A drop of the hard stuff - single malt, Scotch whisky

There’s absolutely no mistaking the fact that I’m a dyed-in-the-wool beer-lover and have been so since my late teens. Beer is my go-to drink, regardless of situation, location or occasion, with the obvious provisos that I don’t mix beer drinking with work, early mornings (the sun needs to be at least peering over the yard arm, before I reach for a glass), and I don’t have a beer either if I’m getting behind the wheel of a car – although I will partake of a single pint of low-gravity, bitter or pale ale, if I’ve driven to a pub where the surroundings and/or the beer demand it.

Occasionally, I will have the odd glass of wine – preferably red, although a decent white Burgundy will do instead, but these occasions are rare, and likely to involve posh dinners, or business lunches. There are other drinks that I seldom, if ever imbibe, and these include vermouth's (quite rare, these days), fortified wines (apart from port) and, of course, spirits.

Gin, vodka, brandy and bourbon, are virtually no-go areas for me, as are grain and blended whisky’s, but I make an exception for single malt whisky. I don’t wish to sound like a snob, but single-malt, Scottish whisky’s are up there amongst the giants, when it comes to the world’s greatest and most memorable drinks, but when you are aware of the skill involved, plus the care and time taken to produce these drinks, you realise the influence these factors play on the prices of a decent bottle of single malt whisky.

Before going any further, it’s worth noting that malt whisky can only be made from malted barley, whilst grain whisky can be produced from any grain, including un-malted barley, wheat, corn, and rye, and this is one of the main reason for the high price of malt whisky. In the initial stages of production, single malts, undergo a process that is very similar to beer making, whereby high-quality malting barley, is steeped in water, allowed to germinate before being kilned. Despite this commonality I have never visited a distillery, even though I've seen around in excess of 30 breweries, across two continents.

Highland water, fresh from the glens or the moors, is used to steep (soak) the grain, as well as later on in the brewing/distilling process, and given the location in the Scottish Highlands, where there is an abundance of peat, the latter material acts as fuel for the drying process. In doing so, the peat imparts a rich, aromatic, smokiness to the finished malt, which is carried over into the finished whisky. After drying, the kilned malt is crushed and mixed with the same pure Highland water and fed into a mash tun – very similar to those found in breweries, up and down the land.

Enzymes in the malt, convert the starch in the crushed grains, into sugars such as maltose and dextrin’s, and after sparging, the sugar-rich “wort” is run-off, via a chiller, into fermenting vessels, where yeast is then added. Those of you that have been paying attention, may well ask why there is no boil, but as the bittering and other flavouring compounds provided by hops are not wanted in whisky, boiling is unnecessary. Once cooled, yeast is added, and fermentation begins. This typically lasts 48-96 hours, and results in a wort with an abv between 7-10% and a diverse range of flavours that is related to the fermentation time and the type of yeast strain used.

The fermented liquid, now known as “wash”, is then distilled, a process which increases the alcohol content of the liquid and removes undesirable components, left over from fermentation. The wash passes through a series of stills (“wash” and “spirit” stills), that are typically made of copper, which supposedly helps remove undesired aromas and flavours. Most whiskies go through distillation twice, but some go through this process three times. A high-quality spirit results, but it cannot legally be sold as whisky until it has undergone a maturation process that involves ageing the product in wooden casks, that are typically made from oak. The casks give the whisky its colour as well as other characteristics. Casks are stored in cool and well-aerated warehouses for the whisky to mature.

By law, Scotch Whisky must be aged in oak casks for at least three years, prior to bottling, although other whiskies may have different minimum maturation requirements. Once it has matured, whisky is bottled at a minimum strength of 40% abv, although some might be bottled at a higher strength.

That’s probably more than enough technical information, and much more than I originally intended, but to conclude I want to recount some of my experiences relating to single malt, whisky, and explain why I’ve got four bottles of the stuff sitting on top of my bookcase, and why two of them are unopened.

I shall deal with that last point first, by running through what these whiskies are, and why I appear to be hoarding them. My favourite amongst these bottles is Laphroaig, as mentioned above. It also happens to be the only one of the four I bought for myself, even though I paid for two of the others. If you look at the two bottles in the blue packaging, in the top photo, you will see that both of them are Speyside malts. Glen Morray, from Elgin, is in the darker blue box, whilst Singleton, from Dufftown distillery, is packaged in pale blue, almost bordering on turquoise.

Both were purchased as Christmas presents for young master Matthew, with the aim of weaning him off the cheap, rot-gut scotch that he pours his coke into. He is notoriously difficult to buy Christmas presents for – hence the single malts (both on offer, in different years, at Tesco), but purchased with the aim of broadening his horizons, by giving his taste buds a treat. All to no avail though, and he hasn’t noticed (so far, at least) that I have moved the bottles from the sideboard, downstairs, and up into my room.

Seeing as these bottles remain unopened, let’s take a look at what the experts have to say. First, the Singleton of Dufftown Malt Master's Selection Single Malt Scotch Whisky. Hints of honey and vanilla, on the nose coupled with fresh pear on a faint base of wood ash. As far as taste is concerned, Its smooth flavour make it the perfect gift for new single malt whisky drinkers.

Second, Glen Moray Elgin Classic. Glen Moray started life as a brewery, before being converted into a distillery in 1897. Glen Moray Classic is the distillery's entry-level single malt, aged for an average of seven years in ex-bourbon casks, of which a high percentage are first fill - easy drinking, honeyed and excellent value. Those end statements confirms that I chose well for young master Matthew, but if he doesn’t open one of these bottles soon, I might have to take back ownership.

The fourth bottle, a 12-year-old, single malt whiskey from the Tobermory Distillery, on the Isle of Mull, has a rather sad tale attached to it. The bottle was given to me by my late brother-in-law, David’s girlfriend. He had purchased the whisky, during a visit to Mull, as part of a Round-Britain Cruise. It was David and Lynn’s first and, as it happened, only cruise because the following Christmas David was struck down by a bad bout of Shingles, which left him in a lot of pain. He was hospitalised, and the care he received whilst there, was less than exemplary – stuck on a trolley, in a hospital corridor, for a day and a half, whilst waiting for a bed. Two weeks later, he passed away, the official cause of death being atherosclerosis, although Eileen and I are convinced that his brush with shingles, didn’t help the situation.

David had gone to some lengths to secure that 12-year-old bottle of Tobermory whisky, and had been looking forward to cracking it open over Christmas. I therefore felt rather honoured and also humbled, to be opening and sampling the contents, on his behalf, and in his memory. Tobermory is described as light, delicate and herbal with a malty barley grainy base. There is only one distillery on the island and that is Tobermory. The distillery produces a peated version and a non-peated version. The latter is marketed as Tobermory whilst the peated version is sold under the brand name of Ledaig.

I would probably prefer the Ledaig, as I am quite partial to a touch of “smoke” in my drink -as witnessed by my fondness of the smoked “Rauchbiers” of Bamberg, and my enjoyment of the heavily peated Laphroaig, from the island of Islay. However, that bottle of Tobermory was a generous gift, and every time I pour myself a dram of it, I am reminded of Eileen’s brother, in happier times.

Now it’s not that often that I pour a dram of any of these whiskies, and I have to be in the right frame of mind, when I do so. The best time is when I’m feeling contemplative, because at these moments, a glass of single malt whisky is the perfect accompaniment. I’m also partial to a drop of single malt, when I’ve either got a cold, or can feel one coming on. There’s more than a hint of truth in the saying “for medicinal purposes” because the warming mouthfeel, along with the accompanying and equally important aromas, does make one feel better, even if there is no real scientific or medicinal basis behind this effect.

Finally, if you’re considering dipping your toes into the single-malt whisky scene, it’s worth noting that there are five Scotch Whisky regions - Speyside, Lowland, Highland, Campbeltown, and Islay. Each offers a different take on Scotch Whisky, as these guidance notes from the trade, demonstrate.

Speyside is the most densely populated of the Scottish whisky regions, famous for fertile glens and the River Spey. Its whiskies are known for being frugal with peat and full of fruit. Apple, pear, honey, vanilla and spice all have a part a role in expressions from this region, which are commonly matured in Sherry casks.

Lowland malts are characterised by both their softness and smoothness, and whiskies from this region, offer a gentle, elegant palate reminiscent of grass, honeysuckle, cream, ginger, toffee, toast and cinnamon. The whiskies are often lighter in character and perfect for pre-dinner drinks.

Highland this region, which also takes in the islands, has a huge diversity of flavours and characters. From lighter whiskies all the way through salty coastal malts, the Highlands offers a Scotch for all palates.

Campbeltown whiskies are varied and full of flavour. Hints of salt, smoke, fruit, vanilla and toffee mingle in whiskies of robust and rich character.

Islay (pronounced "eye-luh") is an island where the majority of its population are involved in whisky production. Famous for fiery, heavily peated whiskies, and home to my favourite distillery, Laphroaig.

I trust you’ve enjoyed this whistle-stop tour around the world of single-malt, Scotch whisky, and if you want to learn more, there are plenty of books, and online information to guide you, so in the meantime, Slange Var.

 

 

Getting back in the swing

Last week, following our return from Northumberland, we were treated to a reminder from mother nature, that autumn was finally upon us. Strong winds, cold temperatures, and driving rain during the start of our first week back to normality, served as a reminder that we are now just a month away from the final quarter of the year. The creeping loss of daylight, especially during the early evening, is another indicator that the nights are steadily drawing in, and that it won’t be that long before we’ll be driving home from work, in the dark.

Although I generally regard autumn as one of my favourite times of the year, the unexpected cold snap, and accompanying wind and rain brought on a deep sense of melancholia which left me feeling listless, lethargic and lacking in inspiration. What to do then, to shake myself out of it?  A visit to a local pub seemed a good idea, and after a drive over to Riverhead, for the weekly shop at Tesco’s, plus the remains of the previous evening’s Chinese take-away for lunch, I left the house and headed off into town.  Actually, I walked to the nearby bus stop because not only was I feeling lazy, I was convinced that I’d picked up the cold Mrs PBT’s claimed she was suffering from.

A bus came along surprisingly quickly, within a couple of minutes in fact, and with the aid of my bus pass, cost me exactly nothing! The next decision was get off the bus opposite Boots, for the Nelson Arms, or stay on to the far end of the High Street, and alight opposite Fuggles? The Nelson won, primarily because its location meant a walk through the Sports-ground, but with a good range of cask to choose from, and the prospect of a dark beer or two, my mind was made up. It had been five weeks since my last visit to the "Nelly", as it its known locally, even though it only seemed like yesterday, and the pub was surprisingly quiet for a Saturday afternoon.

A residents street party was taking place at the far end of Cromer Street that overlooks the rail tracks, although no one in the pub knew what it was in aid of. The main attraction for me though, was the rich, dark and full-bodied Derailed Porter, from Five Points Brewing. Coincidentally my previous visit to the Nelson had been just prior to taking the train into London, for the BGBW Summer Party, at the Five Points Brewery That aside, Derailed Porter was an excellent beer, that some writers (not me, I hasten to add), would describe as “chewy.”

As mentioned above, the pub was surprisingly quiet, considering both the day and the time, with much of the custom coming from the street party outside, with people popping in, ordering a quick pint – on the promise of returning their glass, when empty, but for me it was a nice time to be sitting there, basking in the quiet, and relaxing atmosphere that goes with a mature pub, that is assured of its stature and position in both the local and the wider community.

As on my previous Saturday afternoon visit, a month or so earlier, I bumped into a former chairman of my local CAMRA branch, who appears to include the Nelson on his Saturday afternoon drinking circuit. We spent an interesting 20 minutes or so catching up on beer related topics, that included a new brewery in Shoreham (its beer is available at the Samuel Palmer in the village) as well as next month’s Spa Valley Railway Beer Festival. Ian is putting the beer order together for the event, and Alnwick Brewery, which we visited during our Northumberland trip, features on the list. Alnwick act as wholesalers for other small breweries in the north-east, region, as well as the Scottish Borders, so there should be some interesting beers on sale at the festival.

The following day, I called in briefly at my workplace, primarily to make use of the builder's skip standing in the carpark and dispose of some unwanted items (junk) that have been gathering dust in the shed since time immemorial. This short visit proved the perfect excuse for a drink at a nearby (relatively speaking) pub, that has long been one of my favourites, even though I don’t often manage a visit there. I’m talking here about the Rock at Chiddingstone Hoath, a small and quite isolated community, situated on high ground to the north-west of Tunbridge Wells.

The pub itself is around 500 years old and is a former drovers' inn that has retained many original features. As one would expect, there are plenty of exposed beams, that complement the brick flooring of the main bar. The main focus of the pub is the wood burning stove and the adjacent, ring-the-bull game. There have been some minor alterations to the bar, primarily to allow access to the garden at the rear, and kitchen has also been upgraded.

I’ve known the Rock for the past 40 years, and have witnessed several changes of ownership, along with various alterations, most of which, I’m pleased to say, have been relatively minor. For a time, the pub was leased to Larkin’s Brewery, who are based a mile or two down the road in Chiddingstone village, but it is now a thriving free house which still stocks Larkin’s, along with a couple of other beers. A recent and very welcome addition, is the over-spill car park, occupying a small field, on the opposite side of the road. It certainly makes visits by car, to the Rock a lot easier. When Matthew and I called in on Sunday, Harvey’s Best and Sussex Pale from Lakedown Brewing were on sale, alongside the local Larkin's offering. I gave the Lakedown brew a try, as despite having seen it on sale in a number of local pubs, I had never tried the beer. Described by the brewery as a modern pale ale, loaded with English Cascade & Ernest hops for an aromatic finish, it ended up being the perfect lunchtime pint. You can read more about Lakedown Brewing, here.

Given the fine weather, we took our pints outside and sat in the pleasant garden at the rear of the pub. It was good to see the Rock busy with customers, taking advantage, like us, of the early autumn sunshine, and given the pub’s isolated position the bustling trade was a good sign. 

On our drive back to Tonbridge, we passed by the Bottle House, another classic country pub, albeit a rather upmarket establishment these days. This too seemed popular, with vehicles parked along both sides of the lane, despite the pub’s substantial car park. Both visits – town and country, provided evidence that the pub trade is in good health, at least is some parts of the country, although it’s safe to say the same seems to apply to parts of the North East as well, if our recent visit to Northumberland is anything to go by. Long may this situation continue!

Journey south along the Great North Road, before becoming stuck in the Big Smoke

Apart from the two posts I wrote whilst we were in Northumberland last week, I haven’t written much on the blog recently, This isn’t down to laziness or indifference, but more so because we left our return to Tonbridge until the last possible minute. We arrived home at around 4 pm on Sunday afternoon, and with work the following morning, there’s been very little time for writing. It's a similar situation to when we returned from our Mediterranean cruise, back in June when following a Sunday return to England, I drove home from Southampton, and went straight back into work the following morning.

We began our long journey home on Saturday, departing Alnwick shortly after 10 am, and what followed was a long and rather boring drive, interrupted by patches fog and occasional hold ups due road works. We stopped for a comfort break at Wetherby Services, a facility that was absolutely rammed with travelers like us, no doubt after the same thing. The services are just off the A1M, so perhaps there was some local traffic, or maybe it was just the time of day, but there seemed to be an awful lot of people making a similar journey to us.

Suitably refreshed, we continued our journey passing turnings to places such as Ferrybridge, Doncaster, Sheffield, Newark and Stamford. It wasn't a bad journey, although it was exceedingly boring, so I was relieved when we reached our next pit-stop, the American-themed OK Diner, close to Grantham. This is an establishment we’ve stopped at a couple of times before, and for the record, on our outward journey, we called in at another OK Diner, at Tickencote, on the opposite carriageway. Mrs PBT’s prefers this one, but the diner on the southbound carriageway, is more spacious.

We parked the car and traipsed inside. After a week of Premier Inn catering, the OK Diner made a pleasant change, although both Eileen and I were quite restrained in our choice of food - a doorstep bacon sandwich each, although I did supplement mine with a fried egg. Matthew, being younger and possessing a bigger appetite, went the whole hog, and ordered a large breakfast, even though it was the middle of the afternoon.  His mother was becoming slightly concerned about his eating, because he had a full-English most mornings at the Premier Inn we were staying at, and even his father wouldn’t do that!

Leaving the diner, we set off on relatively short drive to the junction of the A1 and A14 close to the town of Huntingdon. Looking at the map we were now just under 100 miles from home and could comfortably have driven the whole distance. We’d already decided to break our journey and had pre-booked into yet another Premier Inn. That decision was partially based on distance involved, but more so on the race track that is the M25, as it approaches the Dartford Crossing. As it happened, it was the right decision, even though the following day’s drive ended up having issues of its own.

The Huntingdon Premier Inn was bland, like all the rest, and with no twin rooms available, the bed was too narrow for the pair of us, but with a McDonald’s bacon roll each to keep us going, we set off mid-morning for what ought to have a been a short, and fairly leisurely drive back to Kent. Unfortunately, as we turned south onto the M11 towards the M25, there were various illuminated signs warning that the latter motorway was closed between junctions 29 and 30. I turned to the person who was navigating (Mrs PBT’s), to check where those two junctions were. She confirmed my worst suspicion that the closure was just before the Dartford Crossing.

As we got nearer to the London Orbital Motorway, there were signs warnings of long delays due to the necessary diversions, so thinking on my feet – or backside, as I was sitting down, I announced to the family that we would remain on the M11, all the way into east London and then cross the Thames via the Blackwall Tunnel. What could possibly go wrong? We made our way towards the tunnel, all the time ignoring Eileen’s sat nav, which was trying to route us back to the M25.  As we neared the tunnel approach, I noticed to my horror a sign saying that the southbound Blackwall Tunnel was closed. Surely some mistake, as they say, or even some kind of prank, but there was no joke, and the tunnel was well and truly closed! Now, I appreciate that the UK’s road network has to go undergo regular maintenance from time to time, but why not coordinate closures rather than allow them to happen at the same time? Talk about a ridiculous coincidence, and complete lack of forward planning.

We were then left with the dilemma of how to get cross the River Thames. I initially thought of heading toward Tower Bridge, when Eileen suggested the Rotherhithe Tunnel. Despite many years of visiting the capital and traveling in a north – south direction, this was a crossing I'd never used, and with good reason. Although the Rotherhithe opened a decade after the Blackwall, it remains a single-bore tunnel that was designed for the traffic at the time – horse-drawn carriages, and rudimentary automobiles, rather than modern vehicles. Its narrow bore, plus a number of bends, mean the tunnel is restricted to private cars, and given that the latter have increased in size over the past few decades, the crossing leaves little room for drive error.

It took the best part of an hour to reach the tunnel entrance, thanks to road works affecting the A13, East India Dock Road. The traffic was scarcely moving in fact it took us an hour to travel to a distance of just a few miles hello somewhat delightedly we came up on the entrance to the Rotherhithe almost by accident. The tunnel lived up to its reputation of being narrow with just the one lane in either direction and several twists and turns, so it was a relief when we surfaced on the Surrey side of the Thames. and continued to navigate our way down to pick up the road that would take us back to Kent. We ended up driving along the A200, through Deptford and Greenwich, although looking at the map afterwards, we’d have been better picking up the A2 to the south of it.

Not only would that road have been more familiar, it would probably have been carrying less traffic. I can't remember the last time I'd driven in London although it must be about 40 years ago. The standard of driving certainly hadn't improved but far worse than the four-wheel vehicles were the scooters employed by fast food companies such as Deliveroo, Uber or Just Eat. With scant regard for their own safety, they were weaving in and out of the traffic until it reached the stage of, "if you're stupid enough to cut in front of me, you can suffer the consequences if I accidentally knock you off."

Fortunately, nothing of that nature occurred, but as with the other side of the Thames, we crawled our way towards our destination and before long a comfort stop was needed for the driver. We were also getting low on fuel, even though there would have been ample for the clear run home I’d originally envisaged. Fortunately, just the other side of Greenwich I found a BP filling station, with a well-stocked shop and, most importantly, some nice clean toilets! The petrol was considerably cheaper than back home so after filling one tank and draining another, we continued on our way and eventually found our way out of the metropolis and onto the A2.

From there it was onto the M25 and back into Kent. We made a quick diversion into Tesco's at Riverhead, to pick up essentials such as bread and milk, eventually arriving home just after 4 pm. After that battle through the London traffic, I knew we’d definitely made the right decision by breaking the journey at the Premier Inn in Huntington.  It was straight back to work the following morning, just as it was after our cruise, back in June, and I haven’t really stopped since.

I appreciate this post doesn’t have much to do with pubs and beer, although it does involve a fair amount of descriptive writing about state of our overcrowded road system, the number of cars on the road and the occasional lunatic driver. Normal service though, will be resumed soon.

 

 

To Alnwick and back

Northumberland is an area of the country that I’ve never been to before, but have wanted to visit for a long time. I’ve travelled through the area by train, on several occasions, on visits by rail to Edinburgh, and certainly on the first trip between the English and Scottish capitals on the East Coast mainline, the coastal views from the window, as the train sped steadily northwards, were enough to fire my imagination, and inspire me to add Northumberland to my list of “must see” locations.

Earlier this year, I’d been talking with my neighbour over the fence, as you do, when the subject of holidays came up. My neighbour recounted that he had recently returned from a holiday in Northumberland, staying in a rented property, overlooking the coast with his partner, and a few of their friends. Terry told me how quiet the beaches had been, and how little traffic there was on the roads. They’d all enjoyed a really good holiday, and he would thoroughly recommend the area as a good place for a holiday.

Mrs PBT’s and I had been thinking of a post summer break, for some time, and with the idea of taking son Matthew with us, Northumberland seemed the ideal location. It would also tick another box for on my list of places to visit. Eileen seemed quite taken with the idea, particularly when I said we could make a brief visit across the border into Scotland. Consequently, I started researching suitable locations to visit and, just as importantly, places to stay. I also looked at breaking both the outward and return journeys, bearing in mind the 300+ mile drive, each way.

With regard to places to stay, it was always going to be Alnwick, centrally located, off the main A1 trunk road, and just a short distance from the North Sea coast. From the various articles and reviews I read, it also looked an attractive place in which to base ourselves, At Mrs PBT’s suggestion – or should that be insistence, I booked stays at three different Premier Inns, to take account of the aforementioned breaks of journey. For the record, the stopovers were Harrogate on the outward trip, and Huntingdon on the return.

The Alnwick Premier Inn is a recent addition to the chain, and unlike its stablemate at Harrogate, was adequately staffed. It was a 25-minute walk into the centre of town, although by way of a change from the limited range of beers stocked by the hotel bar, there was a substantial, stone-built, multi-room, pub, called the Oaks Hotel, done out in Jennings’s livery. Unsurprisingly it didn’t stock any Jenning’s beers, and no Marston’s ones for that matter. Matthew and I made a number of after-dinner visits, where alongside Taylor’s Landlord, the cask selection swapped from Hadrian -Tyneside Blonde to Alnwick Brewery Amber.

Speaking of the latter, we called in at the Alnwick Brewery Tap, housed in a comfortable, stone-built former barn, in a rural spot roughly halfway between Alnwick and Alnmouth. It was a rather wet, windy and rather miserable day when we called in (the only bad day of the holiday), so the log-burner, blazing away brightly in the corner, helped add a welcome homely touch to the place. I purchased a selection of Alnwick bottles to take home with me.

As well as trips out – including that promised excursion into Scotland, we enjoyed a couple of days looking round Alnwick, which proved to be am attractive and well-laid out town, that is dominated by the imposing and majestic, stone-built, early, 14^th century castle, owned by the Percy family since 1309, and one of the largest inhabited castles in the UK today. As well as the heritage and real history (the Percy family are the Duke & Duchess of Northumberland), Alnwick Castle has been a filming location for Downton Abbey, Dungeons & Dragons – thought that was a game? and two Harry Potter films.

Surrounding the castle ramparts, are some substantial and well-laid out gardens. We didn’t pay to enter either, partially due to Mrs PBT’s mobility issues, but also because it seemed somewhere that was worthy of an entire day being spent on it.  One of the gatekeepers advised us that the best area for taking photos of the castle, was on the other side of the town, so we took the advice, and did exactly that before heading back to the hotel.

Putting the castle to one side for a moment, what we particularly liked about Alnwick was its excellent selection of independent shops, pubs, bars, and places where one could grab a decent coffee. The people were obviously friendly – it was the north-east, after all, but the biggest bonus as far as we were concerned, was the free (in most cases) car-parking. Having to pay to park one’s car, is a really divisive issue where we live in Tonbridge, something made worse recently by a local council driven by a scrooge-like mentality, that has recently extended the times where charges apply, to include evenings and Sundays.

I mentioned in the previous article about having failed to visit Bamburgh and its equally famous castle, although with us due to return home tomorrow (Saturday), that will have to wait for another occasion, as will Holy Island (Lindisfarne). For anyone planning a trip to this unspoilt part of the country, Eileen and I can thoroughly recommend Alnwick as a base. And for those who don’t fancy driving, especially if you live at the opposite end of the UK, why not take the train instead and then travel around the area by bus? I haven’t done the research myself, but I know someone who has, and based on what he told me, plus the number of buses we saw, even in quite remote locations, leads me to believe that Northumberland is quite doable by bus, and is even better if, like me, you have a bus pass.

We departed Alnwick this morning, driving 245 miles to our current resting place, the Premier Inn at Huntingdon. It's not actually in the town itself, but instead is situated on a service area between the A1 and the A14. Unlike the Premier we left behind at Alnwick, the one we're now staying at is older, and is similar in design, style and appearance the one where we began our trip North - the Premier Inn at Harrogate south. There the similarity ends, as a stone's throw from this particular outlet, is a stand alone Brewer's Fayre, called the Brampton Hut, which is where we ate this evening.

It might sound boring and lazy, but we've had an evening meal at a Premier Inn every night, except the first, and that one was the Harrogate south outlet. It's not haute-cuisine, and it's not exactly artisanal cooking either, but it's well thought out, and cooked with fresh and high quality ingredients. Mrs PBT's isn't much of a pub-goer, and after driving each and every day, I didn't really fancy acting as chauffeur either. Various cut-price offers are available at the Brampton, that weren't on the menu at Alnwick, but there was still plenty that appealed to us. It's back to Kent in the morning, and back to work the following day, but it's been an enjoyable and relaxing family break.

 

 

 

 

Some premier family time in Northumberland

The Bailey family are on holiday, and it is a rare occasion for all three of us to be away from home at the same time. We’ve driven up to Northumberland, all the way from Kent stopping off for the night at Harrogate, in order to break the journey. There will be a similar arrangement next Saturday, on the return journey, with a night at Huntingdon (junction of A1 and A14) pre-booked.

Three different Premier Inns are involved as part of this trip, with the main one being our current resting place at Alnwick. It’s turned out to be a good choice, but then again, it’s a new hotel, unlike the one at Harrogate where we stayed on Sunday evening. The hotel was looking a bit tired, but that wasn’t a problem, instead the issue which seemed to get everyone’s goat was the lack of hot food in the evening.

I found out the hard way, when I called in at the restaurant shortly after our arrival, in order to book a table. I discovered, to my horror that unless I’d pre-ordered a “meal deal” in advance, the family and I would be unable to eat. I was told it would be fine to have a drink in the pub, but we all wanted something more substantial than crisps or nuts. Talking further to the staff member acting as “front of house” I learnt that Premier Inns are closing a significant number of the pubs attached to the hotels and converting them into additional accommodation. This arrangement only applies to those outlets where the pub/restaurant forms an integral part of the building. 

So, in the case of Premier Inn’s Harrogate South outlet, the former pub, that was popular with, and well patronised by, local people, as well as hotel guests, is basically no more. Staff had already received redundancy notices, and the rump restaurant, plus the hotel, were ticking over with a skeleton crew. Understandably, morale was at an all time low, so the workforce could obviously be forgiven, if their hearts weren’t exactly in it. 

As for our meal that night, the fact that we’d checked in on a Sunday didn’t help, as the only restaurant within easy walking distance - a rather good-looking Italian place was closed. The worthy citizens of Harrogate must be proper god-fearing folk, for not trading on the Lord’s Day!  Of course, there was nothing stopping me from jumping in the car and driving off in search of a fast-food outlet, but having just completed a 200 + mile journey up from Kent, driving was the last thing I felt like doing. Matthew had better luck though, as he managed to get a Domino’s Pizza delivered, courtesy of Just Eat.

I was up bright and early the following morning, and set off, on foot, in search of some breakfast. Google Maps showed there was an M&S Foodhall, just 10 minutes’ walk away, which meant I was able to bring home the bacon for myself and the rest of the family, even if it was just a couple of bags of croissants! I’d probably got the better deal, as one couple Mrs PBT’s spoke to just after we checked out, reported that the breakfast was poor value to money. Gone was the “all you can eat” option, replaced by a carefully proportioned “rationed” offer of a single rasher of bacon, a fried egg, a single sausage, plus two slices of toast.

The harassed staff member I spoke to the previous evening said the hotel was struggling with staff number, following a round of redundancies – hardly conducive to running an efficient business in the cutthroat hospitality business. She told me the hotel was struggling to operate with reduced staffing levels, and whilst she was doing her best to remain upbeat, there did seem to be an air of despondency about the place.

The following day, we drove a further 116 miles along the crowded and  at times, very busy A1, to the pleasant market town of Alnwick, our base for the next five days. I have never been this far north in England before, although I have travelled through the area, by train several times, on visits to Edinburgh. Those journeys along the East Coast Mainline highlighted the beauty of this stretch of coastline, and as mentioned in another post, a conversation with our neighbour, over the garden fence helped make up our minds to visit Northumberland  on our next UK trip away.

The drive up to Alnwick took longer than planned, due to roadworks in the Newcastle area – next time we shall listen to what the Sat-Nav is telling us. Fortunately, the town’s Premier Inn exceed our expectations, and was in a different league to the one we had left behind in Harrogate. 

Modern, and functionally stylish, the hotel offered everything that the one in Harrogate could not, which is just as well, given that we booked in for a five night’s stay. Although it is necessary to pre-book an evening meal at Alnwick, its modern restaurant, with its well-thought-out food offering, demonstrates just what was missing at Harrogate. Perhaps once the alterations have taken place at the latter, the outlet will find its mojo again and get back on its feet.

We’ve one more Premier Inn to experience on this holiday, and that is the one at Huntingdon. But as that is just a stopover on our journey home, it doesn’t really matter, as long as it is clean and not too noisy. Our experiences with the Premier chain this week, highlight the differences existing within a chain that is built on providing a standardised approach to the overnight hospitality business. They also reinforce my approach to staying away from home, which is to go for an independent outlet, even if it does mean taking the occasional punt.

As far as the local attractions are concerned, we are really impressed with Alnwick. In addition, we've enjoyed a walk along the lovely, unspoilt, sandy beach at Alnmouth, had a posh fish-finger sandwich, plus a pint of locally brewed Tyneside Blonde from Hadrian & Border Brewery, at the Olde Ship Inn at Seahouses, where we sat out soaking up the sun in the secluded spot behind the pub, overlooking the harbour.

We also made a short trip across the border into Scotland. Stopping for coffee and cake at the harbour side village of Eyemouth, the first settlement of any size as you cross into Scotland. It was very pleasant sitting out in the warm early September sunshine, looking out across the narrow harbour.  There were even a couple of seals swimming lazily in the water. We found a baker’s selling coffee and some rather nice cakes, before embarking on the return journey back to Alnwick, via Berwick.

Disappointingly, we failed in our quest to visit Bamburgh, as both roads leading into the village from the A1 were closed by roadworks. Similarly, the sheer volume of traffic, heading back along the narrow road from Holy Island, plus the warning warnings about not getting caught out on the causeway by the tide, put us off from visiting Lindisfarne.

There’s still time for another attempt at Holy Island, although not today, as the weather has taken a turn for the worse, with drizzle blowing in from the North Sea. Not exactly conducive for sight-seeing!