Exploring the pubs of Samuel Palmer's "Valley of Vision"

I'm going to Shoreham for the day this Saturday, I told Mrs PBT's, little thinking that my good lady wife was thinking that I meant the seaside town of Shoreham, in West Sussex. I quickly put her right, and explained that I was off to the much smaller and much less well-known Kentish settlement of Shoreham, a delightful village in the idyllic setting of the Darent Valley, which runs in a northerly direction, through the chalk hills of the North Downs, from just north of Sevenoaks to the Dartford Creek Barrier, the point at which the Darent flows into the River Thames. The reason for my visit was a short ramble,  along the Darent Valley, towards Shoreham in the company of members of West Kent CAMRA, naturally taking in a few local pubs along the way. The journey, by rail, from Tonbridge involves a change of train at Sevenoaks , and then a short ride up the valley towards Shoreham. There was a dozen or so of us who left the train, except it was the larger settlement of Otford, where we alighted, rather than the next stop of Shoreham.

The idea was to walk from Otford, along a short stretch of the Darent Valley Way, to Shoreham, where we would be meeting up with those members who had decided not to walk. Leaving the train at Otford, meant the chance of calling in at one of two local pubs in the village, and the pub chosen was the Bull, a former coaching inn in the heart of Otford, and the largest pub in the village. Ten years or so ago, the Bull belonged to Scottish & Newcastle, remember them? but the pub is now part of the Whiting & Hamond group, a small, independent chain, based in West Kent, with an estate that also includes, the Little Brown Jug, at Chiddingstone Causeway. 

The latter is the small village where my current employer is based, and the Jug, as it's known locally, is just a short 5 minutes walk away from my workplace. Pubs within the group are quite heavily accented towards the food trade, although they normally manage to sustain a healthy wet trade. Quite sensibly, the pubs restrict their cask range to just two or three beers, and these tend to include local favourites, such as Larkin's, or beers from further afield, such as Gun Brewery. Both establishments fit the image of a welcoming country pub blending classic charm, modern food, plus friendly service all enjoyed in a cosy interior, offering a relaxed atmosphere that is perfect for any occasion.

It was time to move on, so after crossing the road opposite the Bull, we skirted the village cricket pitch, before heading into woodland which provided a much welcome chance to escape from the rather oppressive heat. As mentioned earlier, the path followed roughly the route of the Darent Valley Way, although for the pedantic amongst us, the official path is slightly lower down in the valley. 

To cut a long story short, we entered Shoreham close to the vineyards, that overlook the easterly slopes of the Downs, before skirting the edge of the village itself. The plan was to enter Shoreham from the north, stop off at the Crown, which is the furthermost pub in the village, and then work our way back towards the station, stopping off at the King's Arms, before finishing at the Samuel Palmer. From there it would be a short, but steep walk back up the lane, towards Shoreham station, and the train home.

Shoreham is unbelievably picturesque, so I was appalled to learn from  local CAMRA Branch Chairman, Tony, whom I was walking with, that this picturesque gem, surrounded by some equally beautiful countryside, nearly disappeared beneath the concrete and tarmac of the London Orbital Motorway. The original planned route of the M25 was designed to cut directly through the Darent Valley and straight through Shoreham village, with the planners intending for the motorway to pass right through the landscape made famous by the 19th-century artist Samuel Palmer. 

The route change was forced by a massive public outcry, because the proposed motorway would have carved  right through the heart of Palmer’s "Earthly Paradise" and spoiled for ever, Shoreham village and its picturesque river valley. Such a horror story, would be unimaginable today, but in Thatcher's Britain, environmental and aesthetic concerns were quite low down on the list of priorities. 

Fortunately, the strong protest mounted by environmental and local campaigners succeeded in forcing a change of heart, which led to the authorities diverting the motorway north of the village, and pushing the road roughly a mile to the west of Shoreham. I do vaguely remember the "lucky escape" that Shoreham and the Darent Valley had, from the hands of the planners, but the story serves as a reminder of the need for constant vigilance against the worst excesses of those who would concrete over some of the country's most beautiful locations, in order to make a quick buck.

We arrived, quite suddenly at the northern end of Shoreham, after crossing the Darent by a narrow, wooden footbridge. A short distance in front of us was the second pub of the day, and the first of the village's three remaining pubs. The Crown of Shoreham, as the pub calls itself, is a cornerstone of village life, offering a friendly retreat where locals and visitors connect over great food and drinks in a cosy, inclusive setting. This multi-room pub, spread across two different levels, was busy with walkers - like ourselves, but was also holding a barbecue out in the rear garden. 

Thinking, correctly as it happened, that something from the barbecue would be quicker than a full-blown meal from the main kitchen, I ordered a pulled-pork burger, which arrived promptly and filled the appropriate  gap in my hunger. There were two cask beers - Dark Star Hophead, plus Young's Ordinary. I opted for the former, as am not a fan of the resurrected Young's beers, which taste nothing like the classic, Wandsworth brews I remember with fondness from three decades or so, ago.  

After people had finished their lunch and/or their beer, we headed off, passing on the way the sadly closed Two Brewers in the High Street. This establishment transitioned from a traditional pub, to a food-led restaurant in 2019, before closing its doors permanently in August 2020. You can still see its old name boldly incised on the front wall. The demise of the Two Brewers, reduced the number of pubs in the village down to three, from a highwater point of five, within living memory. The previous closure was that of the Royal Oak, which also in the High Street. The Oak shut up shop in the late 1990's, although I'm not sure that I ever visited that particular hostelry.  

We were making for the third pub on our itinerary, the Kings Arms, an attractive, weather boarded pub, close to one of the bridges over the Darent. This is the Shoreham pub that I remember best, but unfortunately, some football match or other, was taking place that afternoon, and with the pub showing it live on TV, the place was packed, both inside and out. I was bringing up the rear, so was more than a little surprised at finding the lead walkers in our party leaving the pub, just as us stragglers, arrived. 

They reported that it had been difficult to get served, despite a preponderance of bar staff, most of whom appeared to be "just hanging around". This was a shame as I would have liked to, at least, have had a quick pint there, but there's always another time. Instead, I followed the rest of the group along the relatively short distance to the final pub on the itinerary.

This was the Samuel Palmer, at the southern edge of the village, and just a short stroll down from Shoreham station. After closing in 2020, "Ye Olde George Inn" reopened as the "Samuel Palmer", in April 2022. The pub is named after Samuel Palmer, a 19th Century landscape painter who lived in Shoreham - and the pub is decorated with prints of his work. It is now owned by the nearby, Mount Vineyard, and a substantial amount of money has been spent renewing this historic old inn, but without ruining its essential character. A new courtyard/terrace area has been opened up, at the rear of the building, although as we discovered the majority of the pub's patrons seem to prefer sitting out at the front of the pub. 

I visited the Samuel Palmer, a couple of years ago, and wrote about it here, and then, as now I'm pleased to report that the Samuel Palmer remains very much a pub to drop into to for a beer or two, selected from a range of mainly locally-brewed, cask ales. I opted for the Larkin's Traditional and can confirm that it was on top form. The pub was certainly buzzing that Saturday, with lots of customers sitting outside, enjoying the early summer sunshine. This allowed our group to grab a couple of tables inside. The service was quick and professional, so I don't know what went wrong at the Kings Arms, but the pub's loss was the Samuel Palmer's gain.

It was a 20 minute, uphill walk, to Shoreham station, but I allowed plenty of time because with an hourly service (unusual for a Saturday - and possibly due to engineering works, elsewhere) I didn't want to miss the train. For those wishing to duplicate all, or just part of this day out in Shoreham, or at other locations within the Darent Valley, Thameslink operate a half-hourly service from London Victoria, with additional trains during peak hours, from London Blackfriars. For those travelling from Tunbridge Wells, Tonbridge, or the Kent Coast,  it will be necessary to change at Sevenoaks. Whatever your means of getting there, do go and explore Palmer's "Valley of Vision", and as you enjoy a pint or two, in one of Shoreham's surviving three pubs, give thanks that this peaceful and beautiful corner of Kent, escaped being buried under a tide of concrete and tarmac.

Station House pulls a Crafty pint of Pride - and yes, it was drinking well

I mentioned, in the previous post that in my quest to track down a drop of cask Doom Bar, the beer that was the subject matter of the article, I had called in at the one Tonbridge pub where I thought I'd be guaranteed of finding a pint of this once legendary Cornish brew. The pub in question was the Station House, a pub that in its heyday, had been known as the South Eastern, the name coming from the pre-grouping name of the railway company that constructed the original line from the capital, and down to Tonbridge and beyond.

Given the pub's proximity to the town's station, it was no surprise for it to have been given a railway themed name. When I first moved to Tonbridge, initially for work, but later as a place to live, the South Eastern was a bustling and busy, multi-roomed town boozer, owned and operated by Whitbread Fremlin's. In those pre-"Beer Orders" days, that company owned the majority of pubs in the area, followed in terms of number of pubs, by  Courage, Ind Coope & Charrington's.  

The South Eastern was an obvious favourite for train crew and other rail workers, clocking off at the end of a shift. However, given changing practices and cultures within the rail industry, the pub witnessed a drop off in demand from that sector of the working community. Some time in the nineties', the multi-roomed interior of the South Eastern, was knocked through into one, creating in the process a much more uniform and utilitarian interior, at the expense of losing a great deal of the pub's character. It was around this this time that the change of name to the Station House, occurred. It's a pub I'd largely forgotten about, even though for as while, it  was one of three local pubs managed by legendary Irish landlord, Colm Powell.

Fast forward to the 21st century, and the re-vamped Station House is now a Craft Union House. Now I don't know a lot about this company, but Google (NOT AI!!), tells me that "Craft Union operate over 650 community pubs right at the heart of High Streets and neighbourhoods across the country. We believe the pub should be the beating heart of its community – a place where strangers become locals, and locals feel right at home". Now you know, and so do I, and from the moment I stepped inside the Station House, I could tell that the company have got it right. I should have known as the evidence was already there, because a couple of month's ago, the pub's exterior was obscured by scaffolding, allowing the rendering to be painted in a contrasting colour scheme of cream and pale blue. 

The other thing that surprised me was how much space there is inside the pub, and how far back the interior extends. Of course, back in the pub's 1980's heyday, when it was a multi-room establishment, the amount of space would not have been so obvious, but it has to be said that the pub's new owners, have made sensible use of the extensive interior. The bar, is situated along the right hand wall, so is not immediately obvious on entering the pub. 

There are a number of alcoves with a mixture of bench seating and stools, and these help divide up the interior, and help add a sense of intimacy. The pub seemed busy for a Thursday lunchtime, and I couldn't help wondering whether the current, six week closure of the Humphrey Bean - Tonbridge's JDW outlet, was providing the Station House with a welcome influx of new customers. The Bean is undergoing a major refit, that whilst probably overdue, is happening at a strange time, given the sporting events happening, both globally, and at home.

The one thing I wasn't expecting was the non-availability of Doom Bar, but in its place was London Pride, and yes, before anyone trots out the tired old cliché, yes the Pride certainly was drinking well. It was keenly priced, too, at just over £3 a pint, which was another welcome surprise! There was a friendly barmaid behind the bar, who told me, when asked, that she was from Dublin. Without sounding too patronising, she was an obvious asset to the pub, with just the right amount of welcoming cheeriness, mixed in with a pinch of banter. So, despite the failure of my mission to track down a pint of cask Doom Bar, and compare it to the bottled version I'd recently enjoyed, of the same beer (Ed. they're NOT the same beer, at all), I had the joy of experiencing an unexpected gem of a pub, and one that I shall certainly return to.

Never saying never, to Doom Bar

"Never say never", no, this is not another article about the former Hilden Manor, Beefeater restaurant, that  recently reopened under the above title, instead it's more of a post in which yours truly ends up eating a rather large slice of humble pie! To cut a long story short, the article boils down to a beer that many drinkers are familiar with, and a brand that had been the best-selling cask ale in the UK for 11 consecutive years, holding the top spot by both volume and value from 2013 until late 2024, when it was overtaken in sales value by Timothy Taylor's Landlord.

The beer in question is Sharp's Doom Bar, a beer that had been produced in Rock, Cornwall, since 1994, before being acquired by multi-national brewing behemoth, Molson Coors in 2011. Before the takeover, and before its meteoric rise to fame, Doom Bar had been a well respected, and much sought after beer, and one I'd been really impressed with. My infatuation with the brand began after sampling it, for the first time at a drink's industry trade show, in London. That would have been in the early 2000's, when Mrs PBT's and I had our off-licence, in Priory Street, Tonbridge. 

That initial taste of Doom Bar was as a bottled beer, and I don't know (or can't remember) when it became available in cask form. For all, I know the brand might have started life as a cask beer, but whatever the case, these details aren't really relevant to the narrative. What is relevant, is that Doom Bar's reputation was such that not only did the brand continue to increase its availability, but it also grew in terms of brand loyalty, so as to eventually attract the attention of a large, brewing group, in the form of Molson Coors. I liked the beer and enjoyed it, whenever I saw it on sale, although by this time it must have become widely available in cask form. 

I don't recall stocking either the cask or bottled version of Doom Bar at our off-licence, although we largely relied on wholesalers such as the Beer Seller, or East-West Ales for our cask supplies, with just a small amount delivered directly by brewers, such as Harvey's, Larkin's, Goacher's, or Badger. Somewhere along the line, Doom Bar changed in both taste, and appeal. The two of course are related, although both seemed to coincide with the enormous growth in the brand's availability and appeal. I found, particularly with the cask version that the beer had become increasingly bland in taste, and had lost its earlier appeal, and it wasn't just me that had noticed this change. 

Things reached the stage that whereas I would once have ordered a pint of Doom Bar, without hesitation I was now actively avoiding the beer. It became slightly embarrassing in the early days when friends, relations and even casual acquaintances who, knowing that I enjoyed a beer or two, seemed puzzled when I refused their offer of a Doom Bar. My increasing, active dislike of the brand became something of a standing joke, especially with people who knew me through this blog. One fellow blogger, who shall remain nameless, went to the extent of offering bottles of the stuff as a sort of trophy or prize. He was joking of course, or perhaps not, but the example illustrates just how low Doom Bar's reputation had fallen amongst fellow beer enthusiasts.

Fast forward to the other night, when supplies in Paul's beer stash, cupboard were running low. There, lurking at the back of the cupboard was a 500 ml bottle of Sharp's Doom Bar, just ripe for the taking, so guided by the thought of nothing ventured, nothing gained, I cracked open the bottle, after chilling it slightly in the fridge. Now humble pie, and all that, but after raising the glass to my lips, there is no way I can describe the beer as bland. 

It isn't particularly hoppy, but there is a firm malt base that immediately shone through, so much so that I found myself actively enjoying the beer. The maltiness, goes hand in glove with Sharp's description of the beer as an "Amber Ale", a term I've never really understood, and one chosen by the late, lamented West Midlands, Bank's Brewery, who used the term for their mild ale ("mild" having been deemed, to have bad connotations, especially amongst younger drinkers - "Gen whatever", the current term might be).

So will this "Road to Damascus" conversion inspire me to order Doom Bar in a pub? The answer remains unclear, as despite both bottled and cask variants carrying the same name and iconic branding, the two versions of Sharp's Doom Bar are entirely different products. They posses different alcohol contents, are brewed hundreds of miles apart, and undergo completely separate production processes, so the jury is still out on that one. I did attempt to find an outlet stocking the cask version, but it wasn't easy. I would probably have been successful at Wetherspoons, but our local Spoons is currently undergoing a major refit and is closed until the start of next month.

Instead, I headed for another Tonbridge pub which, according to the CAMRA website, was listed as stocking Doom Bar. It didn't, although the Station House served me a very acceptable, and keenly priced, pint of London Pride. This Craft Union establishment was the sole remaining Tonbridge pub that I had not set foot in, since commencing my quest, at the start of last year, to visit every pub in the town. I was pleasantly surprised, at what I found, but that's a story for another day. My taste comparison between bottled and cask Doom Bar, remains incomplete, awaiting another attempt, in a different pub, but what this experience has demonstrated, is the importance of keeping an open mind about things.

 

He's leaving home, bye, bye

Last weekend, after nearly 35 years of living with Mrs PBT's and I, son Matthew finally moved out of the family home. He'd been hinting and threatening to do so for a while, but last Saturday the big move began in earnest, leaving Eileen and I to experience being "empty nesters" for the first time. It hasn't quite sunk in yet, especially as he's been making regular car journeys back to Tonbridge, in order to pick up more of his clothes, and personal effects, but whilst it still seems a bit strange, I'm sure the pair of us will get used to it. 

Eileen in particular is enjoying not having to wait until almost 7pm, before serving up our evening meal, because with a 5.45pm lock-up of the hardware shop that Matthew manages, followed by a 45 minute drive back from East Grinstead, it was getting om for 7pm, before we were sitting down to eat. My commute, is a mere 15 minutes drive, and then that's only for three days a week. Matthew hasn't gone far, as he's only moved to nearby Southborough. It's not the posh part that he's gone to, and by that I mean the area bordering the common, instead he's relocated to a mixed residential area of the town, close to neighbouring High Brooms. He's moved in with Charlotte, his girlfriend of the past couple of years, so it's not as if he's suddenly jumped into it this relocation.

She's a nice girl, sensible and level headed, and with space in her rented flat for young Mr Bailey, I think the move will be good for the pair of them. It will certainly be good for Matthew, as it couldn't have been that much fun for him, shacked up with his aging "P's". Whilst he virtually had his own "wing" on the first floor of our house, with a reasonable sized bedroom, plus an en-suite bathroom, it was more than a little cramped at times. So whilst, obviously missing him - to a point, flying the nest will undoubtably do him good, and it will do the same for Mrs PBT's and I as well, especially after 35  years of us all living under the same roof. We shall see how things pan out, but the move will allow his mother and I both time and space to continue the clear out of our own junk, as well as his - a task I alluded to in the previous post. 

That's it, for the time being, apart from saying we've a family wedding to attend at the weekend. As is sometimes the way with weddings, this isn't an occasion that Eileen and I are looking forward to. Ask me why, the next time you see me and I might tell you the reason, but then again, I might not! I'm sure there will be other updates and further developments, as we go along, but for now it's high time that I signed off.

Six months into the new year

Well we're halfway through the year, and it's time to take stock on what's happened over the past six months. The undoubted highlight during this time, was the sixteen night cruise that Mrs PBT's and I undertook to Norway. Although our cruise ship embarked on this voyage to northern Norway at the beginning of March, travelling as far as we did beyond the Arctic Circle, was always going to be chancy, especially with regard to the weather, and associated sea conditions. And so it turned out, even though despite careful consideration, I don't think either of us were quite prepared for the strong winds and high seas we experienced. 

Despite the adverse weather, and full in the knowledge that such conditions are not exactly unknown, that far north, we still had a good time, even though my good lady wife kept reminding me that all she wanted was a few days spent in somewhere hot and sunny. I kept reminding her that to reach somewhere warm and sunny, by boat, in early spring would still have meant navigating the notoriously rough, Bay of Biscay, even though, as I privately admitted, both the North Sea, and the waters off the coast of Norway, had the potential to be rougher still.

The main thing is we survived, and leaving a few really rough "sea days" to one side, we enjoyed a really good holiday, experienced some spectacular scenery, and visited several charming towns and cities, that exuded bags full of Scandinavian charm. Most importantly, we were able to view the spectacular Northern Lights - twice in my case, but the viewing from the deck of our cruise ship, as we departed the far northern city of Alta, was every bit as rewarding, and meant that Mrs PBT's was able to experience this amazing natural light show, for herself.

Turning to matters closer to home, and apart from some important family news, that I shall release next time, there's not that much to report. Eileen and I have been busying ourselves with an ongoing clear-out. In my instance this tasks also extends to the shed, summerhouse and greenhouse. Certainly in the first two cases, these outbuildings have become dumping grounds for things we're either no longer certain that we need, but also as a "holding place" for items destined for the local tip. Somewhere in between are items capable of being recycled, and since returning from Norway, I've taken loads of stuff to one of several charity shops. The process hasn't finished, although I've certainly stolen a march on Mrs PBT's, who's an itinerant hoarder - especially of clothes. I'm letting her sort that area out, under the auspices of not trying to force things.

All that sorting out, has eaten into valuable pub-going time, although checking back I've ticked off 60 different pubs this year, although I've obviously visited quite a few of these on several occasions. Now three-score isn't that impressive by some ticker's standards, but I'm quite pleased with it, especially when it comes to pubs that I've never visited before. 

I shall shortly reveal which of these pubs impressed me the most, but before doing do, it's worth noting that most of them were the result of "one -off" visits, rather than as part of a concerted group effort. I say that, because what has really been missing, so far this year, are the "Proper Days Out". That's not to say there hasn't been any, as there has, but they just seemed to clash either with work, of with family matters. Even so, off my own bat I've enjoyed some excellent days out in Hastings, Lewes, Sevenoaks, Hook Green, Birmingham and London plus, most recently Shoreham (Kent). 

All these days out allowed me to enjoy some excellent pubs, with Pelham Arms - Lewes, Wellington - Birmingham, Wenlock Arms - London, Crown - Hastings, plus, of course, the Elephant's Head, at Hook Green, on the Kent-Sussex border. There were also a couple of standout bars that I experienced during our cruise to Norway. Expensive, yes, but atmospheric, welcoming whilst at the same time being ultra laid-back, as only Scandinavians really know how to. The off-beat, Puskas Platebar & Pub in Alta, where I sampled my most northerly beer ever, plus Trondheim's Habitat Craftbar - offering a wide range of Norwegian craft beers, alongside some truly excellent pizza. 

There's two or possibly three "Proper Days Out" planned for the second half of the year, where the Somerset town of Frome has been set aside for a "carefully curated pub crawl", plus a month earlier, Coventry has been earmarked for a similar exercise. Frome will be a completely new town for me to be visiting/drinking in, and whilst I have made a couple of visits to Coventry, on both occasions, I was under the age, as far as visiting pubs and drinking alcohol is concerned. That brings us right up to date, and with temperatures having dropped to something more approaching normality, its time for me to sign off and say goodnight. 

Cloudy Murk

I've never really seen the attraction of "cloudy murk", a phrased used by others, but most dismissively, by northern-based, vintage Beer Blogger, Tandleman, to describe a style of beer that seemed to come from nowhere, before coming something of a sensation in the land of its birth. The style is New England IPA - NEIPA, for short, and the land of its birth, as well as its conception, is the US of A. No surprises there, but as far as I am concerned this is nothing more than a "made-up" style, and one that has little to offer the serious beer enthusiast. Unfortunately, NEIPA's seem to be all the range these days, and whilst some of the enthusiasm behind this "cloudy murk", appears to have abated, there are still plenty of industry "experts" and "influencers", (hate that word), who have fallen for the hype surrounding this artificial style of beer.

We'll start with cask, because in the UK at least, that is the style of beer where drinkers are most likely to encounter a hazy, or cloudy pint of beer. Historically, a pint of cloudy cask ale was a sign that a beer had not conditioned properly, that suspended yeasts had not settled properly, or that your pint was full of end-barrel finings (ugh!). Whilst there is no real evidence to back up the statement that a pint of murk will give you an upset stomach, regular beer drinkers, have learned over the years to avoid hazy beer. Indeed for decades now, there has been a  consensus among beer drinkers that a perfect pint should either look crystal-clear, or as close to this state as possible. 

Apart from poorly treated, or mis-handled cask ales, cloudiness in beer, is normally due to a haze caused by suspended yeast, proteins, or hop compounds, and is often associated with styles such as hefeweizens, or other unfiltered beers. Whilst traditionally viewed as a defect (indicating inadequate fermentation or poor handling), modern "murky" beers aim for an opaque and smoothie-like appearance to achieve low bitterness, combined with an intense fruitiness and a creamy mouthfeel. Somewhat surprisingly many of these murky beers contain little yeast, despite their appearance. Practices such as over-hopping, particularly where dry hopping (adding whole, fresh-leaf hops to a cask, or container, to increase hop aroma), is concerned, can often result in hazy beer, as does  over-hopping a beer, although what we are looking at here, are beers that are deliberately brewed to be cloudy.

Many UK based, craft brewers now produce some hazy, unfiltered beers but over the past few years "murky" has become a phenomenon that seems to have acquired cult status. This development is not confined to the New World, where the style originated, but is also present here in the UK, as more and more brewers look to New England-style IPAs, for inspiration. Dubbed the "haze craze”,  East Coast IPA's are pointedly less bitter than their West Coast rivals, and are sometimes described as "juice bombs". Brewed from a grist that often includes a significant amount of protein-rich wheat and oats, prior to fermentation with hazy yeasts, the resultant beers are then massively dry-hopped to create a deliberately opaque and milky-looking finished product. Devotees describe such beers as "juicy", but these aren't the attributes that the majority of drinkers are looking for in a beer.

The murkiness of these brews is mainly thanks to two things: using high protein grains in the mash and heavy dry hopping at the end of—or post-fermentation. Simply put, when protein molecules from the grains merge with the polyphenols in hops, something rather strange happens, in the form of a visible haze, known to brewers and scientists as a "colloidal haze". This cloudiness remains stable and intact because the molecules formed don’t easily dissipate in water, and scatter light throughout the liquid. The resultant haze is known as the "Tyndall effect", but it's effects are not just visual, because the suspended matter not only gives the beer a creamy mouthfeel, but also imparts a number of juicy, and "mouth-watering" flavours. If beer is only lightly-hopped the juiciness will dominate and overpower the flavours normally associated with beer. This is all well and good if you're a NEIPA fanatic, but most drinkers, myself included, prefer something a little less extreme, and tasting of malted barley and freshly harvested hops, rather than orange or tropical fruit juice.

There are people who actively seek out hazy beer, resulting in "craft murk", becoming a blossoming, cult phenomenon, with devotees describing New England IPA, as a "luscious experience, thanks to a style that is the most modern and approachable iteration of IPA". Their words, rather than mine, but a statement purposely designed to enrage drinkers of proper beer, borne out by a backlash against NEIPA's, with "murk-shaming" gaining ground amongst ardent critics of the style. Horses for courses, but like all trends, I'd like to see this one last as short as possible, and for the pendulum to switch back the other was and for clarity to prevail once again. If you've read this far, you'll probably be mulling over your own thoughts about "cloudy murk" and wondering what effect, if any, this upstart of a beer style will have on your drinking habits. The answer to that question, ultimately depends on what you think about NEIPA and other intentionally hazy beers, but for the record I am NOT a fan of the style! 

A couple of months ago I celebrated the birthday that comes after the proverbial "three score years and ten". Along with a few other beers, son Matthew bought me pack of Faith, an unashamed, hazy, 5.0% pale ale from Leeds-based, Northern Monk. I'd been aware of this brewery for some time - they were founded in 2013, and looking at their website, they are a substantial operation, especially after opening a second brewery, a few years later - also in Leeds. I was particularly pleased that Matthew had moved away from his usual choices of "dad beer" especially the Hobgoblin and Old Speckled Hen pish of the mainstream beer world, so a day or so later I cracked open a can. Unfortunately, the beer was as described above - hazy and juicy, but lacking the characteristics normally associated with a traditional pale ale. Full marks though, to Matthew  not just for trying, but for thinking outside of the box, and I'm really pleased he took the initiative.

In the meantime I've been doing a spot of research into Northern Monk, and I think I'm right in saying that the vast majority of their beers are filled into cans, as opposed to bottles or kegs. This probably explains why, apart from on supermarket shelves,  I haven't seen their beers on sale in pubs or bars. "From West Coast pine and bitterness to New England haze and juice, our great IPA beers are brewed in our Leeds brewery and shipped fresh", says the rather sinister looking monk, who acts as the brewery symbol, as he peers out from under his cowl. I'd certainly be interested in learning what other people think about the company and its beers, as what they are doing, is obviously working well for them, even though it's something that doesn't fit in my ideal of a traditional, cask-focussed, independent brewery, selling into the free trade. 

Checking in on an old friend, before renewing my acquaintance with a couple of favourite, pubs

On the hottest day of the year - so far, and it's going to get even hotter as the weekend progresses, if the weathermen are to be believed, I found myself in that there London place. I wasn't there to experience some of the capital's finest watering hole, but instead was there on a visit that can best be described as "compassionate". Showing some care and support for an old friend/colleague who is currently languishing in a hospital bed, following a fall, and temporary loss of mobility. I'd been alerted to my friend's predicament, by a post on social media, so I got in touch with the lady responsible for the post, and she put me in the picture, as well as forwarding the hospital details, along with other information necessary to facilitate my visit.

I won't go into too many details, as they're not really related to the narrative, and also, unless you knew the friend concerned, they wouldn't mean a lot, but the person I was visiting is someone that both Eileen and I knew when we worked for a Tonbridge-based, engineering firm, back in the late 1970's-early 1980's. We'd lost touch over the years, and it wasn't until a chance remark, that I made on social media, that we learned that our friend was in hospital, recuperating from his fall, and waiting for a transfer into rehab, to enable him to get back on his feet again. University College Hospital London, is the name of the large and impressive establishment where our friend is being looked after, and for the record this new state of the art hospital is situated on Euston Road, close to Warren Street and Euston Square Tube stations, in other words, easily accessible. 

I set out, on my own, as Mrs PBT's isn't a fan of crowds, the heat, or of the Underground system, and my plan was to visit our friend, before adjourning to a suitable hostelry or two, for some liquid refreshment. I wasn't planning on a lengthy hospital visit, as we'd been led to believe that our former colleague wasn't in a terribly good way. Fortunately, the situation was far better than I thought it would be, meaning a lot more time reminiscing, plus laughing and joking with the patient, and substantially less time to enjoy some of the public houses, I'd originally envisaged. All in a good cause, though, and something I wouldn't have missed for the world. I'd drawn up a potential list of six pubs that I wanted to visit, in full knowledge that three or possibly four would be a more realistic total. 

I'd made a point of visiting the first hostelry straight away, in fact  as soon as I'd exited a very busy, Charing Cross station. My reason was the pub in question is small and, given it's historical connections, almost certainly on many tourist itineraries. An early visit, would help beat the crowds, and arriving just after 1pm, certainly proved a sensible move. The pub in question was the Grade II listed, Lamb & Flag, tucked away along a maze of alleyways and courtyards. 

Reputed to have  first been licensed in 1623, making it the oldest such premises in Covent Garden, the building is one of the very few left in central London with a timber frame. It's not the easiest pub to find in Covent Garden but that doesn't stop it becoming very busy at times, with office workers and visitors often spilling into the street summer and winter. However, unlike many other pubs in the area, being hidden away, means it is not quite as touristy, as some of the other, nearby pubs. On my journey up to London, I was wondering whether or not I'd visited the Lamb & Flag, in the past, but after navigating my way to that tucked away courtyard, memories of after-work pints, supped in that cramped space, outside the pub, came flooding back. even though those times would have been half a century or so previously.

The pub had been tied to Courage, back then, but now the Lamb is owned by Fuller's and offers a wide range of the company's beers. The ground floor bar consists of two small, dark rooms with low beams, wood panelling and bare floorboards. The back room has a fireplace and plain wooden seats. There is also an upstairs bar and restaurant, where the main food service is available (table service only), but I have never ventured that far inside the pub. I managed to find a seat in the back room where I enjoyed a pint of Seafarers, one of seven Fuller's beers on sale -Taylor's Golden Best, was the odd one out, but all too soon it was time to finish supping, and head off towards University College Hospital. I ran into one of the inevitable delays that often besets the Underground, but this one was due to a medical emergency, on one of the trains in front of mine.

I left the train at Warren Street, and after heading up the escalator, found that directions to UCH were clearly signposted. Now this is one heck of a building, with beds for 665 patients, 12 operating theatres, plus the largest critical care unit in the NHS. There are around a dozen floors, with the ward that our friend was in located on the seventh. There was certainly an impressive view right across central London, from where his bed was situated, taking in the Shard, the London Eye, St Paul's cathedral, plus a host of other famous London landmarks. At night, the view is illuminated by tens of thousands of lights, providing a spectacular  visage across the capital. As our friend pointed out "you'd pay a lot of money for a view like that!" 

It took some time to track down his location, as I hadn't received precise instructions from the lady who'd first alerted us to his plight, but with the help of a number of staff members, who checked various computer screens, I found him, sitting up in bed, looking slightly puzzled at first after seeing me walking round the corner. Once over his initial shock, and expressing how pleased he was to see me, we settled down and enjoyed a lengthy, and at times, quite humorous, catch-up. 

Apart from urgently requiring a haircut, our former colleague looked quite well and certainly far better than I had expected. Amongst other topics the conversation turned to pubs, and reading my mind he asked would I be stopping off at a pub, on my way back to the station? Well, yes, of course, and in a moment of real serendipity the Wenlock Arms cropped up. This legendary pub was on my list, so after hearing from my friend about the Wenlock's come-back from the dead, I settled on the Wenlock, promising that I would raise a glass to him, whilst there. I said farewell and then navigated my way out of the hospital. Stepping out from the carefully controlled, air-conditioned coolness of UCH, the heat hit me like a blast furnace, but despite the warmth, I was pleased to be on the move again. I headed down the Euston Road, before cutting in at St Pancras, and back down to the Bank branch of the Northern Line. 

I left the Underground at Old Street, and then it was over to my phone, and Google Maps. Despite previous navigation problems, the App worked well on this occasion, even though it was further to the Wenlock, than I remember. Thinking back, previous visits had usually been after the lunchtime sessions at "London Drinker", an annual CAMRA beer festival held at Camden Town Hall, and an event I remember with fondness. I was normally accompanied by a couple of West Kent CAMRA members, and had relied on their navigation skills in order to reach the Wenlock.  This time I was on my own, but following Google Maps, I headed up along the City Road, until I reached the Eagle pub, immortalised in the rhyme, "Pop goes the Weasel". ("Up and down the City Road, in and out the Eagle, that's the way the money goes, pop goes the weasel"). A right turn, followed by an eventual left, brought me to the Wenlock, which had received a much needed, and long over due, makeover. My friend and I had joked about the former state of the pub's toilets, or at least the Gents, but with a king-sized thirst, I was much more interest in topping up the tank, rather than draining it off!

All joking aside, the re-vamped Wenlock certainly looked the part, and whilst it was obviously busy, the majority of customers were stood out on the pavement, enjoying the early evening sunshine. I made my way to the bar, where a choice of beers from either Burning Sky or Five Points, greeted me. Tempted initially by the former, I went for the latter instead, where a pint of Five Points Best, proved the ideal thirst quencher. It's no exaggeration to say that this single-hop beer, brewed using Fuggles grown locally in Kent on Hukins Farm,  really hit the spot, so much so that it hardly touched the sides. Time for another, and this came in the form of Railway Porter, also brewed at Five Points, just a short distance away, in nearby Hackney. 

As well as being thirsty, I was also hungry, having had nothing to eat since the two slices of toast and marmalade I enjoyed at breakfast. I knew from the pub's write-up, that the Wenlock included Pieminster Pies, in their lunchtime offer. Well they don't anymore, and seeing as the time was getting on for 5.30 pm, it was past lunchtime anyway. After seeing my look of disappointment, the kind lady behind the bar took pity on me, and said she could rustle up a toastie - cheese and ham, too, if I fancied one.

Did I fancy one? and does the Pope pray? so of course, "Yes please". My snack took a little time to arrive, but the wait was worth it, and the toastie brought back memories of why such items were once a pub staple, especially in pubs lacking cooking facilities. I didn't rush my beer this time, instead I savoured it, marvelling at how it complemented my tasty, pub snack.

It was time to go, I'd already phoned Mrs PBT's and told her to leave my "ready meal" curry in the oven, but not wanting it to be burnt to a cinder, and in the interests of marital harmony, I began the route march back to Old Street Underground. Fortunately the connections were all good, both at London Bridge, and also at Tonbridge, where I managed to hop off the train and then, almost immediately, onto a bus that took me to the top of my road. 

So, a good day out, with not only the chance of cheering up an old friend, but also with the opportunity of strolling around the nation's capital. There was a really nice, and almost joyful atmosphere pervading the city, that day, and this seemed to extend to virtually every pub, café or outside drinking place that I passed. It was possibly encouraged by the weather, but more likely it was down to people socialising, enjoying themselves and celebrating the end of the working week. It was a great feeling to be a part of this, and escape from the doom and gloom of recent headlines, largely dominated by world events that are often beyond our control