Time to play catch-up

I’m coming to the end of a relaxing and most enjoyable week off work, during which I’ve managed to pack quite a lot in. The week began with a trip up to Norfolk, to visit my father, and included an overnight stop in King’s Lynn.

Returning to Kent, I completed a minor construction project in the garden, as well as catching up with some much overdue, home-admin type of stuff. “Look after my bills,” as seen on “Dragon’s Den,” have found me a deal that reduces my combined gas and electricity bills by around £30 a month and was quite painless to sign up for. I’ve also re-activated my Dartford Crossing account, which UK. Gov suspended due to lack of use. This was despite it still being in credit!

I managed, eventually, to get a quick peep inside the recently re-opened Ivy House in Tonbridge, and this morning it was bacon rolls and coffee for breakfast, courtesy of the good folk at Tonbridge Old Fire Station.  The takeaway breakfast was in honour of Mrs PBT’s who celebrates a significant birthday today, and the celebrations continued this afternoon, with a visit from her sister and her niece.

So, tea and cake in the garden, plus a family chat-up, and we still didn’t exceed Commissar Hancock’s guidelines, that are due to come in to force on Monday. Tomorrow, we’ll be meeting up with Eileen’s brother and his partner, at a pub overlooking Minnis Bay which, according to my map, is between Reculver and Birchington.

Finally, there’s a further stretch of the North Down’s Way that I walked on Thursday. In perfect walking weather I covered the 10 miles from Kit’s Coty, at the bottom of Blue Bell Hill, to the village of Cuxton, on the west bank of the River Medway. My journey took me through some classic downland countryside, and then across the Medway Viaducts, by means of a foot and cycleway that runs parallel with the M2 motorway. Some great views, if you can ignore the roar of the traffic!

I’ve still to write an account of my journey, and the same applies to a walk I undertook last Bank Holiday Monday, with four friends. The walk took in two rather good pubs, with some equally good scenery in between. 

So, plenty left to write about, but probably not enough time to accomplish this before my return to work on Monday.

 

 

Ivy League

Well, as you might have guessed, I made a second attempt at visiting the recently refurbished Ivy House, in Tonbridge. I’m pleased to report my quest for liquid refreshment was successful this time, and I also managed to sit outside on the raised patio area at the front of the pub.

Matthew accompanied me, as we both had a few bits of shopping to pick up, so it was mid-afternoon by the time we arrived at the pub. This was my first time inside the Ivy House for a couple of years, as the pub had lain empty for at least a year before the essential remedial work was completed and the refurbishment could then begin.

The pub was scheduled to open at Easter, but the pandemic of course put paid to that. Instead the Ivy underwent a sort of “soft” opening,  as a means of trying out its food offerings, which were sold online as pre-ordered takeaways for customers to collect. Knowing the track-record of the pub’s owners, I knew the food would be good, but I was itching to take a look inside and see what beers the Ivy would be stocking.

Two of the outdoor tables were occupied, but there were several more that were free. Each had a number, plus a QR code, but it the absence of further instructions, we tentatively poked our heads through the door to see what the score was. This is the trouble with post-lockdown pub regimes – they all  appear to be different.

We approached the bar, but not before following the instructions to scan the larger QR code on the wall and enter our details for the government’s “world-beating"  track and trace system. One problem, not knowing the pub’s Wi-Fi code in advance, my phone couldn’t connect to the internet; not without me switching to 4G and using some of my data allowance.

I’m not sure it worked even then, although I imagine my phone number at least was captured by the system. We then approached the bar which, as previously, is on a lower level. The barmaid was behind the ubiquitous Perspex screen; boy, how I wish I’d invested some money in Perspex sheeting, prior to this pandemic, I could have retired as a wealthy man!

The girl behind the bar was quite chatty, which is always a good sign, and patient as well, but what happens with those customers who don’t possess a Smart Phone? The two cask ales were Harvey’s Sussex Best and Ruddles Bitter.  The latter was rather a strange choice, in my view, so I went for the  Harvey’s of course. Young master Matthew opted for a pint of Beck’s.

Our hostess said that business had been quite brisk since reopening as a pub, with a steady trade, plus one or two former regulars from the old days putting in an appearance. This sounded like good news but having bought our drinks, we felt obliged to move away from the bar and make our way outside.

I would have liked a proper look around but knowing how this is frowned upon in many pubs because of obsessive Covid compliance, thought better of it. What I did notice was the former two-bar layout had been retained, and there was what looked like an indoor dining area leading off to the right.

As mentioned earlier, there were several table free outside, so we found one where we could watch the comings and goings, whilst soaking up some of the early autumn sunshine. My Harvey’s was very good and worthy of a 3.5 NBSS. I don’t know what Matthew’s international lager was like, but he enjoyed it, nevertheless.

One slight disappointment was the absence of Pilsner Urquell from the lager line-up. The Czech classic had been a welcome feature of the pub’s previous incarnation and was one of its more redeeming features. Still, it’s early days at present, and who knows the original golden pilsner might make an appearance, once the pub and its trade become more established.

A couple who had been sitting nearby, upped sticks and left, but several other builder-types then appeared. They all seemed to know each other, but as they weren’t above half dozen in number, they wouldn’t register on pimply little Matt Hancock’s “rule of six” radar. It all seemed encouraging, even if it is still early days, and the regulations  associated with Covid compliance don’t enhance the atmosphere in even the most welcoming of pubs, so fingers crossed.

To sum up, the Ivy House has been given a much needed makeover, but not so as to ruin its essential character. Unlike the previous two versions, when it presented itself as a “dining pub” or even a "gastropub," it has returned to being a proper pub, and not only is that to be applauded, it is also a most welcome addition to the local drinking scene.

King's Lynn - on a Sunday afternoon

I’ve been to King’s Lynn a few times, but never really had time for a proper look around the town. The town’s direct rail connection to London provided a convenient and cheap means of travel up to Norfolk, especially when the route formed part of British Rail’s Network South-East division. Back then I had a Family Railcard, which entitled me and the family to a one third discount over the entire south-eastern rail network.

This proved handy for visits to my parents, who’d recently retired to Norfolk. I’d purchase a discounted ticket; we’d take the train to King’s Lynn and my father would collect us from the station.  Mrs PBT’s also used the route to drop off and collect  son Matthew, when he spent time away with his grandparents.

Most of the time it was straight into dad’s car and then off, for the 40 minute drive to Swanton Morley, but I do remember one occasion when mum accompanied dad, and we spent a while looking around King’s Lynn, stopping for a coffee somewhere in the town centre. Last weekend’s brief stop-over therefore, provided the perfect opportunity to capitalise on my fleeting acquaintance with the town, and get to know the place better.

Matthew and I drove up to King’s Lynn last Sunday, and after checking into the bargain-priced Premier Inn on the edge of the town shortly after 2.30 pm, set off to explore the town. A look at the map revealed a 40-minute walk – eminently doable, apart from Matthew’s aversion to exercise, so we ended up taking the car.

Despite it being Matthew’s vehicle, he was also reluctant to drive – the excuse being that he didn’t know the roads. “Well neither do I,” was my stern reply, “but I can follow road signs and I have a reasonable sense of direction, and that’s all that’s needed.” I must be growing soft with age, as I still gave in, and drove us into the centre of Lynn, using the method described above.

There was the occasional wrong turn, but we arrived at a suitably empty car park, behind the High Street, without incident. I made him pay for the parking though, but surely only a tight-wad council would charge motorists to park on Sundays and Bank Holidays.

We had a stroll around, the shops having all closed by this time, admiring the attractive buildings at the north end of the High Street, especially those grouped around the quaintly named Tuesday Market Place. I made a mental note of a couple of pub possibilities for later, before heading for the waterfront and a look at the River Great Ouse.

I remembered this view from that previous visit with my parents and although the tide was out, exposing banks that are part sand and part mud, the Ouse is still an impressive site. Much of the water collected inland from the Fens, drains into the Wash; a large and wide inlet of the North Sea. King John reputedly lost some of his royal jewels there, when his baggage train became trapped by the rapidly rising tide.

The much-maligned king had a special relationship with the town, which was then known as Bishop’s Lynn, granting in 1204, a charter allowing the merchant guilds to govern themselves. On 12^th October 2016, 800 years to the day after the king lost his jewels, a life-size bronze statue of King John was unveiled in the town.

I thought I’d throw in that piece of local history, but perhaps more importantly is the fact that King’s Lynn was one of the most important ports in the country during the 12^th and 13^th centuries, after establishing links with the powerful Hanseatic League. This association of traders and merchants from Northern Germany and other countries bordering the Baltic Sea, was an early type of “common market” which contributed greatly to the town’s prosperity. It left a legacy of medieval buildings including two former Hanseatic League warehouses, which have now been adapted for other purposes, (one houses a pub and a restaurant).

It was now time for a drink, and where better, aesthetically at least, than the attractive, brick-built Maid’s Head Hotel, overlooking the Tuesday Market Place. Separated by an alleyway from its larger, and more grandiose neighbour the Duke’s Head, the Maid’s had a cosy and welcoming look about it. I’m not sure about the authenticity of the two large oval advertising signs, proclaiming the virtues of Bullard’s Ales, between some of the upstairs windows, but the Maid’s Head is certainly a quirky old building, that is full of character.

I’d wanted to sit outside, but all the table at the front of the pub were taken. Instead, we approached the front door where one of the barmaids was enjoying an afternoon ciggie. She showed us inside and allowed us to approach the bar. There were two hand pulls, one of which was for Ringwood Brewery Boondoggle. I opted for that, especially after the barmaid answered my question about it selling well.

Matthew had an international lager of some description (probably Kronenbourg), and we walked across the spacious and virtually empty bar area, towards the table that was furthest most from the bar. There was a reason for this, as there were two customers sitting close to the door arguing, admittedly in friendly sort of way, but with raised voices and rather too much swearing for my liking.

I don’t what it is about those who have taken too much drink, but it seems to do something to their voices. The more they have to drink, the louder they become, but fortunately my choice of seating, in an alcove away from the bar, did muffle their drunken ramblings, somewhat. So, the lad and I still managed to have a good chat and made some progress in trying to map out a way for him to get a rung on the housing ladder.

The Boondoggle was in fine form too, pale in colour, smooth, well hopped and topped with a fluffy white head, but as I was driving, I just stuck with the one pint. Rather annoyingly, as we left the pub, we noticed that two of the outside table were now free, meaning we missed out on 30 minutes or so of looking at people and generally watching the world going by. Never mind, but it’s good to take advantage of the fine weather whilst it lasts.

After leaving the Maid’s Head, there was time for a walk to the other end of the High Street, in order to view this well-preserved medieval part of the town. There were some rather attractive looking buildings, including King’s Lynn Minster (St Margaret’s). We also noted a place called The Wenns, which is described as a “Chop & Alehouse.” This was an establishment I had briefly considered for a Sunday evening meal, until I discovered it specialised in “sharing platters” – something we don’t really do in the Bailey household!

There were quite a few people milling about, but it’s hard to say how many were locals and how many were visitors. The warm weather may well have persuaded people out from their homes, but for towns such as King’s Lynn, that rely on tourists, things still aren’t looking particularly good.

After seeing the sights, we drove back to the Premier Inn, where we were staying for the night. Knowing the difficulty of finding a pub serving food on a Sunday night, I’d taken the precaution of booking a table at the adjacent Freebridge Farm, Brewer’s Fayre.

It wasn’t offering the full menu, because of the Corona situation, but we both had some sort of chicken burger with “skins-on” chips. There was no cask available, and no decent lager either, so I made do with a couple of bottles of Brew Dog Punk IPA. They were good, but expensive, but sometimes it’s worth paying that little bit extra.

A lunchtime drink? - Sorry, not today!

I’ve taken the week off work. Following the restrictions of lock-down, the company are keen for employees to have taken at least 10 days from their annual leave by the end of September, so I was happy to oblige, given the unpleasantness that’s miring the workplace at present.

With the kids back at school, and the weather often more settled than in July and August, September is a good time to take leave. The temperatures are still fine for outdoor activities and the nights haven’t completely drawn in yet, and even after booking these five days off, I’ve still got 16 days to last me though until April; and that doesn’t take account of Christmas either.

So, what to do with myself when foreign destinations are a quarantine on return lottery; not that Mrs PBT’s is keen on me jetting off anywhere at the moment.  Well there’s been two days in Norfolk so far, and I’ve pencilled in walking a further stage of the North Down’s Way for Thursday.

Eileen was working today, and I didn’t fancy anything too strenuous, so after dropping her off at work, I finished fixing the handrail I’d constructed alongside our garden steps, before heading into Tonbridge.

I was on a mission to collect my walking boots from Timpson’s, after leaving them there on Saturday for the soles to be re-attached. They both had the appearance of starting to come loose, but then disaster struck on the last stage of the walk we undertook on Bank Holiday Monday. I haven’t written about the walk yet, but it involved an eight-mile walk, which took in two pubs – three actually, as we called in at the Nelson on our return to Tonbridge.

After leaving the first pub, and negotiating a steeply descending path, through woodland, towards the ornamental lakes at the bottom of Eridge Park, I noticed the front part of the sole, of my left boot, had become completely detached. With it hanging there like a flap, there was a danger I could inadvertently trip, but fortunately my friend’s wife came to the rescue, with a spare hair band that she had in her bag.

This kept the sole in place for the rest of the walk, so never again will I berate my own dear wife, or indeed any member of the opposite sex,  for carrying the proverbial kitchen sink around in a bag, just in case it “comes in handy!”

So, with Mrs PBT’s safely at work, my small construction project complete and my boots ready to collect, I fancied a beer, and where better than the recently opened and completely refurbished Ivy House, at the north end of Tonbridge High Street. The pub was still being worked on at the start of lockdown, but after a brief lull, work resumed, and the pub finally opened its doors last month.  I hadn’t yet managed a visit, so today seemed the ideal opportunity.

There was only one problem, according to their website, the Ivy doesn’t open on Mondays and Tuesdays.  No problem, I thought, I’ll try the Nelson instead, but yet again, my plans were thwarted as the pub doesn’t open until 4pm. Perhaps Fuggles will be open, was my next consideration, but I soon discovered this well-stocked beer café doesn’t open until 5pm, weekdays.

I was starting to run out of options, especially as I fancied an outside drink. That had been my aim too on Sunday, in King’s Lynn, but on a warm afternoon there were no outside tables available either at the front of the Maid’s Head pub. It would have been nice to have enjoyed a beer whilst looking out over the Tuesday Market Place, but the tables were all taken, unfortunately.

Spoon’s would have been an option, but despite its size, the garden to the rear of the pub is often noisy and crowded, so I rule that out. The Gatehouse was open, but I’ve never been keen on this Stonegate Inns outlet, and the same applies to the historic Chequers, opposite.  

I walked past the Man of Kent; an attractive old weatherboard pub, once the source of the finest pint of Draught Bass for miles around.  The pub was open but peering in through the window revealed a dearth of customers and the pump clip for the sole cask beer Harvey’s, turned around.

On my walk up the High Street, I noticed that posh-nosh restaurant, Verdigris seemed open. Formerly the Castle Hotel, Verdigris has a covered terrace area, at the side of the building, overlooking the River Medway. I also knew that whilst there was no cask available, the restaurant did stock the revamped Hofmeister Lager, and a nice cool pint of that would suit me down to the ground.

Alas, I was too late; Verdigris has strange opening hours at the start of the week, opening between 8am and 2pm on Monday and Tuesday, and then 8am through to 11pm the rest of the week. I gave up and made my way home, annoyed that in a post-lockdown world, there was nowhere decent in Tonbridge to enjoy a beer, on a Tuesday afternoon.

Depending on what’s happening tomorrow, I might take another stroll down into Tonbridge. At least the Ivy House and Verdigris should be open, but the whole situation reflects the  problems associated with lunchtime drinking in the autumn of 2020.

 

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A rare trip away plus an apology

I’ve been in East Anglia these past couple of days, on a hastily arranged visit to see my father. Because of the Covid-19 situation, dad’s care home is still not admitting visitors, but to the credit of the whole team there, residents and staff have managed to remain free of the virus, ever since it first raised its ugly little head.

This meant that son Matthew and I weren’t able to enter the home and instead had to communicate with dad through the window of his room. This wasn’t quite as easy as anticipated, as whilst the entire home is single storey, the ground at the rear slopes away. It was therefore necessary for Matthew and I to take turns standing on a stepladder; a surreal and rather comic experience, but one that was well worth it.

To be truthful, I’m not sure dad recognised the identity of the two strange men peering in through his window, but seeing as he hardly opened his eyes, that probably didn’t matter. We chatted, largely about nothing, as the Alzheimer’s cruelly continues to ravage his brain, depriving him of all but the most basic of memories, but he looked in reasonable shape for someone in his late 80’s.

The important thing is we saw him; the first time in 10 months for me, and over two years for Matthew - bad weather and Coronavirus both having played a role in preventing visits, up until now. We are fortunate that our choice of care home paid off, and that dad is being well looked after, in a compassionate and caring environment.

Now I know some people think nothing of driving halfway across the country, just to tick off a missing GBG pub or two, but it is a bit more of an expedition for me. For a start, I like my creature comforts, and whilst it is perfectly feasible to drive up to Norfolk and back in a day, I do like the luxury of an overnight stay.

Finding suitable accommodation proved something of a challenge, especially as the trip was hurriedly arranged at the end of one of the most stressful and tiring weeks I’ve experienced at work for a long time. Fortunately, the Premier Inn at King’s Lynn came to the rescue with a twin room for just £42. What’s more it provided the opportunity of exploring a town I’d only touched briefly on, in previous visits, so just after 11am Sunday morning, we jumped in the car and set off for deepest Norfolk.

We took Matthew’s car for a change, on what would be its first long drive since he acquired it two years ago. Even so it was dad who did nearly all the driving! Being an automatic, it took a bit of getting used to, and I had to keep reminding myself not to reach for the gear stick every time we approached a junction or came to a roundabout. We made good progress though, following a route that saw us turning off the A14 north of Newmarket, and cutting up towards Ely, via Soham.

We were in danger of arriving too early for our 2pm check-in, so turned off the A10 for a brief look around Downham Market. I’ve bypassed the town a few times, but this was the first opportunity to see the town at first hand. It seemed pleasant enough, although there wasn’t much open in the town on a Sunday afternoon, but the local Morrison’s proved handy to grab a £3 meal deal, and for a “comfort stop.” From there it was a short 11-mile drive to King’s Lynn and the fun and games trying to locate the Premier Inn – even with the aid of Matthew’s sat-nav.

Before going further, I’d like to apologise to Retired Martin, for not arranging a meet-up whilst in his part of the country. It ought to be a double apology as well, because after seeing dad we stopped off in nearby Dereham. We’d talked about a visit to the Cherry Tree pub, just off the town’s Market Place, as it appears on CAMRA’s National Inventory List, as having an interior of regional importance.

Martin has a friend who lives locally, but for reasons best known to himself, has never set foot in the pub. The plan was, that next time I was in Dereham to visit dad, we would meet up and make a point of calling in at the Cherry Tree to see what it was really like. Unfortunately, our whistle-stop visit precluded such a meeting, but if it’s any consolation Martin, I took a couple of photos as we walked by, and a quick look in through the windows indicated a pleasant and welcoming interior will await us, when we finally step inside.

I’ll leave things there for the time being, as I want to write separately about our visit to King’s Lynn, but our brief trip did mean time for some father-son bonding. It also provided a most welcome break from the day to day grind of work, and the over-crowded south east. It was also my first night away from home since February, when Mrs PBT’s and I took a trip to South Wales; albeit for a family funeral. We stayed at a Premier Inn on that occasion too – it will be worthwhile us buying shares in the chain at this rate!

Caught on camera

I’ve always been a firm believer in the power of using photos to illustrate my blog posts; after all a picture tells a thousand words, so with this in mind it was photos, of other illustrations, right from the word go. Wherever possible, I used my own photos, but when there was nothing appropriate or, I didn’t have a suitable picture to illuminate my point, I reverted to good old Google Images. 

This is a great way to enhance my blog, thought I and, what’s more, it’s quick, convenient, contains fine examples of what I’m looking for and above all it’s free. Unfortunately, I was wrong on that last point; very wrong in fact, for you see gentle readers, I was blissfully unaware of the law of copyright. Click on virtually any photo or picture on Google Images and you will notice the following disclaimer, in small print, underneath. “Images may be subject to copyright.”

After ignoring this warning a few times, I thought I’d better look into the issue a little deeper. I discovered that photographs are considered as “Intellectual Property,” and thus belong to the person who created them (took the photo, basically).  Based on what I discovered I took the decision to only use my own photographs or, if I did use examples from Google Images, I would ensure they were “free to use” and in the “public domain.” If you want to explore this area further, the UK Government’s website provides an interesting overview on copyright and intellectual property rights.

Since that moment of enlightenment, I haven’t really looked back, and would go as far as saying creating that perfect photo is part and parcel of producing a successful blog post, and also part of the fun. With even bottom of the range Smart Phones having a built-in high-definition camera, we’re all photographers now, and as long as you’ve got you phone handy, then there’s every chance of taking that perfect shot.

This leads nicely on to the main point of this post, which is do you need permission to take that all important snap? And is the act of pointing a camera at someone an infringement of their own personal liberty?  The answer to both questions is “no,” at least in the UK and with certain provisos, but even then, this is a very grey area, given the almost universal prevalence of Smart Phone cameras.  

I admit to being somewhat circumspect when I take photos, and in some situations, such as a quiet pub, have sometimes asked the proprietor if it’s OK to take photos. In virtually all cases it is, but a couple of weeks ago I was caught out and asked, quire pointedly, what I was doing. Son Matthew found this far more embarrassing than I did, but as he often moans when I stop to take a photo, whilst we’re out and about, he for once, felt vindicated.

It was Sunday morning and we’d been for breakfast at a small café in Tonbridge. You can read about it here. After an excellent breakfast, I took several photos as we made our way out of the café, before pausing outside to take a few shots of the exterior. Looking back I wasn’t particularly discreet with my camera pointing, so it was no surprise that the manager followed us outside.

She asked, with a hint of irritation in her voice, “May I enquire why you’re taking photos?”  I understood her concern, especially given the situation regarding Coronavirus, so I hurriedly explained that I was not from the local council or the government, and there were no sinister reasons for me taking photos of her premises.

I handed her a business card and told her I was a beer writer, with my own blog about beer, pubs and travel. My son and I had just enjoyed an excellent breakfast in her café, and I would be giving the place a good write-up.  I’m not sure she believed me, but the incident did add fuel to Matthew’s sense of snap-happy and rather embarrassing father.

I appreciate that things are difficult for many businesses, and that given the current restrictions, and the media-induced state of panic and paranoia surrounding anything even remotely connected with Covid-19, it’s understandable for owners of pubs, bars and restaurants to think that some “do-gooder” is out to get them, by attempting to show their premises in a bad light.

I will therefore be even more circumspect than usual and, where necessary, explain, out of courtesy, why I would like to take photos, whilst emphasising that I am NOT some government lackey, or local-authority prod-nose!  

 

A glass of virtual Covid-19, anyone?

Well dearie, dearie me, CAMRA – the Campaign for Real Ale, has scored yet another spectacular own goal, and this time they appear to have done so without even trying (if you’ll excuse the rugby pun).

The massive faux pas revolves around the design chosen for the glasses, that will be used for the group’s Virtual Great British Beer Festival 2020, which takes place between Friday 11^th to Sunday 13^th September.

Now as far as I’m concerned, the whole concept of a “virtual festival” is absurd, but I’ll come onto that in a minute, but the glasses produced to mark this event are covered in pictograms that depict a virus. The organisers say the design represents Covid-19, which they claim is the defining event of 2020, but they have come in for some sharp criticism for their choice.

Irrespective of Covid-19 being one of the pivotal events of the year, the virus that has caused this global pandemic is something most people would rather forget. This especially applies to all those who have lost family and friends due to Covid-19, and everyone else whose life has been adversely affected by this disease.

Beer drinkers have taken to Twitter, and other forms of social media, to express their anger and distaste at such an insensitive choice of design. The festival organiser has issued an apology, whilst defending what is depicted on the glass. She claimed that because she personally suffered lung damage after contracting Covid-19, this somehow makes the design alright.

Whilst she has my sympathy for the adverse effects brought on by this virus, I somehow don’t follow her logic, and neither does it appear, do many others.  One critic responded, “Oh dear. It will make it look like you have Covid in your beer! Wonder who thought this was a good idea.” Another retorted, “So off the mark and insensitive. The official ‘apology’ is a joke as well. Acknowledge the mistake and make amends now.”

There were others of course, expressing their support for the glass, but whatever peoples’ views are, this was not a wise choice of design, and no amount of grovelling and back-pedalling is going to undo the damage this incident has done to the already flagging fortunes of the Campaign for Real Ale.

As for the event itself, the very idea of a “virtual festival” is complete nonsense, and like all the other ridiculous “virtual” events that have sprung up over the course of the pandemic, is an absurdity. The event organisers say “visitors” can purchase a ticket to what they describe as a weekend of live beer tastings, a series of which will take place each day. The tastings will be led by an “expert panel” of CAMRA luvvies.

Ticket holders will receive one of the aforementioned souvenir festival glasses, along with 11 beers to enable them to participate in two of the live tasting sessions. There are seven sets of beers to choose from, plus a cider & perry selection for those who prefer something a little different, but at £46 a set, this represents poor value for money – even if it does include packing and shipping costs.

Rather surprisingly,  tickets for all sessions have sold out, so perhaps I’m just being over-critical of the event but come-on people, the pubs are open, so why go to a “virtual”  pub, when you can enjoy the real thing?  Honestly, I  really do find the whole concept of these on-line happenings, absurd. Where is the atmosphere, the vibes or the feel normally associated with a beer festival? What pleasure, and what thrill is there in sitting in front of a computer screen, sipping at a beer whilst some “expert” sniffs,  swirls and waffles on about how great it is?

Now that the nations’ pubs have re-opened, I know where I’d rather be – enjoying a few beers, with friends amongst the banter of a local pub, mixing (at an acceptable distance, of course), with real people, necking drinks of my own choice.

The final words go to CAMRA, who claim that membership of the organisation helps support a brewing and pub industry that has unusually hard-hit by the Covid-19 crisis. Oh, the irony, and the absurdity behind this statement, when the very same organisation is promoting an event that encourages people to stay at home and drink “virtually,” in front of a computer screen!