Halfway House re-visited

I’ve written before about how I’ve gone off large, CAMRA style beer fests, whilst continuing to enjoy pub beer festivals, or similar, small-scale events. Speaking of which, one particular event provides a real attraction, and particular affection for me, and here I’m talking about the beer festival, held twice-yearly at the Halfway House, just outside the village of Brenchley. It’s been several years since I last attended this excellent festival, so on Friday I decided to make up for the deficit. August Bank Holiday being almost a week early (due to the 25^th being the last Monday in August), really threw me, and neither I nor Eileen had made any plans.

My decision then, to attend the event on the opening Friday, was made very much on the spur of the moment and was made with virtually none of the forward planning I usually put into such outings. For example, I hadn’t been in touch with any friends or associated from CAMRA, and whilst travel arrangements had been notified in advance, there seemed little consensus, certainly on the local WhatsApp group, as to which bus(es) to go for, and who exactly was.  The specified bus was the 12:15 Hams Travel service from Tunbridge Wells station, but as I had a few things to sort out at home first, I ended up taking the next bus, scheduled to depart at 14:10.

It was already running 10 minute’s late, and was then beset by the inevitable roadworks, this time in both Matfield and Brenchley. Worse still I had to endure two complete strangers, sat a couple of rows behind me, discussing their various ailments and medical conditions – a trait that doesn’t seem confined to just the elderly! That was definitely an occasion when a pair of earphones would have come in handy! 

I was losing the will to live by the time the bus deposited me outside the Halfway House, and with the time at almost 3pm, I had quite some serious catching up to do. The festival was in full swing, when I arrived, but first I popped into the pub to “top up the lager barrel” as an old CAMRA friend used to say. Being jolted around on a bus, was putting unwanted pressure on my bladder, so a nice clean pub toilet was most welcome. It was also a pleasant contrast to the “trough” – quite literally a re-purposed, farmyard drinking trough for cattle, that represented the facilities provided for male festival goers.

A group of friends from West Kent CAMRA branch had arrived before me, but had taken a different bus out to Matfield, walked down to Hopbine at Petteridge, in order to check it out, and then walked along to Halfway House. They followed the well-trodden, cross-country route between the two pubs, that many of us have used in the past. The news from the Hopbine was positive which is good to hear during these difficult times for the pub trade. I joined the group in one of the barn-like structures, sited towards rear of site. There was plenty of seating, although if truth be known, I would have preferred to have sat outside – so did a couple of others, but that’s another story.

With an impressive lineup of 60, gravity served beers, racked up in the outside barn, plus an additional 10 in the pub, cask drinkers were certainly spoiled for choice. At the outside bar, there was none of the glass deposit nonsense that is so much a feature of CAMRA events, and no wretched tokens either - just good old-fashioned cash or card if that’s your preferred method of payment. 

I know apologists for CAMRA style events claim that punters like to take a festival glass home with them, after the event – a souvenir, but there must be cupboards and cabinets throughout the land, groaning with the weight of yet another “festival” glass.  They eventually end up at the charity shop, which is where a load of mine are going, next week! Others argue that tokens help overall security, plus centralise cash collection and storage. I did notice at the last GBBF I attended (2019), that bars were sensibly taking cash, or card, so perhaps things have changed on a national level, within the Campaign.

The Halfway House beer festival is a very laid-back event, which on the surface, appears more or less to run itself. Behind the scenes though, a lot of detailed planning and organisation goes into the event, which has now been running for 22 years. With two festivals a year, the current event represents the 46^th beer bash for this family-run, country pub, and whilst much of the organising might seem like second nature, I suspect there’s a highly polished, well-oiled machine, behind the laid-back approach.

My only look inside the pub, the other day, was that visit to the Gents, but for those unfamiliar with the Halfway House, it is well-known among pub enthusiasts, for its emphasis on cask-conditioned beer. The casks are stored in a temperature-controlled room directly behind the bar, and beer is dispensed through extended taps that pass through specially designed wooden barrel facades of the back wall of the serving area. This arrangement ensures that the beer is served at an optimal temperature and in its most authentic form—directly from the cask. The pub itself lies in an idyllic countryside setting, between the villages of Brenchley and Horsmonden. With a large and extensive garden to left of the pub, that leads down into the bottom of a valley, bucolic would be the best way to describe the Halfway House.

Another characteristic of this easy-going, laid-back event, are a number of live groups of musicians or solo acts that provide an entertaining, but not intrusive musical background to the event. The final ingredient, of course, is something solid to help soak up all that beer, and once again the Halfway House delivers, with items from the pub’s main menu available during normal opening times for the kitchen, supplemented by barbecue items on the Friday, plus Hog Roasts on both Saturday and Sunday.

What about the beers themselves then? Well, with 70 cask offerings to choose from, visitors to the festival really are spoiled for choice, but in common with most other festivals of this size and scope, I do find a slight tendency for them all to start tasting the same, especially after three or four pints, drunk as halves. I normally start with the lower strength stuff, and then work my way slowly upwards, but Friday was something of a blur. With a two-hour interval between the last bus and the penultimate one, my friends who had been there longer than me opted for the latter bus. This meant drinking up and heading along to the bus stop, outside the pub along with a couple of dozen other people. We all managed to squeeze on to the 16:46 bus, and whilst I would like to have stayed longer, it was probably the sensible thing to do. The last bus departs at 18:32, and I could just imagine the ensuing chaos if an even larger number of punters all tried piling on to that final service of the evening.

It was probably just as well that I left when I did, my companions certainly thought they were doing the right thing, but it did mean missing out on a few more beers, plus some barbecued food. I shall plan things differently next time, but whether I shall revert to walking there and back, as was my wont prior to the pandemic, is open to question. As in previous years, the event attracted a diverse group of patrons who appreciated the beer, sunshine, barbecue, and convivial company. Held in the expansive pub garden, surrounded by picturesque rural scenery, the Halfway House beer festival embodies a quintessentially English experience, and for many, including myself, often provides an ideal conclusion to an excellent summer.

 

 

40 years, you woudn't get that for murder!

Last Friday, 15^th August 2025 was a significant date in the Bailey household - a significant anniversary wedding anniversary no less, and what better way to celebrate than to head out for a decent pub lunch. Friday was one of the hottest days of the year to date, but with no control over the weather, and not wishing to postpone our celebration, we headed out anyway. The pub we chose wasn't our first choice, for the reason I shall explain in a minute, but fortunately, the restaurant we ended up at, delivered on all fronts. 

By that I mean excellent food – well-cooked and well-presented, a pleasant and welcoming atmosphere, all combined with the benefit of a central location. Our original choice was the Plough, at Leigh, a lovely old rambling country inn, between Leigh village and Hildenborough, but the pub we ended up at was the Ivy House at the top end of Tonbridge High Street.

Before booking a table, I’d taken the precaution of checking the Plough’s website, in the full knowledge that the pub is a popular wedding venue. Unsurprising perhaps, because attached to one end of the pub, is an impressive 16^th century barn, with lots of exposed beams giving the place a genuine, an all-round rustic feel. True to form, the Plough’s website was showing the pub and the barn as fully booked both for Friday and Saturday. 

I continued with my online research, as I had several other venues in mind for our romantic meal. First up was the George & Dragon, at Speldhurst, an establishment that is one of the most historic and best-known pubs in the area. The G&D also has the added bonus of returning back into the ownership of the Sankey family, who have a long tradition in the hospitality trade as publicans, restauranteurs, and fishmongers. Then there was the two equally attractive pubs at Smart’s Hill, near Penshurst.

For those unfamiliar with the local area, these two pubs are the Spotted Dog and the Bottle House. I really like the Spotted Dog and noticed from the pub’s website that the pub has recently changed hands. The new owner has gone for something different, with the food taking on a distinct North American flavour, with a menu that is strongly influenced by the two Carolina’s (north & south). This equates to plenty of steaks, smoked meats, pulled pork, burgers etc, food that is big on flavours, and big on portions, but not really what we were looking for.

Just up the road from the Spotted Dog, and close to the top of Smart’s Hill, is the Bottle House, another fine old 16^th century inn with an equally fine reputation. It’s a pub I haven't been to for a long time, probably not since before the pandemic, but it’s always been a little more upmarket than the Spotted Dog. It’s also larger, with a brighter interior and less cramped inside, but having not had the chance to try out the pub, or indeed speak to anyone who has, I decided to put the Bottle House to one side for the time being.

Before making a final decision, I called in at the Leicester Arms, a large and attractive old pub that describes itself as a "quintessentially British Country Inn." Situated in the centre of the picturesque village of Penshurst, and virtually opposite the entrance to the medieval Penshurst Place - childhood home of Anne Boleyn, this iconic pub has gone through a major transformation under the new ownership of the Little & Large Pub Company, who have restored the pub to its former glory. With 11 stylish bedrooms, the Leicester Arms offers visitors a choice of comfortable rooms, for those in search of a romantic getaway, or just a bed for the night whilst exploring the local area. The Leicester Arms was offering a lunchtime deal of any two courses for £25, which seemed inviting, but with Mrs. PBT's preferring the Ivy House, we decided to go there instead.

With its position at what is, in effect, the gateway to Tonbridge, the Ivy started life as a toll-house, known as the Elephant & Castle. It later changed its name to the Ivy House, presumably because of the rampant ivy which covered the building at the time. Friday was hot, as I've already mentioned, but with the car park literally behind the pub, we pulled up to take our chances on a “walk-in.” According to the pub website, turn up and dine is “normally OK,” as indeed it was. 

There's a large, partially covered, outdoor eating area to the right of the pub, which is, offers plenty of shade in summer, plus shelter from the wind and rain during winter. It's semi-enclosed position can be heated using those wasteful gas-fired, space heaters during the colder months, but such considerations seemed miles away on a sweltering hot, mid-August afternoon. We chose a table as close to the entrance as possible, in an attempt to catch a cooling breeze, but despite this it was uncomfortably hot.

Having reviewed the menu in advance, I opted for the “pie of the day” after ascertaining the filling - chicken and bacon, plus the fact it was a traditional pie, fully encased in pastry. The pie was served accompanied by chive mashed potatoes, a good selection of vegetables, and plenty of rich gravy. Eileen went for the daily special, of roast lamb shoulder, served with roast courgettes and plenty of salad. I was particularly pleased with my pie, along with a quality pint of Harvey’s Best, to wash it down, all the while considering the proposed new regulations regarding drink-driving. I reflected that even a single pint may approach the legal limit, even though I did not perceive any noticeable effects.

The pub maintained a steady flow of customers without feeling overcrowded, although noticeable amongst them were several “ladies that lunch.” One woman seated behind us, had three quite lively dogs with her, plus a hubby with a non-speaking part, but the high temperatures, might not have been ideal for her canine companions. With her heightened sense of smell, Mrs PBT’s found the dogs a bit too “whiffy” for her liking, but sat with my back to the group, I personally didn't detect any odour – doggy, or otherwise.

We opted not to have dessert at the pub, as we planned instead to celebrate at home with some cakes from M & S. The store excelled itself on the pastry front, and once back at Bailey Towers, we enjoyed a couple of exceptionally rich éclairs filled with cream and chocolate. The generous layer of chocolate paired with thick cream made for a truly indulgent treat, momentarily setting aside any considerations of dieting.

Returning to the Ivy House for a moment, it was encouraging to see that the pub continues to thrive. It certainly remains a popular choice with Mrs PBT’s and her girly friends, and the group has already reserved a table for December. As the festive season approaches, our office manager has also been diligently searching for a venue for the company Christmas bash, and if the rumours are true, she’s selected a distinctive pub in Tunbridge Wells, close to the Pantiles that has recently reverted to its original name. All will be revealed nearer the time because the “C” word is the last thing I want to think about during the height of summer.

As for our wedding anniversary, Eileen and I tied the knot in 1985, which makes 40 years, and a celebration marked with a ruby. Doesn’t time fly!!

As the iconic beer is set to make a return, I take a look back at my first experiences of Boddington's Bitter

The sharp-eyed amongst you will soon realise that the article I’m about to run, and follow up on, is a month or so old now, but time doesn’t diminish a good story, especially one like this that appears to have come out of the blue. I imagine that the main protagonists behind this development will have been working on this project for some time, but whatever was going on behind the scenes, the news still came as a shock to us beer lovers, albeit a pleasant one. The story concerns Boddington’s Bitter, the beer marketed as the "Cream of Manchester" until its disappearance 13 years ago. Now, the good news for beer aficionados is that this legendary beer is set to return to pubs across the North West. It will be brewed and distributed by Manchester brewer JW Lees under licence from brand owner the Budweiser Brewing Group.

First brewed in 1778, this beer became a symbol of Manchester's spirit and Northern pride. It disappeared in cask form in 2012, but now a revised version of Boddington's Bitter, with an abv of 4.0 %, is due to reappear in pubs across the North West in December. Brian Perkins, president of AB InBev in Western Europe said: "We're excited to relaunch Boddington's Cask Ale in partnership with JW Lees, combining one of the UK's most iconic beer brands with one of its most respected brewers".

As stated earlier, this isn’t a new story, and it’s one that several other writers have already covered. As far as I am concerned, the best article by far about the return of Boddington’s, is this lengthy homage by Chris Dyson, whose excellent blog Real Ale, Real Music encompasses his love of good beer and good music. Chris doesn’t seem to have an “about me” page on his blog, although if he does, he keeps it well hidden, so if you’re reading this Chris, and I’ve got it wrong, then please let me know. Reading between the lines though, Chris is based somewhere in West Yorkshire. Of particular relevance to this article is the fact Chris was a student in Manchester, at around roughly the same time as me. He went up to Manchester University in 1974, a year after I started at neighbouring Salford University, in 1973.

What I find particularly fascinating is that we both report the same reaction to our first encounter with Boddington’s Bitter, Chris’s comments are here in his most recent post, The bees are back in town. For the uninitiated, the worker bee logo, has long been a symbol of Manchester, and an emblem of all that is good and positive about a town that claims to be Britain’s second city (a claim that is argued over with Birmingham).  Leaving city rivalries aside, as well as giving a detailed history of Boddington’s brewery, Chris’s article describes his first encounter with Boddington’s bitter. “A seismic moment, and life-changing event,” Chris had never tasted anything so bitter, and this had been my reaction, exactly a year earlier.

I wrote about my experience in an article for a pre-blog project, that never got off the ground. I have reproduced the piece below, because not only does it describe my first encounter with Boddington’s, it also details how I sought out the city’s most famous beer over the course of the four years that followed. These were years when I was still a student, living in the Greater Manchester area, and a period that only came to end when my then wife and I left the city for the bright lights, and better employment prospects of the nation’s capital.

Boddington's were arguably Manchester's favourite son and, certainly during the early days of CAMRA, were one of the darlings of the burgeoning Real Ale movement. The company was established in 1778 at Strangeways, Manchester and, in common with other local breweries, expanded gradually whilst at the same time gaining a reputation for the quality of its ales. Things continued in this vein until 1969, when Boddington's received an unwelcome takeover bid from Allied Breweries. Allied wished to increase their presence in Manchester, a city where they were not particularly well represented.

The takeover would have given them control of Boddington's 280 pubs, but they had reckoned without the resolve of the Boddington's board and the loyalty of local drinkers. The board decided to fight the takeover and sent out a letter to shareholders citing several "non-financial reasons" for opposing the bid. When Allied upped the price of their bid, the board again urged shareholders to reject it, a move which flew in the face of all financial wisdom, and which went against the general trend of what was happening in the brewing industry. Allied were forced to concede defeat when they announced that they had not picked up sufficient shares for the bid to go through, and local drinkers heaved a big sigh of relief.

The fact that Boddington's were successful, in thwarting this unwelcome bid, was largely due to the unwavering support of their shareholders who remained loyal to the company in spite of some very attractive profits which would have been realised if the bid had gone through. They were backed by a board, comprising chiefly of members of the Boddington family, who urged them to resist on the grounds of product quality, plus the loss to local drinkers that would have resulted from a successful bid from Allied. Additional support was also obtained from Whitbread, who had long held a stake in the Manchester company, and who had no wish to see a formidable rival "muscling in" on their territory. However, this support came at a price and led to Whitbread increasing their holding in the company. The ultimate cost of this support was very heavy indeed, as the Boddington's brewery and brands ended up being owned by Whitbread! 

 

My first introduction to Boddington's was in 1973, during my first term at Salford University. I had been recommended to try the beer by friend back home in Kent, who knew a lot more about beer than I did. (The only northern beer I was familiar with, prior to my arrival in Salford, was Newcastle Brown Ale!)  Boddington's wasn’t that easy to find. The bar in the students union sold only big brewery products, as did the type of pubs popular with students at the time. With no pub guides available to help me, it was sometime before I managed to track down Manchester's most famous brew. In order to do so it was necessary to venture further afield to the area known then as Salford Precinct. This was a concrete jungle of high-rise flats, erected during the previous decade as replacement housing for the notorious Salford slums. In the end these blocks turned out to be infinitely worse than the back-to-back terraces they replaced, but that's another story!

I don't remember the name of the pub, but it was a somewhat functional modern building. What I do remember is that when I first entered it, I thought that everyone was drinking lager!  It wasn't until I ordered my first pint, (dispensed inevitably from a metered electric pump), that I realised that the pale, straw coloured liquid, most of the clientele were drinking, was in fact Boddington's Bitter. Now here was a novelty, I had never come across a bitter with such a pale colour before. I took my first sip, and it nearly took the skin of the roof of my mouth - such was the degree of bitterness. To say that the beer was uncompromisingly bitter was an understatement, indeed after all those years I can still picture my reaction.

I had never tasted a beer that was quite as bitter (although I hadn't tasted Holts at that point!), and once my taste-buds had adjusted, I was hooked. I persevered and discovered, much to my amazement, that the taste was addictive, and in spite of my surroundings I ordered a further pint. It was straw-pale in colour and very well-hopped and at that time having been brought up on the more gentle bitters of south east England, had never tasted anything as bitter, and once my taste-buds had adjusted, I was hooked.

Over the following four and a half years, I regularly sought out Boddington's beers and discovered that the brewery also produced two milds, plus a strong ale - the latter being available during the winter months only. By this time, Boddington's had become something of a cult drink and the brewery, flushed with success, was extended, with new plant installed to cope with rising demand, together with plush new offices. As well as brewing good beer, the company also possessed some marvellous, unspoilt pubs. Most of these were the older style houses, as Boddington's tended to go for some characterless designs for their more modern pubs.

Towards the end of my stay in Manchester there were murmurings in both CAMRA and other circles that Boddington's bitter was becoming blander in taste. Certainly, to me, it seemed less bitter than the beer I had first tasted four years previously. The brewery strenuously denied these rumours, but a friend of a friend, who worked at the brewery as an electrician, reported that they were true, and that the hopping rate had indeed been reduced in order to make the beer “more acceptable to a wider audience.” By this time my friends and I had discovered the delights of Holt's Bitter - a truly bitter beer if ever there was one! Shortly afterwards I moved back south and, apart from occasional visits to Manchester, had few opportunities in which to sample Boddington's, or indeed any of the city's beers.

Footnote

There was quite a bit more copy associated with the original article, but in the main it concerns itself with Boddington’s fall from grace, how the company overstretched itself, and how it fell into the hands of Whitbread, the company that had been its saviour, back in 1969. I might, one day, allow the piece to see the light of day, even though with its descriptions of mergers, sell-offs and outright takeovers, it does represent all that was worse in the country’s brewing industry at the time.

For the time being though, we’ll leave it in the can, so to speak, but there is one more proviso concerning this blog post, and that is the lack of photos, contemporary or otherwise. There are a handful, lifted from a book published in 1978, celebrating 200 years of brewing at Strangeways – a book that I knew I had somewhere at home, and fortunately unearthed it earlier today (I've got umpteen brewery history books stashed away). There is also the odd library photo, but nothing personal that connects the brewery with me.

Two contrasting local pubs, both doing a roaring trade

I visited a couple of rural pubs recently, they were quite contradictory in nature, despite being relatively close to one another. The main difference between them is is that one is independent, and family owned, whilst the other is part of a chain of decidedly upmarket public houses. The one thing they have in common is their relative proximity to the River Medway, Kent’s major river, which runs roughly south to north bisecting the county in two. My son and I enjoyed a meal, along with a quick pint in the first of these two hostelries, whist I just happened to stop off for a quick drink at the other one. Mind you, the world and his wife seemed to be dining out there.        

Let’s start with the Chequers, an attractive oak-beamed 15th-century pub, situated in the small settlement of Laddingford, in the midst of the English hop growing countryside. The Chequers sits at the very heart of the village and is a cornerstone of village life. A true family village pub. Good quality, value for money food, including daily specials, Sunday Roast and a children's menu. The pub frontage is a sea of flowers in summer and has a covered seating area. Whilst in winter, a roaring log fire keeps customers warm.

The pub hosts a variety of events, including an annual beer festival, held to mark St George’s Day. The event takes place in the pub itself and also in the extensive garden behind. The majority of the beers are racked up in an old oast house, at the side of the pub, which looked as if it may have been a stable block, back in the day. In true festival fashion, the beers are dispensed straight from the cask. For those who prefer vertical drinking and standing at the bar, there are usually three more cask ales were available inside the pub.

A couple of weeks ago, Mrs PBT’s had gone out for a meal, with a group of her girly friends, so left to our own devices, it was boys night out as well! Matthew and I drove over to Laddingford and parked a short distance up the road from the Chequers. Matthew particularly likes this pub, and with good reason. It was a balmy summer’s evening, so we chose to sit outside, on the comfy chairs, situated beneath a canvas canopy. I didn’t take a photo of the pump clips, but I’m reasonably certain that the beer I ordered was Tim Taylor’s Golden Best. This light mild is a beer that we rarely, if ever, see in the south-east, as it seems as if the brewery is content to flood the market with its flagship, Landlord. I’m pleased to report the Golden Best was on good form, but I’m not sure what Matthew’s lager was like – I told you that I wasn’t really paying attention!

For some reason, pub seemed popular with cyclists. A small group pulled up outside the pub, and then one or two of them would head off for a short ride, only to reappear 15 minutes or so later. After a few mouthfuls of beer, some more of them would ride off, before eventually returning again. All very strange, but the terrain in this part of the county, is dead flat, as it forms part of the River Medway floodplain, and this might explain its appeal to those on two wheels. As far as the food was concerned, our meal choices were pretty conservative – cheeseburger & chips, for the lad, plus fish - variety not specified, chips & mushy peas for me.

Five days later, and on a blisteringly hot Sunday afternoon, I stopped off in Tudeley, at the Poacher & Partridge. The latter is a large and sprawling pub that boasts a large, open-plan restaurant, bar, terrace and garden area, with uninhabited views across open farmlands. Like the previous pub, the Poacher lies on the same floodplain, although is sited a bit further upstream from the Chequers. 

 The Poacher & Partridge, started life as the Red Cow – and then went through several name changes. It was known as the Hartlake for a while, because it is situated in Hartlake Road, and an entry in 1993 Real Ale Drinker’s Guide to Kent Pubs lists the pub as the Pig in Hiding. Fortunately, that daft name didn’t hang around too long, and the pub then became the Poacher. The pub underwent further enlargement in 2006, along with another makeover, plus the addition of “Partridge” to the pub’s name.

Today the Poacher & Partridge is owned by Elite Pubs, a chain of 11 up-market pubs, occupying a relatively narrow area of West Kent and East Sussex. With its mix of traditional farmhouse decor with a modern, contemporary twist, The Poacher & Partridge is perfect for alfresco dining, especially when the weather is as good as it’s been recently. The place was absolutely rammed on Sunday, and I was lucky to find a parking place, despite the recently enlarged car-park occupying three small fields.

Given the fine weather, I was keen to sit outside, although not in direct sunlight, but first a beer was in order. The cask offerings were a choice between the ubiquitous Harvey’s Best, plus India Pale Ale, from Tonbridge Brewery. I opted for the Harvey’s, as I’ve never been a massive fan of the more local beer. I’m sure it’s just me being over fussy, because I was talking to a work colleague earlier today, and she really rates Tonbridge beers. Horses for courses, I suppose, and possible proof that I perhaps need to approach Tonbridge Brewery with more of an open mind. Also, Tonbridge Coppernob is the only non-rotating cask beer, sold in both branches of Fuggles. By that I mean that particular beer is always available, regardless of what other cask ales are on sale.

After ordering my pint of Sussex Best, I headed out, through the dining area, to the extensive garden at the rear. That too was packed, with the best tables being those with parasols providing welcome shade. I was lucky to find an empty table, and whilst it was one without any shade, my wide-brim sunhat, protected me from the worst of the sun’s rays. 

I sat at the table, enjoying an excellent glass of Harvey’s whilst watching the punters soaking up the sun, the beer and the food in equal quantities. With a separate outside bar, serving wine, lager and cocktails, plus numerous members of the Poacher’s team in their distinctive black and yellow, corporate attire, the place had the appearance and feel of a well-oiled, military encampment. Everyone seemed to be having a good time, even the couple I noted earlier, who’d managed to find some shade for their two hounds.

As I was driving, I limited myself to a single pint – although that might be too much if the government carry out their treat to reduce the drink-drive limit! Later that afternoon, I saw a local news update about the Hilden Manor, a Beefeater restaurant on the edge of Tonbridge. Owners Whitbread have already announce the closure of this imposing Grade II-listed building, which dates back to the 14^th & 15^th centuries. The breaking news is the site will be reopening under the name of the Never-Say-Never, in December this year. It will be a part of the Elite Pubs group, the same chain that own and operate the Poacher, (see above). I’m not sure about the name, but I shall look forward to seeing what the new owners have planned for this rambling old building.