A different aproach to the pandemic?

I’m sure I can’t be the only beer-writer at the moment, sat in front of a computer, with a mind that’s totally devoid of ideas of what to write about; and this is after only 12 days of Doris’s second lockdown. But with pubs, bars and restaurants closed until at least 3^rd December, there’s nowhere to go, even for a quiet drink, and certainly no chance of meeting up with friends or even other family members.

There’s also no guarantee that the current round of restrictions will have the effect the statisticians, or epidemiologists or number-crunching mathematical modellers predict, or the end game that "expert" advisors like Valance, Witty or Johnson’s latest pet scientist "Jay-Vee-Tee" are seeking. It could all have been so very different. 

The normal thing to stop a contagious disease from spreading, is to remove sick people from the population, by confining them, either in a hospital, or at home. Quarantine the unhealthy in order to protect the healthy would be the normal and sensible thing to do and is what has happened during past pandemics.

Unfortunately, with this particular plague, governments the world over have turned normal practice on its head by restricting the freedoms and movement of healthy people by incarcerating them, in their own homes. This seems a perverse and totally illogical way of preventing a disease from spreading, particularly when it’s an illness which, in the vast majority of cases, produces only mild symptoms or even none at all.

No-one appears to be questioning this irrational approach, and people in general seem only too happy to comply with government edicts which extend to telling them who they can and who they can’t have in their own homes. So how have governments manage to exercise such control over their populations?

Fear, backed up by disproportionate punishment, are the main weapons in their arsenal. Frighten the population out of their wits with tales of a creeping and insidious “deadly” pandemic that takes no prisoners, and if that doesn’t work levy savage and draconian fines, that are out of all proportion to the “crime” allegedly committed.

As an example, the police have been granted powers to issue “on the spot fines” of up to £10,000; an absurd financial penalty, that is way in excess of what a magistrate could impose, and equivalent to fines that could only be handed down in a crown court, in front of a judge and jury. These are measures that the world’s most despotic rulers and dictators must have only dreamed about, until Covid-19 appeared on the street of their towns and cities. Talk about using a sledgehammer to crack a walnut!

It would have made far more sense to shield the vulnerable, whilst at the same time temporarily removing the sick by quarantining them, allowing the healthy to go about their daily lives unfettered and unhindered by petty rules and regulations. It would also have prevented the damaging and destructive shutdown of large sectors of the global economy. 

I appreciate that I might be over-simplifying matters, given that people can be totally asymptomatic, but still capable of infecting others with Coronavirus, but that is why it makes sense to shield the vulnerable, rather than locking up the entire population. We should also be aware that this IS a pandemic and unfortunately pandemics kill people; sometimes in large numbers. Of course we should do all we can to mitigate the effects of this particular one, but given the relatively low mortality rate of Covid-19, shutting down the entire global economy is not the way to do this.

An approach based on common sense, doesn’t suit the government control freaks and their allies, who hide behind the guise of public health, whilst asking us to sacrifice our rights and our liberties for the "Common good.” Where have we heard those type of slogans before?  Stalin’s “Five Year Plan,” Mao’s “Great Leap Forward, or Pol Pot's genocidal "Year Zero" policy?

None of this bodes well for a post-Covid world, and having taken our freedoms, rights and liberties from us, in such a rushed and shameful fashion, governments are unlikely to want to return them in a hurry.  Regulations preventing people from meeting up with members of their own family are unheard of, even in wartime, as is the closing of pubs and restaurants.

The shifty-eyed bunch of tricksters, spivs and charlatans running the country are in their element, and in no rush to relax the unprecedented grip they hold over our daily lives. Meanwhile the economy continues to suffer along with people’s mental health and the general well-being of society as a whole.

There must surely come a time when people turn around and say, “enough is enough.” I’m not advocating breaking the law over these restrictions; although I am saying we all need to continue questioning government policy and ask are these measures really in our interest? 

Furthermore,  are they just a question of governments the world over, flexing their muscles under the guise of public health, when all they are really doing is cracking down on the rights, freedoms and liberties that we in the western world have enjoyed for generations. 

Since writing the article I've noticed a news clip stating that police forces are to suspend the £10k fines. This sounds like a small, welcome and long overdue outbreak of common sense!

Coping with life during lockdown No. 2

We’re now a week into the second national lockdown, at least for those of us who live in England, but unless you’re a stakeholder or worker in the hospitality trade, an ardent pub-goer, someone who enjoys eating out, a person connected with the entertainment business (performer of venue owner), or someone living on their own who is missing the company and support of friends and family, the current shutdown doesn’t seem to be affecting anywhere near the number of people that the first self-incarceration did.

Before going any further, sincere apologies to any individuals or groups I have missed in this assessment, as whilst it’s sometimes easy to generalise, that is not the intention of this post. Perhaps it’s a stoic acceptance of what’s going on at the moment, or perhaps I’m just fortunate in my choice of work and the position I have reached in life, but luckily, I have been relatively unaffected this time around.

My workplace has remained open, and after the disastrous slump in orders at the start of the pandemic, things are looking much healthier. The welcome increase in sales has allowed us to un-furlough our entire workforce, and whilst those office-based staff who can work from home are continuing to do so, the bulk of our team are back on site.  The comprehensive, Covid-19 risk assessment we have carried out, and the measures we have put in place, allows staff to work separated from one another as much as possible, and this combined with enhanced levels of cleaning, means we can operate in a safe and secure environment.

From my point of view, being able to carry on working, virtually right from the start, has been a godsend, and more than anything else has helped to keep me sane. Just having different people to talk to, share a joke or a piece of news with, makes all the difference and makes one realise the importance of being around other people and just what social animals us humans are.

Even the really mundane stuff seems to have much more of a purpose, than it did prior to the pandemic and helps bring home the importance of the workplace, the value of camaraderie between colleagues and the importance of our relationship, not just with each other, but with our customers and suppliers. The fact that we’re all in this together is important, and whilst I don’t want to come over all Churchillian, I’m equally certain that many others will be feeling the same way.

Of course, not everyone is quite as fortunate, and even closer to home there are family members, including Mrs PBT’s, who are longing for a return to some form of normality, so they can just go out, socialise again and start enjoying life once more. 

 

The hardware chain where son Matthew works, has remained opened this time around, and he’s been doing a spot of commuting over the past couple of days. This is a result of being seconded to the group’s Bexleyheath store. So, there’s been a journey by train into London Bridge in the mornings, and then a train back out to the aforementioned town. He reported that whilst the trains weren’t exactly empty on the journey into London, there was still enough room to maintain an adequate distance from fellow travellers. Passengers certainly weren’t crammed in like sardines, as was often the case pre-pandemic.

Following on from that, here are a few more general observations regarding the second lockdown. Traffic levels remain high, especially during the morning peak period. This is hardly surprising, given that schools and colleges remain open. During the day though, the roads appear much quieter; something I have noticed during my daily lunchtime walks. I put this down to pubs and other local attractions (stately homes), being forced to close, and with nowhere for the well-heeled, retiree to visit, the "posh pub lunch" brigade is, of necessity, staying at home.

Work on local construction projects, continues apace, seemingly unaffected by any closedown, but footfall in towns does seem to have diminished. The same applies to supermarkets; either that, or I have been lucky with the times I’ve chosen to shop.

Despite these mixed messages, the impact on pubs and restaurants must be severe, and after seeing trade pick up over the summer and early autumn, being forced to shut must be particularly galling, especially when you consider all the measures they put in place in order to make their premises as safe and risk free as possible.

It’s too early yet to know whether the lockdown has had an effect on reducing transmission rates, but one thing is for certain there's been some real exaggerations, and bending of the truth coming from scientists and government advisors, who should have known better. It was bad enough for Valance to have turned up with a bunch of out of date graphs at Johnson’s bizarre, Halloween press-conference, but for officials to now admit that their grim forecasts of 4,000 Covid-related deaths a day, were grossly exaggerated.

They have now settled on a figure of 600 per day, and this is still a worse case scenario. Unfortunately, the 4,000 a day figure was what forced the government to introduce the second lockdown, and spooked (an appropriate term for Halloween), Johnson into holding his hastily convened, and twice postponed press-conference.

You couldn’t make it up, could you?

 

Pulling a pint, or pouring a pint?

The humble hand-pull, adorning many a bar counter, in pubs up and down the land is viewed, universally as a guarantee that the pub will be serving a traditional, cask-conditioned beer of some description – "real ale" if you prefer. The tall, pillar-like handles work by pulling on a piston-like arrangement, normally hidden below the counter, to pull, or draw beer up from the cellar and into to the customer’s glass.

The hidden pump is known as a "beer engine;" a device which first came into being at the start of the 18^th Century and was then developed and refined further as 1700’s drew to a close. The man best associated with the beer engine, was Joseph Bramah, a locksmith (Bramah Locks are still manufactured), and hydraulic engineer.

Beer engines were manually operated by means of the hand-pull on the bar, with the beer being drawn up from the cellar through a flexible tube, to a spout, just below the bar, under which the glass is placed. Traditionally hand pumps were mounted on the bar, although some modern versions clamp onto the edge of the counter. You can see examples of both types in the photos used to illustrate this post.

Prior to the development of these labour-saving devices, beer had to be brought up from the cellar, by hand, usually by a group of labourers referred to as “pot boys.” It made sense storing beer underground, where the temperature was likely to be several degrees cooler than in the pub itself, and as well as providing a cool and refreshing drink - even then, no-one wanted a “warm one,” the beer also kept better and lasted longer.

Despite the almost universal acceptance of beer engines, gravity dispense, where the beer is dispensed direct from the cask, clung on particularly in smaller and more rural pubs. Sometimes the ground wasn’t suitable forth construction of cellar or, more usually, the expense of digging out an underground cellar just wasn’t worth it, especially in instances where the pub had started life as a simple house.

I can remember several pubs like this, including the Honest Miller at Brook – the Kent village where I spent my teenage years. The beer (Fremlin's Bitter), was stillaged on waist high racks, behind the bar, ready for dispense to the thirsty punters. The Black Bull at Newchurch, plus the Three Chimneys near Biddenden, are other examples of Kent pubs that kept and served their beer in this fashion.

The Three Chimneys has been enlarged over the years, and is no longer the simple country alehouse I knew in my early twenties, but it still maintains the tradition of gravity served beer.  The Old House at Ightham Common, does the same, but I’m hard pushed to think of any others locally.

What do seem to have vanished are those pubs where the licensee had to trudge down to the cellar to pour each pint of beer and then fetch it back up, by hand, to the waiting customer. The Woodman at Hassel Street, high on the North Downs and quite close to my home village, has long been closed, as has the Mounted Rifleman at Luddenham, near Faversham.

I’m digressing somewhat as this post is supposed to be about hand-pulls and beer engines, and as I was saying earlier, the sight of a hand-pull or even s set of hand-pulls on the bar, is practically a guarantee a guarantee of a pint of real ale. But there was a period during the late 1960s – early 1970’s when this wasn’t always the case.

The advent of keg beer during the 1960’s had, in many cases made hand pulls superfluous, and even in outlets where cask beer was still available, many brewers (particularly the larger ones), had switched over to “top pressure” dispense. The latter system used carbon-dioxide pressure as the means of bringing the beer up from the cellar.

In this case the beer wasn’t so much “drawn” from the cask, as “pushed” by the CO2 was applied to the spile hole, in the top of the cask, and then used to force the contents out from the tap and then all the way up to the bar. This took a considerable pressure of applied carbon-dioxide, so no wonder the beer was often gassy.

The same flexible pipes, although plastic by now, rather than metal and rubber, bring the beer up from below, but with virtually all keg beers, and many “top pressure” variants, dispense was by means of a small box and tap arrangement mounted on the serving side of the bar. The boxes were often illuminated in order to advertise the beer on sale – Courage Tavern Keg, Watney’s Red, Keg Worthington E, Whitbread Tankard etc, but this means of dispense rendered the humble hand-pull, and its associated beer engine, redundant.

Many licensees were reluctant to remove their hand pulls altogether, as this would have left holes on the top of the bar.  Some did, and covered the hole(s) with a circular brass plate, but the majority left the pump handles in situ, because they helped maintain the traditional feel of the pub.

I remember walking into many a strange pub during the mid-1970’s and falling foul of this.  Fully expecting a properly pulled pint of cask, I was instead presented with a gassy pint of fizz, poured from a tap just under the counter. Greene King, who were just a regional brewer back then, even used miniature ceramic hand-pulls to operate the “top-pressure” system, that predominated in most of their pubs. However, once seen in action, it was easy not to be caught out by such trickery!

Worse though, were pubs where the hand-pulls appeared still in use, but once pulled back, a valve was operated which dispensed keg beer into the glass of the unsuspecting customer. Fortunately, such pubs were few and far between and word soon got around, particularly amongst CAMRA members, that these were places to avoid.

The highlighting by CAMRA of such sharp practices, helped to establish the hand-pull as the dominant symbol of real ale, but it had an unfortunate side-effect. Away from the southern half of the country, in areas such as the Midlands, Lancashire and Yorkshire, many pubs served perfectly acceptable cask-conditioned ale by means of electric pumps.

These were virtually unknown in the south, and I remember being fascinated as a sixth-former, coming across my first electrically pumped beer when the coach taking a group of us to North Wales for a geology field trip, stopped for a break somewhere on the Staffordshire-Shropshire border. A group of us piled into the pub on the opposite side of the road, where we were served foaming pints of Bank’s Bitter from electrically operated pumps, with a metered glass cylinder mounted horizontally on the bar.

I watched fascinated as the piston moved back and forth within the cylinder, dispensing an exact half pint, each time. We came across further examples in Bangor, our destination and base for the field course. Most of us weren’t old enough to legally drink in pubs, but that didn’t stop us, and most evenings, apart from Sunday – when the sale of alcohol was prohibited, we hit the towns local hostelries, most of which belonged to Greenall Whitley.

Metered electric pumps of the type witnessed on the outward journey, were the order of the day, and just over six months later, when I went up as a student, to Salford University, this type of dispense was a common sight in local pubs. Most Boddington’s, Greenall’s, Hyde’s Robinson’s and Tetley’s pubs used metered electric pumps, as did quite a few Wilson’s (Watney’s northern subsidiary) outlets.

To confuse the issue some pubs used what were known as “free-flow” electric pumps. These were un-metered and were operated in the same way as a keg tap. To muddy the waters even further, many of these pumps had the same bar mountings for both cask and keg. As CAMRA said at the time, in one of its guides, "The only way to tell the difference is to taste the stuff in the glass!" Free flow electric pumps were prevalent in most Bass Charrington pubs, and quite a few Wilson’s outlets.

As the “real ale movement" gathered momentum electric pumps began disappearing. Slowly at first, and they were still quite prevalent in the Manchester area when I headed off, back down south. Ten year later, they had virtually disappeared.

It’s perhaps unfair to blame CAMRA for this, as all the group wanted was to remove the confusion surrounding hand-pulls, whilst establishing them as THE symbol of real ale. Nowadays electric pumps, metered or otherwise, are nowhere to be seen – not even on Google Images. It’s almost as if, they never existed in the first place!

 

 

An autumnal walk along the North Downs Way - Part Two

The second, and final day of my North Downs Way walk was, if anything, harder than the first. This was despite it being just over half the distance, in terms of actual miles walked. Two steep ascents, and the same number of equally precipitous descents didn’t help (what goes up, must come down), but neither did the fact that for much of the journey, I was walking through woodland.

Being in what is effectively an enclosed environment, means it becomes difficult to judge distance travelled or, indeed, how much further there is to go. Basically, one loses one’s sense of perspective! Getting lost a couple of times on the initial part of the journey, didn’t help much either, but all in all it was still an enjoyable day’s walking; even if it was rather different from the previous day. That, of course, is the beauty of the NDW, as the scenery and, quite often the terrain, are so varied.

I set off in high spirits, after a good night’s sleep and a hearty breakfast following my overnight stop at the Black Horse, Thurnham.  Straight away, I was forced to gain height, in order to access the NDW, following the steeply climbing road up from the pub towards the remains of Thurnham Castle, high on the ridge overlooking the surrounding countryside.

The trail skirts the mound on which the castle is constructed, but according to my guidebook, there is precious little left of this 13^th Century fortification.  I should, of course have been paying attention to the guidebook – even though it is written for those travelling in an easterly direction, because after skirting the top of the hill that is home to the White Horse Country Park, I found myself trapped behind a barbed wire fence at the apex of a field.

I could see where I wanted to be but was reluctant to retrace my footsteps in order to regain the path. Fortunately, I manage to squeeze through a gap between the top of the fence and the string of barbed wire, although I had to remove both my rucksack and my coat in order to do so. This was a similar occurrence to what I’d experienced the day before, the common factor being the ownership of this area of the North Downs, by the Hucking Estate, and its management by the Woodland Trust.

A lack of signage on this section of the NDW, seems to be a common complaint, if the reports on TripAdvisor are anything to go by; the most appropriate one being “Be prepared to get very lost!” Shortly after my undignified scramble through the fence, I again found myself looking for the correct path. I was aiming for the village of Detling, and whilst I could see it below, and to my right, how to access the correct track seemed a complete mystery.

I sought advice from two women, out walking their dog, but they confessed they weren’t the best people to ask, as they too were lost. Fortunately, a knight in shining armour, in the form of another walker, came to our rescue. He put the two dog walkers on the right path, and then directed me to the steeply descending track that would take me down into Detling.  He also warned of an even steeper ascent as the NDW makes its way out of the village, on the other side of the busy A249 dual carriageway.

My route into Detling was from the east, and as I approached the heart of the village, I could see the Cock Horse pub directly in front of me. I was too early for opening time and it was too early for a beer as well, so after skirting the pub I headed for the crossing that would take me over the A249.

The footbridge known as "Jade’s Crossing," is named after eight-year-old Jade Hobbs who, along with her grandmother, was killed in 2000 whilst attempting to cross the A249. Despite this tragedy, and two earlier deaths, Kent County Council continued to resist calls for a protected crossing, until shamed into doing so by a fundraising campaign, led by local people. Walking across this footbridge with four lanes of traffic thundering underneath, it is difficult to imagine how the authorities could have been so callously short-sighted!

The guide I’d spoken to earlier was right about the steep climb back up to the escarpment, as the track through the trees Hermitage Lane, seemed to go on forever, passing a substantial, but now disused chalk quarry. I had a slight chuckle over the spoof entry that appeared in a local CAMRA pub guide 40 years ago, in response to plans to reopen the former Detling Lime Works, which was sited in this very chalk pit.

I was one of several people who went looking for the “Quarryman’s Arms,” an old pub that had “reopened, after standing empty for many years.” Local opposition to the quarry’s reopening must have been running strong, so I take my hat off to the two lads (both CAMRA members), who managed to hoodwink the editor by getting this fictitious entry, a place in the guide!

The NDW takes a sharp turn to the left at the top of this lane, and then follows the edge of a beech-wood for several miles. Boxley Wood merges into Westfield Wood, and whilst this section was on level ground, until the very end, quite frankly it was boring. Okay, it was nice to be out of the wind, and good to be on the flat, but with very little in the way of landmarks to act as guidance, it was difficult to know exactly where one was.

At times, the trail veered off deeper into the woods, whilst at others it left the shelter of the trees for the edge of a muddy field. I took no photos, as there was very little to capture on camera, but whilst the walk was boring, there were times when it felt a little creepy – almost as if I was being followed!

I wasn’t of course, although I was very nearly bowled over by a powerful female jogger who came bounding towards me, but returning to the subject of woodland walks, there is something slightly spooky, a sort of primeval fear that goes with walking alone, through a wood which never seems to end.

The wood did eventually end, but not before a lengthy, and at times quite steep descent through some dense and quite gloomy areas of woodland. In several sections there were steps cut into the slope, to make one’s descent easier, but even so I was mightily relieved to have brought my trusty walking stick along. Not only did it steady me during this tricky descent, it also stopped me tripping up over numerous, half-buried tree roots. A stick also gives added impetus on upward sections and helps one maintain a steady and rhythmic pace on level ground.

I emerged from the trees just past the White Horse Stone; a Neolithic megalith of some historic significance. I was feeling rather weary and footsore by this time and had already passed this large and unevenly shaped lump of stone, before I realised what it was. I certainly wasn’t persuaded to deviate the short distance from the trail for a closer inspection.

Instead I passed out of the woods and followed a path which led over the high-speed rail line, just before it disappears into a lengthy tunnel, beneath the mass of the looming Blue Bell Hill. After crossing the railway and then disappearing into the rather gloomy subway under the busy A229, there was just a short, half mile section of NDW left to walk, until I arrived at the place I’d started from on my walk to Cuxton, the previous month.

I now had to find a suitable public transport link that would get me home. There was the possibility of a bus, but that meant a mile or so of walking to the top of Blue Bell Hill. The alternative was a route march down into Aylesford. The latter was nearly twice as long as the former, but at least was downhill all the way, although the lack of a pavement made walking quite hazardous at times.

A more sensible option would have been to have walked up to the Lower Bell pub, ordered myself a well-earned pint and then phoned for a taxi! I wasn’t sensible, and unfortunately Rochester Road proved busier than anticipated, but there were verges for most of the way, plus a very welcome section where a bridleway, hidden behind a hedge, ran parallel with the road. Mrs PBT’s would have called me foolhardy, or worse, but keeping my wits about me, I arrived in Aylesford village in one piece and without too many close shaves!

As I walked past the Bush pub and caught a glimpse of the cheery and welcoming interior, I was very tempted to call in for a pint. The London Pride hand pump on the bar looked extra inviting and had it not been for the notice on the door, asking customers, not unreasonably, to remove muddy boots before entering, I would have popped inside. 

As it was, if I had removed my footwear, it’s doubtful I’d have got
them back on, so I carried on into the centre of Aylesford, before finding a most welcome bench, where I sat and ate the cheese roll that was left over from the previous day. The station was much further from the village than I remembered, but I still reached it in plenty of time for the train back to Tonbridge.

That two days of walking means there is now just a seven-mile gap between Wye and Charing before I complete the bulk of the Kentish section, and head west into Surrey along the final 50 miles of the  North Downs Way and the end of the trail in the town of Farnham.

 

Take my beer away

Pub landlords have welcomed the climb-down by the UK government which will allow them, once again, to sell alcohol during the current period of enforced closure. When plans for the second national lockdown were first announced, the guidelines initially indicated a ban on pubs serving alcohol for people to takeaway and drink at home. This was in sharp contrast to the first lockdown which came into force back in March.

Fortunately, pressure from the drinks industry forced the government to think again, so now pubs in England (Scotland & Wales have their own separate rules), will now be able to sell takeaway beer and cider, during November’s lockdown, as long as the drinks are pre-ordered by phone or online. Customers can collect their orders, as long as they do not enter the premises.

The U-turn comes as a relief to licensees and pub bosses who had warned that the ban would result in thousands of gallons of beer being poured down the drain. Takeaway sales will form a vital lifeline to local pubs and breweries over the next four weeks, providing them with much needed income. It will also prevent a substantial amount of perfectly drinkable beer from being wasted.

It is thought the now over-turned ban on takeaway alcohol sales was drafted because, during the first lockdown, some pubs were allowing customers to enter the premises, buy a pint and then go outside in order to drink it. This was clearly a case of pushing the envelope that little bit too far, earning drinkers and publicans alike, a “tut, tut” from nanny.

The message now to all drinkers and pub lovers is, please support your local pub, bar or brewery with your custom, and help them get through what, for most, is an extremely challenging and difficult period. I shall be doing my bit, by ordering essential supplies from both local pubs and breweries, and am currently investigating what's available at the moment.

It is also encouraging to read that some pub owning companies and brewers, including Punch and Marston’s, have announced rent reductions for licensees over the 28-day period.

An autumnal walk along the North Downs Way - Part One

It’s over two weeks now since my two-day jaunt along a section of the North Downs Way, and I suddenly realised that I hadn’t really chronicled the route I took, the sights I saw or people and things I encountered along the way. What I will say is, looking back, I am extremely glad I grasped the opportunity of those two glorious mid-October days to make the most of the Kent countryside and spend a night away, in the comfort and tranquillity of a traditional, old English inn.

Before booking those two days, I had a feeling that the country could be heading into some form of lockdown; although I didn’t appreciate at the time quite how restrictive this would be. Still, as a colleague of mine I fond of saying, we are where we are, and with precious little else to write about, what follows is the account of my walk.

My walk was due to start from the large village of Charing; a settlement built on the slope of the North Downs, at the junction of two major highways.  In order to reach the village, I caught an early morning train coast bound service from Tonbridge, changing trains at Ashford.

The interval between arrival and departure at Ashford International, was one minute; an impossibly short time as I discovered, given the distance between platforms. This was despite the service from Tonbridge arriving a few minutes ahead of schedule, and my best efforts to make the connection. I hurried down the steps to the subway, passing under the currently disused international Eurostar platforms.

 

I almost made it, but with the dispatcher blowing his whistle, and
shouting at me to move away from the departing train, I missed the London Victoria-bound service by less than 30 seconds. After apologising for my foolhardiness, there was no option but to wait half an hour for the next train. Fortunately, the café on the platform I’d just come from, was open, and rather irritatingly, that was where the train to Victoria would be departing from.

I was able to grab a rather good cup of coffee and take advantage of the bacon roll offer. £2.99 for a coffee, but only £3.99 with a sausage or bacon roll thrown in. The downside was the Covid restrictions which had rendered all the inside seating as out of bounds – what a miserable, little, anti-social bastard, Coronavirus is!

I managed to find a vacant seat on the draughty, rainswept platform, thinking that the weather wasn’t boding well for my walk. Fortunately, by the time my train arrived and transported me the short six-minute journey to Charing, the sky was clearing, and that was the last I would see of the wet weather for the next few days.

Charing station lies to the south of the village, whilst the NDW passes close to its northern extremity, so there was an uphill walk, through the attractive main street, in order to reach the trail. First, I had to cross the busy A20 road;  the main thoroughfare between Ashford and Maidstone, before the opening of the M20 motorway.

Despite having formerly resided in both these towns, I knew very little of Charing, apart from the nightspot it once boasted, called "King Arthur’s Court." Housed at the now permanently closed, Swan Inn, a mock-Tudor roadhouse, built in the 1920’s, King Arthur’s was the “in place” for trendy Ashford youth. But with soul and disco, not really my scene, I wasn’t exactly a regular visitor.

As mentioned, my route took me up the rather narrow, village High Street, past an abundance of attractive and historic houses and shops. One former kitchen shop now houses the Bookmaker’s Arms micro-pub; currently the only pub in a village that is home to over 2,700 inhabitants.

Quarter to nine in the morning was obviously far too early for a swift pint, so I continued my walk, up through the village to where the High Street narrows further and becomes the appropriately named “The Hill.” At the top I crossed the busy A252 Faversham Road and continued for a short distance before turning left onto the Pilgrims Way and, for me, the point where I joined the NDW.

As I wrote in an earlier post, the "Pilgrims Way" is a relatively modern name for an ancient trackway, although pilgrims on their way to Canterbury would undoubtedly have

made use of it. The track runs almost directly below the escarpment of the downs, which meant it was relatively flat. It is also tarmac for most of the route, which was an added bonus, although there was a stretch where the hard surfacing disappeared and was replaced by the wettest and muddiest conditions of the entire walk.

Amongst the contrasting sights I passed along the way, was the Memorial Cross, cut into the chalk grassland in 1922, just above the village of Lenham, to commemorate those who fell in the Great War. The cross serves as the village war memorial and is clearly visible for quite some distance. You can’t help noticing it as you pass along the A20; a road I have travelled along dozens of times. This was the first time though, that I’d seen from close quarters.

Further along, the Pilgrims Way passes the rear of the sprawling Marley Works, which were established in 1923, originally as a joinery works making doors and windows. The Marley name is well-known today, with factories in other locations of the country, whilst the works here concentrate on producing plastic drainage pipes and roof guttering. It is quite well camouflaged, by hedges and trees, and the only real sign of the hustle and bustle taking place behind this natural barrier, is the hum of machinery and the noise made by forklift trucks, trundling between the various buildings.

I eventually reached the small and attractive village of Hollingbourne, which lies on the southern slopes of the North Downs. The attraction here was the Dirty Habit pub, which provided a welcome lunchtime break and the opportunity for a well-earned pint of Harvey’s.  I wrote about the pub, in some detail here.

The final four miles of the first day’s walk were undoubtedly the hardest, as after leaving the Dirty Habit, the NDW climbs right to the top of the escarpment. The ascent was worth it in terms of views, but it was a tough going, following on from the nine miles I’d already walked. The route wasn’t that easy to follow either, with the waymarks either missing or none-existent in the first place.

You can read more about this section here, where I describe how I eventually reached the end of the first day’s stretch, and my resting place for the night, at the lovely old Black Horse Inn, at Thurnham.

 

 

It's all in the Flavourly

During the initial stages of the lock-down, when there was no alternative to drinking at home, and access even to supermarkets was a hassle (queuing up outside, single shoppers preferred, restricted range etc), it was difficult getting hold of beers that were a bit different from the norm.

I did support local pubs that were offering draught beer to takeaway in containers, but cask ale doesn’t keep well once dispensed and quite frankly, some of the beers obtained in this fashion were disappointing.  This was where a friend on our West Kent Beer Socials WhatsApp group, put me in touch with a mail order company called Flavourly.

Flavourly partner with selected craft-beer breweries by buying beers in large volumes, enabling the breweries concerned to increase their efficiency, invest in new equipment and negotiate better rates on ingredients with their suppliers. Flavourly also commission to produce “collaboration beers” that are offered as exclusives to the company’s customers.

The promotion that my friend alerted me to was a range of beers from Gun Brewery; an outfit based on a mixed organic far, at Gun Hill, in the Sussex Weald.  Since brewing commenced in 2015, Gun have acquired a reputation for their hop-forward beers, brewed using water from their own spring. I’ve always enjoyed Gun beers, for their fresh taste and even though they are un-fined, they are still satisfying and refreshing.

There were 24 cans included in the  Flavourly offer, covering six different styles, all packaged in those 330ml cans, beloved by the craft-beer movement. Delivery, via DPD, was included in the order price and as with many delivery companies, it is possible to track one’s order. I duly signed up for the Gun Brewery offer and waited for my beers to arrive.

I wasn’t disappointed, even though there were some beers I obviously preferred to others.  The Vermont Pale, the Scaramanga Extra Pale (also available in cask), plus the Milk Stout were particularly good, and helped see me through that initial phase of isolation.

As I was now on Flavourly’s mailing list, I began to receive regular offers. Unlike some mail-order beer clubs, there was no obligation to take up on these offers, although since last spring, I have received beer selections from Moor Beer (also un-fined) and Wild Beer (this offer did include some collaboration brews).

 

My most recent delivery was a selection of nine different beers from the likes of Four Pure, Bellfield, Loch Lomond, Gun and By the Horns. Again, some of these were collaboration brews, and some were more to my taste than others, although there are several that I’ve got to crack open.

It’s also worth pointing out that each delivery comes with a copy of the Flavourly in-house, magazine. A snack is sometimes included, and sometimes a glass – not that we need any more glasses according to Mrs PBT’s.

I don’t know whether I’ll be ordering any more cans from Flavourly, as collaboration brews are alright for those who want to tick beers on “Untappd,” but perhaps not for those who prefer rather more than “one-offs.” Whatever the case, if you’ll pardon the pun, Flavourly has certainly been something of an eyeopener, as to what’s available out there.