Along the edge of the Forest - Pt. One

The first stop on last Friday’s outing, was the lovely old Crown Inn, overlooking the green in the Kent half of Groombridge. Living where I do, I’m bound to say that the Kentish side is by far the most picturesque and attractive part of the village, especially when one considers the tile- hung Crown along with the adjacent houses overlooking the green. The nearby Groombridge Place, a moated manor house known for its formal gardens and vineyards, is another point of interest. This former tourist attraction is currently closed and awaiting conversion into a boutique hotel and luxury spa.

The Sussex part of Groombridge is a far more recent settlement. The growth of this area was likely due to the arrival of the railway in the late 19^th century. Groombridge Junction was an important part of the rail network in this part of the country but it gradually lost its significance not just because of the infamous Beeching cuts, but also due to a shameful lack of investment by the Thatcher government, some 20 years later. The "Iron Lady", of course, wasn't a fan of the railways, and in 1985 encouraged a cash-strapped British Rail to close the Eridge line in order to save money. Although the savings were minimal, the sale of railway property, especially the  impressive Tunbridge Wells West station, generated substantial revenue for the government, but not for British Rail.

I digress, and the Crown Inn is a pub I became acquainted with right from the start of my time working in Tonbridge, and several years before I actually moved to the town. This was because the company I worked for, operated in the field of water treatment. We had a new piece of kit that the local water company allowed us to have on test, at their Groombridge pumping station. “Just driving over to Groombridge to check on the chart-recorder,” was code for disappearing, during work time, to carry out a quick check of the equipment, a task that was then followed by a pint or two at the Crown Inn.

And why not?  for this splendid old inn has a timeless atmosphere that seems to have changed very little over the years. It reminds me of what pubs were like when I first started drinking back in the early 70’s. Stepping inside, one is greeted by a heavily beamed public room, overseen by a bar counter. A couple of open fireplaces provide welcome warmth during winter, whilst a separate restaurant-cum-dining room leads off to the right and the rear. To the left of the bar, and the fireplace, is what is almost a private or snug bar, adorned with some wonderful old advertising posters. I’m not sure whether they genuine or repro, but they certainly add to the feel of this part of the pub. 

As well as a restaurant the Crown offers accommodation, in four comfortable period rooms. Given the age of the building, I would imagine that the stairs up to the rooms must be both steep and narrow. I was a bit wary myself, when returning from the Gents, as there are some quite steep steps down into the snug. (The same obviously applies to the Ladies as well). So if you have mobility issues the Crown is probably not the pub for you.

When I arrived on Friday, there was a couple sitting out at one of the tables overlooking the green, and with several other bench tables spare, I thought I would join them. Thirst things first, and I popped inside, and ordered a pint of Sussex Best. The other choice was Larkin’s Traditional, a beer that is not there amongst my favourites, as I would much rather see the brewery’s Best Bitter adorning the bar. That’s just me, as the 3.4% Trad is the best-selling beer by far, in the Larkin’s cannon. (Something about it being a low-strength session beer, that you can have a couple of without risking your licence.)

It was very pleasant sitting outside, sunning myself, although soon afterwards, a very thirsty looking rambler appeared, climbing up the hill, with a huge rucksack on his back, complete with a bedding roll and sleeping bag slung underneath. This individual wasn't your average rambler out for a country stroll, instead this was someone who was doing some serious walking. 

He asked if I would keep an eye on his pack while he went inside and ordered himself at pint. “Of course,” I replied and when he returned, I asked him where he was heading for, and where had he come from. It turned out he was following a route of his own choosing, that didn’t take in any of the better-known footpaths, but his route was taking him deeper into Sussex for an overnight stop. Before drinking up and returning my empty glass to the bar, I bid farewell to this intrepid hiker and wished him well on his lengthy journey.

I wandered down the road, and across bridge over the river Grom, which separates the Kent side of Groombridge, from the Sussex side. I didn’t have long to wait until the next 291 bus heading towards East Grinstead, came along. My destination was the village of Hartfield, a large, and well laid out settlement, with a famous literary connection on the one hand, plus a rather tragic ending for a musical legend, on the other. 

I don’t want the rather obvious connection between Winnie the Pooh author A.A. Milne, and Rolling Stones’ guitarist and founder member, Brian Jones, both of whom lived at Cotchford Farm, to the southwest of Hartfield, to overshadow this piece, so I shall leave you to do your own research here. What I will say is that the village pub, formerly known as the Anchor, has recently been transposed into the Bear, picking up on the Winnie the Pooh stories, written by Alan Alexander Milne, during the 1920’s.

I suppose one can’t blame the pub’s owners for cashing in on the Christopher Robin stories, but the Bear seems a strange name for a pub because there aren’t any bears in this part of the world. Come to think of it, the Anchor is also an unusual pub name in an area where there aren’t any ships! That said, apart from the new name, little seems to have changed at this substantial two bar pub, parts of which date from the 14^th century. According to Google, I last visited the Anchor/Bear 10 years ago, although I thought I’d been to the pub since then. As Google doesn't lie, that 2016 visit would have been on an outing by vintage bus, that I undertook, with friends from Maidstone CAMRA branch. On that occasion we enjoyed a pre-booked pub-lunch in the spacious dining area at the rear of the pub.

Last Friday was slightly different, as I sat in the smaller of the pub’s two bars, situated at the front of the pub, and reached from the street by an attractive, colonial-style veranda. This feature is repeated in the building next door which, if you look closely, is a former pub. Known as the Hay Waggon, it was closed, and up for sale, back in 2016, and today, it has become a private residence. 

A very nice-looking residence, mind you, and decked out, like its neighbour, with Union flags, to commemorate the recent VE Day, 80^th anniversary celebrations. The article I wrote at the time, records that many years ago I called in for a drink at the Hay Waggon whilst on a cycle ride through the area. That would have been with the previous Mrs Bailey, but I only have very vague memories of that occasion and am struggling to remember the route we would have taken, as we lived in Maidstone at the time.

Back to the present, and there was a pleasant and relaxed atmosphere in the bar on Friday, with a mixed group of customers, some eating, but most just drinking, like me. The beer range was divided between Harvey’s and Long Man Brewery, with Best Bitter plus Sisters’ Table Beer from the former, plus Long Blonde,  Copper Hop from the latter. I opted for a pint of Copper Hop which, as it says on the pump-clip, is a hoppy, amber ale. The most popular beer though, seemed to be Cruzcampo, the 4.4% abv Spanish lager which for the young and trendy, aka “fickle”, appears to be the new Madri. Brewed in Seville, a city that I would like to visit on my next trip to Spain, and a place where I’m sure the Cruzcampo would taste much better, than in an English village. To be continued...........................................................

A lie-in, throws my meticulously laid plans into disarray

Good evening. After an absence of several weeks, the day before yesterday marked the return of Pub Friday. It had been a considerable time since my last bus trip, although I did take the train to Marden last Friday in a further attempt to revisit the two pubs that were closed on my Easter Monday visit. 

That trip was only partially successful, as disclosed in the previous article.  Currently, it is an “all-hands-on-deck” situation as Mrs. PBTS and I prepare for our two-week, British Isles cruise which commences on Sunday week. Additionally, we are faced with the task of clearing out 30 years of accumulated “items” from our kitchen, in order to make way for the installation of a new kitchen by the fitters we have engaged. The kitchen will be installed whilst we are away, allowing the craftsmen uninhibited access to the work area, without us getting in the way.

It is truly remarkable how much clutter can accumulate over the years. With numerous drawers and cupboards, the temptation often arises to store items rather than discard them, thinking they might be useful someday. While this may be my wife's rationale, I must admit that I am likely guilty of this habit as well. We made reasonable progress, and I was planning to continue the work, until my wife announced she had a VAT return to complete, on behalf of one of her builder clients. She mentioned that she could work best if I went out, allowing her some peace and quiet. I was more than happy to accommodate her request, but where should I go?

In my free time, I have been trying to visit as many Heritage Pubs listed by CAMRA as possible. This isn’t a “time-bound” project, but much more of an open-ended “as and when” type of exercise However, I have already visited most of the ones within easy travelling distance, those located farther afield, require a lot more forward planning and attention, in order to tick them off the list. I have considered spending a couple of days in Brighton, where there are about six heritage pubs., but there are also other “hot spots” such as Canterbury, Faversham and Thanet. These destinations involve a fair amount of travel time, hence the idea of a few overnight stops, or the occasional, long weekend.

One suggestion, a little closer to home, and perhaps more accessible (incorrect, as it happened), was the tiny maritime settlement of Upnor, a place that is nothing more than a hamlet, situated on an inlet off the Medway estuary, to the northwest of Chatham, and on the opposite bank of the river. It’s a place I've visited before, although the last time I set foot there, must have been 30 years or more ago. Upnor is graced by a charming little pub called the Tudor Rose sited at the top of a hill which leads down to the river. The pub was free house when I first knew it, although today it belongs to Shepherd Neame and, as referenced earlier, is on CAMRA’s Heritage Pub website.

https://commons.m.wikimedia.org/wiki/User:ClemRutter

Also on the site, is the village’s second pub, the King's Arms, which is a little further in land. So, the opportunity to tick off a couple of national inventory, heritage pubs seemed too good to miss, but how to get there using public transport, was the issue stopping me. Taking the train to Strood, was the obvious answer, as an hourly service operates between the Medway towns and Paddock Wood, but the fly in the ointment, proved to be the infrequent bus service between Strood and Upnor. Running at two hourly intervals, and at the most inconvenient of times – no joined-up thinking when it came to connecting with local rail services, I quickly dropped that idea. There was the option of a two-mile walk from Strood station, but I am not a huge fan of walking through urban areas, or of post-industrial blight.

Another day, perhaps, but not on a bright and sunny spring day, when I could be enjoying the splendour of the beautiful Kent and Sussex countryside, rather than trudging through a series of soulless industrial estates. This was where the idea of repeating a bus journey along the B 2110, in the direction of East Grinstead, re-surfaced.  The aforementioned road skirts the northern edge of Ashdown Forest, and on is way west passes through a number of delightful and picturesque Wealden settlements. Groombridge, Withyham, Hartfield, Colemans Hatch and Forest Row are the principal places along this road, although on this occasion Coleman’s Hatch would represent my most westerly point. It was exactly the same, just over three years ago, when I used the 291 Metrobus, which runs hourly, in both directions, between Tunbridge Wells & East Grinstead.

It was a similar sunny day back in March 2022, and I had every intention of not just using the same route, but of following the same line of attack. For this plan to work, and to take full advantage of the time intervals between buses, it is necessary to take the 10:52 bus from Tunbridge Wells RVP, which will drop you at 11:23 opposite Holy Trinity church, at Coleman’s Hatch. 

From there it is a 10-minute, uphill walk towards the boundaries of the forest, and the lovely old Hatch Inn, an establishment which despite describing itself as a gastropub, still functions as a proper, atmospheric, country inn. Dating from 1430, as evidenced by its low ceilings and numerous old beams, the Hatch Inn has the advantage of opening early, at 11:30am. This allows time for a leisurely first pint of the day, before heading back down to the church, and the 12:02 Metrobus, service back towards Tunbridge Wells.

That’s the theory, but things didn’t quite go to plan on Friday, because I overslept, and didn’t get to Tunbridge Wells until 20 minutes after the departure of the 10:52 service. It’s my own fault for not setting the alarm clock, although in mitigation this oversight was out of respect to Mrs PBT’s, who is grumpiness personified, first thing in the morning. I was convinced that I would wake up in time, but sadly I didn’t, and despite rushing to get ready, left the house with no chance of catching a connecting bus over to Tunbridge Wells.

That unintended lie-in, had the potential of de-railing my carefully worked out, plan of attack, as it would only allow 20 minutes to walk up to the Hatch Inn, gulp down a pint, before rushing back, admittedly downhill, to take a bus going back towards Tunbridge Wells. That was why that first bus, plus the 11:30 opening with its extra 30 minutes wiggle room, were the keys to the success of the entire day’s beer sampling. When you’ve screwed up, and it’s your own fault, there’s not much you can do, except admit you were wrong, and then put Plan B into action. Before doing this I dived into the Opera House (T. Wells, JDW) for a consolation flat white, along with the chance to observe the mid-morning trade at this flagship Wetherspoon’s outlet.

I then boarded the 11:52 bus, and alighted at Groombridge, a village that I’d originally intended as the final destination on the tour. There was a valid reason for this, because the Crown Inn, a lovely old pub that overlooks the village green, keeps old fashioned hours, and closes between 3pm and 5pm. In order to do justice to the Crown, as well as the other three pubs I visited that afternoon, you can read my experiences of all of them in the next post, which I’m sure you will find interesting.

 

Striding ahead

Although I've known this for some time, it's only now that I can actually confess to the fact that I am a slow walker. There’s nothing wrong with that of course, or indeed shameful, and it certainly doesn't make me a lesser person, but it's not just on walks to pubs, with fellow beer enthusiasts, that I've noticed this effect, I’ve come across it in other areas of life too. I remember back in my early teens, going hiking with the youth group I belonged to, when I always seemed to be amongst the stragglers at the end of the walk, keeping company with those who got left behind. 

At the time, there seemed nothing more frustrating than seeing the lead group ahead in the distance, sitting down and enjoying a break whilst waiting for stragglers like me to catch up. You’d then find that as soon as you’d caught up, the advanced party would announce that it was time to get going, and off they’d go again. They'd had time to rest up for a while and recuperate, when you of course, hadn't.

This pattern of behaviour was most apparent on the youth-hostelling trip to the Isle of Wight, that I made, with the same group. It didn’t particularly bother me at the time, because there were others walking at the same pace as me and they weren’t concerned either. There was also something of a rebel about me back then, and not conforming was part and parcel of the scene I was involved with, at the time. As the week drew on, we got lost on more than one occasion, which was quite easy, as none of us had a map. We knew roughly where we were supposed to end up, and usually, once off the hills, there were buses we could catch. On at least one occasion, we managed to get a bus that either went directly to, or pretty close to our final destination for the day and arrived ahead of those who had stayed the course, on foot. 

The group leader, who was the local vicar (it was a church youth group), never seemed bothered about people being left behind, working on the basis of self-reliance, and “toughening us up”. Perhaps he should have done, since he was a man of the cloth, although in those days, I don't think any qualifications were necessary to be in charge of a youth group. Fortunately, none of us came to any harm, even though there were cliffs we could have fallen from, or rivers we might have drowned in, proving perhaps, that the vicar of Wye & Brook was right in his approach, even though it would be frowned upon today.

Back to the walking, as well as the present day. Many of my beery trips out, start from Tonbridge station, which is reached by a 20-minute downhill walk from Bailey Towers. I’ve lost count of the number of times I've set off only to be overtaken by people coming up from behind. Once they’ve passed me, they seem to disappear off into the distance, arriving at the station some considerable time before me. I appreciate most of them are probably seasoned commuters, who know exactly how long their journey is going to take, but their speed does seem a little disheartening at times.

They are obviously people whose natural walking pace is much faster than my own, and this includes individuals of both genders, many of whom seem to stride effortlessly by. Fortunately, I normally factor in sufficient time to not only reach the station, but to purchase my ticket as well. The other occasions when I’ve noticed this head down, fastest foot forwards approach has been during company business trips to Cologne, where we were exhibiting at the International Dental Show (IDS).  The mornings would begin with breakfast at the hotel, followed by a walk past the main station and then up across the river Rhine, via the Hohenzollern Bridge.

The latter is a similar structure to London’s Hungerford Bridge in so much that it carries pedestrians, alongside the train tracks, across a wide river. Once across the Rhine, we would make our way to the Köln Messe exhibition halls, where the show was taking place. There was normally half a dozen of us, and I was never part of the leading group, as there were colleagues who walked so fast as to give the impression of participating in a relay race. Nevertheless, we all arrived, each morning, at the company stand in time for the show’s opening. I've given up trying to emulate these people, although the joke is Mrs PBT’s thinks I'm a fast walker. I probably am, compared to her but certainly not when it comes to many, if not most, of my contemporaries.

Back to hiking, or rambling, if you prefer, and the last major long-distance footpath I walked, was the North Downs Way, which I completed in September 2022. After starting this LDP as part of a group, I ended up walking the majority of the trail on my own primarily because I felt that as my pace was slower, I was holding the group back. This is why I recommend walking solo, at your own pace, as it allows you to see what you want to see, take breaks for meals or drinks as needed, find a discreet place for personal needs, enjoy the solitude and experience the joy of being in nature alone.

There are exceptions to this, especially if you can find a walking partner whose pace matches your own. I was fortunate to experience this with my friend Eric, 15 years ago, when we completed the South Downs Way LDP, walking the trail in strict linear fashion, east to west (Eastbourne to Winchester). This was different, and perhaps more satisfying, than the piecemeal approach I adopted for the North Downs Way   

Our walking pace must have been equal, because I don’t recall ever feeling rushed, or feeling that our progress was too fast, or too slow. Perhaps it had something to do with stature, as we are both of similar height, and build, although now I am carrying quite a bit more weight. It might also be down to leg length, which must have a bearing on one’s stride. I don’t know my friend’s inside leg measurement, but at 29”, mine is on the short side, and Mrs PBT’s likes teasing me about it.

Having recently turned 70, I am pleased I can still enjoy outdoor activities and appreciate the great outdoors. I am aware though, that my stamina is not quite what it was 10 or even 5 years ago, but this is a natural part of aging, and despite this my aim is to continue walking as often as possible. Walking is an excellent form of exercise, allowing one to maintain fitness while enjoying the fresh air and the beauty of the English countryside.

Although this has been rather a brief post, and not particularly beer related, I would be interested to hearing about others' experiences when walking, whether individually or as part of a group. For much more detailed information about hiking, and walking in general, I strongly recommend checking out Rambling Man, the highly informative, and also entertaining website of seasoned walker, Andrew Bowden. Andrew has completed many of the long-distance footpaths in the British Isles, and as well as recounting his experiences of walking these trails, his blog is packed full of useful facts, figures and important information for those inspired to hike some of these paths themselves.

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Second time lucky for Marden? Only sort of!

It should have been a case of second time lucky when I made a return visit to the Wealden village of Marden last Friday. This followed on from my Easter Monday trip, which was less than a fortnight previously, and was when I discovered that both pubs in the village were closed. Shut on a Bank Holiday, don’t these publicans want to earn a living? I’m assuming they did such a roaring trade over the previous three days, that it wasn’t worth their while opening on the fourth day of the long Easter break. Perhaps they did, but somehow, I suspect they didn’t, and whilst they might well have their own private reasons for not opening their doors that day, a spot of advanced notice on their websites, social media, or both might have others from the same wasted journey that I had.

Fortune favours the brave, as they say, so somewhat foolhardily I decided to give the West End Tavern and the Unicorn, another chance. The pubs are situated at opposite ends of the village, with less than 10 minutes walking distance between them, so determined not to be deterred, last Friday afternoon I once again took the train over to Marden. Unless there was a logical explanation for the previous occurrence, it seemed unlikely that both pubs in a thriving and prosperous village would be closed once more.

At Mrs. PBT's suggestion (she is always right, you know), I contacted one of the pubs, the Unicorn, to confirm that it was open. Yes, it was, and it was open all day, although there would be a break during the afternoon when the kitchen would be closed. Perhaps I should have phoned the other pub as well, but I decided against this. As before, I set off and walked down to Tonbridge station, where there was the same half-hourly service running. The weather was warmer than on my previous visit, in fact it was hot enough for me to wear my shorts for the first time this year.

I knew that the West End Tavern would not be open until 2pm, so I headed towards the Unicorn instead. The front door was wide open, reflecting not just the warm weather we were experiencing, but also as a welcome draw for customers. Harvey’s Best and Fuller’s London Pride were the cask beers on sale, and by way of a change, I went for the latter. Full-bodied, tasty and almost “chewy”, as one well known beer blogger would say. The same individual would also agree that the Pride was certainly drinking well that afternoon. Incidentally, that “drinking well” remark, has become a popular cliché amongst quite a number of beer bloggers, and writers, although heaven knows why?

More to the point, it was quite a while since I last had a pint of Fuller’s legendary, flagship beer, and as we don’t see that often, in this part of the country, despite our relative proximity to the capital, it would have been rude to have not tried a pint. The pub wasn’t exactly packed for early afternoon, but there were people sitting out in the garden at the rear of the pub, and there was a nice atmosphere about the place. I might have stayed and grabbed a “lite bite” to keep me going (Cooking Lager, please take note), but I was keen to try out Marden’s other pub, the West End Tavern.

I drank up, and headed of towards the latter establishment, feeling fairly confident that this time, it would be open. However, despite arriving sometime after the stated 2pm opening, I once again found both doors firmly locked, and no lights on inside either. I peered through one of the windows, and it looked pleasant enough inside. I didn’t notice any hand pumps, but they might have been tucked away somewhere. The food offering looked good, and reasonably priced - as evidenced by the chalkboard attached to the fence (see photo above).  But after finding the pub doors firmly locked, for the second time in a row, I never got the chance to sample the food, or the beer. What on earth goes on with the management of these places?

What to do next, then? Return to the Unicorn, leave the train at Paddock Wood and try out the pubs there, or return to Tonbridge? I chose the latter, as I wanted to call in at the Nationwide, and also get a bite to eat.  So, building society first, and Greggs second, where I procured a roast chicken baguette, dressed up with a dash of mayonnaise and a few sprigs of water cress. Another beer was next on the agenda, but having already missed the turning for the Nelson, I headed towards Fuggle’s but then stopped in my tracks when I noticed Ye Olde Chequers, straight ahead.

This imposing, half-timbered building is of the oldest constructions in the town, and also one of the oldest pubs. After the castle, the Chequers is probably the most photographed building in Tonbridge, and has been described as "one of the finest examples of a Kentish timber-framed building that can be found today". It stands on the High Street on a site just below the castle where an inn possibly stood in 1264. The present building dates back over 500 years to the late 15^th Century. The room on the first floor is said to have been used as a Justices' room and at times a hangman's noose dangled from a strong oak sign post that jutted out over the street.

Despite its impressive pedigree, the Chequers has never really lived up to its full potential, as far as I am concerned.  When I first came to Tonbridge, initially to work and then later on, to live, the Chequers was a two bar, Courage house, and over the years it never progressed much beyond this, apart from losing its two-bar status. These criticisms aside, it was a popular pub under the watchful eye of legendary, old-school licensees, Dave and Maureen, and this was especially true of the lunchtime trade. I remember the large, heated glass cabinet that was the first thing customers saw upon entering the pub. I found this rather off-putting, and I was never sure quite how long the food remained on display.

This was back in the day when workers, dined out at lunchtime, a practice that seems largely to have died out. Also gone, are the three or four-pint sessions at lunchtime, which is probably just as well in terms of efficiency and safety in the workplace. Today the Chequers is operated by Pendry’s Pubs Ltd, a company that is based in Ongar, Essex. I knew that as well as Harvey’s, I could get a pint of St Austell Tribute at the Chequers, so by way of a change I stopped off there, rather than continuing on to Fuggle’s.

In view of the warm weather, I took my pint out to the terrace area at the rear of the pub, where a few other drinkers were soaking up the sunshine. I joined them and enjoyed a pleasant and well-conditioned pint of Tribute, a beer that always seems overshadowed by its stronger stablemate, Proper Job. After that, it was the good old 219 bus home, after an interesting day, despite it not quite turning out as expected.

The Beau Nash Tavern - 30 years on

I'd been meaning to get over to Tunbridge Wells and the Beau Nash Tavern for quite some time, following a blog post from retired Martin. RM's wife grew up in the Tunbridge Wells area, and with her parents living at nearby Southborough, Martin and Christine are frequent visitors to the town. The post I am referring to was one where Martin related his thoughts about the Beau Nash and followed on from a lunchtime session he spent there with Mrs RM and her parents. Martin’s post reminded me that it was many a year since I last set foot in this charming establishment, so it was high time to put things right. Tucked away behind the Royal Wells Hotel, at the top of Mount Ephraim, overlooking the town, the Beau Nash is what is best known as a “Mews Pub.” By that I mean the pub would have started life as a set of stables, used to house the horses needed to transport guests, to and from the adjacent hotel. As in most locations in the UK, the majority of these stables would have been converted into living accommodation, as horse drawn transport declined.

My opportunity to visit the Beau Nash arose the other Saturday when I had to call in at what is now the nearest branch of the Halifax Building Society. I travelled over to Tunbridge Wells by bus, using my free-travel pass, and after disembarking at Five Ways, directly opposite the town’s Royal Victoria Place shopping centre, proceeded towards the Halifax. Despite arriving fully prepared with the necessary documentation, it became apparent that the Halifax was quite blatantly, attempting to discourage in-person visits, by promoting the notion that everything could be done online.

Unfortunately, they misunderstood my needs, as there ARE certain situations where human interaction is irreplaceable. All I wanted to do was to transfer funds from a recently matured ISA, into a new one, and having already found the online process for doing this, unnecessarily complex, wanted to speak to a member of staff who could guide me through this. It was definitely a real-life case of “computer says  no,” because the stony-faced employee was about as much use as a chocolate teapot. I witnessed another customer giving short shrift to the counter clerk who suggested he download the Halifax app. This gentleman, who looked considerably older than me, informed the cashier in no uncertain terms, that he used his phone to talk with people, and at his time of life, didn’t want to start learning about apps!

Full marks there, as his concerns resonated with me. It seems as if every organisation one deals with today, regards their app as the best thing since sliced bread and promotes it without thought or question, neglecting the fact that these features can quickly clog up the memory of a mobile phone. As the disgruntled customer walked away, I told him that I agreed with him. 

This didn’t appear to do me any favours, when it was my turn to talk to Nurse Ratched, although she did at least hand me a card with a helpline number printed on the back. She added that the people on the end of that line might be able to help, although she was still insistent that it would be easier to sort out my transfer request online. 

Feeling frustrated, rather than enlightened, I left the building society, crossed the road, and walked up the hill toward Tunbridge Wells Common. I paused on the way, to take some photos, including a few of two houses built on rocky outcrops, overlooking the town below. At the summit of Mount Ephraim, I passed the impressive looking Royal Wells Hotel, before turning into the narrow alley leading to the Beau Nash. When I first became familiar with this pub, back in the mid-1980’s, it was a well-regarded establishment known for offering beers that were unusual for the area. It’s hard to believe then that Harvey's was one such beer, despite being brewed just 30 miles away, down the road in Lewes.

As I walked along the narrow passage towards the pub, its bright green exterior seemed different to what I remembered, although it did look attractive in the bright mid-morning sunshine. I passed a couple of fellas, in morning dress with white, button hole carnations, fixed to their jacket lapels. They were obviously on their way to a wedding, but as it wasn’t clear who was the groom, and who was the best man, I wished them both good luck. They thanked me with a grin, whilst I headed toward the pub entrance. Before entering, I could see around the corner and into the courtyard behind. In a short while I would sitting out there too, but first I had a pint to order, plus a pub interior to reacquaint myself with.

The cool, and slightly dim interior of the Beau Nash, with its colourful stained-glass windows, did bring back a few memories, especially of the days when I thought Tunbridge Wells was a really exotic place to visit. Internally, there was much wood panelling, a solid wooden floor, wooden tables, chairs and sofas and which together with warm orange lighting, induced a cosy atmosphere. Apart from the bar staff, there were only a couple of customers inside, as most were sitting out in the courtyard, taking advantage of the fine weather.

I walked up to the bar where I was faced by an attractive looking bank of hand pumps, but only one beer. It was Harvey’s Best, of course, and given my previous knowledge of the pub, what else could it be? So, I ordered a pint of Lewes’s finest, alongside a bag of plain crisps, and headed outside, but not before I’d taken a few photos of the interior. I found a shady spot where I could sit and indulge in a spot of people-watching, whilst at the same time admiring the well-laid out pub garden, whose existence I was totally unaware of until that moment. It was set on two different levels, and nicely laid out on with contemporary, but comfortable furniture, with areas of shade as well as full sun. All in all, there was a general good vibe about the place.

I got stuck into my pint of Sussex, although I didn't rush because I knew I'd have to drive once I got back to Tonbridge, so could only have the one pint. Mrs PBT's wanted me to chauffeur her to the supermarket, to pick up some food shopping. I swear she does this deliberately to curtail my visits to the pub, as whilst we do need a weekly shop, let’s make do with one expedition, rather than several! Second rant of the day over, and after finishing my beer, I headed back along Mount Ephraim, passing the site of the long-demolished Kent & Sussex ("Kent and Snuff it", as it was jokingly called), but the site is now occupied by an upmarket, residential development. Not quite a "gated" one, but it might as well be. 

I’d probably just missed a bus, and there was quite a wait for the next one, so would my bladder hold out, even after a single pint? More importantly, would the public toilets, opposite Tonbridge station be open, or would the little "scrotes" have been up to their mischief, causing criminal damage? These little “treasures” will be old one day, and I sincerely wish they get caught in a place where there are no toilet facilities. Luckily, the facilities were open, and even more fortuitously, I only had a to wait a couple of minutes for the 219 bus, a service that saves a long, slow and tiring walk up Pembury Road, a thoroughfare that seems to go on forever!