Eve

On New Year’s Eve I finally managed to escape the confines of the house to take a wander down into Tonbridge. It wasn’t my first venture outside of the house, as I had been out three days before, primarily to drop my unwell car off at Halfords, for a diagnostic check, after the engine started misfiring and running erratically. It was a virtual re-run of the problem I experienced back in September, when Matthew and I were driving back from a visit to Dorking.

On that occasion we had to be recovered from Clackets Lane services, but the second time around, I managed to limp the vehicle back home.  Matthew was with me again, and we were on our way back from the Tesco Superstore at Riverhead. The way the car was handling suggested a repeat of September’s breakdown, namely a faulty fuel injector, and this was confirmed via a phone call, from Halfords, whilst I was sitting in the cafe in Waitrose, enjoying a flat white and a cookie.

Replacing an injector was a job which Halfords were unable to do, so after collecting my vehicle, and limping it back to Bailey Towers, I headed off to the station and boarded a train to High Brooms. I had pre-booked a look, plus a test drive at the local Skoda dealer, and to cut a long story short, I ended up placing a deposit on a much newer, and shinier SUV. The vehicle is now parked on my drive, after I collected it yesterday afternoon, but this isn’t a post for petrol-heads, but rather is some general background information as to why I was out and about on the last day of the year.

Although mis-named, and over exaggerated, the 100-day cough that had been doing a tour of the UK left Mrs PBT’s and I decidedly under the weather - Eileen rather more so than me. Son Matthew also copped a dose as well, although being younger than his parents (I shan’t say fitter), he bounced back a lot quicker than we did. I took a slightly different route into the town, following a path that led me through the maze of newish apartment blocks that have sprung up over the past couple of decades, on land either close to, or actually overlooking the River Medway.  

This area represents the town’s largest piece of development land, and additional space for building has recently become available following the demolition and removal of two large gasholders. These relics of from a bygone age were something of a local landmark, and their removal upset quite a few local people. I remember spotting them from the air, whilst on a flight coming in towards Gatwick, but now they are no more, a substantial piece of development land has been created. Nice as these new dwellings are, very few, if any of them are within the reach of first-time buyers. This is a real bug bear, as far as I am concerned, and I know I’m not the only local person who feels this way. I digress, but with a son unable to get onto the housing ladder, and still living at home, you can perhaps understand my frustration.

Moving swiftly on, I had another reason for visiting the town centre, apart from wishing to escape a spot of cabin fever, and that was to visit a local hostelry. Mrs PBT’s had probably guessed as much, but then after nearly 40 years of marriage, she knows me only too well. I walked along the towpath into the centre of Tonbridge, and crossed the river by the "Big Bridge", as this Victorian structure is known to the local townsfolk. I then made my way along to Fuggles Beer Café, which looked busier than I thought it would be – although it was New Year’s Eve.

I made my way inside, and fortunately despite the crowds, there were still a number of empty chairs and free tables. I spotted a familiar face sat at one of the tables, so after buying myself a pint I walked over and said hello to Keith and asked if I could join him. Keith lives within walking distance of Fuggles and often brings his two dogs with hm, along to the pub, for an afternoon pint or two, so surprised to see just one hound lying under the table, I asked where the other one was. Sadly, one of the dogs had died, although Keith advised that the animal didn’t suffer.

A choice of three cask ales was on offertory tempt the enthusiast, and I started off with an excellent pint of Jarl, from Fyne Ales. Extremely pale in colour, this single hop, session, blonde ale is the brewery’s flagship beer, and I was really tempted to have another. Also on sale was High Contrast, an American Pale Ale from Downlands Brewery. Keith bought himself a pint, and I followed suit, shortly after. It was a decent enough beer, but not really a patch on the Jarl. The third cask offering was the ubiquitous Plum Porter, from Titanic Brewery which, as its name suggests, is a plum-infused porter. There are people who rave over this beer, but neither of us fancied drinking, even just a half of it. Looking back, the last time I sampled this Titanic brew, was in Birmingham, back in April, at the legendary Barton’s Arms. My notes tell me that I only had a half on that occasion.

As I said earlier, Fuggles was ticking over nicely, but without being overcrowded. The management were obviously expecting an influx of people later on, as there were plenty of staff lined up behind the bar, all eager to pull pints for the cafes thirsty customers. The latter were made partly of small groups, interspersed with several large ones. With several women, holding very small babies that were probably just a few weeks old, the term “yummy mummy” sprang to mind, although perhaps Mumsnet would be a better description. Babies were passed around, not so much amongst admirers, but probably because mum fancied a break, but the various infants were all well behaved, so much so that you wouldn’t have known they were there.

I had a brief chat at the bar with one, thankfully child free lady, who was raving about the glass of Bruges Zot she’d just ordered. I didn’t have the heart to say it wasn’t amongst my favourites, although I did tell her I’d visited the Brouwerij De Halve Maan, where the beer is brewed, on my last visit to the city. Fuggles is that sort of place, where people are genuinely interested in trying different beers, and long may this continue. Two pints were sufficient for me and Keith, who'd had a head start on me, was ready to leave too, and get his dog back home. Those beers in Fuggles, represented my first pints in a pub since bidding farewell to the two Mudgies at the Wharf in Macclesfield, at the beginning of December. I’m not sure whether it was a case of absence making the heart grow fonder, but they didn’t half taste good!