He likes his "ales"

This article is about pigeon-holing people; stereotyping them if you like. This specific example looks at beer drinkers who, like people from so many other walks of life, are not immune from society's compelling need to categorise them. I want to be a little more specific though and concentrate on beer lovers, connoisseurs, aficionados or even beer geeks, even though I distinctly dislike that last term.

I do not want to come across as a “beer snob” either, even though I’m sure there are people out there who might label me as such, so without further ado, let’s get stuck into the article.

I’ve a glut of beer at home, with quite a stash of numerous bottles and cans waiting to be drunk. I’m partially to blame as I stocked up on various cut-price offers in the run up to Christmas, so I’ve got tins of Pilsner Urquell and Vocation Life & Death coming out my ears. I’ve also got umpteen bottles of Fuller’s excellent London Porter – another beer that was on offer, prior to Christmas.

 

Now I don’t drink anything near the amount of beer at home than I might in a pub, so you could say I’ve been greedy, and that my eyes are bigger than my belly. You’d be right, although given the reasonably long shelf lives assigned to these beers, they won’t be going off any time soon. But there’s another issue that has exacerbated the situation, as I’m about to relate.

People who know me appreciate that I’m a beer lover, but that’s as far as it goes for most of them. The reason being that once they’ve “pigeon-holed” me as such, that’s me ticked, but if they took the trouble to know me on a slightly deeper level they would realise that being a beer lover, means so much more than major brands, stocked by every supermarket, or gracing the bars of pubs up and down the country. 

Before going any further, my company’s QC department has a tradition of buying Christmas gifts for each other. I’m not sure when tithes  started, but it was in place when I took over as department head and I saw no reason to discontinue it. We don’t go overboard with the spending, but the presents are usually quite carefully targeted to appeal to the person receiving them. This isn’t hard when one is probably spending more time with work colleagues than with members of ones own family.

“Paul is a beer lover, so let’s get him a few special beers for Christmas.” Fair enough, but what exactly is meant by the term “special beers?” “Paul likes his ales,” is another remark I’ve heard, and in the past this has sometimes been misinterpreted. To many people the word “ales” signifies a beer that is a cut above the rest;  the rest of course being mass-marketed international brands of industrial lager.

Consequently I have ended up receiving a motley collection of so-called Premium Bottled Ales (PBA’s), as my Christmas present. It’s the thought that counts and I don’t want to take anything away from the well-meaning, but misguided intentions of colleagues or family members, but my heart has sunk on seeing the likes of Old Speckled Hen, Bombardier, Greene King IPA or even Doom Bar appearing under the Christmas tree.

I completely understand that in the eyes of non-beer drinkers, or even main stream lager lovers, PBA’s are something different, perhaps even mysterious, and therefore special. So with the assurance that Paul will really enjoy these types of beers, that’s me well and truly “pigeon-holed.” 

To be fair, most my departmental colleagues, as well as the majority of family members now know I appreciate something far less main-stream, and with a lot more character and provenance than a few tinnies of Fosters or Carling, but I have had to be very careful so to not appear as ungrateful, or to come across as patronising. Certainly the last thing I want is to come across is as an arrogant beer snob.

What I have tried to do instead, is to drop subtle hints that I really would prefer something a little more out of the ordinary and something rather more off-piste. This has started to pay off, especially at work, as I have been given selections of some quite rare Christmas Ales, some equally interesting bottles from Harvey’s, (including gems such as Bonfire Boy, Porter and Lewes Castle Brown Ale.) Last Christmas I even received an excellent selection of craft cans from Beer Hawk.

So what about those heavily-promoted, ideal for Christmas, bottled selection packs from Badger, Greene King and Marston’s that I received back in December?  Well as it’s the thought that counts, I of course accept these gifts with gratitude and good grace. And although I end up with a stash of beers I will slowly have to drink my way through, it’s not all bad.

Being given beers which I wouldn’t normally buy does allow the opportunity of sampling some of these mainstream brands,  and reminding oneself just how boring many of them are. Occasionally though, I end up eating my words as some of them are surprisingly good.

One example is Badger Tanglefoot; this 5.0% bottled beer not only turning out much better than I thought it would be, but was also superior to the slightly weaker cask version. The same brewery’s Fursty Ferret, also turned out much better than anticipated.

There are other examples as well, but to sum up, a big thank-you to everyone who has ever bought me beer for Christmas, birthday or both. I really appreciate you doing this regardless of the type, brand or provenance of the beer; it is all welcome.

If  I come across as a grumpy, moaning and ungrateful git, this is not deliberate, it’s just that I do have high expectations of what I am looking for in a beer. Despite this streak of elitism though, your bottle of Tanglefoot or London Pride is no less welcome than that special, barrel-aged, smoked, imperial porter, and probably a lot more drinkable, so thank-you once more.

However, if you ever come to visit,  and your not a beer connoisseur, don’t be surprised if I offer you a Doom Bar, an Old Speckled Hen or a Spitfire!

Stuck inside of Tonbridge with the named storm blues again

Well with much of the south-east hunkered down against the worst that Storm Dennis can throw at us, I have to say this is the second weekend when I know I’ll be going stir-crazy from being confined to quarters. I was up a ladder earlier this morning securing the tarpaulin that is protecting the shed roof, against the forecast heavy winds.

I also picked up some of the remnants of our garden seat/ gazebo; most of which ended up in next door’s garden following last week’s named storm. I’m going to be busy, come the spring, attempting to reassemble said structure, along with replacing half a dozen fence panels which also took a battering.

Mrs PBT’s and I took a drive down into Tonbridge around lunchtime, just before the rain arrived, in order to pick up some shopping. The town wasn’t quite as grid-locked as predicted, but for those not in the know, a section of the A21 trunk road, which by-passes Tonbridge, has been closed in both directions for a week, to allow the re-building of a little-used pedestrian underpass, along with repairs to the viaduct that carries the dual-carriageway across the River Medway.

A footpath runs under the aforementioned underpass, and I used it once whilst walking the Wealdway long distance footpath back in 2010. Like many others I wasn’t aware that this tunnel-like structure was in a poor state of repair, but its condition does explain the speed restrictions due to a “weak bridge,” that have been in place on the A21 for at least a couple of years.

The next week should be interesting, as the traffic which would normally use the A21 is being diverted through Tonbridge and Hildenborough.  In mitigation, the schools are on half-term break next week, so the roads should be largely free of dizzy blonds, ferrying their little darlings to and from school, in massively over-sized 4 x 4’s.

Over-powered “Chelsea tractors” are one of the bug bears of living in the south east, but on the upside, the area is normally amongst the driest regions in the country. Not so this year, as I can’t ever recall having endured such a wet and dismal winter in the sixty years plus that I’ve been conscious of such things.

On my drive into work on Thursday morning, following another night of torrential rain – that I was completely unaware of, having slept right through, the surface water was such that sections of road that I have never known to be affected by flooding in the 14 years I have driven this route, were only “passable with care.” Where’s it all going to end? Or should that be when is it going to end?

The damp weather has scuppered any ideas for cross-country walking, so plans to complete further sections of the North Downs Way have been put on hold until things dry out. The same applies to any outdoor work, including replacing the aforementioned damaged fences.

If it’s any consolation, the weather has been unseasonably mild, and I can probably count on one hand the number of mornings I’ve had to be out early, scraping the ice of the car windscreen. It’s been so mild, in fact, that we haven’t contemplated lighting our log burner. The energy companies will be complaining soon that as customers are not using as much gas and electricity, prices will have to rise. How else will they be able to pay a dividend to their fat cat shareholders?  

The mild weather also seems to have fooled a number of plants into flowering early. The daffodils Mrs PBT’s and I noticed in full bloom, a fortnight ago on the Gower Peninsular, might have seemed down to the area’s very specific micro-climate, but I have now seen similar blooms on my drive in to work. Snow drops, those other heralds of spring,  are also in abundance, and I have come across quite a few during my regular lunchtime walks.

And so to matters beer, where there doesn’t seem to be much happening; certainly not in an organised fashion. There’s a CAMRA social planned before the end of the month, involving a pub crawl around Southborough. This doesn’t exactly fill me with enthusiasm, especially as the town has lost quite a few of its pubs over the years, although I might still turn up at the last pub on the list, just to make the point that not all of us are retired and able to make a 7pm start!

So as the winds from Storm Dennis continue to blow outside, I’ll sign off and look for something more interesting and entertaining to write about.

Fighting back against the temperance tide

I get all sorts of interesting links sent to my Smart Phone.  I’m obviously not alone in this, as anyone who regularly uses Google to search for anything will indeed testify. Look for something once, and for the next few days Google will ensure you are bombarded with all sorts of allied links, some of them tenuous in the extreme or even bordering on nebulous.

Being interested in pubs, beer and all things brewing means Google knows pretty much what to send me, and of course I don’t mind, especially as from time to time, some really interesting, or thought-provoking, beer-related story or news item pops up in my feed.

One such item is this article by journalist and beer sommelier Sophie Atherton, which appeared on Monday, in the online edition of the Morning Advertiser. Labouring under the lengthy title of  “The pub is primarily about alcoholic beverages. I’d like it to stay that way,” the piece has a similar message to that put forward by other beer writers and bloggers, especially coming, as it does, at the end of Dry January.

It particularly reminded me of a recent post by Pub Curmudgeon, called “Drinking with the enemy.” Appropriately enough, the article appeared in mid-January, and whilst it is quite lengthy, Curmudgeon, or Mudgie as he is sometimes known, puts forward the notion, that given the greatly improved choice and quality of alcohol-free beers available now, doing without alcohol doesn’t require as much of a sacrifice as it once did.

He then goes on to say that increased availability of no and low-alcohol beers (NALAB’s), misses the point, as the fundamental reason people drink beer is because it contains alcohol. While people may have entirely valid reasons for choosing an alcohol-free beer, it is always to some extent a “distress purchase.” NALAB’s are intended to mimic, as far as possible, the experience of drinking a standard beer, but with that crucial, mild-intoxicating element missing.

Sophie kicks off her article with the surprising news that 25% of pub visits are now alcohol free, but then breathes a sigh of relief, because this means that 75% of pub visits are still about going for a drink. She throws in another statistic which shows that 45% of people are already satisfied with the NALAB offer available in pubs.

With this in mind, she raises her concern that the push to promote and prominently fill fridges and bar space with alcohol-free drinks, is just another way of furthering the anti-alcohol agenda, rather than a response to genuine consumer demand.

A similar analogy can be found in Veganuary, the campaign that encourages non-vegans to adopt a vegan diet during the month of January, and which now seems to have become an annual event. On recent shopping trips, Mrs PBT’s and I have noticed supermarket shelves and fridges, over-flowing with "ersatz meat dishes", and wondered is this down to genuine demand or, more likely, is it a way for food producers and retailers to line their pockets.

Now I’ve had the pleasure of meeting both Sophie Atherton and Pub Curmudgeon, and enjoying a few beers with them; albeit not at the same time.  Despite them probably coming from slightly different ends of the beer appreciation spectrum, they are both putting out the same message, and it is one that is being raised by an increasing number of people.

The combined message from both authors is that without alcoholic drinks, and the people who consume them, there would be no pubs, so watch out for attempts to replace joyful, social pub-going with soulless, booze-free café culture.

The final words should go a pub landlady who runs two pubs on the edge of the Cotswolds. Sophie’s article quotes her at length her piece which starts with the words, “I am so sick of people demonising alcohol,” but her main focus is on promoting the benefits of getting out to the pub in order to meet, talk and interact face to face with other human beings, rather than attempting to do this on a screen, in a virtual and ultimately disconnected world. 

I’m sure these sentiments are something we can all empathise over and totally agree with, and for me, even though I don’t get out to pubs as much as I used to, or indeed would like to, there is still nothing finer than, “A pint amongst friends.”

Friday evening at TJ's beer bash

As alluded to in the previous post, the lad and I called in at Tonbridge Juddians Rugby Club on Friday night, to see what was on offer at their Winter Beer Festival. Unlike the main summer event, which is run jointly with SIBA and held under canvas, the winter festival takes place at the clubhouse, and is a much more of a low-key event.

The festival is normally timed to coincide with the Six Nations rugby tournament, and with England playing Scotland this weekend, the clubhouse was likely to have been full to bursting point on the Saturday. So much as I enjoy the game that’s played with an odd-shaped ball, I don’t enjoy being squeezed in so tight that I can hardly move. Therefore, as in previous years, Friday evening is the right time to partake of a few interesting beers.

It also provides a good excuse to catch up with friends and acquaintances you might not have seen for some time. Matthew and I arrived just after 8pm. We’d each brought a TJ’s Festival glass with us, as we’ve several at home from previous events. After purchasing a tenner’s worth of tokens each we headed straight to the bar. There were 24 beers on sale, somewhat disappointingly none of them were head-bangers this year, but all priced at one token per half pint.

We spotted a small group of friends from West Kent CAMRA, who’d managed to grab a table. There were a couple of seats spare, so we sat down to join them. Some had been there since shortly after the 5pm opening, so it was handy to compare notes with them. The majority of the beers were locally sourced, although there were a few from places further afield such as Brighton (Hand Brewery), Bristol (Arbor) and Newport (Tiny Rebel).

Stand-out beers for me were QPA, a very drinkable 4% pale ale from Quantock Brewery (not exactly just down the road), Five C’s APA a 5% American Pale Ale from 360º Brewery of Sheffield Park (much more local) and Goa Express a 5.2% “Chai Baltic Porter” from Dark Revolution of Salisbury (somewhere in-between in terms of local). The latter, with its distinctive Chai spice notes and flavours, was surprisingly drinkable, and whilst not an every day beer, was a good dark beer to finish the evening on, from a festival range that was disappointingly bereft of dark beers.

As well as friends from CAMRA, we bumped into two couples, plus assorted hangers-on who we know from the days when our children all attended the same primary school. Tonbridge is that sort of town.

As the evening progressed the number of people in the clubhouse started to dwindle; noticeably in comparison to previous years. Matthew and I left shortly after last orders had been called and made our way home back along Tonbridge High Street. The town too seemed quite subdued, and even our local Spoons looked half empty as we passed by.

For some years now, I have shied away from beer festivals, although I do like to support a local event wherever possible. Being away the previous week, meant missing Tonbridge’s first Beer Weekend which, from the reports was quite successful. It was a pub-based event, with various outlets in the town putting on something special, such as a meet the brewer evening, or they hosted a “tap-takeover” from a brewery whose beers we don’t often see in the town – the Nelson, for example, featured a range of beers from Fyne Ales in Scotland.

Horses for courses, and whilst I am happy to support both types of event, I really like the concept behind Tonbridge’s Beer Weekend, and will ensure that I am around for next year’s event – assuming there is one!

Check in at the Chequers for breakfast

Continuing their quest for the perfect breakfast, father and son team, Paul and Matthew ventured along to one of the oldest parts of Tonbridge High Street, this morning and really came up trumps. 

I’m not talking about the orange idiot in the White House, but instead I’m referring to us unearthing one of the best breakfasts, both in terms of quality and value for money, that we’ve had in a long time.

We discovered our breakfast "Shangri-La" at the Chequers, which is one of the oldest buildings in Tonbridge. Situated near the “Big Bridge” over the River  Medway, in the shadow of Tonbridge’s ancient castle, the Chequers has quite rightly been described as "one of the finest examples of a Kentish timber-framed building that can be found today.”

It is certainly a very attractive building and its photogenic qualities mean that, after the castle, it is one of the most photographed buildings in Tonbridge. I wrote an article here, back in August 2018, so I won’t repeat it all here, but what I will say it was purely by chance that father and son ended up there on Saturday morning.

We’d walked past the Chequers on Friday evening, on our way to Tonbridge Juddians Rugby Club, for their annual winter beer and cider festival. We noticed an “A” board on the pavement outside advertising a what looked like a substantial breakfast for the principal sum of £5.95. There was also a large breakfast available for a couple of quid more.

We normally reserve our breakfast outings for Sunday mornings, but with Storm Ciara due to batter the country tomorrow, we decided to bring it forward a day. Matthew was not working this weekend, so a fairly early start saw us walking into the Chequers at around 9.30am.

We were the first people in, but the friendly landlady soon appeared to take our order and to tell us we could sit where we liked. We opted for a table to the far left of the “L” shaped bar, and before long our host re-appeared with a mug of tea for each of us, and some toast. This was Matthew’s first visit to the Chequers, so I told him a little more about the place. See previous post for details.

It wasn’t long before the chef appeared with our food, warning us the plates were very hot – always a good sign as far as I am concerned. So with three rashers of bacon, two tasty farmhouse sausages, a fried egg, tomato, hash browns, toast and black pudding, this was definitely a breakfast to keep me, at least, going until tea time.

While we were getting stuck into our breakfast, several other people came in. We noticed at least four more breakfasts being served; understandable given the keen pricing and the quality of the offering. From the questions being asked and the responses given, I had the distinct impression they were regulars at the pub.

To finish, I’ve included a photo of the pumps – this is a blog about beer after all. I wouldn’t mind betting that three is one pump too many, especially as the Chequers has never struck me as much of an ale drinkers’ pub. If I was in charge, I’d knock the Tribute on the head, leaving just the Harvey’s Best and the Proper Job to satisfy the cask crowd.

Given the pub’s proximity to home I can see the Chequers becoming a regular breakfast haunt amongst the male members of the Bailey household.  And seeing as they’ve got St Austell Proper Job on tap, I might also be tempted to pop in one evening – as long as it’s not karaoke night!

Gower - re-visited

As those who have been paying attention will know, Mrs PBT’s and I spent a few days recently, in Welsh Wales. We travelled down to for a family funeral, to pay our final respects to my great aunt, who passed away last month at the ripe old age of 97.

Whilst funerals are obviously sad occasions, they do afford the opportunity of catching up with family members who you might not have seen for a while. My aunt’s was no exception, but along with reconnecting with the Welsh side of the family, being in Wales allowed me to re-explore an area which was a favourite from childhood, and the setting for some memorable family holidays.

We travelled across to Wales on the Sunday, staying at a Premier Inn, on the edge of Llanelli; the Carmarthenshire town famous for both rugby and tin-plate production. Just across from Llanelli, projecting out into the Bristol Channel, on the other side of the Loughor estuary, is the Gower Peninsular; the first area in the United Kingdom to be designated an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty.

With my aunt’s funeral not due to take place until 4pm on the Monday, and us not travelling back to Kent until the following day, we had a free morning to carry out some of that exploring. So what better than to head over to the Gower for a scenic drive around and a stop off at one or two local beauty spots.

The Gower was the location of several happy family holidays as a child, staying with my parents and younger sister in a caravan at Oxwich Bay. My aunt and uncle lived in nearby Swansea, and most days we would meet up with them and my four cousins, sharing idyllic days on the nearby beach, or visiting some of Gower’s other coastal  attractions.

The sheer beauty of some of those long sandy beaches, sandwiched between exposed rocky headlands, stayed with me, and I managed to share a small part of it with Mrs PBT’s, when we spent the second half of our honeymoon at Caswell Bay. I had a longing to re-engage with this part of the country and show Eileen a bit more of what Gower had to offer, so despite it being early February, we set off to visit two unspoilt and rugged locations at the far end of the peninsular.

I had an OS map in the car, but to save us keep stopping to look at the map, I suggested we make use of the dodgy Chinese sat-nav, on Mrs PBT’s phone. That was a big mistake as we were directed along roads only narrow enough for one vehicle, and hills so steep that a rack and pinion type of traction, would not have been out of place. In the end, common sense took over and I reverted to my trusty Ordnance Survey Map.

First port of call, was the long sandy beach which forms Rhossili Bay, at the western extremity of the Gower Peninsular. Three miles in length, and backed by extensive sand dunes, the beach is known locally as Llangennith Sands. Behind the beach just north of Llangennith village is Rhossili Down with the highest point on the Gower Peninsula, the Beacon reaching 633 feet above sea level.

We always referred to the beach as Llangennith, and with the dunes providing shelter from the strong onshore westerly wind, this was the perfect place for our two families to set up camp and spread ourselves out, before making forays down to the water’s edge. Wading out through the shallow surf until almost at chest height, and then jumping, and at times cresting the powerful breakers which came crashing in from the Atlantic, was a favourite pastime of my father, sister and one of our cousins, until the time my sister was caught in a rip-tide.

I was present too, but as I could feel an undercurrent starting to pull at me, I sensibly turned and swam back towards the shore. The next thing I saw was my father frantically waving for me to help with my sister. Instinct kicked in, so I swam back out, and together the pair of us, managed to haul my sister back to safety. It was a close-run thing and a strong reminder of  the power of the sea!

I digress, but when re-visiting places such as this, the memories come flooding back. On this current visit, we didn’t drive all the way down to the dunes, but instead parked up on the hill, taking in the splendid view out to sea and the magnificent sweep of Rhossili Bay.

We were both a little peckish by now – all that sea air, so my plan was to head southwards along the bay to the rocky headland which culminates at a promontory known as Worm’s Head. I’d done a spot of homework, and discovered that the nearby Worm’s Head Hotel offered a decent lunch and an equally decent drop of ale. So off we went.

The only trouble is that with the imposing bulk of Rhossili Down in the way, there is no direct road from Llangennith to Rhossili village. We had to head several miles back inland, before joining first the A4118 and then the winding B4247, which took us to our destination. We parked up at the National Trust-owned car park at the far end of Rhossili, which conveniently is adjacent to the Worm’s Head Hotel.

We made our way inside, after stopping to take a few photos of the magnificent scenery. The Worm's Head, is shaped like a giant sea-serpent and marks the most westerly tip of Gower. It’s name comes from the Norse “Wurm,” meaning dragon, and is an island joined to the mainland by a rocky causeway. I remember walking out to the end of  the promontory with my father. I’m sure he was tempted to cross to the island, but my mother would have had kittens at the prospect, so on that occasion, discretion took the place of valour.

Refreshment time, but when we walked into the bar of the Worm’s Head Hotel, we were the morning’s first customers. The barman informed us that the kitchen opened at midday, so with less than 15 minutes to wait, we ordered ourselves a drink, and moved into the adjacent Bay Lounge, where there are magnificent views out across the sweep of Rhossili Bay. We discovered that where we were sitting was once the hotel car park; this section and the adjoining bar being added to the main hotel, back in 1972.

This was probably shortly after my last visit to the area, and as I remarked upon the splendid view, the barman replied how lucky he was to have such scenery right outside his “office window.” There were a couple of cask ales on tap, and in selecting the 4.5% Gower Gold, I made the right choice, as this locally-brewed golden ale, is packed full of cascade hops.  Definitely a 3.5 NBSS.

Not quite knowing what would be happening after the funeral, we both opted for a light lunch, in the form of a tuna and mayonnaise baguette apiece. Nice and fresh, it fitted in

with the bright and airy feel of the hotel, which has 17 en-suite bedrooms, a restaurant and all the facilities one would expect from such an establishment.

The Worm’s Head Hotel is family run, and given it remote location, at the western extremity of the Gower Peninsular, is the ideal place for getting away from it all, whilst still retaining plenty of creature comforts. With nothing much in the way of shops in the immediate vicinity, Mrs PBT’s might take some convincing, but I’m already sold on the place.

An unexpected surprise

Just a quick post from my phone. Mrs PBT's and I are currently down in Welsh Wales, in advance of a family funeral tomorrow.

It's my great aunt who we'll be saying goodbye to tomorrow. She was in her late nineties and managed to stay in her own home until just before the end.

Funerals, however sad, do allow the opportunity for catching up with family members, and this one will allow me to reconnect with the Welsh side of the family.

Despite previous issues, we're staying at a Premier Inn again. The Llanelli East hotel is a short drive  from the crematorium, and with my sister traveling down from Nottingham tomorrow, it's a handy place for us to meet up.


After a four and a half  hour drive from Kent, we thought we'd stay local this evening, so it was off to the adjacent Beefeater for a bite to eat and something to drink.

Now the beer offering in these places is usually pretty dire. I ended up drinking Erdinger Weissbier at the  Beefeater nearest our hotel in Dundee last month, so the sight of a hand pump with a Brain's SA clip was one to gladden the heart of a drinker resigned to pints of insipid  Doom Bar.

We sat down, scanned the menu and ordered some drinks. My pint of Brains came topped with a thick creamy head. The first taste confirmed its excellence, and boy what a cracking pint it was!

It was a definite 3.5 NBSS, and I even contemplated awarding it a 4! Of course I had to have another, and it was equally good.

So full marks to the Pemberton Beefeater, for going with something relatively local, rather than playing it safe by going with a national bland.

Footnote: I re-jigged the layout of this post, when I arrive home. What looks OK on the small-screen, doesn't always transfer across so well to the large one.

We called in at the Beefeater the following evening, with my sister. This was after leaving my aunt's wake. The local club, where the wake was held, had put on a good spread, but as my sister is denying herself all animal related products, there wasn't much that she could eat.

We decided to grab a couple of bowls of chips, even though Eileen and I weren't all that hungry. 
More importantly, there was the chance of another pint of Brains. It wasn't quite as good as the previous evening, but was still eminently drinkable. 

The Pemberton Beefeater did drop slightly in Mrs PBT's estimation as it refused to accept her fifty pound note - company policy, apparently. 
 
She was still fuming about it the following day!