Blue job or pink job?

There's not much worse than returning home, following an enjoyable and well-earned holiday, to find that during your absence, a minor disaster has occurred on the home front. This is what happened to Mrs PBT's and I, after our most recent cruise, and it was a problem with our hot water system that manifested itself whilst we were away. Despite being regularly serviced, our heating and hot water system seems to have form when it comes to going wrong, when we are away from home, so much so that you start to wonder, whether the house is getting its own back, for us not being there!

I remember one summer, when young Matthew was still at school, returning from a relaxing family holiday in a rented house at Winchelsea Beach, and noticing a large puddle on the kitchen floor. The hot water cylinder had mysteriously sprung a leak, allowing the water within to slowly spread itself all over the floor. The solution, of course, was a replacement cylinder – expensive, and inconvenient, but obviously essential!

A dozen or more years later, we returned from a pre-Christmas trip to a European city - Salzburg or Prague, although I can’t remember which one it was. It was suitably cold, as expected for the time of year, and this was a nice touch during the build-up to Christmas, especially as our chosen location was looking suitably festive. Returning home to a freezing cold house, due to a fault with the central heating, wasn’t quite so festive, and certainly wasn’t the pleasant welcome home we were expecting. Fortunately, the builder who had installed the system was able to call round that evening, identify the cause of the problem, and then correct it.

So, what happened this time around?  Well, approximately two-thirds of the way through our cruise, Queen Anne was making a return passage through the Strait of Gibraltar. The timings and the weather were perfect for sightseeing, so that evening the pair of us settled down on our balcony to watch our passage through the famous stretch of water. With our cabin situated on the port side of the ship we had an interrupted view of the coast of North Africa, along with the sprawling port of Tangier.

Courtesy of room service, we had just enjoyed a roast chicken club sandwich, and a generous handful of French fries, so feeling both full and relaxed our pleasant evening was overshadowed by a phone call from home It was son Matthew who was looking after the house, and he was questioning the length of time taken for the water in the kitchen to run hot. I explained that there was quite a lengthy run from the upstairs hot cylinder to the kitchen but that it shouldn't take too long for hot water to flow through.

Well, he said it's been running for quite some time now, and it's only coming through lukewarm. I asked if the boiler was alight, but he didn't know, and instead I had to listen to him panicking about needing a shower in the morning, before going to work. The youth of today, eh? How did he think we managed in the days before central heating and gas-fired boilers?  I replied that he could turn the immersion heater on, and after explaining where the switch was located, and that it would take approximately 30 minutes or more for the tank to heat up he seemed satisfied of sorts. We left it at that, although we received a brief message the following day, confirming that there had been sufficient hot water for his morning shower, and the evening’s washing-up! 

It was a Sunday when Eileen and I arrived home from the cruise. I couldn’t see why the hot water cycle wasn’t working, but I could hear the immersion hissing away, as it did its stuff. I'd already given instructions to Matthew not to leave it switched on for too long, given the price of electricity, but being a Sunday there was no chance of getting a plumber out. In the meantime, we could struggle on with immersion heater, until the engineer who looks after our boiler and central heating system could come and take a look. it wasn't good news when I finally spoke to him, as he was unavailable for a week and a half due to a family illness and a very full appointments book. We also had a family wedding to participate in, and this served as a further distraction.

One morning, a couple of days after said event, I heard an anguished cry from Mrs PBT's in the bathroom, complaining that the water had run cold on her, whilst she was showering. I checked the tank, and it felt cold, and with no noises coming from the immersion, I assumed that the fuse had blown. We have a pack of fuses somewhere in the house, but rather than turn the place upside down looking for them, I nipped down into Tonbridge and bought a pack. Unfortunately, a replacement fuse didn’t rectify the situation, so the immersion heater must have packed up. It's not a feature we use much, especially because of cost reasons, but now our backup was gone, what were we to do for hot water?

There is a communal shower at my workplace, which meant I would be OK, but it would have been impractical for Mrs PBT’s.  A chat with our maintenance man at work revealed that because the boiler was capable of providing heating but no hot water, the motorised valve that diverts hot water into the tank must have failed. I subsequently discovered that by opening this valve manually, we were able to direct hot water from the boiler, straight into the tank. Problem solved, for the time being, a happy Mrs PBT’s and a rather relieved Paul – as it was my fault, according to her that she’d endured a cold shower!

Cutting a long story short, I decided to circumvent our normal heating engineer and contacted a plumber who has carried out plumbing work for the company, in the past. It transpired that he was busy on a commercial job in London, but he put me in touch with a young lad who had served his apprenticeship under him. This pleasant young man came round couple of days later and fitted a replacement motorised valve.

I appreciate this has been a rather long and convoluted post, so well done to all those who have stuck it out so far, but the biggest downside to this tale was the time taken to solve the issue. This was valuable, irreplaceable time, which could have been spent visiting pubs, trying new beers and even writing about them, rather than trying to organise ways and means of restoring our hot water supply. Unfortunately, tradesmen, such as plumbers, seem few and far between at the moment, especially when it comes to their availability.

I'm sure it's because there aren't many coming up through the ranks, so to speak, as being a plumber or an electrician doesn't carry the same sort of kudos with the youngsters that working in other, more "glamorous" occupations does. Instead, they want to write programmes for computer games, or be “influencers”, whatever that means. They certainly don't want to roll up their sleeves and get their hands, dirty crawling around in tight confined spaces, such as lofts or under sinks.

It wasn’t just the wasted time that I found annoying, the whole episode was quite stressful as well, a feeling induced by feelings of helplessness by being left at the mercy of tradesmen with more work on their hands they can handle.   

What was worse though, was the way Mrs PBT's blamed me for the situation, just because I’m the man of the house! If proof of this was needed, her assertion that sorting out issues such as heating and plumbing was a “blue job,” said it all. What do you mean by that?  I asked. She replied, “blue as opposed to pink.” Getting the gist of what she was saying, I told her that it was a very sexist thing to say, and if I'd made such an assertion, I would have been in all sorts of trouble. Apparently, it’s quite a common thing to say, in some relationships, although you’d need to be a brave individual to raise it, in certain situations.  

That’s more than enough on what ought to be a minor consideration, a first world problem, if you like, but it’s not entirely over, as at the weekend, Matthew’s en suite shower gave up the ghost. The nice young lad I mentioned earlier, is coming to take a look at it, once he is back from holiday, but in the meantime, bear in mind that these things are sent to try us, irrespective of what colour they purport to be!

Some Folkestone pubs, for you to enjoy reading about

After the previous introductory article about the former channel port of Folkestone, here’s the post you’ve all been waiting for, namely some narrative about the pubs and bars my friends and I visited in the town the other Friday. The first pub of the day, and in my view the best, by far was the Bouverie Tap an independently run bar-cum restaurant, close to the former Bobby’s department store, and just five minutes’ walk from the Leas Cliff Hall with its cross-channel views. 

The Bouverie Tap opened in 2017 and expanded into the neighbouring premises three years later. Specialising in local cask ales, fine wines, continental beers, Kentish Gins and premium spirits, a range of fine food is also available, made freshly with locally sourced ingredients. The walls of the pub are adorned with plenty of interesting vintage memorabilia, which includes a number of old brewery advertisements. As far as the cask offerings were concerned, there was a Pale Ale from Pig & Porter, plus two offerings from Titsey Brewery. I haven’t particularly rated Titsey beers in the past (titter ye not!), but my pint of Leveson Buck was excellent, an opinion shared by several of my companions.  

We gave the Radnor Arms, just round the corner a miss, as the plan was to call in on way back to station – spoiler alert, we didn’t! Instead, we walked along cliff top, with its views out across the English Channel, to France, and ended up in Bayle area of town, where the parish church is situated. This quiet and peaceful area is the original centre, of Folkestone, when it was just a small town, perched up on the cliffs, overlooking a small haven.

A bit of confusion, and even dissent surrounded the Guildhall, the second pub on our provisional list, as half party called in, whilst the rest of the group headed off elsewhere. The dissenters were of the opinion that the pub is tied to Greene King, when in fact it is a Punch outlet. It certainly looked appealing from the outside, and after checking on What Pub, I am now kicking myself for missing it, as I discovered that, up until 1987, the pub originally called the Globe. This was an old haunt of me and my school chums, as the place for a pre-gig pint at the nearby Leas Cliff Hall. I think it was the garden area in front of the pub that threw me, as I don’t remember it being there.

Greene King IPA plus Harvey’s Best were the beers on sale, but bearing that in mind, I was surprised when the branch chairman dismissed the nearby British Lion, because it only sold Young's and Ringwood (where is that brewed now?) The Lion certainly looked a proper traditional pub, as demonstrated by the photo of its attractive exterior. Several of us would have liked to see for ourselves, but the British Lion is on my list for a future visit to Folkestone.

The second pub for many of us ended up as Kipps' Alehouse, a shop conversion occupying a prominent corner position at the top of the Old High Street, and Bayle Street. Kipp’s is a bit more than just a micro-pub, as it stocks a wide variety of bottled craft beers and draught international lagers, alongside two or three cask ales, served by gravity, from a chilled cabinet behind the bar.

Unfortunately, the pint of Crispin Amber Ale from Mad Cat Brewery was decidedly past its best, but it was exchanged with good grace, plus an apology from the landlady, for a pint of Tonbridge Countryman, instead. There is quite a Bohemian feel to Kipp’s but given the wide range of foreign beers that it stocks, it might be struggling to turn over the number of casks that it does, but then it does feature in the Good Beer Guide – go figure, as the Americans would say!

Onwards, and upwards, and a third pub selected, but only for those who didn’t mind a walk, was the East Cliff Tavern, a traditional backstreet terraced pub, that has been owned by the same family since 1967. This sounded more like it, but unfortunately it was closed, despite the advertised midday opening time. Disappointed, we decided to visit one of the pubs near the fish market instead, and the Ship Inn, with its views across the inner harbour, turned out to be a real cracker, and a definite “proper pub” at last. The Ship dates back to the 1930’s, although there has been a pub of the same name, on the site since the early 1700’s.

Given its location, outlook and the wall-to-wall sunshine we were experiencing, it was no surprise to find the place packed, but we still managed to find a couple of tables. London Pride, Doom Bar and Old Speckled Hen, were joined on the bar by Harbour View, a 3.9% house beer, produced exclusively for the pub by an unknown brewery, that I was unable to find on Untappd. In charge of proceedings, were a couple of "old school" landladies, keeping watch from behind the bar. Their no-nonsense approach soon became apparent when a couple of “stripped to the waist” builder types, who’d been hanging around outside, were told to put a shirt on, if they wished to be served!

A number of our group had lunch at the Ship, with fish and chips being the obvious choice. The food looked good, and the service was quick, but three of us had already decided to visit Sandy’s Fish & Chip Shop, just a few doors along. This meant eating our fish and chips outside, and taking our chances with marauding seagulls, but fortunately, these pesky birds were conspicuous by their absence, unlike as in other resorts such as Brighton and Hastings!

It was time to join up with the rest of our party, who we’d been keeping in touch with via Whats App, so after a climb back up into the centre of the old town we reached the Beer Shop Folkestone. As its name implies this establishment is another shop conversion that is home to a specialist beer bar. It majors on keg, bottled and canned beers, with one or sometimes two micro-brewery cask ales served from taps on the rear wall. My choice of beer was Hopping the Tasman, a well-hopped pale ale from Gravesend’s Iron Pier Brewery. We sat in the bar’s long narrow room which, as you can see below, provided a good photo opportunity.  

We then crossed the road to the Samuel Peto, a Wetherspoon's pub named after renowned railway engineer and builder of Nelson’s column, Samuel Morton Peto. This entrepeneur used part of his fortune to fund the building, which began life as a Baptist church in 1874. The pub’s former function is still very much in evidence, as it features the original stained-glass windows, various memorial plaques of local dignities, and a hand-painted ceiling of fluffy white clouds across a blue sky. 

The church once contained a large pipe organ, and the façade of these pipes have been retained at the far end of the balcony. There are even two pulpits upstairs, and this is where we sat with our drinks, looking out over drinkers on the ground floor below us. The pub wasn’t that busy, although at 4pm on a Friday afternoon, one might have expected a lull. I went for a pint of Moose River from Hop Union Brewery, which turned out to be yet another hoppy pale ale.

We headed back into the town centre, to Chambers, our penultimate stop, and quite a quirky one at that. Established in 1998, and still owned by the same people, Chambers is a spacious cellar bar, close to the bus station. It is also a Good Beer Guide regular, and it’s easy to see why, with its carefully chosen range of local cask ales, craft beers, ciders, plus a range of directly imported continental lagers. The bar consists of several inter-linked sections that extend for some distance beneath an upstairs licensed coffee shop.  

After the fierce heat of the day, it was refreshingly cool underground and a nice place where we could sit down and relax. The cask offerings were Adnams Lighthouse and Hop Fuzz Fallout, yet another, fruity and citrus-driven, pale session ale. I was starting to feel a bit jaded by this time but stuck it out to the final pub of the day, the Firkin Alehouse, just a hop, skip and a jump away. Founded in 2012, the Firkin promotes itself as Folkestone's first micro-pub, with up to four cask beers, and up to six ciders all served on gravity from a temperature-controlled cellar room. There was an emphasis on Kent micro-breweries, which was borne out by my choice of Smash, an English pale ale, from Kent Brewery.

The beer seemed very similar in makeup and character to the previous one, although my Untappd notes describe it as probably the best beer of the day. This might just have been the beer talking, as it had been quite a long day. We sat outside, in a paved area at the rear of the pub, before drifting, in dribs and drabs back to the station. The trains heading back towards London were packed, or at least the high-speed one was. My companions and I waited for the standard South Eastern train which formed a direct service back to Tonbridge, albeit stopping at every station along the way.

The day had certainly proved an interesting one, and for someone like me, the chance to reconnect with the Folkestone I remember from my youth. It also provided a useful guide to which parts of the town were worth revisiting, and which to avoid next time around.

A day at the seaside

On what turned out to be hottest day of the year to date in the UK, I joined nine other beer enthusiasts, most of them local CAMRA members, on a trip to Folkestone. A day out at the seaside if you like, but also the opportunity to explore some of the pubs and bars in this once popular coastal resort. We travelled by direct train from Tonbridge, a journey of approximately one hour. The carriages were packed, the fine weather having tempted many people out of their homes and workplaces to enjoy, like us, a day at the seaside.

It was a long time since I last visited Folkestone even though it was a regular halt during childhood. I'm sure I've written before that both of my parents were fans of this genteel seaside town, and although that mantle has slipped somewhat over the past half century, Folkestone still boasts a number of attractions to draw people in.  Probably the biggest loss to the town’s prestige was the cessation of cross channel ferry services between Folkestone and the French fishing port of Boulogne, in 2001.

One factor, said to have played a role in the decision to terminate the service, was the withdrawal of Duty Free, whilst the other allegedly was the Swedish company Stena, paying over the odds when they bought Sealink British Ferries, from British Rail. The real reason was the small size of Folkestone harbour, compared with that at Dover, plus the opening in 1993, of the Channel Tunnel. So, whilst Folkestone no longer plays the role in cross-channel traffic that it once did, there are encouraging signs that the town is quietly reinventing itself.

It must be 40 years or so since I last made a proper visit to Folkestone, and that occasion almost certainly involved a day trip to Boulogne.  This charming French town is well worth a visit especially the old part of the town perched up on a hill.  But now the cross-channel traffic has disappeared, I imagine that, like Folkestone, Boulogne has had to undergo a similar renaissance. It’s not quite so easy to visit without a car, although I imagine there must be buses linking the town with its larger neighbour, Calais.

Still, we're talking about Folkestone here is the town, and my last fun memories of the town are of Saturday evening visits to the Leas Cliff Hall a large concert hall, built into the cliff-face and looking out to sea. Opened in1927, this spacious venue has a standing capacity of 1,500 people, and it was here that as a 17–18-year-old sixth form pupil that I saw bands like Uriah Heep, Caravan, Groundhogs, the Strawbs, Fleetwood Mac (before the Buckingham-Nicks partnership joined up), and quite a few other groups seen.

Attending a gig at the Leas Cliff Hall, with your mates, was always a good night out, and there was also the added bonus of a bar, just to the right of the stage. For someone who hadn’t turned 18 at the time, it was relatively easy to get served, so many an evening was spent in a slight, alcoholic haze! It was an easy journey to make by train, from Ashford to Folkestone Central, followed by a 15–20-minute walk across town to the Leas Cliff Hall itself.

Those memories came flooding back last Friday, as even after four that route through Cheriton Gardens towards the hall, seemed familiar. My companions and I were making for the first pub of the day which, as it turned out, proved to be the best – in my view at least. However, as we visited nine pubs/bars in total, that day I shall deal with all of them, in a separate article.

For now, I want to tell you a little more about Folkestone itself, and draw a comparison between today’s reality, and the seaside town I remember from a childhood spent growing up in East Kent. The town’s heyday began during late Victorian times and extended into the Edwardian era that followed. During this period, Folkestone was considered one of the most fashionable resort of the time, with the western part of the town being home to numerous townhouses, villas, large hotels and other impressive buildings, high up on the cliffs and overlooking the English Channel. These opulent dwellings were built to accommodate the wealthy and the well-to-do, who flocked to the town.

Unfortunately, this success was not destined to continue, and following two world wars, the increased demand for package overseas holiday, and changing fashions generally, Folkestone began a slow decline. Walking through this once fashionable part of town, it is still possible to imagine what Folkestone was like during its glory days, and it is easy to see why people were attracted here in the first place.

My companions and I passed through this area on our way to the second pub of the day, and before beginning our descent towards the parish church, were rewarded with views out over a flat and dead calm sea. Despite a haze, hovering just above the water, it was possible to make out the French coast, just over 20 miles away. The area around the church is known as the Bayle, with the attractive, Grade II listed building dedicated to St Mary & St Eanswythe. Parts of the church date from the 13^th Century, but it was largely rebuilt in the 19^th Century.

Connecting the Bayle with the Harbour area is the Old High Street, a steep and narrow cobbled street, which is now at the heart of "Folkestone's Creative Quarter". Together with nearby Rendezvous Street, this part of the town is now thriving, with independent businesses and restaurants surrounded by restored buildings, many painted in bright, vibrant colours. I can still remember taking this route down to the harbour, with my parents, stopping off to watch seaside rock being made in the window of a local sweet shop.

Unfortunately, other places I remember from childhood have vanished, including Bobby’s, Folkestone’s stylish department store on Sandgate Road, which opened 1931, before becoming a branch of Debenhams, 40 years later. My mother particularly liked this store, so although the building is still standing, the shop itself is sadly no more.

One welcome, and presumably quite recent development, is that the pedestrianisation of much of the town centre. The harbour area has also undergone extensive renovation, with the Harbour Arm (the large, curved, stone built breakwater that juts out into the sea, restored and developed as a recreational space and promenade with bars, restaurants, and entertainment at weekends and sometimes other evenings, as well. 

There wasn’t sufficient time to explore the latter area, much as I would have like to, but from the limited amount I saw, and the more detailed information I have read, this area alone makes a return visit to Folkestone not only desirable, but essential as well.

 

£6 Hot Dogs make the perfect lunch offering at Fuggles

Three months ago, I published a post that begged the question “Is a cheap and cheerful pub lunch too much to ask for? It was a straightforward question, and a genuine one at that, but it stemmed from a desire to find a pub selling simple, but solid pub fayre, such as a cheese roll, a slice of pork pie, or even a charcuterie/cheese selection. It was a genuine cry from the heart against the inexorable rise of the gourmet pub, with its tarted-up fancy sandwiches smothered in rocket leaves, or a handful of potato crisps. Such fancy offerings often lead to a doubling in price of a simple roll or sandwich.

The post attracted over 30 comments, a number that is a rare event for the blog, and whilst most commentators were in agreement, there was the odd dissenting voice expressing concern that here was someone who is not from the trade, preaching to those who are, and trying to tell them how to run their businesses. My response was that whilst I might not run a pub, although I did run an off-licence for five years, I have been drinking in them for the past fifty years, in numerous locations all over the country. However, given this background, it still isn’t easy to understand where exactly abominations such as the gourmet sandwich appeared from. My quest for something plain, simple and fairly priced continues, and the other week, like a maiden’s prayer, my pleas were answered.

Even better was the fact that salvation came much closer to home than I thought it would, although there is a catch. The catch is that the cut-price offer on the pub in question’s food selection, is only available one day per week. The pub I am referring to is Fuggles Beer Café, or should that be Cafes? As the company operates in both Tonbridge and Tunbridge Wells, and here is what the chain has to say about its food. “Join us for a bite to eat with one of our highly regarded grilled cheese sandwiches, delicious Hot Dogs or sample some of the tastiest British cheese & charcuterie with one of our sharing boards.”

So simple, tasty and easy to prepare, which is important seeing as neither of the Fuggles Café’s have a proper kitchen. What they do have, is a food preparation area behind the bar, and this is where toasties, hot dogs and charcuterie boards are put together, in full view of the customer. Hot dogs are the star attraction for me, especially as they contain a Bratwurst in a brioche bun (vegetarian Brats are available, for those so inclined). Then there is a range of different toppings or sauces to accompany. Prices range from £7.25 for a “naked” dog, up to £9.00 for something a little more fancy.

Moderately expensive, especially when compared to a £2.50 Midlands cheese cob, but all-day Thursday, Fuggles run a promotion on their hot dogs, retailing them at just £6.00 each, a price that applies to all the dogs, and also includes two extras on the “naked dog.” Game on, and Paul is now able to dine out on Bratwurst and beer, for just over a tenner! What’s more Thursday is a good day for me to call at my local Fuggles, for the following reasons.

“Thor’s day” is where my four-day weekend begins and is one I really look forward to. Furthermore, I have the house to myself that day, as Mrs PBT’s puts in a five-hour stint, looking after the accounts of a local scaffolding company. I drive her over in the morning and then pick her up at 2.30 – I was late today, so a black mark there! After getting few domestic chores out of the way, I like to take a walk down into Tonbridge, withdraw a bit of cash, have a look around the charity shops (I still like to pick up the odd, second-hand CD, or two), do a spot of shopping (my stuff) and then, if there’s time, call in somewhere for a quick pint.  Only the one, mind you, as I have to drive over to the farm-based office where Mrs PBT’s works, and chauffeur her home.

Thursday lunchtime in Fuggles, is quiet and relaxed, or it certainly feels that way between midday and half one. Later in the afternoon, the pub starts to fill up, although the atmosphere is maintained. I expect the time will come, when I will tire of hot dogs, but for the time being, they remain a tasty and reasonably priced lunchtime snack, and the perfect accompaniment to a glass of beer.

I’ve little doubt that serial troll, and juvenile, snide remark expert, Cooking Lager, will try to make some capital out of this short article, but this sad individual needs to grow up, and also be aware that all insulting comments, even if made in jest, will be remove as soon as they are spotted. So if you are reading this CL, don’t waste your time!