Spotted Dog - best intentions

Three and a half months after saying that I’d visit the Spotted Dog, near Penshurst, I finally called in for a swift half. I was on my way home from work, and the half should have been a pint, but you know the scene – a couple of colleagues wanted my opinion on an issue that was causing them a spot of trouble.

Despite my protestations that I had to rush off (I didn’t let on that I was heading for the pub), they pressed me for an answer. As it happened, we decided the issue could wait until the following day, but in the meantime, I’d wasted nearly 10 minutes of valuable drinking time!

The reason for me rushing - I was due to collect young master Matthew from work at 5.50pm, so there was only a small window of opportunity for a visit to the Spotted Dog.  As things turned out, I made it to the pub just after 5.15pm, parked the car and then headed inside. 

The door was open, and I appeared to be the only customer. The Perspex screens were still in place in front of the bar, but I had an uninterrupted
view of the hand pumps.  The selection was Larkin’s Traditional, Harvey’s Sussex Best along with the brewer’s seasonal offer for summer – Olympia. The latter, which is the brewery’s attempt at a golden ale, is my least favourite Harvey’s beer, so I opted for the Sussex Best and as stated earlier, a half at that!

Martin would have been proud of me, I thought, given his predilection for popping in for a “swift half” and another GBG tick, but slightly embarrassed I explained to the barmaid that because I had to be in Tonbridge in 20 minutes, I only had time for a half. She probably couldn’t have cared less, but as a serious pub man of many years standing, I do normally like to start the session off with a pint!

I took my beer outside and annoyingly, it was in tip-top condition and worth at least a 4, and probably a 4.5 NBSS. Shortly afterwards a couple turned up, entered the pub, and inquired about food. With the door and windows open, I could hear the entire conversation which resulted in the pair being told that the kitchen wouldn’t be re-opening until 6pm, but would they like a drink while they waited?

The woman expressed her disappointment at having to wait 35 minutes, and told the bar staff, plus her companion, that she was hungry so they would have to go elsewhere.  I wondered whether they headed up to the Bottle House instead, if they knew where it was, whilst at the same time shaking my head at the impatience of those who expect, and often demand, instant gratification.

I drank up and left too, but not before returning my empty glass and commenting as to how good the Harvey’s had been. I drove back via to Tonbridge, via Penshurst and Bidborough, eyeing up the Leicester Arms and the Kentish Hare respectively, as possible pubs to stop off at for a pint on the way home.

I stated at the beginning that I’d waited three and a half months before calling in at this lovely old inn, and this relates to a post written by prolific blogger and dedicated GBG ticker, Retired Martin – usually referred to as RM.

Back in April, and not long after pubs re-opened (for outdoor table service only), Martin and his good lady wife, usually referred to as Mrs RM, enjoyed an overnight stay, in their camper-van at the car park of the Spotted Dog. Spurred on, and encouraged by their visit, I posted a comment on Martin’s blog that read, “I had every intention of a fleeting lunchtime visit to the Spotted Dog, but the best laid plans and all that!”

I of course, had every intention of making a visit, but little did I think it would be 14 weeks before I set foot inside the pub. Well despite my short visit I am pleased that I made the effort, especially as the Spotted Dog is a pub, I’ve always had a soft spot for.

Smart’s Hill consists of a few rows of houses sited on high ground overlooking the River Medway, to the south of Penshurst. Somewhat unusually, for such a rural part of the county, Smart’s Hill has a second pub, known as the Bottle House, situated further up the hill from its neighbour, and in an even more isolated location.

Because of their situation, both pubs rely heavily on the food trade but of the two, I would say the Spotted Dog retains much more of a “pubby” atmosphere. I have written about the pub on several previous occasions, but to recap, the Spotted Dog, is a 15th century white weather boarded country inn that seems to cling to the hillside. It lies below the level of the road and is a long low building with a terraced garden area between the pub and the road.

The bar is right in front of the main entrance, in what is the narrowest, and most congested part of the pub, but the building opens out to the right, where there is a larger open area, heated by a welcoming log burning stove in winter. There is also a small “snug” area, just in front of the window. The main restaurant area is at the opposite end of the building.

The Spotted Dog’s popularity is evidenced by the large car park, just across the road, but despite the importance of the car-borne trade, many people do make the effort to walk here.  I too have done so on several past occasions and intend to again in the future.

 

 

Poaching an impromptu pint

Whether one is on that never ending quest for the perfect pub, or just out for a drive and looking for a suitable stop-off for a quick pint, it’s sometimes good to go off-piste. Doing so can be fun and it can also be revealing, and occasionally it can lead to somewhere verging on “pub perfection,” Shangri-La if you like.

I can’t pretend Wednesday evening’s drive brought us close to the latter, but it did turn out as a pleasant surprise, and an important lesson in never to pre-judge a pub – or anything else, for that matter.

I was running low on fuel – that nice low-carbon diesel that we all encouraged to buy into a decade and a half ago.  I had a voucher from Sainsbury’s that entitled me to double Nectar Points on fuel, but also thought it was high time that I checked my tyre pressures.

I normally do this before undertaking a long journey, but apart from a drive to Norfolk and back, for my father’s funeral, I haven’t driven anywhere that I could call a long journey. So thinking that February’s trip was the last time I’d checked my tyre pressures, but also mindful that even with a daily commute to work of 15 miles, I’d still clocked up a few, it was definitely time to check whether I’d been driving around on underinflated tyres, these past six months.

Matthew decided to come with me, so after checking each tyre and inflating where necessary – only one was significantly under, and purchasing 40 quid’s worth of diesel, it was time to think of a place we could stop off at, for a well-earned pint.

As an aside, the fact that our local Sainsbury’s filling station now charge motorists for air (30p for 3 minutes, pay contactless, by card), does show how long it’s been since I last checked the boots on my vehicle. Petrol stations always made a big play of advertising “Free Air,” but alas no longer, it appears.

That’s enough waffle, and on leaving the filling station, we headed north along Tonbridge High Street in search of a suitable hostelry. There were two places I had in mind; the Rose Revived, on the edge of Hadlow, or the Carpenter’s Arms at Three Elm Lane, between Tonbridge and Golden Green.

I opted for the latter, as it was fractionally nearer, but as we approached the pub, we couldn’t help noticing the cars parked along the lane. The reason for this became self-evident, when we arrived at the Carpenter’s, and found the car park literally bursting at the scenes, which was exactly what we’d experienced just over a month previously.

With insufficient room to do a u-turn, we carried on towards Golden Green and it was then that the idea hit me, why not try the Poacher & Partridge, in nearby Tudeley? This large and imposing pub started life as the Red Cow – and then went through several name changes. It was known as the Hartlake, for a while, because it is situated in Hartlake Road. I thought that it late became the Poacher, but an entry in The Real Ale Drinker’s Guide to Kent Pubs, published 1993, lists the pub as the Pig in Hiding.

A daft name that fortunately didn’t hang around too long, and the pub then became the Poacher. I remember the pub hosting the firm’s Christmas dinner, back in the late 90’s, when I worked for a family-owned chemical manufacturer, based in Tonbridge. It had been enlarged by this time and had also gained quite a reputation for its beer range. This was one reason why I was chosen for the Christmas bash, as the work’s engineer and I played a role in its selection.

2006 saw further enlargement, another makeover, and possibly the addition of  partridge to the pub’s name, although that might have happened in 2014. Thinking back, I’m sure I hadn’t set foot in the pub since that time, so Wednesday’s visit put that straight, but it's worth noting that the Poacher & Partridge is one of 11 upmarket outlets, owned by Elite Pubs.

As we pulled into the car park, I was beginning to think we would again be unlucky, but fortunately there were a few spaces in the overspill area to the far left. We walked up towards the front of the pub and a I asked Matthew if he fancied sitting inside or outside or would the pub?

We decided to see what it was like inside, and rather surprisingly we found that the central bar area was quite empty. There was a choice of three cask ales – Doom Bar (no thanks), Cellar Head Session Pale, and Harvey’s Sussex Best. I went for the latter, whilst Matthew opted for a pint of Barcelona's finest.

We decided to sit outside, despite the fact the temperature was dropping, but there was a reason for our choice which influenced this decision. I’d noticed a WhatsApp message from my sister in America, that had just flashed up on my phone. It related to our late father’s estate, and as we are both executors, I needed to respond.

The estate business has been dragging on for some time, and I could have done without what seemed like a further complication, and the five-hour time difference didn’t help either, but fortunately a text reply saved the day and Matthew and were able to resume our father-son chat.

It might seem premature to some, but we’re planning a rip to Munich for next spring - probably May time, and it seemed appropriate to list out a few of our favourite beer gardens even though the visit is over six months away. Sitting in an English pub garden whilst contemplating some of Munich’s finest outdoor drinking establishments, seemed even more appropriate.

More importantly it was something to look forward to, and as long as things continue moving in the right direction. It certainly provided a brief, and most welcome interlude from the daily routine of work and gardening that seems to have characterised the summer of 2021.

The pub itself, was obviously doing well, as was the Carpenter’s we’d been unable to access earlier, so fingers crossed our optimism isn’t unfounded!  

 

Feeling fuggled in Fuggles

Following on from my long overdue return to the Rock at Chiddingstone Hoath, the second pub I visited recently, was a complete contrast. Fuggles Beer Café in Tonbridge is slap-bang in the town centre and is not a pub in the true sense of the word. Instead, it is much more a continental-style beer café, just as its name suggests, but is none the worse for that.

I like Fuggles and I like its ambience. I also much prefer the Tonbridge outlet to its Tunbridge Wells namesake despite the latter being the original Fuggles and acting as the model for branch for both of these beer emporiums.

It’s got a lot to do with the right and airy feel given by the large plain windows at the front of the Tonbridge building, together with its high ceiling. With the bar towards the rear, and set to one side, it is better laid out than its older sibling, but then I’m sure it’s a case of practice makes perfect.

I had only made one visit since Fuggles re-opened, and that was before the full lifting of restrictions on July 19^th. It was table service only, at the time, but that didn’t matter, as to me this enhanced the continental appeal of the place. Even after Covid restrictions were relaxed, the staff carried on wearing masks and apart from the ordering of drinks, customers are discouraged from standing at the bar with their drinks.

Again, I don’t view this as a problem, as Fuggles never was a “stand-up-to-drink” type of establishment. So, on a wet and windy Saturday afternoon, having finished a number of household chores and some personal “office-type” stuff, I headed off down into Tonbridge and made my way to Fuggles to enjoy a few of the beers they had on offer.

I had another reason for going there and that was the £15 voucher I received for being a loyal FUGSCLUB Member – the bottled beer subscription service that sees 12 different beers (dark ones in my case), delivered to one’s door, each month. The voucher covers June, July, and August, but with the first two months already passed, I thought it high time that I used it, and treated myself to a few well-deserved beers.

I was rather disappointed to discover then that the voucher has to be used over a single session, as there is no facility to carry over any unused credit to another time. So not wishing to sit there and down three pints on my own, I paid by card with the intention of saving the voucher for another day. 

If young master Matthew plays his card right, him and I can enjoy a lad’s session on some of the contemporary lagers that grace the bar, beers like, Utopian British Lager and Lost & Grounded Keller Pils. I also noticed an interesting strong 7% lager, another offering from Utopian called Utopian Rainbock.

This time around I stuck with cask, starting of with a pint of Southern Cross from Kent Brewery. This pale coloured, light and fruity ale, is brewed using Australian hops (Southern Cross?), and very tasty it was too!

There was a good mixed crowd in that afternoon, all drawn by the impressive beer selection and the ambience that goes with it. In the main, they were ordinary folk, and not the “craft hipster” brigade alleged by some outside observers, who never actually set foot in the place!

I was debating what to have next, when the decision was forced on me by the appearance of one of the bar staff. She asked me if I was having another beer? I opted for a further beer from the cask range, this time going for a dark one, in the form of Devil’s Dyke Porter, a full-bodied 5.0% porter from Downlands Brewery.  

Upon her return with my beer, she offered me a Fuggles Loyalty Card, complete with two stamps, which was a nice touch. I seem to have quite a collection of these things in my wallet, but they’re always worth hanging on to, especially as they eventually lead to a free pint!

It was whilst getting stuck into this second pint that the thought hit me that I should have had a shorter measure. Fuggles offer ⅔rd pint measures, and that perhaps would have been more suitable. Matthew had offered me a lift home once he’d finished work. I just had to walk along to his shop, at the other end of the High Street and wait for him to finish cashing up.

By the time I’d finished my pint, it was a bit of a rush, which is why the slightly smaller measure might have been better. True to form, and as impatient as ever, he phoned me before I’d even crossed the bridge, to ask me where I was. The strange thing is I felt more than a little tipsy, proving I am no longer used to mid-afternoon drinking.

Small matter, I’d spent an enjoyable hour and a half renewing my acquaintance with one of Tonbridge’s premier beer outlets, and on a wet Saturday afternoon, there was precious little else to be doing instead.

A welcome return to the Rock

After bemoaning the lack of any pub visits in my last post, I finally managed to squeeze in a couple during the past three days. Before describing them, I’m pleased to report that both visits restored my faith in public houses and demonstrated their resilience in being able to bounce back, after an unprecedented 14-month period, where trade was either severely restricted at best, or not allowed at all.

The latter state was actually the norm for much of the pandemic, so it is doubly encouraging to find pubs once again trading strongly. So, starting with the first pub, which is an absolute cracker, and one that has long been a favourite of mine; even if it is one that I only visit infrequently.

The Rock at Chiddingstone Hoath is an old drover’s inn, which has retained many original features. It is close to 500 years old and is so named because it is close to one of several rocky outcrops, which are a feature of this remote corner of Kent. Chiddingstone Hoath is a small, isolated settlement, consisting of a few houses, plus the pub, huddled together on a high sandstone plateau, to the south of the River Eden, in an area known as the High Weald.

The Rock is centuries old, and this is reflected in both the exterior and interior of the building. It has been lovingly cared for over the years, and the recent alterations have only enhanced this. I have known the pub for 30 years plus, and despite its remote location have tried to visit it whenever possible.

Three decades ago, it belonged to Whitbread, but when that company ceased brewing, and started selling off its pubs, the Rock became a free house. For a number of years afterwards, it was leased to local brewery Larkin's, who brew just down the road, on the edge of Chiddingstone village, but it has since reverted to being a free house once again, and a popular and flourishing one at that.

I mentioned that I have tried to visit the Rock as often as possible, especially as it is only a short drive from Chiddingstone Causeway; the village where I work, but looking back at my records, my last visit was in February 2018.  The pandemic meant that no visits were possible until quite recently, and I was prompted to rectify the situation when I received news of a prolonged road closure.

Starting this coming Tuesday, the busy B2027 Tonbridge-Edenbridge Road, that runs past my workplace, will be closed for a period of at least 10 weeks, to allow the replacement of a major water main. Fortunately, the block on traffic movement is just to the west of the factory, so my journey to work will be unaffected, but colleagues travelling from the opposite direction will have a lengthy diversion to contend with, that will add at least 20 minutes to their drive in to work.

The closure also rules out any chance of a lunchtime visit, so with this in mind it made sense to pay the Rock a visit, whilst it was still possible. Consequently, last Thursday evening, I left the office just after 5pm, jumped in the car, and drove up to the Rock. My route took me down and across the River Eden - little more than a large stream really, and then up past Larkin's Brewery. The road then begins to climb more steeply, through woodland and then up towards the High Weald.

Unfortunately, like most of the past couple of weeks, the rain began just as I was walking up to the car, and by the time I arrived at the Rock, it was falling steadily at an intensity that precluded taking all but the most basic of photos of the exterior. The same applied to the interior too, as with just myself, the barmaid, plus a single customer and his dog, I felt rather self-conscious about snapping away with my phone. For this reason, the majority of the photos, used to illustrate this post, were taken on previous visits.

The door was open when I arrived, and the aforementioned dog rushed out to greet me. I recognised its owner, who was sitting at the bar, as a local character that I have seen quite a few times, in the Greyhound at Charcott. After a quick “Good evening,” the barmaid asked me what drink I would like. I noticed that alongside local favourite Larkin’s Traditional, beer from Dark Star and Long Man breweries, were also available.

I naturally opted for the Larkin’s, and not only was it in excellent condition, it was also keenly priced at just £3.40 a pint. According to the chap sat at the bar, who was drinking Guinness btw, that is at least a pound cheaper than most other local outlets. He consequently warned me off several of them, although I won’t repeat them here. The barmaid too was friendly and chatty, expressing her excitement, and sharing some of her concerns, about going back to university, at the end of next month, for the start of her second year.

For me it was just good being able to stand at the bar, chatting, without being instructed to check in and sit down, and without the need for screens, masks, and hand sanitiser. In short, it was just like old times and almost as though the pandemic had never happened. 

The character at the bar, brought us back to earth by reminding us that it might not quite be over yet, but I think that, whilst this is something most of us are aware of, we all want to savour moments such as these, when Covid seems an inconvenient and unpleasant memory.

To end, here are a few general observations about the character of the Rock, and its customers. The pub’s bare brick floor, its large wood-burning stove and the unusual “Ringing the Bull” game, are part and parcel of what gives this pub its unique character. Being a rural pub, the Rock obviously attracts country folk, but they are proper work-a-day country people, rather than the "green Wellington brigade." The floor of worn bricks means that muddy boots, and equally muddy dogs are welcome.

This mix of proper country folk, along with perhaps some of the more moneyed folk, who live locally and enjoy letting their hair down, contributes much to the appeal of this “proper country pub,” and long may this continue.

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A few thoughts for August

It’s been another strange and almost surreal week, which started with four wet days in a row. These included, on Sunday, some of the heaviest rain I have seen in a long time, but when Tuesday dawned bright and fresh, it seemed a sign that perhaps the worst of the inclement weather was over.

Alas, it was not to be, but Tuesday was one of those days that starts out with a slight chill in the air, but then gradually gets warmer, as the morning wears on. It was a day that, when I ventured outside briefly, I knew was going to be a perfect English summer’s day – dry and sunny, warm without being too cold.

In short it was the perfect day for sitting out in a pub garden, whilst enjoying a pint or two. The only trouble was I was at work, and whilst my company is quite relaxed about staff who fancy the odd lunchtime drink, it is rare that anyone takes advantage of this.

Standing out from the crowd was not a problem, as far as I was concerned; after all, who would know. It was more a question that I would know, and having nearly dozed off mid-morning, in front of my computer, even one pint of beer was likely to induce a repeat performance. 

This would not normally be too much of a problem, because should I start feeling my eyelids slipping, I can always sneak away, down into the factory, or head for the laboratory, to check on how the testing is going.

I couldn’t do that on Tuesday, as I was training a new member of the management team, and as falling asleep on the job, would not have been a good idea, I shelved the idea of a pub visit. Instead, I headed out for my usual, lunchtime walk.

Walking has been a welcome part of my lunchtime routine, ever since I started in my current role, 16 years ago. It is particularly important at the moment, as both Mrs PBT’s and I are on a health kick.  There is no escaping the fact that we are both overweight, and by a considerable degree, so we are aiming to shed some of these pounds.

We aren’t following any strange fad diets, or crash-dieting, and we also aren’t engaging in any extreme exercise regimes. Instead, we are cutting out obvious items like cakes, biscuits, sweets, and puddings, and so far, it does seem seems to be working. We have both lost 3 kilos, not quite half a stone, but a definite step in the right direction. Having come this far, we will continue with the reduced calorie diet, and I will keep up the lunchtime walking.

Walking means clocking up the step count; a topic I wrote about back in February last year. As highlighted then, I don’t quite hit the magic 10,000 steps, but as this is an arbitrary figure, I am happy with the 7,500 – 8,000 steps I achieve most weekdays. Several fitness experts, claim this is the optimum level for peak fitness, so I could quite possibly, be doing something right.

Since the clocks went forward at the
end of March, I have spent most evenings in the garden - weather permitting. In mid-late June I was quite often outside until 10pm, which left precious little time for blogging, or indeed pub visits. Now, as we head into August, dusk is becoming progressively earlier, and by 9pm it is too dark to do much outdoors.

It is this time, out in the garden, that is responsible for pushing my step count up towards the 8,000 mark, so as the evenings become darker, this level could fall. I will miss the light evenings, especially as the nights really start drawing in. I have found it very therapeutic, just being out in the fresh air, as the light slowly fades You might see more blog posts, though!

Returning to pub visits for a while, it does sometimes seem as if things are
conspiring to keep me away from public houses, which is a real shame, particularly following on from their return to normal trading on July 19^th – Johnson's so-called “Freedom Day.” However, if I’m honest it’s more down to me and the fact I had virtually dropped the habit of evening pub visits, long before the pandemic came on the scene and turned everyone’s world upside down. So how do I go about reversing this trend? And apart from a healthy bank balance, what have I gained from these evenings spent outside?

Well, in no particular order, I have completely removed an unsightly leylandii hedge. I fixed trellis to the top of new fencing panels, installed last year, and followed this up by creating a border with a mixture of climbing plants and various perennials. This provides a vivid backdrop of colour, in contrast to bareness of new fence.

I have replaced badly the discoloured and brittle Perspex windows of the summerhouse, with new, cut-to-size, non-yellowing, acrylic panels, plus sorting out and tiding it up, making two runs to the household tip. The summerhouse is now a pleasant place to sit it.

I also transferred a large stack of newly cut logs –a mixture of apple and leylandii branches, into my weather-proof wood store, and have added to it, by continuing to saw up a large stockpile of accumulated branches and other lengths. These were cut during routine spring pruning operations.

In short, I have created an attractive, appealing, and pleasant outdoor space that even Mrs PBT’s is pleased to sit out in. She now refers to it as “her garden,” even though it was me who carried out all the work!

The photos that illustrate this post, highlight the progress achieved, since the beginning of spring, and provide evidence of what I have been up to. I can’t answer the question, are they a satisfactory substitute for going to the pub, as that is a whole different subject, but what I will say is that these activities do fit in with my current work-life balance.

I also think that they mirror the activities of many friends and acquaintances, many of whom, like me, don’t seem to have readjusted to the newfound freedoms that go with the removal of lock-down restrictions. I base this on the activity, or rather the lack of activity, shown on the Beer & Socials WhatsApp group I belong to, but I do feel confident this will gradually change.

On a personal note, I will run out of major outdoor projects, and this, coupled with my switch to part-time working at the end of next month, will allow me more time to get back out there and enjoy myself. This means joining friends for a regular drink, going out for walks – knee problem permitting, and getting back out there and exploring some of our finest towns and cities.

 

 

 

 

 

Strange times, that could become even stranger

It’s the end of what has been a rather strange week, and  the end of a strange month as well, but when I say “strange,” I don’t mean that in a bad sort of way. Late yesterday afternoon, I received confirmation that my late father’s estate has finally been settled. All that remains now is for the solicitor to deduct his expenses, reimburse me for the costs that I have incurred along the way, and then distribute the financial assets equally, between me and my two sisters.

It’s been a long and drawn-out process, taking the best part of the past seven months. I realise that many estates take far longer to settle, but the time taken to wind-up of dad’s estate is long enough for me. It’s involved numerous emails, letter writing, phone calls and form filling, all of which have eaten into my spare time; time that I’d rather have spent out and about, sampling new beers and visiting pubs, old and new, but hey-ho!

Another piece of the jigsaw that represents the next chapter of my life, has also fallen into place, following confirmation of my new, part-time role within the company, my duties, responsibilities and, most important of all, my renumeration. The switch to part-time working won’t take place until the end of September, but in the meantime, I can gradually pass over many of my current responsibilities to my successor, and to our new Quality & Regulatory Affairs Manager.

Mrs PBT’s will also be winding down around the same time. She qualifies for her bus-pass and state pension in September, and whilst we’ll be able to wind down together, Eileen will continue the book-keeping and VAT Return work she does from home, for an array of different tradespeople.

So, with all these positive things going on in my life, why do I still feel a little apprehensive over what lies ahead, particularly in the immediate future? The short answer is, I don’t really know, but the longer answer concerns what many of us feel regarding what happens next with the pandemic? More importantly how will this continue to impact on our lives in the months to come?

I will leave these very real concerns for another time, but one thing witnessed today is something that is tangible, is happening now and is also largely self-inflicted. Mrs PBT’s and I did a physical shop today, as opposed to the “click & collect” order I picked up last week. Walking around the aisles of the large Sainsbury’s superstore, just to the north of Sevenoaks, we couldn’t fail to notice the large gaps on many of the shelves. Worse than that, there were some sections where the gaps were far more pronounced, bordering on an almost complete lack of certain commodities.

We’d been noticing shortages on the shelves for some time, but this morning’s shopping trip was a real eye-opener. I took a few photos to illustrate the extent of the missing stock. Particularly badly affected was the cleaning aisle, the tea and coffee section, cereals, the freezer section – where the majority of the cabinets were empty, plus, closer to the heart of this blog, the beer section.

The shortages in this area weren’t just confined to big, multinational lager brands “lout” for want of a better word, but there were substantial gaps in the ale section as well. Staff had used the old storekeeper’s trick of “facing up,” where stock is spread out thinly, in rows that are just one or two items deep.

At first glance, things don’t appear quite so bad, but look behind the façade and the true situation emerges, and that is the nation is facing a food shortage. I would say that the shortages have crept up beyond nuisance level and are currently hovering on irritating. How much longer will it be before they become substantial, severe, or even critical? 

The full-scale panic buying which characterised the first national lock-down, was largely centered on a small number of commodities, such as pasta, flour, tin tomatoes and, of course, toilet rolls. The latter is a perennial "panic buy" and is  somewhat ironic, given that Covid largely affects the respiratory, rather than the digestive system, but a sudden fall of snow often has the same effect.

This time around the shortages seem far more widespread, affecting a far greater range of commodities. Seeing the shelves in this condition, reminds me of my first visit to Prague, back in 1984. Czechoslovakia, as it then was, was ruled by a hard-line Marxist government whose inefficient, communist, “command economy” clearly wasn’t working.

With supermarket shelves, devoid of even the most basic commodities, it wasn’t delivering either, and the same applied to most of the other Eastern-bloc countries “liberated" by the Soviet Red Army towards the end of WWII, and then saddled, at Moscow’s behest, with communist administrations. The second half of the 1980’s, saw the collapse of the majority of these despotic regimes, their demise driven in part by people who’d had enough of food and commodity shortages and of authoritarian rule, but is there a parallel here with what is happening in Britain today?

According to the government and their supporters in the MSM, the problems affecting the UK’s supply chains, aren’t just confined to the food sector, but are spread across a wide variety of other sectors, including construction and manufacturing, are down to a nationwide shortage of HGV delivery drivers.

Johnson and his media backers are blaming this shortage on the pandemic, and in particular the so-called “pingdemic.”  This is where drivers and other “key” workers are being forced to self-isolate after being contacted (pinged), by the NHS Trace & Track App, and whilst this story might have rather more than a grain of truth in it, there is another underlying reason that the government and their friends in the right-wing press would rather not mention.

They think if they don’t say anything about it, the problem will go away, but the folly of their chosen “Hard Brexit” policy, is one of the prime reasons for the shortage of HGV drivers.  Last year, that vile little “poison dwarf” who calls herself Home Secretary, bragged about ending “free movement,” and went out of her way to make citizens from other European countries feel unwelcome in the UK, even though they might have lived here for decades.

Net result, an estimated 25,000 EU truckers have returned to their countries of origin, because of the xenophobia and outright hostility created by ministers such as Patel (nothing pretty about her smirking face), and right-wing, Brexit-backing papers, such as the Mail, Telegraph and Express.

The ludicrous decision to leave the Single Market (a British creation, btw) and the Customs Union, is another own-goal, by Johnson and his thuggish “chief negotiator” David Frost – a man my father would have described as “oafish,” and that's being polite! This was never part of the referendum question, and by doing so, the government have subjected the British people, and the businesses that serve and provide for them,  to extensive and additional Red Tape. This is rather ironic, given their pre-referendum boast of having a bonfire of “EU Red Tape.”

This brings me back to the shortages on our supermarket shelves, a situation that is unlikely to improve under a regime that is led by warped ideology, rather than plain economic facts. With food shortages a major factor in the collapse of those despotic, former Eastern Bloc regimes, Frost, Johnson, and his cabinet of sycophantic cronies had better watch out. "A city is only three meals away from anarchy, and nine meals away from revolution" – a quote sometimes apportioned to Lenin, although several others have also laid claim to it.

Disruption and civil strife are not situations any of us would wish to experience, or even contemplate but when, for purely ideological reasons, a government tears up trading arrangements that not only worked, but served the country well for decades, it really is asking for trouble. 

Personal statement. I make no apologies for veering into politics here, especially as I doubt whether even the most ardent Brexit supporters voted to make themselves, and the rest of us, poorer. The actions of both the May and Johnson administrations, have blown away Britain's reputation for level-headiness and fair play and have made this country one to be laughed at, or even pitied.  

The clumsy actions of "Lord" Frost, a man who wants to tear up the agreement he negotiated and signed in good-faith, now threaten to turn the United Kingdom into a "pariah state,"  willing to break international law, shows how low we have stooped over the past five years.