The year in beer - a personal look back at 2022

As in previous years I thought I'd better write a review of the year, which is just coming to an end. Fortunately, unlike the previous two years, 2022 was not overshadowed by COVID, in fact it promised a bright new future. I opened the previous year’s review with the prediction, “As for 2022, after the past two years I'm keeping my mouth firmly shut and am saying nothing. I'm sure I'm not the only person who is thinking this way either.”

Rather predictably there's always something or someone who comes along to spoil the party, and that person was Vladimir Putin, the man who pretended that the forces he’d massed on the border with neighbouring Ukraine were there solely on exercise.  If only they were, but we all know what happened next, and sadly the people of Ukraine are still under assault from this murderous despotic tyrant, despite the brave and heroic resistance they are showing this war criminal.

Putin’s so-called "special operation" didn't kick off for real until late February, and unfortunately shows little sign of ending, despite the huge casualties being suffered by Russia's inefficient and corrupt ragbag army. From a rather selfish personal point of view, the former KGB colonel’s illegal invasion put the kibosh on the visit to Saint Petersburg, which was to be the highlight of the cancelled Baltic Sea cruise which Mrs PBT’s and I had booked for late spring. We chose to visit the Norwegian fjords instead, but unfortunately, I cannot now see us visiting Russia in any shape or form, certainly not for many years to come.

Moving on to happier and more positive events, the first quarter of 2022 saw me taking advantage of the free travel, afforded by my Old Persons Bus Pass. The latter allowed me to visit a significant number of outlying rural pubs, that I would otherwise had to have driven to, thereby depriving me of one of the main reasons for visiting them in the first place - having a beer or three! 

Although not an extensive list I visited the Wealden villages of, Benenden, Cranbrook, Hook Green, and Rolvenden, along with several locations along the B2110 between Tunbridge Wells and Forest Row. Basically, this is the road on the northern edge of Ashdown Forest, and I was able to visit pubs at Colemans Hatch, Hartfield, Withyham, and Groombridge. In addition, I used the pass to visit Dunks Green, Plaxtol, Sevenoaks Weald and Brasted, which are all villages on, or close to the Greensand Ridge, to the north of Tonbridge.

I started 2022 with a visit to the Swan at West Peckham, an attractive pub overlooking an equally attractive village green. The pub, the green and the village church, have all featured in the recent television remake of the "Darling Buds of May," but known this time around, simply as "The Larkins." The Swan’s main attraction for me, is its range of distinctive, home-brewed ales, that are produced in an outbuilding behind the pub. The beers have been available at the Swan for a couple of decades now, but during the festive season, the pubs legendary Christmas Ale is normally available. This rich, dark 7.0% abv beer, was certainly on tap when I called visit in early January, and very good it was too!

Also, in January I re-visited Ashford, the town I grew up in, and also attended school at. Son Matthew accompanied me on what was something of a nostalgia trip, so as well as seeing the house that I shared with my parents and my sister, we also saw both the primary and secondary schools I attended. We managed to visit a couple of pubs, one of which was a fully restored former coaching inn with strong connections to my childhood. The other was the brand-new brewery tap, restaurant and event space, attached to the shiny new development that is Curious Brew, just the other side of the tracks from Ashford rail station.

Jumping forward to March, I joined Retired Martin, Citra, plus several other fine fellows for a day out in the splendid Georgian city of Bath. The trip was originally scheduled for the previous month but was postponed due to Met Office warnings, following the arrival of named storm Eunice. Most of the trains had been cancelled anyway, but according to Trainline – an organisation I shall never use again, if I wanted a refund of my fare, I would have to pay a handling charge for both outward and return journeys, and the charges were almost the cost of the original tickets! The weather wasn't much better in March, as whilst the winds had abated our arrival in Bath coincided with heavy rain. The wet conditions failed to put a damper on what was an excellent day out, even though we only visited a handful of the city’s pubs.

The highlight for most of us, was a visit to the legendary Star Inn, a splendid, multi-room pub, with roots going back to the 18^th Century. Apart from the simplicity on it largely unaltered interior, one of the attractions of the Star is the availability of Draught Bass, dispensed direct from casks kept behind the bar, and served by the 4-pint jug. The five of us got through several of these jugs between us, and for me, a nice, crusty, cheese and onion cob, helped soak up some of the excess beer. The other Bath pub, well worth a mention, was the Bell, a tall, lengthy, and quite rambling pub spread over two levels. A wide selection of different beers was available, including a rather fine porter, from Parkway Brewing.

April saw the return of the annual Good Friday Ramble, an event organised by Maidstone CAMRA, and one that has been running almost continuously since the late 1970s. COVID unfortunately led to a two-year hiatus, but it was good to be back enjoy a leisurely walk along the River Medway, before heading up through the picturesque Loose Valley, to our lunchtime stop at the Chequers, in Loose village. A substantial lunch of haddock, chips, and peas, a selection of local beers plus the chance to catch up with old friends, made for the perfect day out, a day in which the weather too was ideal.

The end of spring may saw me taking a further two long distance rail trips. The first was to Cambridge and the second to Sheffield. Although I'd been to both cities before, these visits were the first time that I'd been drinking in either of them. Matthew accompanied me to Cambridge, and after seeing some of the city's main sights, we visited a trio of excellent pubs (Eagle, Free Press and Cambridge Tap). I journeyed alone up to Sheffield and was well looked after by local legends Retired Martin and Sheffield Hatter, both of whom live in the city. 

We met up got the famous Fat Cat, in the Kelham Island area of Sheffield, where I enjoyed an excellent lunch of homemade pie, chips and gravy, along with an equally fine pint of Pale Rider, from the next-door Kelham Island Brewery. The latter was under threat of closure at the time of my visit, although I understand it's since been offered a reprieve. We later visited several other excellent pubs in the city, including the Bath Hotel and the Sheffield Tap. The latter is located on platform 1b of Sheffield Midland station and was therefore handy for the train home.

June saw the highlight of the year, which was an 11-night cruise from Southampton, on the Queen Mary 2 to the Norwegian fjords. Our vessel called in at Hamburg on both the outward and the return voyages to pick up and drop off passengers. It goes without saying that the fjords we visited, and the scenery associated with them, were spectacular, and that is an understatement. 

Hamburg was also good in its own right and gave me the chance to see more of a city I had visited twice in the past, but never got to really experience. On the second stopover in Hamburg, I booked a place on an excursion to attractive and unspoilt Hanseatic town of Lüneburg. The cruise itself was pure relaxation and the 11 nights we were away represented the longest holiday that Eileen and I have experienced for several decades.

We took another, much shorter cruise, at the end of November, this time to the Dutch capital, Amsterdam. The weather wasn't brilliant, but fortunately the North Sea was kind to us, and we enjoyed a calm crossing both ways. We managed to see a bit more of Amsterdam, including a visit to Bierkonig, the finest beer shop in the Netherlands, and possibly beyond, as well.  I'm currently looking at a three-week cruise for later next year, this time covering the whole of the Mediterranean, but it does rather depend on whether I can negotiate that much time off from work.

On a slightly less glamorous, but no less enjoyable, note the Bailey family took a trip to Barry Island in South Wales. I titled the blog post I wrote, that covered our visit, “In search of Gavin and Stacey,” because the BBC sit-com was one reason for Mrs PBT’s wanting to visit the resort. We were all pleasantly surprised at what we found, and as well as Barry itself we managed a trip into Cardiff followed by an afternoon in Penarth. Sadly, the death of Queen Elizabeth II coincided with our visit, and we were sitting having our evening meal, at the local Beefeater restaurant, when the news of the sovereign's passing came through.

At the end of August, I was invited down the Hukins hop farm, in the heart of the Kent countryside, just outside Benenden where, along with a handful of other invited guests, drawn mainly from the British Guild of Beer Writers, we were treated to a walk-through the hop gardens, followed by a tour of the hop picking and hop processing facilities. Hukins are an independent family of hop growers, and the tour plus the accompanying talk, taught me a lot about hops, and the important role they play in providing both flavour and aroma, along with a preservative effect in the finished beer. The visit to Hukins was one of the most enjoyable days out that I've had in a long time.

In July I underwent surgery, to repair a hernia in my groin area that had been troubling me for a long time. This necessitated two weeks of recuperation, before returning to work. I also had to take a further five days off, after contracting COVID on two separate occasions. The first time was in February and most recent one, during the second week in December.  I'm fairly certain that in both instances the illness was contracted at work, with the most recent bout due to mingling in close proximity contact with colleagues, at our staff Christmas party. I didn’t feel too bad on either occasion and for this I give thanks to the vaccine and the various boosters I've been given, as whilst not preventing me from contracting COVID, I'm convinced that the boost they gave my immune system, meant my symptoms were relatively mild.

One achievement I'm especially proud of is completing the North Downs Way, long-distance footpath. I had been walking this national trail since 2017, tagging along with friends at first, who were close to completing the trail. I then branched off, on my own in order to walk the entire 153 miles from the White Cliffs of Dover to the town of Farnham, on the Surrey-Hampshire border. After two years of concerted effort during 2021 and 2022, I completed the final stretch between Guildford and Farnham at the end of September. It's a nice and particularly satisfying feeling having walked this distance, and I can now add this achievement to the equally lengthy, South Downs Way, which I completed 14 years ago.

This concludes my look back at 2022, although there is still the mater of best beer, best brewery, best pub etc. I will cover these categories, in a separate “Golden Pints” award article, which should keep Boak & Bailey happy, as these are the people who have volunteered to collate these posts.

 

A Christmas catch-up

Well, that's Christmas nearly over for another year, and as in previous years I can't say I'm sorry to see the back of it was not I don't particularly dislike the festival, but what I do detest is the commercialism, the precious to buy things, and the false bonhomie associated with Christmas and in particular the cheesy Christmas songs. Andy Williams may have thought it “The most wonderful time of the year,” Dean Martin might have wanted it to keep snowing, Nat King Cole was roasting his chestnuts by an open fire, and as Perry Como observed, it was "beginning to look a lot like Christmas."

These artists of course, were all American, and therefore tended to have different expectations from what, for some inexplicable reason, they call the "holidays." Mind you it could be worse, as here in the UK, we have Noddy Holder hanging up his stocking or, bottom of the pile, Roy Wood, "Wishing it could be Christmas every day." No thanks, in fact I can't think of anything worse!

Nowadays, extended family Christmas celebrations tend to be a thing of the past, thankfully, and I tend to view them as some sort of intermediary between the family Christmases I knew as a child, when it was just me, my two sisters, plus my mother and father. Growing up in the 1960’s, they were probably the simplest of Christmas celebrations, and are also the ones I recall most fondly - especially now that I'm heading towards the end of my sixth decade. There's obviously no going back, and I'm pleased to say that with each passing year, Christmas has become less rushed and less frenetic.

These days there's just the three of us, Mrs PBT’s, son Matthew and me. There was a time when Eileen’s mother would come to us for Christmas, as would her brother and his late wife. We also invited a friend along, as he lived on his own. Times have changed, and as head cook, Eileen certainly doesn't miss catering for those extra people. Being a grumpy old git, I also prefer keeping my own company at Christmas, and not having to entertain members from our extended family.

Matthew also doesn't like Christmas, primarily because he works in retail, and the festive season is always the busiest time of the year. He claims, and not without some justification, that customers are often quite rude, especially as the countdown to the big day gets nearer. Many seem to be in a tearing hurry, probably because they’ve left everything until the last minute, or that the item they are after has sold out. They need to remember that their lack of forward planning it's not the fault of the stressed and harassed shop assistant.

Now that Mrs PBT’s and I are semi-retired, we find things are far less rushed, and we have plenty of time to do the shopping, present buying (mostly carried out online), boring tasks, such as writing out Christmas cards, although the posties ill-timed strikes might be the final nail in the coffin of this archaic, and largely pointless exercise. (Look, we’ve received a card from the Glums. We’d better send them one, even though we never hear from them during the rest of the year!)

Then there is the final food shopping, along with all the other activities that go into making Christmas Day as hassle free, and as smooth running as possible. So after cooking a rather large, and rather sumptuous Turkey, and devouring an equally large Christmas dinner, I'm full to the brim and sitting here, enjoying one of several beers that I chose specially to mark this celebration.

As far as beer is concerned, I've tried various approaches over the years, ranging from polypins of cask ale - with only me drinking the beer, they tend to go flat before all 36 pints are consumed, through to 5 litre mini kegs, or a selection of bottles and cans. I had intended to get in one or two mini kegs, for the festive season, but contracting COVID, just a week before the big day, rather put a spanner in the works. Instead, I’ve stuck to the tried and tested method of accumulating a large selection of bottles, and sometimes even a few craft cans.

I’ve certainly built up quite a stock this year, including some from our recent trip to Amsterdam, but I’ve also fished out the odd few bottles that have been lurking at the back of the cupboard.  I'm pleased to say that none so far have disappointed, despite several being past their best before date. At the moment I'm just finishing off a dark strong ale called Tynt Meadow, a  Dubbel-style beer, brewed by the Trappist monks of Mount Saint Bernard Abbey, in Charnwood Forest, near Coalville, Leicestershire. I've no idea where I bought this beer from but have to say it is very good.

I’ve also enjoyed a few old favourites, such as Pilsner Urquell, a hoppy and refreshing beer, which is ideal for home-drinking, plus London Porter and 1845 – both from Fuller’s. The latter is my “go to” Christmas dinner beer, and this particular bottle, with a BBE of August 2023, was well conditioned, nicely matured, and the perfect accompaniment to a roast turkey Christmas dinner. 

Today, being Boxing Day, we took a drive down into darkest Sussex, and to Uckfield to be precise, in order to visit Mrs PBT’s niece and her extended family. She’d laid on a nice spread for us all, and it was nice to catch up, but if I’m honest, I’ve already done far too much sitting around this festive season. Perhaps I’m envious that she and her partner are flying off to Cyprus tomorrow, but possibly not, as travelling over Christmas often brings problems of its own.

Part of me is itching to get my hiking boots on, and head out, back into the great outdoors. One of the Christmas gifts I had, is a nicely illustrated and well laid out pocket book, detailing 40 short circular walks in Kent. I’m itching to try a few of them out, especially as none of them seem too taxing. Some of the walks cover familiar ground, although the majority do not, and it is amazing that despite having lived most of my life in Kent, there are still areas of the county that I am unfamiliar with.

I’ll bring this post to an end now, apart from offering compliments of the season to all my readers and followers. Thank you all for your interest in, and continued support of this blog, over the past year. It is very much appreciated!

Where is everybody?

Fortunately, my recent encounter with Covid was on the mild side, as well as being relatively short-lived. It also marked the end of the unpleasant head cold, cough and blocked sinuses that had somewhat marred my enjoyment of life since the end of last month. Mrs PBT’s has also finally managed to shake off the infection too, the one that we’re both certain was picked up on our cruise to Amsterdam. She’s convinced that she had Covid as well, despite not returning a positive lateral flow test result, although as I told her,  she’s probably just feeling left out.

It felt good to return to work, even if it was only for a day. The snow had finally melted, and whilst I achieved some of what I’d set out to do, the day was marred by a series of power outages. According to work colleagues, these interruptions had been occurring all week, and although National Power Networks had dug up the road, they seemed unable to determine the cause of the problem or give a time for its resolution. The other strange thing was not all areas of the factory were affected – something to do with our 3-phase power supply.

Several members of staff were also experiencing problems with their domestic water supply, due to a spate of burst pipes, affecting large areas of Tunbridge Wells, Southborough, and Crowborough. With industrial action affecting rail services, postal deliveries, and hospital care, on a scale not experienced since the 1970’s, it really does seem like the whole country is falling apart. 

Still, onward, and upwards, and on Thursday evening Matthew and I took a drive over to the Tesco superstore at Riverhead, to stock up on Christmas goodies. This annual, father and son trip is something of a tradition in the Bailey household, as Matthew likes to buy items such as mince pies, a Christmas pudding, brandy sauce, plus a section of cheeses. We were really surprised to find the store absolutely heaving, something we didn’t expect at 8.30 in the evening. It was that busy, that I donned a mask, a sensible precaution in case my immune system is still compromised.

On the way home, I suggested a short diversion and stopping off at the Plough at Leigh, on the way home. This was sensible thinking on my part, as our delayed arrival would allow Mrs PBT’s to watch the end of a programme she’d been following. It was some sort of psychological elimination game, not my cup of tea, but I knew she wouldn’t appreciate us crashing in, with bags full of shopping, right at the crucial moment. I’m good to her, like that, but in fairness, it did provide the perfect opportunity to visit a pub I don’t get over to, that often.

The Plough  is an attractive, part tile-hung, 16th Century building, set on a bend a mile or two from Leigh village.  Up until the mid-1970’s, it was a simple country ale house, of the type which was once very common in this part of Kent, but has been through several renovations and several changes of ownership over the past four decades. It has always been a popular place to visit for the people of Tonbridge and the surrounding area, but as most of my recent visits have been during the hours of daylight, and in summer time as well, I wasn’t sure what to expect as we pulled into the car park.

The fact there were very few vehicles parked there, should have been a clue, but as we walked along the path in front of the pub, I couldn’t help noticing it was virtually empty. Stepping inside we saw two women sitting at a table in front of the bar, and upon hearing us enter, one of the ladies told us they were about to close. Before I could reply, she’d obviously taken pity on us and said we’d be welcome to order a drink, as she didn’t want us to go away thirsty.

I thanked her and replied that we’d just have a couple of halves, Tonbridge Old Chestnut for me and Amstel for Matthew. Our hostess apologised and said it had been very quiet that evening, and she wondered where everybody was. “Shopping at Tesco’s in Sevenoaks,” was my reply, but after a brief chat, as she poured our drinks, she did tell us that trade had been pretty good. I said that was encouraging, and after paying for our drinks, Matthew and I sat down at a table, adjacent to the fire.

I was rather surprised to find it lit, in view of the mild weather we we’d been having, but it added a nice warming touch to the pub. My Old Chestnut was very good, at least a 4.0 NBSS, had I been scoring. I’m not a huge fan of Tonbridge beers, but they must be doing something right, as they have been brewing for a decade or more, and their products are quite a common sight in local pubs.

We finished our drinks, in order to not overstay our welcome, and thanked the landlady and her friend as we left. I could help noticing the sign at the bar stating cash payments only. The Plough was the pub I mentioned in my article concerning local banks shutting up shop, and as Mrs PBT’s and her friends found out the landlady then was bemoaning the loss of banking facilities in Tonbridge. She was cheesed off at having now to drive into Sevenoaks, in order to bank the weekly takings and procure sufficient change.

I totally understand her frustration, and the situation in Tonbridge will be even worse come January, as HSBC, the town’s sole remaining clearing bank, will also be closing its doors for the final time. As I said towards the start of this post, the whole country is falling apart!

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