The best laid plans go astray, even on the buses

On Thursday, I joined a small group of local CAMRA members on what promised to be my second foray into darkest Sussex. The branch social secretary had arranged a visit to the village of Rotherfield, stopping off at the tiny settlement of Mark Cross on the way. Rotherfield is the neighbouring village to Mayfield which, if you remember, was the place I wanted to visit, following my bus ride out that way, at the end of last week. The CAMRA outing therefore seemed the perfect opportunity to experience Rotherfield’s two remaining pubs, whilst enjoying some pleasant, shared company, in the process. So, what could possibly go wrong?

West Kent CAMRA bus trips have an unfortunate habit of going astray, despite the often quite meticulous planning by the organisers, but that prospect was far from my head when I joined my fellow passengers ("bus wankers" according to Mrs PBT’s), at the bus stop out side Tunbridge Wells’s Royal Victoria Place, shopping centre.

I’d arrived in the Wells with plenty of time to spare, enough in fact to enjoy an expensive, but rather nice flat white coffee, from Café Nero. I normally get my coffee from Greggs, priced at just £2, but following Mrs PBT’s adage about getting what you pay for, bit the bullet and went for the posh option, which was nearly double, at £3.70! The barista, or whatever fancy name coffee chains give their coffee fixers/pourers, asked if I would like to try their promotional single variety, Brazilian beans? Same price? Was my response. No, 30p extra, was the reply. I politely informed him he could keep his Brazilian beans, and told him that I don’t respond well to up-selling, either!

Grumpy old git bit out of the way, I joined my CAMRA comrades as they boarded the bus. Being near the rear of the queue, I missed what the driver had said to them, but basically, due to road works (more road works?), narrow country lanes, and a not quite so narrow bus, the 51 would not be calling at Rotherfield until the works were finished.  (Note, how the powers that be, always describe such works as “essential.”) A brief crisis management discussion then ensued, which resulted in our party still boarding the bus, with the aim of alighting at Mark Cross, and the first pub of the day – the Lazy Fox. 

Formerly the Mark Cross Inn, this large pub has received an extensive makeover, and is now forms part of Elite Pubs, growing estate. You might remember me writing about another of the group’s pubs, the Vineyard at Lamberhurst where, as a family, we celebrated the final birthday of my sixtieth decade on this rock we call, Planet Earth.  

The Lazy Fox follows a similar pattern, with its tiled floors, floral-painted walls, and extensive dining areas complete with its own pizza oven. There are also reputed to be stunning views from the rear garden, but given the wet and windy conditions outside, we didn’t investigate this further. Whether the Fox counts as a true village “local” is open to question, although judging by the number of tables already occupied at quarter to one on a Thursday lunchtime, it is obviously a popular destination for the smart set who like to dine out.

We managed to find a couple of vacant tables, but not before ordering ourselves a beer, from a choice of Harvey’s Sussex Best or Sharp’s Solar Wave Hazy IPA. Oh no, a pint of murk, and whilst I normally avoid such abominations, I was feeling devilish that afternoon (something to do with the wind?), that I thought I’d give it a go. Described by the brewery as “a vibrant, golden, juicy, hazy IPA brewed to hit the sweet spot between fruitiness and hop bitterness,” I found it far more fruity than bitter, although it was perfectly acceptable – as a “one off”!

The great debate then ensued as to where to go next, or to stay at the Fox for something to eat. The wood-fired pizzas coming out of the oven, certainly looked tempting, although the prices seemed equally mouthwatering. Some members of the group succumbed, with one couple (not related), deciding to share one. The rest of us wanted to eat somewhere a bit more down to earth, but with Rotherfield and its two pubs denied to us, where to go next?

Mayfield with its excellent Rose & Crown, that I visited the week before seemed the obvious choice, but there were a couple of people in our part with mobility issues, and the walk to the pub along Fletching Street would have been too much. 

The Middle House Hotel was deemed too posh, so the only options were to board the next bus heading south and try our luck in places such as Five Ashes, or Heathfield, or head back towards Tunbridge Wells. The first option would take us into uncharted territory, whilst the second would take us to places that were more familiar. I was all for a bit of exploring, although it would have been stabbing in the dark somewhat, as a poor internet connection at the Fox, left us unable to check out sites, such as What Pub.

Northwards it was then, with the village of Frant our destination. We left the three members who were still eating, at the Fox, and upon leaving the bus at Frant, split into two with four of us heading to the Abergavenny Arms, whilst the other two making for the George Inn. I quite fancied trying the George, but it was the food offer at the Abergavenny that caught me attention. One member of the group had noticed a two courses for £12 offer, advertised in a local business magazine, and as we entered the pub there were some  leaflets promoting this offer. Most of us went for the haddock and chips, with a deep-fried, king prawn starter, although the pate and toast also looked a good, first-course option. Harvey’s Sussex Best was the sole cask offering, but it was in good form.

Whilst the Abergavenny wasn’t packed, it still seemed to be ticking over nicely, with two other tables of diners, no doubt taking advantage of the two for £12 offer. Before leaving, we were joined for a short period by the two members who went to the George. Harvey’s again was the cask option. I like the George, having called in there for the first time last summer, after completing a section of the Tunbridge Wells Circular Walk, but the four of us who ate at the Abergavenny definitely enjoyed the better deal. It was back on the bus again after that, although there was still no sign of the two people we’d left behind at Mark Cross. We later discovered that two buses in succession had been cancelled, leaving our friends stranded for another hour at Mark Cross.

We didn’t have far to travel to the next pub, which was the Bull on Frant Road, right on the edge of Tunbridge Wells. It’s a Shepherd Neame house, which probably explains why I had never been in there before, but despite this, the Bull appeared a pleasant, bright and airy pub, apart from there being no cask ale available. This was evident from the lack of pump-clips on any of the three, retro-looking, stainless steel hand pulls. The young barmaid was quite apologetic about the situation, but they’d only had their delivery that morning, and the beer hadn’t had time to clear.

Oh dear, we’re the Campaign for Real Ale, and there’s no real ale for us to drink. I was tempted to stay for a glass of Beavertown, and might well have done had my companions not decided to leave. (One member stayed for a short while, in order to update the Bull’s What Pub entry). I felt bad about leaving, but as one of my companions said, later on, what sort of pub let’s its cask stocks run so low, that they end up with none ready for sale? There might have been a perfectly rational explanation, but given the situation, I left the Bull along with my companions and headed down to the Pantiles area of Tunbridge Wells, on foot.

The Pantiles is the oldest, and most famous part of the Wells, and the pub we were making for once had a legendary reputation in the town. Tucked away in a small courtyard, the Sussex Arms has mellowed over the years back to something that resembles what it was like before the revamp and tart-up the pub received when that area of the Pantiles was “gentrified" in the late 1980’s. It’s never going to be quite the same as it was when the legendary Dennis and Barbara Lane were the licensees – and you can read my thoughts about the old Sussex here.

There was a good line up of beers on the bar, including a couple from the local Fonthill Brewing Co, who based in a stale block behind the George public house on Mount Ephraim, at the other end of Tunbridge Wells. Psychedelic Jungle West Coast IPA, a hoppy and fruity IPA, but being “West Coast” it is bright, rather than hazy. There was a pleasant and relaxed atmosphere inside the Sussex that afternoon, and the pub certainly felt like a comfortable and secure haven from the wind and the rain outside.

We visited one more pub that afternoon, which was Fuggles at the top end of Tunbridge Wells. The less mobile and less fit members of the party travelled up by bus, whilst the rest of us walked up, despite the hilly nature of the town. Fuggles was buzzing when we arrived, although there were still sufficient spare seats and tables where we could base ourselves. Also present in the pub, were several other CAMRA members and sympathisers.

As with the Sussex Arms, the beer range at Fuggles was exemplary, and star of the show was a beer from Thornbridge Brewery, brewed using one of the Burton Union sets. 90 Shilling, described as an American Amber Ale, is said to be a version of the 90/- Ale brewed by Colorado-based Odell Brewing Company. Whatever its origin, and its make-up, it was the best beer of the day, and that includes some excellent Harvey’s at the Abergavenny.

So, not quite the day out we had been expecting, but nevertheless an interesting and enjoyable one. The only downside, for me, was not visiting Rotherfield, but that can easily be rectified at a later date.

Definitely Mayfield (Maybe)

Next year, if I’m spared, I will have lived in Tonbridge for 40 years, with 30 of them spent in the same property. That's quite a record in this day and age, especially given that people are far more mobile than they would have been three or four generations ago. When you've lived in the same town for four decades, you ought to know pretty much everything there is to know about your adopted home town, as well as the surrounding area. Despite this, your local habitat can still throw up the odd surprise, no matter how comfortable and knowledgeable you happen to be in your particular Wohnung, and this is what happened to me the other day, but fortunately in a nice sort of way.

There's a triangular-shaped section of rural Sussex, to the south of Tunbridge Wells, that is something of a mystery to me. It remains unexplored, primarily because I’ve never had any real reason to go there, until the other day that is. I’d been racking my brains for somewhere to visit for “Pub Friday” especially as I hadn’t enjoyed an end of week outing for some time, when this particular area of Sussex suddenly sprung to mind. It is home to two charming villages which, because of their tucked away location, remain unexplored – at least by me. Those villages are Mayfield and Rotherfield, with the former being the larger of the two.

Mayfield is close to the A267 Tunbridge Wells to Eastbourne road, whilst Rotherfield is roughly half-way between this road, and the suburb of Crowborough, known as Jarvis Brook. Both villages have a couple of pubs each, but working on the premise that it would be a rush to visit both villages in a single day, I decided to go to Mayfield first, and save Rotherfield for another day. After all, I haven't got the stamina of Retired Martin, or BRAPA! For some reason I thought these settlements were further away than they actually are, but a look on the map, plus a quick Google search of the bus routes,  revealed they're just over 20 minutes away from Tunbridge Wells by bus. Stagecoach No. 51 bus operates a half hourly service to Mayfield, and every hour the same bus makes a detour to Rotherfield, which makes sense given the relative size of these two villages.

I had been to Mayfield once before, which was back in the day when Mrs PBT's was trying to trace her family tree. It had come to light that some of her ancestors had lived either in the village or close to it, so we spent the morning looking around the churchyard for clues. It then transpired that it was Maresfield, close to Uckfield that her forebears came from.  I also recall driving through the village although I can't remember now where I was going to. Perhaps I was just doing a bit of exploration?

The other reason why these two settlements entered my consciousness, is CAMRA – related, and dates from my move from Maidstone to Tonbridge during the mid-80’s. I’d been asked by the regional organiser to assist with the revival of the then moribund, Tonbridge & Tunbridge Wells branch; a task I undertook with the help of a couple of Tonbridge-based CAMRA members. In those days the branch area included a chunk of North East Sussex, that included Eridge and Crowborough, as well as Mayfield and Rotherfield.

My new buddies and I had enough on our plates dealing with the Kent area of the branch, so ignored Sussex to begin with, until we received an instruction to conduct up to date pub surveys for all the pubs in the branch area. None of us knew anything about the chunk of Sussex, we’d been lumbered with, but despite this lack of knowledge, we had to roll up our sleeves and get on with it. We had an old Sussex CAMRA pub guide to go by, but much of this area seemed like a foreign country to us.

Using a bit of initiative, I managed to persuade a Sussex-based work colleague to conduct some of these surveys. This was when I employed at Crown Chemicals, a pharmaceutical company based at Lamberhurst, close to the border between Kent and Sussex. My colleague undertook the task with relish, and out of interest, I’ve dug out that 1987 Sussex CAMRA guide, and discovered that both Rotherfield and Mayfield had five pubs apiece, compared with just two each left today. Eventually my CAMRA colleagues and I were able to ditch the Sussex section of the branch, and after adopting Sevenoaks, another branch which had disbanded, the current West Kent CAMRA branch came into being.

I’ve digressed somewhat, but sometimes it’s good to look back, especially when there’s a connection to the present day. “Pub Friday” saw me catching the 11.56 Stagecoach bus in the direction of Heathfield (another Sussex settlement I am unfamiliar with). 

This was the direct service, which bypasses Rotherfield. I left the bus in Mayfield High Street, almost directly outside the imposing 16^th Century, Middle House Hotel. Rather than dive straight in though, I decided first to have a look around this picturesque, Sussex village. Full of character and olde world charm and blessed with plenty of independent shops – including the perennial but obligatory coffee shops, Mayfield’s narrow High Street mercifully, now, carries relatively light, mainly local traffic.

This wasn’t always the case, as until the early 90’s it formed part of the traffic chocked, main A267 Tunbridge Wells – Eastbourne highway. Relief came in 1991 when the redundant track bed of the former Tunbridge Wells – Eastbourne railway, the so-called "Cuckoo Line," was converted into a bypass for the village. The railway itself closed in 1968, another victim of the notorious “Beeching cuts” which closed and tore up many allegedly, under-performing routes across the nation’s rail network. However, some good did come of this process in Mayfield’s case.

I wandered along to the far west of the High Street, admiring the plentiful old buildings, whilst thinking that the village has a slight “alternative” feel to it. This was nowhere near as strong as say Hebden Bridge, or Hay-on-Wye, as there appears to be plenty of money abounding in Mayfield, but the alternative vibe appeared again when I reached Mayfield’s other remaining pub.

I’d initially been heading in the wrong direction, whilst looking for the Rose & Crown, a situation confirmed by Google Maps. I retraced my step back along the High Street, passing the church whose tombstones Mrs PBT’s and I had scrambled round some 30 years previously. I also passed the front entrance to Mayfield School, a prestigious boarding school for girls. Just past the school is where the road from Tunbridge Wells comes into the village, and it is also where Fletching Street – the road I was looking for, comes in as well.

Fletching Street was quite narrow, and also drops away quite sharply, as it continues down towards lower ground. There are plenty of attractive houses and cottages on either side of this road, all looking their summer best with floral displays, flowering shrubs and other delightful seasonal blooms that look so good at this time of year. I passed the former Carpenter's Arms, about halfway down on the left, sadly closed but still displaying its name on the outside of the building. The Carpenter's was one of three Mayfield pubs that have closed sine that 1987 CAMRA guide appeared, and I also passed another – the former Royal Oak in the High Street, earlier in the day.

Eventually the Rose & Crown came into view. It is a delightful, white weather-boarded country pub set on a bank, overlooking a fork in the road. Internally the pub is divided into four areas, some for food, others with sofas, for lounging about on, but being such a fine day, I opted to take my drink, plus packet of Piper’s crisps, onto the terraced area at the front. There was a choice of two cask ales, Leveson Buck, a 3.7% Session IPA from Titsey Brewery, plus Pells Pale, a new-look beer from Harvey’s. Titsey seem to be getting around quite a bit of late, and I enjoyed a pint of their beer in Folkestone, a few weeks ago, but my loyalty to Harvey’s remained undiminished as I enjoyed a cool and refreshing pint of this fruity, hoppy and slightly dry pale ale.

A couple of tables away, two cyclist who had recently arrived, were sharing what sounded like a post mortem on a recent family wedding. I’m not sure how enthralled their audience was, but it appeared they had been overcharged for the prosecco. What else could it have been in Mayfield’s obvious monied community? 

Later on, I popped back inside to return my empty glass, thank the girl behind the bar and take a few photos. Before leaving though, I had a conversation which I fortunately manged to cut short, with a chap sitting at the bar. The alternative feel surrounding Mayfield was fair enough, but when the talk moved towards dodgy Russian money being laundered in the village (on flash-looking properties, presumably), it was time for me to leave.

I made my way back up the hill, thinking that despite the conspiracy theorist sat at the bar, the Rose & Crown would be a nice pub to return to, and take Eileen with me, as well. I was aiming for the Middle House Hotel, but first I needed something to eat, but not at posh-pub prices. Fortunately, the local and well-stocked Londis, opposite the posh school, came to my rescue, in the form of a chilled, but still tasty, Ginsters Cornish Pasty. I sat in the conveniently sited bus shelter, where I enjoyed this cheap and cheerful snack – Cooking Lager will no doubt soon be taking the piss, but what the hell.

I then crossed to the prestigious looking Middle House, a double-fronted building dating from 1575, with lots of intricate looking, black painted timbering, set against a white background. It has only functioned as a pub since 1927 and has a predictable and cosy old world feel to it. Internally there is a large bar area, with two large fireplaces at either end, plus there is a separate restaurant to the right of the main bar. There are one or two other rooms as well, but my initial thought upon walking in, were where is everybody?

That question was answered later, after I’d ordered myself a pint of Long Man Best Bitter. Cool, smooth and immaculately kept, which made the £5.10 price tag rather more acceptable. I asked the barman about sitting outside, and he directed me through the archway at the side of the pub, where I instantly discovered where everyone was! Moat were sat out on a large terrace area, overlooking an equally spacious garden, and as I wrote in my notes, this was where Mayfield’s beautiful people hang out. There seemed to be lots of family reunions/get-togethers taking place – A level result celebrations, possibly, taking place, but as well as various meals being consumed, the garden still seemed to welcome casual drinkers like me.

I hung my pint out a bit, as I wanted to catch the slower of the two buses back, in order to catch a glimpse of neighbouring Rotherfield. Unfortunately, the view from a single deck bus wasn’t quite the same as the double-deck bus I’d arrived on, but I still managed to clock the locations of Rotherfield’s two pubs, the King's Arms and the Catt’s Inn. Both looked appealing, and definitely worthy of a further trip, on the No.51 bus, next “Pub Friday.”

Will there or won't there be a Great British Beer Festival next year?

The other day I read a blog article, by Benjamin Nunn, in which he bemoans the fact that there will be no CAMRA Great British Beer Festival this year. Ben writes under the name of Ben Viveur, a title that gives more than a hints of what his blog is about, namely enjoying real food and drink in the real world. He also writes about cooking, and how to “Create recipes that taste awesome, but which can be created by mere mortals without the need for specialist equipment.” Needless to say, beer features quite highly on Ben Viveur, and whilst Ben isn’t a prolific blogger, he always has something interesting to say.

In his latest post on the Great British Beer Festival, Ben professes his deep love for the event, having first attended it 30 years ago, and never missed one since. In 2023, he took the plunge and spent the week working at the festival as a volunteer, so you can imagine his deep disappointment and indeed sorrow over the non-happening of the event in 2024. The main reason behind the cancellation is the extensive, and ongoing renovations taking place at Olympia, and I’m sure this is something we can all accept. However, Ben has his suspicions that GBBF might not be quite the same festival when it does come back.

This arises from what he describes as “rumours and tittle-tattle, from various sources,” citing that the festival is living beyond its means. The gossip suggests that the festival has gone beyond being cost-ineffective and become loss-making in a quite serious way, enough to make it unsustainable in its current form. Over the years staff perks have been cut back a bit in an attempt to offset this, but this strikes me as “biting the hand that feeds you,” as without the army of volunteers – all of whom are unpaid, there just wouldn’t be a festival.

I have heard similar reports, most recently from a long-standing CAMRA member who, at one time was chairman of my local CAMRA branch. I shan’t name him, but I bumped into him, a couple of weeks ago in the Nelson Arms, in Tonbridge. Despite not having much to do with West Kent CAMRA these days, this individual is quite heavily involved with annual, Spa Valley Railway Beer Festival in Tunbridge Wells. During our conversation, he was bemoaning the fact that whilst CAMRA adopts stringent financial controls when it comes to beer festivals run by local branches - quite rightly in my view, they are far more lax when it comes to their own, national flagship event. A view that certainly ties in with the haemorrhaging money story that's been doing the rounds.

If these rumours are true, I’ve little doubt that CAMRA will have to take a long, hard, and very necessary view of the event, but as Ben points out on his blog, a scaled-down half-hearted GBBF, full of compromises just wouldn't be the same. I’m sure it wouldn’t, but is the current, bloated, behemoth of an event what people want in this day and age? 

I’ve been an infrequent attendee over the years, and in fact was present at the very first national beer festival – the Covent Garden Exhibition,which took place in 1975. This event acted as the precursor to today’s Great British Beer Festival, and I’m pleased to say as well as the very first GBBF, held a couple of years later, at London’s Alexandra Palace, I’ve followed the festival to its other homes at Brighton, Earls Court and latterly, Olympia. The event moved around the country, for several years, with both Birmingham and Leeds welcoming the festival, during the 1980’s. For financial reasons, I wasn’t able to travel to those venues, but I did attend the disastrous, one-off event, at the Dockland’s Arena, in the Isle of Dogs, back in 1991.

Six years ago, I published a rather lengthy, look-back at four decades of the Great British Beer Festival, which you can read by clicking on the above link. I won’t repeat what I wrote then, but I will say that the following year – 2019, I attended what would be my final GBBF. COVID obviously put paid to the festival in 2020 and 2021, but it made a comeback in 2022. The following year was the one which Benjamin Nunn worked at as a volunteer, and you can read about his experiences here. 

They certainly provide a useful and valuable insight into what goes on at CAMRA’s flagship festival, even though it’s hard to get a grasp of the scale of what goes on behind the scenes plus the sheer logistics involved with hosting such an event. The amount of volunteers necessary to ensure the smooth running of GBBF, is a problem in itself, especially given the increasing age of these unsung heroes, and with less and less youngsters to fill their shoes, the lack of suitable manpower will become a major issue, if it hasn’t done so already.

This only fuels the speculation in my mind that if GBBF does return in 2025, it will be as a much scaled down event. After all, is it really necessary to have 900+ beers on sale? It’s true that the festival does pull in the punters, but my experience is the two main halls at Olympia, become unpleasantly crowded as each day draws on, and whilst CAMRA have done their best by providing a lot more, and much needed additional seating, the event can be very hard on the feet.

There is also the vexed question of admission charges, as even with a discounted rate for CAMRA members, visitors can spend quite a bit of money, even before they’ve had a drink! Munich’s world-famous Oktoberfest doesn’t charge for admission, and neither does it require a deposit on one’s glass. Prices for both beer and food, whilst higher than in central Munich, aren’t much higher, which is surprising given the large contingent of staff employed to take orders and bring beer and food to the customers’ table.

Even before the pandemic, I’d already decide that 2019's event was going to be my last, and I know quite a few of my friends also felt the same way. The fun had gone out of the festival, and with so many different beers on offer, deciding which to go for was like stabbing in the dark. It was far easier, back in the early days when my ambition was limited to ticking off every British brewery. That goal went out of the window with the dramatic increase in brewery numbers that occurred during the nineties and noughties!

We shall have to see what happens next year, but I think CAMRA is going have to be honest with itself, if it thinks it can pick up from where it left off in 2023.

Have you forgotten something?

I expected a certain amount of flack in the aftermath of my “umbrella” post, although one or two trolls did take things further than they perhaps should have done, but my forgetfulness took a new twist last Friday, when I headed out by bus to the village that would see me completing the final section of the Tunbridge Wells Circular Walk. That village was Groombridge, which literally straddles the Kent-Sussex border, and my plan was to walk from there to Southborough, a much larger settlement between Tonbridge and Tunbridge Wells. Two buses were involved, the No. 7 and the No. 291. The first service would take me from my home to Tunbridge Wells where, after a 30-minute wait I could board the second bus to Groombridge.

So far, so good, and the half-hour stop-over would allow me to grab a coffee from Greggs, along with a cheese and salad roll to be consumed alter on the walk. I stepped off the No. 7 and headed towards the Royal Victoria Place shopping centre to make use of the “facilities” before calling in at Greggs. As I walked through the RVP doors, I had the feeling that I was missing something, but what? It was then that it dawned on me that I’d left my map carrier, and its contents, upstairs on the bus that I’d just left behind.

A mixture of annoyance coupled with panic enveloped me, as the map carrier contained both the guidebook for the TWCW, plus the relevant OS map. My initial thoughts were whilst some public-spirited individual would hand them in. 

I would need to visit the Arriva depot at Maidstone in order to retrieve them. I then thought I could perhaps walk this stretch without the aid of map and guidebook. That thought didn't last long though, as despite the presence of way
marks along the trail, these are quite often missing or were non-existent in the first place. This means that walkers need a map, at the very least, and ideally an accurate guidebook as well.The price of the OS map, plus the guidebook, both of which had accompanied me on the previous sections of the walk were additional factors, although by then a plan had formed in my head, and I knew that all was not lost.

The No. 7 Arriva bus runs between Maidstone and Tunbridge Wells at half-hour intervals, and I was aware that after dropping passengers off at the shopping centre, the vehicle would head downhill to the station. It would turn round in order to make the return journey to Maidstone. I hurried back across the road in readiness for its appearance. I could then jump onboard and explain my loss to the driver. The handful of passengers, waiting at the stop were sympathetic to my plight, and kindly suggested I hop on first.

The driver remembered me, along with the map carrier around my neck – Mrs PBT’s claimed it made me look like a “special needs” person, but as no one had handed the item in, he surmised that it must still be upstairs. He left his seat and bounded up the stairs, and there, still on the seat where I’d obviously left it, was my map carrier.

Thanking him profusely, I headed back over the road to Greggs and bought the cheese roll that I knew would sustain me at lunchtime. Unfortunately, there wasn’t time to buy and drink a cup of coffee before the departure of the Groombridge service. With two personal belongings left somewhere in as many weeks, I was starting to get a little concerned, but worse was to come, as I’m about to reveal. I caught the 291 bus, as planned, and then walked along to the start of the trail, at the village's local community centre. The path then took a sort of “dog leg” around Groombridge Place, a 17^th Century, moated manor house, before climbing up towards the equally ancient Crown Inn.

And here we must leave the Tunbridge Wells Circular Walk for a while, although there will be a separate post about this cross-country walk, later on. I made good progress along the trail, but I would quite easily have become lost without the help of that guidebook. That erudite publication shows the distance between Groombridge and Southborough as just over six miles, but they must be “country miles” as the walk seemed considerably longer, especially after I stopped for a rest and a well-earned pint. My choice of watering hole was an obvious one, as the trail goes straight past the front door of the George & Dragon at Speldhurst.

The temperature had been climbing steadily all morning, so I was glad when I strode into the attractive hill-top village of Speldhurst, just after 2pm. This was make or break time, as there was an opportunity to abort the walk at this point, take a bus back to Tunbridge Wells, and continue this section of the TWCW. Stopping for a pint meant missing the bus, so despite being hot, thirsty and tired, a nice cool glass of Harvey’s Sussex Best won the day.

I carefully carried my five-pound pint out into the spacious garden at the rear of the pub, found a shady spot and at down to enjoy this glorious marriage of malt and hops. Apart from a French family sitting just a few tables away from me, I had this part of the garden to myself.  I was sorely tempted to unpack the cheese and salad roll that I’d bought in Greggs earlier, and do a BRAPA – Simon Everitt’s, who is known for his none too subtle habit of eating his own food in pubs, as he works his way through every entry in the Good Beer Guide.

I didn’t, in the end, even though I could have got away with it, but the fact that I’d spotted a comfortable wooden bench, in a shady spot, just outside the churchyard, across the road, meant I had somewhere to enjoy my cheese roll, without causing any embarrassment. I was about two thirds of my way through this most welcome spot of lunch when, like earlier that morning, I realised something again, was missing. 

This time it was my walking stick, and whilst at first, I thought it might have slid under the bench, it definitely wasn’t there. I finished my roll and headed back to the pub, and sure enough there was my stick resting against the white-painted picket fence, where I had left it. I shall let you be the judge over my state of forgetfulness, but twice in one day, and with two different items, takes a bit of doing!