A parting of the ways

This is the post I thought I’d never have to write. The article I waited six months before writing; the action I never mentioned at the time, but last November (2019), I took the decision not to renew my membership of CAMRA - the Campaign for Real Ale.

After 45 years continuous membership, it wasn’t an easy choice to make, but during  the last few years, I’d felt increasingly disillusioned with the direction the CAMRA had been taking. I’d been a member since my student days, having joined in 1975 at the relatively young age of 20. 

Unlike today, CAMRA was very much a young persons' organisation; although there was a healthy mix of older members as well. It was good talking to them, as many had been drinking beer before the advent of keg and top-pressure dispense, back in the days when virtually all draught beer was cask-conditioned “real ale.”

There was still a healthy sprinkling of local independent brewers spread throughout the country, and whilst this number had slowly dwindled, there were still quite a few family-owned independents plying their trade when CAMRA first came on the scene in the early 1970’s.

Fast forward to the present day, where the beer scene in the UK has changed beyond all recognition. There are now almost 2,000 breweries operating in the country, many producing a range of beers that would have been unimaginable 45 years ago. The beer scene in these islands would certainly have been far poorer if CAMRA hadn’t have come along. Furthermore, there has been a massive upsurge of interest in beer which has spread right across the world.

In its four and a half decades of campaigning, CAMRA has achieved far more than its founders, and early members, could ever have dreamt of, so it’s no exaggeration to say that CAMRA acted as the catalyst for the creation of hundreds, if not thousands of new breweries, all over the world. Drinkers in countries such as the United States, as well as many other parts of the world, owe the campaign a huge debt of gratitude for showing them the way forward, and inspiring them to re-create long-lost beer styles and start up new breweries.

Times change and success too, sometimes comes at a price. CAMRA has increasingly become inward looking and lost its overall focus. More and more it seems like a ship adrift. This loss of purpose has accelerated  in recent years, with people aged sixty and over now accounting for most of the membership. We now have a situation that is almost the polar opposite of that prevailing when I first joined the campaign.

Like many older members I warned that the shortage of young and enthusiastic volunteers in their twenties or thirties would have a detrimental effect on CAMRA activities, and unfortunately these dire predictions have come true. The campaign’s inability to attract new blood onto its ranks has led to many local CAMRA branches struggling. Some are dying on their feet.

My disillusionment with CAMRA set in several years ago, when the group had already arrived at a crossroads in its existence. After 40 years of dogmatically using cask-conditioning and dispense methods as the sole yardstick of quality, CAMRA had backed itself into a corner. Things had changed and time had move on, there were plenty of  excellent beers on the market that, whilst not cask-conditioned, were every bit as good.  The well-intended, “Revitalisation Campaign,”  set up to re-dress this in-balance, proved a disaster and ended up making matters worse.

As the campaign softened its approach to beers which didn’t meet their definition of real ale, the reformers within the campaign were met head-on by the “dyed in the wool,” old-school, diehard CAMRA stalwarts, who refuse to accept any beer which has so much as looked at a cylinder of CO2. This effectively drove a stake through the heart of the organisation, despite the best endeavours of the national executive to try and patch things up. 

It really did seem like it was time for either the Campaign to call it a day, or for CAMRA and me to part company. However, there was still something deep in my unconsciousness which didn’t want to let go of an organisation which had been part of my life for four and a half decades. The fact I had put my heart and soul into the campaign, made any decision to quit even harder, and at times, I agonised over what to do.

In the end, I knew what my answer would be, so I cancelled my direct debit mandate and wrote to the campaign’s membership secretary, explaining my decision. You can read my full resignation letter, at the end of this post. 

Had I been a life member, then things might have been different, but when this facility was made available to members, I couldn’t afford it. Life membership, costing ten times the annual subscription rate came at a time when I was financially embarrassed. I had recently changed jobs; a move which involved a long commute into work. We’d bought a bigger house, with a larger mortgage and my wife had given up work owing to birth of our son.

Instead, I continued renewing my membership annually, by direct debit paying considerably more over the past quarter century than life membership would have cost, but that’s just the way of things. To be honest, I didn’t expect CAMRA to be around for as long as it has, so I was wrong on that score too!

To wrap up, there are many more things I don’t miss from not being a CAMRA member, than the handful of things I do miss. Top of the “don’t miss” list are Good Beer Guide surveys and GBG selections meetings. The later are often divisive and can be biased as well. The guide itself is now way past its sell-by date and, despite claims to the contrary, exists primarily to generate income for the Campaign.

CAMRA committee meetings come a close second, as do being involved with organising local beer festivals – an unbelievably stressful and time-consuming occupation, especially when you’ve got a full time job as well..

I also don’t miss the CAMRA Discount Vouchers; Wetherspoon or otherwise. Back in the day, I only used a fraction of them and besides,  I don’t agree with CAMRA supporting large pub chains at the expense of small, independently run locals. Tim Martin isn't exactly my favourite person either.

The social side of the Campaign has always been for me, one of the most important aspects of CAMRA, but despite no longer being a member, I still keep in touch with what is going on within the branch, either via friends or by means of the various WhatsApp groups set up to keep people informed as to what is going on at a local level.

The one thing I really do miss is receiving copies of CAMRA's award-winning, quarterly Beer magazine. This publication is a real credit to the campaign and is an asset which should be exploited by being made more widely available.

 Finally, here is the letter I wrote to CAMRA, tendering my resignation.

Dear CAMRA

It is with regret that after 45 years as a member of the Campaign, I have decided not to renew my membership.

It's been a lot of fun along the way, I’ve met scores of interesting people, made many good friends and got to drink some amazing beers in some equally amazing pubs, but all good things come to an end.

Had I been a life member my decision might have been different, but I feel that CAMRA has lost its way and is no longer relevant in today's fast changing world.

CAMRA can hold its head up high though, for providing the spark which led to the totally unforeseen rise in interest in beer around the world, and the creation of hundreds, if not thousands of new breweries, producing an unprecedented and ever expanding range of different beers.

I'm proud to have played a part in this incredible achievement, and for this reason alone I think it's best to go out on a high. With this in mind, I have instructed my bank to cancel the direct debit mandate, in respect of my membership.

Wishing the Campaign all the very best for the future.

Best Regards

Paul Bailey  

 

Checked baggage - or travelling light?

It was interesting to see the latest Coronavirus-related advice from the Department for Transport regarding hand luggage when taking a flight. The department claims that travelling without cabin baggage makes it quicker to get on and off the aircraft, reducing the chance of transmitting the virus. “You are strongly encouraged to check in baggage to the aircraft hold and minimise any hand baggage. This will speed up boarding and disembarking and minimise the risk of transmission.”

Cabin baggage has become something of a hot potato in recent times, even before the current Corona pandemic. It’s a subject I’ve got my own views on as well, even though I’m unlikely to be flying anywhere at the moment.

When I started taking regular commercial flights, some 15 years or so ago, the term "hand baggage" normally referred to the small “carry-on” bag taken onto the aircraft by passengers. Typically, the bag would contain items needed on the flight such as medication, make-up, reading material or possessions of high value that the owner wanted to keep a close eye on.

 

I also seem to recall that checked baggage – the heavier and bulkier suitcases etc that were carried in the aircraft hold, travelled free. It was the advent of the budget airlines which turned the whole concept of baggage on its head.

Because they charged such low costs for the flights, they attempted to claw back money from elsewhere and started charging passengers a fee for hold baggage. Canny flyers cottoned onto this and switched to travelling light, with just a small suitcase of rucksack Unfortunately, many of the established major airlines, followed the lead of their low-cost competitors, by cutting the cost of fares, whilst re-cooping some of their costs by charging for checked baggage.

Now I fully agree that travelling light i.e., with cabin baggage only, has its advantages, especially as it avoids the whole time-consuming baggage check-in and reclaim processes. There is something liberating in turning up at the airport, having checked in previously at home, as most airlines now insist, then going straight through security and into departures.

It’s even easier, once you reach your destination, as it’s off the plane, straight through border control and customs and out into the arrival’s hall. No hanging about waiting in the baggage reclaim area and wondering whether your bag is going to appear on the carousel.

The downside to flying with just hand-baggage is the world and his wife is doing the same, and the onboard, over-head lockers do not have the capacity to cope with the demand. Not only that, but people have started to take the p*ss by turning up with cases that are obviously too large, safe in the knowledge that hard-pressed airport staff rarely challenge them to try fitting their over-sized bags into one of the gauges provided.

I’ve often seen many a poor slip of a stewardess, struggling to lift, and then force one of these cases into the locker, so it’s poetic justice when one of these tight-wadded passengers does get challenged at the gate. “That bag is too large to fit in the lockers sir; it will have to travel in the hold. That will be £50, please.” Serves them right!

Leaving aside current, potential virus issues, the Department of Transport are right about checked baggage speeding up boarding and disembarking, but only because these selfish numpties insist on trying their luck.

There are also other issues at stake, whatever your feelings about hand baggage. Passengers, understandably, may want to have more of their possessions to hand during the flight. They might also want to avoid the risk of having their checked baggage lost or damaged (it happens), but on the other hand, financial incentives and safety concerns (including take-off weight limitations), have caused airlines to impose limits on how much, and what, passengers can take into the aircraft cabin.

With regard to safety, there are unbelievable stories of passengers struggling to retrieve bags from the overhead lockers when having to evacuate the aircraft in real life emergency situations. Imagine your life depending on getting off that plane as quickly as possible, only to find your exit route blocked by some ignoramus struggling to extract their bag. Perhaps they should also stop to put their coat on, and brush their hair, whilst they’re about it? 

Time to step back for a moment, as fortunately such emergencies are relatively rare, although I have sometimes wondered just how quickly a full aircraft can be evacuated. I’m also unlikely to be flying off anywhere, in the immediate future, whether it’s for pleasure or for business. I imagine that return flight I took to Edinburgh, at the beginning of January, will be my only time in the air, this year.

Whatever happens in the next few months, the vexed subject of hand baggage will be one which will continue to impact both airlines and passengers, but unless the former begin enforcing the rules rather more strictly than at present, we are going to see a lot more cabin crew off work, with bad backs, hernias or worse. 

I've had a few formatting issues with this post, which I'm sure the observant amongst you will notice. This is primarily due to the new-look "enhanced " blogger layout. Time for a re-think!

End of lock-down?

Judging by the number of cars on the road last weekend, you could have been forgiven for thinking that the lock-down is over and everything’s back to normal. It was my idea to take a drive down into Sussex, and head towards Rye, in order to do our weekly food shop. Local independent grocery retailer, Jempsons have a large and well-filled superstore at nearby Peasmarsh, so a trip across county lines would enable us to go somewhere a little different for our shopping and see a little of the Sussex countryside.

It’s amazing how after being confined to a narrow area between home and work, the prospect of a 50-mile round trip could seem so exciting. Three and a half months ago we were looking forward to cruising in luxury across the North Sea to Hamburg, whereas now a short drive towards the coast seemed quite daring and definitely exciting.

We set of shortly after midday fully expecting the roads to be relatively free of traffic. Boy were we in for a shock.  Almost as soon as we joined the A21 to the south of Tonbridge, we became part of a steady stem of traffic. I was fast moving in the main, but that was the scary bit, as it seemed like every petrol-head and boy racer was out on the road, participating in a mad dash to the coast. To compound the sense of "Mad Max," there were dozens of bikers on the road as well, all eager participants in what seemed like a race to oblivion. 

We were glad to turn of the A21 at Flimwell and then cut across towards Rye via Hawkhurst and Newenden. Whilst waiting at the traffic lights in the centre of Hawkhurst, an ambulance came hurtling towards us in the opposite direction, its blue lights flashing an sirens wailing. "Another Covid patient being rushed to hospital," said son Matthew from the back seat. "More like one of these idiots going too fast," my wife and I both replied.

The traffic thinned out considerably after Hawkhurst, and as we crossed the River Rother and into Sussex, over the old stone bridge south of Newenden, we noticed the hire boats out on the river once again. We continued along the winding A268, skirting the village of Beckley, before reaching our destination on the edge of Peasmarsh.

I’ve written about Jempson’s before, but to recap they are a family-owned, Sussex-based company offering locally sourced products and services. They were founded in 1935, as a bakery business in the village of Peasmarsh, just outside Rye and today run two supermarkets, two convenience stores, six cafe’s, a pharmacy plus a petrol station.

Jempson’s are everyone’s favourite independent grocery store and, amongst other goodies, they sell “sausage rolls to die for.” Their Peasmarsh Superstore opened in January 2002 on the same site as that chosen by the firm’s founder, George Thomas Jempson 80 years ago. Mrs PBT’s and I have often called in there on our way back from visits to Rye, having been impressed by what is on offer there.

Saturday’s visit was slightly different due to lock restrictions, with a one-way system in place. This was well laid-out and easy to follow, so I left Eileen to do the shopping and walked around with Matthew, who wanted to buy some bits of his own. The café was obviously shut, which is a shame as I like to grab myself a coffee whilst Mrs PBT’s picks up the groceries.

Before anyone access me of sexism, this is very much my wife’s choice.  She rightly points out that it only take one person to shop; her pet hate being couples (especially elderly ones), who amble up and down the  aisles whilst dithering over what to have for dinner next Wednesday and what they could do with the left-over Sunday joint? I’m sure you get what I’m talking about here.

So, no relaxing cup of coffee, which was probably just as well as the toilets were shut; one of the real downsides of the current Corona-virus situation! Are customer toilets that much a hot bed of infection capability, I wonder? (Probably yes, according to the latest science.)

Straight back to Tonbridge it was then after loading up the car, with no scenic drive along the coast, or stop-off at Dungeness for fish and chips. We gave the A21 a miss on the drive back, taking the route through Ticehurst and Wadhurst instead. With the pubs shut, there was no point in stopping off at the Bull Inn at Three Leg Cross, either.

The route brought us in at the bottom end of Tunbridge Wells and up passed the common. It seemed like half the town was either sitting or lying out on the Common, soaking up the afternoon sunshine, but most of the groups did seem to be sensibly spaced from one another.

I spent most of Sunday in the garden, until Matthew asked if I fancied a walk around the Sportsground. He drove us down, mainly to give his car a bit of a run, but also because I’ve been hobbling around of late. An insect bite, at the bottom of my right shin, has turned septic causing an infection known as cellulitis. I’ve been prescribed a course of antibiotics, but even these seem rather slow at shifting the infection.

A walk probably wasn’t the wisest of things, under the circumstances, but I fancied a look round Tonbridge’s largest area of open space. We parked near the swimming pool and then took the path that follows the stream right round the perimeter of what is known locally as the "Sportsground."  This meant we largely manged to avoid most of the crowds out taking advantage of the sunny weather.

Matthew wanted a look at the boats moored on the opposite bank of the river. Some of these are lived in, and form part of a small community of narrow boat owners centred around the local boatyard, known locally as the “Venice of Tonbridge.”

The boatyard was the centre of controversy a few year ago when the people living in the narrow boats moored there were told there would be changes made to their tenancy agreement. This meant they would no longer have access to electricity, drinking water, toilet and washing facilities, shed storage and garden areas, which had been included under their previous agreement.

Given just two weeks to sign up and faced with a High Court action to evict them, most of the owners left. It had been suggested that the family who owned the yard wanted to build there, even though the local authority had advised it was very unlikely that planning permission would be granted, due to the risk of flooding.

Fortunately, a benefactor in the form of a boating enthusiast, who had once lived on the river himself, stepped in, secured a long-term lease on the yard, cleared up the site in line with health and safety regulations. He then invited prospective tenants to apply for a mooring with what is now known as Tonbridge Boatyard Ltd. Several boats have now returned, and it was good to see this community of boat owners back in their rightful place.

We made our way back towards the High Street. Matthew wanted a look at his shop which has been shut since the start of the lock-down. He is due back there next Monday, helping a couple of management colleagues get the premises safe and ready for reopening at the beginning of next month. Like many others, he is looking forward to going back to work, after 14 weeks on furlough – another American word that has found its way into our language.

Monday just gone, was the first day of trading for many “non-essential” shops and small businesses. Traffic on my journey into work was noticeably heavier, and even more so yesterday morning (Tuesday). I took a different route into work, noticing as I drove past the entrance to Penshurst Place that this popular late medieval manor house is also reopening to visitors; albeit by means of pre-booked appointments only.

Slowly but inexorably, life is gradually returning to some semblance of normality.