All change for the night-time economy?

Looking back, for a moment, at my recent posts about the Kent village of Lenham, and its two pubs, I mentioned the difficulties I experienced in trying to source a suitable venue, for a lunchtime meet-up, with my friend, John. The brief I set myself was to locate a pub, on or close to the A20 road, between Ashford and Maidstone. It is a highway that holds special memories for me as, until the opening of the M20 “missing link” between the two towns, it formed the principle route for motorists wishing to travel between Ashford and Kent’s county town.

It's a route I would have travelled along numerous times as a youngster, as my parents often visited Maidstone for shopping, or just a look around. As a family, we probably visited Canterbury more, but Maidstone is a town that sticks in my memory. I remember being there, on a bitterly cold, February day, and my parents being drawn to a television, in the window of a shop selling electrical appliances. Day time TV didn’t really exist, back in the mid-1960’s, but on that particular day the state funeral of Sir Winston Churchill took place, and the event was being televised. I expect, Richard Dimbleby was providing the commentary, but we couldn’t hear what was being said, and it was far too cold to be standing around, with noses pressed to the shop window.

Leaving such matters to one side, I carried out my research using a combination of What Pub, and a suitable map from Google. There were several places I was keen to try, and these included a number of pubs situated slightly further away from that A20 guideline.  Unfortunately, as I discovered many of these establishments have turned into upmarket gastropubs, with fancy, and overpriced dishes, dressed up to impress (visually), in order to demonstrate the prowess of a chef that no one has really heard of. The other problem, and one I considered rather more serious, was pubs not opening at lunchtime, even on a Friday; a day where you would think there would be sufficient trade. I was particularly disappointed to find that the Bowl Inn, at Hastingleigh – close to the village where I spent my teenage years, was indicating evening opening only.

The same situation applied to the Blacksmith’s Arms, at Wormshill, high up on the North Downs above Hollingbourne. The neighbouring Ringlestone Inn, whilst open all day, is now a gastropub, under the ownership of Shepherd Neame. This conversion is a real loss to those who love traditional pubs, as when I first moved to Maidstone, it was a simple country pub, albeit with a small restaurant attached. Gravity served, Fremlin’s beers (bitter and Tusker), were the principle attractions, along with the irreplaceable atmosphere that goes with a centuries old inn.

Obviously, times change, and I accept that pubs have to adapt to new situations in order to survive. It is also a given, that providing food is a prerequisite for a successful pub these days, particularly those in isolated rural areas, but why not offer, an alternative, less fussy, and less overblown menu for those who hanker after something simpler, and more down to earth? There are plenty of walkers in the area, and I know from personal experience that the North Downs Way passes through, or close to many of these settlements. 

Despite the doom and gloom, I shall end this section on an upbeat note by reporting that when re-examining this part of the county on What Pub, I was surprised, and also delighted, that only a handful of pubs, in this mid-Kent section of the county have actually closed. A fact that bears witness to the resilience of the licensed trade, despite the many threats it continues to face. Moving away now from the issue of pubs becoming increasingly upmarket, there is another underlining problem that if not addressed could severely curtail or even spell the end of the nighttime economy in its present form.  It was something that my friend John remarked on, during our recent meeting, although it is not a scenario, I have noticed myself - seeing as most of my pub visits are at lunchtime, rather than during the evening. We are talking here about pubs closing early in the evening, sometimes with very little warning. This is something that has become far more common since the pub trade opened back up, following the pandemic.

I can understand this, when a pub persistently suffers from lack of trade after say, 9pm, but when early closing happens as a matter of routine, then the thing becomes a self-fulfilling prophesy. There can also be a knock-on effect associated with early closing, although it’s perhaps difficult to know whether there is a deeper underlying cause. The example that John used the other day, was the increasing difficulty of getting a taxi home, following a night out. This isn’t something I’ve noticed personally, as I’m an infrequent user of taxis anyway, and even when I have arrived back in Tonbridge on one of the last trains of the evening, there are normally several taxicabs waiting at the rank.

I also imagine that the absence of taxis is much more an issue in isolated rural areas, even when those communities are served by a regular and reliable train service. It also depends on whether there’s a genuine shortage of properly licensed taxi drivers in a given area. It might just be they aren’t turning up on the rank because they know there will be little or no demand for their services. A classic example of supply and demand. Independently of each other, both John and I placed the blame squarely on the shoulders of the pandemic, where COVID has continued to play a major role in determining people’s behaviour, and indeed altering it. This still seems the case almost two years after the pandemic was officially declared to be over. It’s understandable that after almost three years of changing, and at times conflicting restrictions, many didn’t know where they stood with regard to Coronavirus, so no wonder there was such an adverse effect on the licensed trade.

A woman whom Eileen and I met on a cruise last year, claimed that those three years were effectively stolen from us, without our consent, and they are three years of our lives that we shall never get back. She was right of course, although there was little, we could do about that at the time, and not much since. The upshot is that as well as turning many people into recluses, the pandemic has had a lasting, and in many cases, quite devastating effect on the licensed trade, and the entire hospitality sector as a whole.

Despite this gloomy picture, there does seem to be some signs of recovery in the nighttime economy, and long may this process continue. So, when it comes to your cherished local pub, café or indeed favourite restaurant, please remember the maxim of “Use it, or lose it!”

A communication issue as the party season kicks off

It’s just typical that when I’ve finally got something to write about, our internet connection goes down. I was sitting in Fuggles Beer Café, enjoying a pint of Bright from a brewery called Brass Castle, both of which I’ve never heard of, when I received a phone call from Mrs PBT’s. I thought it rather unusual, as she normally messages me when she’s after something, and unfortunately, I had difficulty hearing her, as the background music in the bar was unusually loud. All I could make out, was something about a box being delivered on Sunday.

I asked her to explain, after first answering her question, which was, “Where are you?” “Enjoying a pint in Fuggles”, was my response, but after repeating what she initially said, I realised our internet box – (router?) had failed, and a replacement unit, would be arriving on Sunday. Our home, internet connection had been slow all morning, and just before I left the house to do a spot of shopping, we turned the thing off, before re-starting it.

I thought nothing more of it, as I set off into the town centre, stopping on the way for a brief chat with a neighbour, and fellow beer enthusiast, before picking up what I wanted from Sainsbury’s. I then called in at Fuggles, and the scene that greeted me was what I was going to write about.  I’m talking here about "bar blockers", because as we head into the festive season, it’s that time of year where the amateur pub goers put in their appearance. And so, it was at Fuggles, a few drinks with the boss, perhaps? with the largely male, 30-something crowd milling around a central figure, listening, half-heartedly, but rather giving the game away.

I wouldn’t have minded, had they been just blocking the bar, but no, they had to lean on it, thereby obscuring my view of the pumps. They didn’t get the hint when I tried to squeeze in, and it took a rather gruff, “Excuse me” on my part, to allow me access to the bar, not just to see what the cask offerings were, but to place my order, and pay for it. I sensed the slight look of exasperation on the barman’s face as well, but being a true professional, he didn’t make it too obvious. Clutching my pint, I departed to a nearby table, which was where I received the call from my wife.

As I’m sure I’ve explained before, Eileen works from home sorting out VAT returns and other tax issues, primarily for jobbing builders, and as much of her dealings with HMRC are online, she was both frustrated and annoyed at losing our internet connection. Fortunately, BT’s response was both fast and positive, and it wasn’t that long before we both received a confirmatory text stating that a replacement device is working its way through their system, and we should receive tracking details, once it has been dispatched. In the general scheme of things, it’s a relatively minor nuisance, at least for me, as I can still sit in front of my PC, bashing out blog posts as Word documents, ready to be posted later. In the meantime, I’ve limited internet access via the data allowance on my mobile phone contract. It does demonstrate though, just how reliant we’ve become on connectivity to the world-wide-web.

Returning to the subject of “amateurs” crowding out the pubs, I attended a “firm’s do” of my own on Thursday evening. It wasn’t the full Monty, so to speak, but instead was a meal out with directors from our parent company, who are over from Japan, for a board meeting. Without wishing to sound elitist, the event was solely for managers, as our company Christmas party takes place next week. The venue for Thursday’s meal was the Grey Lady Restaurant, situated at the far end of the Pantiles, in Tunbridge Wells, but before making my way over from Tonbridge by train, I took the opportunity of diving into the Nelson Arms, for a spot of pre-loading, in the form of a couple of pints of proper beer.

The pub was quiet, when I stepped inside, with only a handful of customers. I recognised the two sitting on high chairs facing the bar, one of whom is a regular at the Nelson, whilst the other is a person I know from CAMRA. It wasn’t long before I fell into conversation with them – holidays, Christmas arrangements, that sort of thing, but the main attraction for me was the Harvey’s Old Ale, on sale at the bar. I hadn’t seen this excellent dark ale on sale, since the visit I made, back in October, to the Wheatsheaf at Jarvis Brook. It was on fine form on that occasion, and the same applied the other evening, but good though it was, I decided to switch to Gadd’s No. 3 for my second pint. I’ve always been a fan of this beer, but somehow it didn’t quite meet expectations that night.

Despite this, the atmosphere in the pub was perfect, coming as it did at that “in between” time separating the afternoon and evening sessions. With considerate and measured conversation, good beer and comfortable surroundings, I was very tempted to stay put for the rest of the evening, rather than rushing over to Tunbridge Wells. But duty called and I knew my presence would be missed, so somewhat reluctantly I said goodnight to the folk at the bar (the number had grown to three by then) and walked along to the station. The wind was getting up, which didn’t bode well given the impending approach of the latest named storm.

My intended train was running 15 minutes late, and whilst I would still arrive at the restaurant in plenty of time, I would have missed a soaking, had the17:59 been on time. The heavens opened the moment I headed down Tunbridge Wells High Street, although fortunately, by the time I reached the Pantiles there was the shelter of the overhead colonnade. I was joined by a colleague as I walked passed the various bars and restaurants that abound in this part of the town, and we both remarked on how festive everything looked.

This was my first time at the Grey Lady, although Mrs PBT’s has dined there before. The premises occupies the end unit in the row, and internally there is an upstairs dining area as well as a larger ground floor section. Our mixed, multi-national group sat downstairs and had most of the place to ourselves. Although the Grey Lady specialises in Mediterranean food, there was a Christmas option available, and the majority of us had pre-ordered items from that particular menu. 

My choice of lamb shank was perhaps a little on the heavy side, but the meat was well cooked and fell nicely off the bone. With hindsight, the pan-fried sea bass, that several members of our party went for, would have been a better option. Moving on to the final course, I was the only person that ordered Christmas Pudding, that most traditional of festive desserts, and it proved a wiser choice than the main course. It sparked a bit of debate between me and my two French colleagues, neither of whom have managed to get their heads around this peculiarly English dessert, despite both having lived in the UK for many years.

Italian lagers – Moretti and Peroni, plus Guinness were the draught beer options, the latter proving particularly popular with the Japanese contingent. I went with Moretti, although to be honest I found it rather sweet for my taste. I had a rather nice Cognac with my Christmas Pudding, which almost made up with the absence of Port on the drinks menu. All in all, it was a pleasant evening, and as no one had too much to drink or misbehaved, the dinner served its intended purpose of cementing good relations between us and our parent company. I was offered a lift back to Tonbridge, which saved me from another soaking, and I was back indoors by 10pm. Next week it’s the aforementioned company Christmas bash, which should be interesting.  I shall tell you all about it, providing our internet connection is restored – yes it has been!

One final point is the lack of photos in this post. Things seem to have changed since the last time we entertained visitors from Japan, and the shutter happy mindset, and predictable end of evening, slightly inebriated posing for the camera, seem to have vanished. Is it people acting in a more sensible manner or have they just become more sensible and much more self-aware. The answer isn’t really important, but apart from a quick photo of my main course, there’s nothing visual to demonstrate that we even had that inter-company, get-together.

 

Incommunicado

Our BT internet router gave up the ghost,  yesterday morning, and until Royal Mail delivers a replacement, I can only post using the data allowance on my mobile phone.

It's only when things like this happen that one realises just how much we all rely on the world wide web, and just how tedious it is typing out articles, using one finger and one character at a time!

Royal Mail have advised a delivery time of 3pm, on Monday afternoon,  despite originally promising tomorrow. 

Until Monday evening, then!

Two neighbouring, but contrasting pubs, at the heart of a Kent village

With the “slightly extended” pre-amble of the previous post out of the way, it’s time to cut to the chase, and report back on the main purpose of last Friday’s visit to the mid-Kent village of Lenham. I’d arranged a meet-up with my friend John, and between us we’d chosen the Red Lion, which is one of two pubs in the village. The pub is a grade II listed, heavily beamed inn, spread across a number of different levels, and like many buildings overlooking Lenham’s historic square the Red Lion is of considerable antiquity. It dates from the 15^th Century and like its near neighbour, the Dog & Bear was formerly used as a coaching inn.

We’ll be looking at the Dog & Bear later on, so let’s stick with the Red Lion for the time being, as that is where I spent the majority of my stay in Lenham.  As mentioned in the previous article, during my late teenage years, I wasn’t overly familiar with the Red Lion, primarily because the beer it stocked – or rather the method of dispense used, wasn’t CAMRA approved. It was only after I graduated from university, and returned to live in Kent, that I set foot inside the pub for the first time.

By that time (late 80’s), the Red Lion was selling hand-pulled Fremlin’s Bitter, so it was considered worthy of a visit. I still don’t recall that much about the pub, as it continued to remain firmly in the shadow of its neighbour, the Dog & Bear, so much so that when I stepped inside the right-hand bar of the Red Lion on Friday, I didn’t really know what to expect. My friend had found a place on the bench seating close to the window, and I recognised him straight away. He was nursing a pint of Harvey’s Best, and after we’d exchanged the usual pleasantries, I accompanied him to the bar, where he bought me a pint of the same.

There was a crowd of middle-aged men standing in front of the counter, and they were having a rather heated debate about the price of a packet of cigarettes.  The main protagonist was complaining, quite profusely, about the price he was charged for his fags, so much so that he told the shopkeeper that he didn’t’ want them. The debate continued, but fortunately the landlady had finished serving the whining tobacco addict and was free to pull my pint of Harvey’s.  My friend broached the subject of food, and was told menus, plus cutlery would be brought over to us shortly.

In the meantime, John and I had plenty to catch up on, including a health scare on his part, that fortunately now seems under control.  He also presented me with a pre-ordered copy of his latest book about Lympne Airfield, a once thriving military and then commercial airfield, close to where he lives. The airfield closed in the mid-1980’s but given its history and the part played in two world wars, plus subsequent events, continues to attract a lot of interest.

Back to the food, and given our ages, we were presented with the standard menu, plus one for senior citizens. The prices for the latter were significantly cheaper, but of course, portions were proportionally smaller as well. I was tempted by the latter but given the occasion plus my friend’s determination to go for the full monty, I did the same. When it arrived, John’s liver & bacon, with mash and peas looked the business, although you won’t be surprised to hear that I went for the steak & ale pie. It was quite substantial, and I was almost wishing I’d gone for the “seniors” option. I probably will next time, but as a dedicated pie-man I enjoyed getting stuck into what could only be described as a “thing of beauty.”

John departed just after 2:30pm, but I had around 50 minutes to wait for my Stagecoach bus back to Maidstone. A pint next door, at the Dog & Bear seemed a good idea, but not before a quick look around the rest of the Red Lion, on my way to the Gents. There were a couple of rooms on the other side of the serving area, as well as a separate seating area leading off from the front bar, but as the pub was still quite busy, there weren’t many opportunities for taking photos. The Red Lion certainly turned out to be a cracking pub, offering the perfect combination of good beer, well-presented and value for money food, plus a lively bunch of regulars.

Upon leaving the Red Lion, I headed along to the Dog & Bear, an imposing grade II listed former coaching inn built in 1602 facing the village square. Queen Anne apparently stayed here in 1704, and her coat of arms appears over the front door.  Like its near neighbour, the Dog & Bear has a wealth of exposed, oak beams, and its large, cosy and comfortable bar is heated by a welcoming log fire. For those contemplating a longer stay, there are 24 letting rooms available, including one with a four-poster bed, if that’s your sort of thing! The number of rooms available at the Dog & Bear, hints at the size of the pub, but after stepping inside I had difficulty reconciling the interior to that I remembered from its days as a two-bar establishment. I’ve a feeling that the saloon bar was situated in the left-hand part of the building whilst the public was on the right, although the exact configuration doesn’t really matter, 40 years on. What is important is the husband-and-wife team who ran the pub, and between them had many years’ experience of running a public house. The couple were perhaps getting on a bit, and their names were immortalised by the bars they were in charge of.

The Saloon bar was known as “Squirrel’s Bar” Squirrel being the nickname of the characterful landlord, with his trademark handlebar moustache and mutton-chop whiskers. He was a man of few words and was rather dour in character. I never learned his real name, but I later found out that he was a proper “boffin” who had worked on various radar installations during the Second World War. His wife Joyce ruled over the male dominated Public Bar, with a firm hand, and her no-nonsense approach kept a potentially unruly public bar crowd in good order.  She seemed a little scary, to a young lad like me, so I tended to give “Joyce’s Bar" a miss, but Joyce and Squirrel were the perfect couple to be running a lively village pub, such as the Dog & Bear. 

The pub was a favourite of the local CAMRA branch and was renowned for the quality of its beer. Although not revealing his name, "Squirrel" did divulge his secret of keeping and serving such an excellent pint of Shep's. This was to keep the casks in the cellar, for a minimum of two weeks, before tapping them. The result was an absolute explosion of hoppiness, combined with an extremely well-conditioned and matured pint. It certainly ranks as being amongst the finest beer I have ever tasted.

40 years on, and whilst much has obviously changed at the Dog & Bear, including the loss of the public bar, the pub still offers a warm welcome to locals and visitors alike. With a roaring log fire to take away the winter chill, and the interior looking appropriately festive, it seemed the perfect place to unwind, not that I needed to after a good catch-up with my friend, plus an equally good lunch. The beer offer was also appealing, with cask Bishop’s Finger putting in a rare, but very welcome appearance on the bar.

It was in good nick as well, and as I sat relaxing in a comfy armchair, in a tucked away corner of the bar, savouring my pint and soaking up the timeless atmosphere of this centuries old inn, it proved the perfect ending to a perfect lunch. I still had to get home, but the 10X bus to Maidstone turned up more or less on time, and by quickening me pace I was able to walk from the King Street bus stop, across the river to the west station. I even managed to catch the 17:00 train back to Tonbridge.

 

Lenham, a village in mid-Kent

It's not often you come across a village with two pubs, both virtually next door to each other and both thriving, but I encountered such a phenomenon on a visit to Lenham - a village situated roughly halfway between Maidstone and Ashford. My visit last Friday, was the first time in nearly 40 years that I have set foot in the village, although I passed quite close by, in late 2020. That was when I was walking a section of the North Downs Way, the long-distance footpath that follows the line of the North Downs. On that particular section, the path runs just below the escarpment of these chalk hills, just a few miles to the north of Lenham village.

The reason me visiting Lenham was to meet up with an old friend I knew when we both lived in Maidstone. That period in our lives was nearly 40 years ago, and whilst we kept in touch, met up for the old drink and even enjoyed a joint holiday to Bamberg, Germany with a group drawn largely from the ranks of Maidstone CAMRA, those times were before the pandemic – a moment that is much more defining for many, than people now realise. 

Like me, John no longer lives in the county town, having moved to the East Kent village of Lympne. The latter is quite close to Hythe, and lies at the foot of the North Downs, that range of chalk hills which traverse the county, as anyone who has walked the NDW long-distance pathway will know. Looking at the map, I must have walked quite close to my friend’s house, back in July 2019, when I completed the Wye to Arpinge section of the trail. With John living in East Kent and me residing in the west of the county, we decided to meet-up roughly halfway.

Finding a suitable pub, that opened at lunchtime, and served decent, good value food, rather than fancy, over-priced gourmet stuff, proved a lot harder than I thought it would be. The task was made more difficult by many rural pubs not bothering to open at all at lunchtime, even on a Friday. This is a topic worthy of blog post of its own, but fortunately the Red Lion at Lenham ticked all the right boxes. It also turned to be a pub John was not only familiar with, but had used himself, on past occasions, for similar meetups with people he knew from Maidstone.

I was able to journey to the Red Lion by public transport with a choice of bus or train for the first section (Tonbridge to Maidstone), followed by bus for the latter stretch to Lenham. I decided that the train would be more reliable than the bus, for the journey over to Maidstone and it also gave me time for a quick wander around the county town. After going through something of a rough patch, post-Covid, Maidstone definitely seemed on it uppers. As well as several new bars that have appeared, including a Bavarian Bierkeller, plus a contemporary bar-cum restaurant called the Herbalist (part of the Elite Pubs group), there are plenty of interesting shops, which makes welcome change to the tattooists, nail-bars, vape shops and Turkish barbers, that now dominate many town centres.

The one thing the town is lacking though are public toilets. I gave up trying to find the ones located in The Mall shopping centre, and in the end, somewhat cheekily nipped into the Society Rooms, one of two JDW outlets in the county town. (I pulled the same stunt on the return journey, calling in at the Muggleton Inn, on my way back to Maidstone West station). The former Spoons was convenient, if you’ll excuse the pun, as the starting point for the 10X Stagecoach service to Ashford, via Lenham.  

Suitably relieved I boarded the single-deck bus, and enjoyed a nostalgic journey out of Maidstone, and along the A20, a road I knew well, back in my youth. The M20 motorway now carries much of the east-west traffic, but it was pure nostalgia seeing familiar sights, including a number of pubs I knew from my youth, flash by the window. The bus arrived in the village 30 minutes or so before I was due to meet my friend, so I nipped into one of the cafes that I’d noticed in Lenham’s spacious village square, for a welcome cup of coffee before heading over to the Red Lion, where I found my friend already waiting.

It’s worth mentioning that Lenham and I have some history, that dates back to the summer of my first year at university. I was back home in Kent scratching around for a holiday job, when my former school-friend Roy, noticed an advert in the local newspaper, looking for cleaners at a nearby hospital. The hospital turned out to be the former Lenham sanatorium, a building dating from the 1930s, and constructed high up on the North Downs. Such establishments, with their bright and airy, south-facing rooms, offering wide vistas across the surrounding countryside, were used for the care of tuberculosis (TB) patients. In Lenham’s case the views were across the Weald of Kent. This was how TB patients were looked after during the first half of the 20^th Century, because whilst there was no cure for TB, the care that people with tuberculosis received at these sanatoriums, helped ease their symptoms and prolong their lives.  

The discovery and development of antibiotics during the late 1930’s and early 1940’s, changed all that, and today tuberculosis is no longer a disease to be feared. Alternative uses were found for sanatoriums, including that of isolation hospitals, where patients with highly contagious ailments were confined, whilst undergoing treatment. I was incarcerated in such a place as a child aged six years, after developing meningitis, but my stay was at Ashford Isolation Hospital, rather than Lenham.

I don’t remember that much about it, apart from patients being place in individual rooms, rather than wards. The rooms were separated by large glass partitions, so that you could see through into several adjoining rooms. There was a young lad, of a similar age, in the far room, so he and I communicated by sign language, and trying to make each other laugh. Long story short, and to my parents’ immense relief I made a full recovery, and it was a relief to me too, as I later discovered there was concern that I might not have been able to walk again.

I don’t know what happened to the isolation hospital at Ashford, except that it is no longer there, but at the time of my summer holiday cleaning job, Lenham Hospital had morphed into a residential home for people with learning difficulties, or possibly with more severe mental disabilities. Sadly, Lenham was sometimes used as a place for severely disabled children that parents found too difficult to handle. The cleaning job wasn't particularly hard and the company that employed Roy and I, picked us up in Ashford each morning, and then drove us over in a mini bus, to Lenham. They then returned us to Ashford at the completion of our shift. Sometimes we were able to escape, as it were, to the village because the hospital operated its own minibus transfer down into Lenham, mainly for the benefit of full-time staff, or people who perhaps needed to get to the bank or post office or, as my friend and I did on occasion, visit the pub.

There were two pubs in the village back then, and I’m pleased to report that the Red Lion, plus the Dog & Bear are both still trading. As mentioned, it was at the former inn that I met my friend last Friday, but back in the mid 1970’s, the Red Lion belonged to Whitbread Fremlin’s and at the time only sold pressurised Whitbread Trophy beer. The Dog & Bear, on the other hand, was owned by Shepherd Neame, which meant it sold hand-pulled, cask-conditioned bitter and mild, produced at the Shep’s brewery in Faversham. 

Roy and I had recently become interested in so-called “real ale” and as a result had both joined CAMRA. We naturally gravitated towards the Dog & Bear where the legendary landlord, known as “Squirrel”, sold one of the best pints of Shepherd Neame bitter imaginable. The beer wasn’t known as "Master Brew" back then, even though Shep’s referred to themselves as “Master Brewers.”

I’m afraid we’re going to have to leave things there, for the moment, as I’ve obviously waffled on, far too long. I thought it important though to describe the relatively short period of my life where I became quite well acquainted with Lenham village and its two pubs. Next time you can read how these two village inns have not only managed to survive into the 21^st Century, but how they are both thriving in their own individual ways. Until next time, then.