Back to the local - a trip back in time

It’s good at times, to stumble upon a book that strikes a real chord with one, especially as it doesn’t seem to happen that often. “Back to the Local” is such a book, even though I can’t recall which news source or information service it was that first brought this excellent publication to my attention. Published in 1949, just four years after the end of the Second World War, this little gem of a book was written at a time when the licensed trade was slowly returning to something resembling normality. 

After the dark days of wartime, with its bombings, deprivations, pub closures, rationing, and associated beer shortages, “Back to the Local” must have seemed like a breath of fresh air to a populace whose lives had been blighted, and in many cases deeply affected by a conflict that hadn’t long ended. “Back to the Local”, explores pubs, as they were during the 1940’s, although it must be pointed out, the pubs in question were all in London, the nation’s capital.

The book was a follow-up to an earlier publication that had the simpler title of “The Local” which appeared in print during the1920’s. Unfortunately, the London premises of the book's publishers, Cassells, were destroyed in a bombing raid during the blitz, along with all stocks of the publication. Worse still, the printing plates were destroyed as well. Undeterred, the book's author Maurice Gorman, along with its illustrator, Edward Ardizzone decided to try again, with a revised version of the original book, titled "Back to the Local",  published in 1949.

Maurice Gorman was an Irish journalist and broadcasting executive, whilst Edward Ardizzone, who was one of the outstanding book illustrators of the 20^thcentury, was responsible for the atmospheric drawings. The subject matter was the various pubs, taverns, gin palaces, and bars that act as “locals” for a substantial proportion of London drinkers. The descriptions of the various pubs, their clientele and the staff are the real stars of the book, at a time of rambling interiors, dark wood, and dark beer.

"Back to the Local", is a fascinating nostalgic ramble around the post-war pubs of London, and whilst it isn’t a pub guide as such, it contains some very good descriptions. It covers the customs, habits and etiquette that existed in pubs at the time, along with some absorbing observations on the people who used them. It is important to remember that 80 years ago, pubs played a much more prominent role in the lives of ordinary people, than they do today.

To illustrate this, the book introduces us to the regulars, licensees and barmaids, as it explores the once familiar surroundings of the public bar, saloon bar, and lounge. It then squeezes us into the snug, and the lesser-known bottle and jug bar, where customers were able to buy beer to take away, and drink elsewhere.

The pubs of the 1940’s, whilst light-years removed from those of today, were not that dissimilar to those which existed in the 1920’s, when “The Local” first appeared in print. Back then, the Local’s main enemy was not the Luftwaffe, but rather the bureaucrats, property developers, and temperance campaigners, along with those brewers keen to “modernise” their tied estates. This sadly led to the disappearance of many familiar and charismatic backstreet locals, swept away in a tide of mis-guided modernisation. Strangely, several of the concerns voiced in this book - in particular, those of pub closures, still ring true today.

Whilst the war called a halt to this process for the best part of a decade, pubs were still being rationalised when Gorman was researching his revised book, and sadly a lot of the pubs he writes about have gone the way of the great London brewers, who not only owned most of these establishments, but whose beers were sold, therein. We are talking here of brewing giants such as Barclays, Charrington’s, Truman’s, Whitbread and Watney’s, who have all vanished, along with the beers they once brewed.

The type and styles of beer these companies produced, and served in their pubs, is also worth considering, especially as all draught beers were cask conditioned and dispensed mainly by hand pump or, in a few cases by gravity, direct from the cask. Bottled beer was more expensive than draught and, given the shortage of glass during the 1940’s, was comparatively rare.

Mild ale was by far the most popular draught beer and was stocked in virtually every Public Bar in the city. Bitter, described in the glossary as “yellow” in colour (think Boddingtons or Theakston’s), was more popular in the saloon, or lounge bar. Old ale, known then as “Burton”, despite having little or no connection to the famous brewing town, was a strong, and slightly sweet, brown-coloured beer. The nearest equivalent today, is Young’s Winter Warmer – assuming that is still brewed.

At that time, virtually all London pubs had a Public Bar, where the beer was a few pence a pint cheaper than in the Saloon Bar or Lounge, where the surroundings would be less basic and the décor more opulent. This was reflected in the respective clientele that used each type of bar. Although these distinctions have long vanished (sadly in my view), they remain in the memory of someone like me who started drinking during the early 1970’s, when many pubs still had some of these divisions (public and saloon bars).

Maurice Gorham’s book is a lovingly compiled story of the public houses and hostelries that still remained in 1940’s London, written with the charm and old-fashioned feel of someone who seems to know every pub in town, from the most opulent gin palace, to the most basic of backstreet locals. It is clearly a lifetime's labour of love, full of great anecdotes and opinions -some of course dated, but reflecting the time in which the book was written.

London itself is a city undergoing constant change, and one that is regularly re-inventing itself, but what is remarkable and indeed loveable about "Back to the Local", is just how much of it still applies today, despite being written over 80 years ago. You could still use this book as the basis for a pub crawl because many of the old and famous houses that Maurice loved so much, are still with us today.

The interiors may well have changed, along with the beers and other drinks stocked (lager barely gets a mention, back in the 1940’s), and the strict social divisions of the Public and Saloon bars have also gone. Food too is much more important today, with the booming gastropub having the pork pie and pints of mild lunches, enjoyed by the pub-goers of 80 years ago. You can also get decent wine in virtually every London pub, instead of the glass of sherry, or port for the ladies. Cheery landlords, attractive barmaids, mahogany bars, dark beers, good manners, common courtesy plus a community spirit can still be found in many parts of London, if you know where to look, and online guides, such as CAMRA’s What Pub can help you here.

I’m not sure exactly when and where I first came across this little book, but having read the reviews I ordered myself a copy and am pleased that I did. It is an absolute joy and although this modern edition is an obvious re-print, it remains true to the spirit of the first half of the 20^th century, and is a “must have” for all connoisseurs of good pubs.

 

It's the little frustrations that cause the most hassle in life

It’s been a peculiar summer really, and one that I would describe as “bitty”. It's been characterised by a sense of things not quite going to plan, although it’s difficult to pin-point exactly what has brought this feeling on. Frustrating, might be a more appropriate term, because it's been a summer of breakdowns, and system failures. Nothing has been too serious, and these issues have mainly been caused by equipment in need of repair, or components in need of replacement. They have included a problem with the central heating, a toilet cistern not refilling after flushing, plus a scaled-up shower that had ceased functioning.

The latter was the mixer shower in Matthew’s en-suite bathroom, and whilst the issue was quite easily resolved, there was a frustratingly long wait to obtain a replacement for the failed component. These irritating jobs have necessitated searching around for plumber (fingers crossed, we have finally found someone, who is both knowledgeable and reliable). Finding the right tradesman is only half of the battle, the hard part comes with the waiting in at home for him or her to turn up and do their work. This is time when I could be out enjoying a walk in the countryside or even better, a few pints of good beer, in a nice country pub!

Much of this Is to be expected, as we have now lived in our current property for 30 years. This is by far the longest period that the pair of us have lived anywhere. We extended the property nearly 20 years ago, but now there a few things that are starting to require additional maintenance, or even replacement due to age (heating system, showers, and sanitary ware amongst them). Obviously, nothing lasts forever, but there’s a general feeling that things are falling apart.

These annoying failures and breakdowns began back in June, when we returned from our most recent cruise, and then reached a crescendo in August. I don't want to tempt fate by thinking they are over, but these niggling little things take up a disproportionate amount of time and effort that ought to be applied to more productive and enjoyable activities. (Going to the pub!)

The weather too has been up and down, although on the plus side, I finally managed to complete the Tunbridge Wells Circular Walk. I've now got my sights set on a series of walks along three, quite different river valleys, as detailed in a guide, published by the Kent Ramblers Association. I was all set to walk the first stage of the Medway Valley Walk this Friday (today), but the past week has seen lots of heavy rain. I haven't ventured out to see the effect this has had on local footpaths, but I really don’t fancy having to wade through mud that's potentially ankle deep.

One activity that will be getting the chop is my vegetable garden. Mrs PBT's has described herself as a “garden widow” although it would be more beneficial to me if she was a “pub widow!” She does have a point, especially as a lot of time and effort goes into growing vegetables. It’s nice to have a source of ready harvested vegetables, but you often end up with a glut, when they ripen or mature at the same time, and there’s only so much you can freeze. As my dear lady wife likes to point out, it's far easier to take a trip to the local supermarket and buy exactly what you require.

There’s a lot of time and effort involved in digging and preparing the ground, and then there’s weeding on top of that. I can't say I shall miss these activities, even though they do provide plenty of exercise. I shall be going out on a high, as this year, I had considerable success with runner beans aplenty, and we were picking them, at one stage, faster than we could eat or freeze them.

As well an overseas cruise, we managed a UK holiday, with a week spent in the lovely unspoiled county of Northumberland, in the far northeast of England. This was a part of the country that neither of us were familiar with, and it proved to be a real eye opener. Any suggestions for further, stay-at-home holidays will be gratefully received, although I’m looking at places such as the Cotswolds, Shropshire and the Welsh Marches for next year. There’s also Dorset and Somerset to consider as well.

One thing that's been missing this summer, are those long-distance train trips out to towns and cities blessed with a fine selection of heritage pubs. The only places I recall visiting this year have been Salisbury and Wolverhampton – the latter being the start and finish of a glorious tour, by bus, around several classic, Black Country's boozers. These were pubs that have changed very little, since the 19^th century. My guide for this journey was none other than Paul Mudge, aka Stafford Paul, whose company and local knowledge, made for one of the best days out I have experienced in a long time.

Of course, 2024 is not over yet, but with October just around the corner, there are only three months remaining, and before we know it that dreaded “C-word” will be upon us. The Christmas tat is already in the shops, a fact we noticed during our Northumberland trip, at the beginning of September, and to help brighten up the coming darker days, and give us something to look forward to, we have booked a cruise for next year.

In a break with tradition, we have opted for a voyage that is confined to home waters. It entails a 14-night, round Britain cruise, sailing out of Southampton, in an anticlockwise direction, right around mainland Britain. It includes a diversion, across the Irish Sea, for visits to both Dublin and Cork, before sailing serenely back to Southampton. It will be nice to see parts of the British Isles that we're not familiar with, including Inverness, the Western Isles, and Cork but we will also be re-visiting a few old favourites, in the form of Edinburgh, Dublin and Liverpool.

That cruise is still 8 months away, which allows plenty of time to squeeze in a couple of long weekends away, as well as a mini cruise, in the New Year. I like to feel that, by the end of each year, I have accomplished something of both merit and note. These achievements might not all be life-enhancing, or even life changing, but as the years march on, they become increasingly more important. I shall be turning 70 next spring and am becoming acutely aware of my own mortality. The motto has to be then, enjoy these moments whilst you still can and make the most of the time that is left to you!

 

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.