Are rumours true for 2022?

If the rumours are true, and I’ve no reason to believe they aren’t, CAMRA – the Campaign for Real Ale is making plans to publish a 2022 edition of is best selling Good Beer Guide. Why is this newsworthy? I hear you ask.

Well, in case it had escaped your attention, we’re still in the grip of a global pandemic, and the UK is still in the middle of its 3^rd National Lockdown. In many cases, certainly here in Kent – origin of the fast becoming, world dominant B.1.1.7 variant of Coronavirus, pubs have been closed since the beginning of November, with no signs of being allowed to reopen until May, at the earliest.

This leaves a number of quite serious hurdles to surmount if an edition of Britain’s top-selling pub guide is to grace the nation’s bookshops, from next autumn; not least of which is how will local CAMRA branches go about surveying and selecting entries. Also, given the devastating effect closure has already had on the licensed trade, how many pubs will be in a financial position to reopen once they’re allowed?

At the beginning of October last year, I wrote a lengthy piece on the difficulties associated with producing such a guide, so I don’t intend on going over them again. What I will say is few people appreciate the effort that goes into the Good Beer Guide, and the sheer volume of work that has to be done before the publication is sent off to the printers and “put to bed,” as they say in the print trade.

Nearly all of this work is unpaid and carried out by branch volunteers. The cynics amongst you might say that as these individuals have nothing else to do (they can’t go to the pub, can they?), they will be quite happy sitting at home, acting as unpaid data in-putters. This misses the point, and what’s more the data the volunteers will be working for is likely to be the most up to date and, given the evolving situation, highly likely to change.

Before going any further, I haven’t actually seen the plans that CAMRA have
for what will be an interim, rather than a full, true to form edition. There is no news of this venture on CAMRA’s official website, although after searching I did find one local CAMRA branch making tentative plans for surveying and selecting potential pubs - virtually?

Instead, I am relying on information published by avid GBG “ticker” and prolific blogger, Retired Martin, on his site of the same name. Martin mentions CAMRA Discourse – a forum I am unable to access now that I’m no longer a CAMRA member, before going on to state that the guide will contain around 3,600 pubs that are identified as open and serving cask, with a launch planned for late October.

Sales of the guide will inject some much-needed cash into CAMRA’s coffers but, more importantly, will keep the whole Good Beer Guide idea alive. The publication of even an interim guide, will also provide a sense of continuity – an important point to note in what will be the 50^th anniversary of CAMRA’s foundation.

Although I am no longer a member, I still have a soft spot for the Campaign, so if the guide does appear next year,  I wish the GBG, and CAMRA all the very best.

You can read more about the work that goes into the publication of the Good Beer Guide each year, by clicking on the link, here.

Nothing to look forward to?

One of the worst things about the current lockdown, and perhaps any lockdown, is the uncertainty. Not knowing how things are going to end or how they will come about is bad enough, but worse still is not having anything to look forward to.

The reality of this was brought home to me in a conversation I was partially involved with. It took place in our local chippy whilst I was waiting – socially distanced of course, for our fish supper to be fried.

As a family we’ve used the same excellent, local chippy for years, and for the majority of that time the business has been owned by a Turkish Cypriot family. Normally there’s the owner and his wife behind the counter, and quite often the proprietor’s father. But for the past few months there’s only been the boss and one of his employees present. It turns out his father managed to get back to Cyprus, before the ban on travel came into force, and I’m assuming his wife is at home, looking after the kids.

It’s one of the couple’s children who made the remark that’s the inspiration of the title of this post, proving there’s a lot of truth in the saying, “Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings.”  The story behind it was related to me and a couple of other customers, whilst we were standing in line waiting for our fish and chips to be cooked.

The normally quite jovial owner told us that lockdown was having a bad effect on his children, cooped up indoors for much of the day and unable to meet or mix with other children.  His daughter has been particularly affected, and the comment she came out with one afternoon, really melted his heart. “Daddy,” she said, “there’s nothing to look forward to anymore.”

“What could I say?” He asked us, and apart from the obvious sympathetic noises, there was very little we could say in reply. The trouble is, that little girl was right, as with lockdown No. 3 in full swing there really is very little to look forward to at present. Of course, this tedious situation won’t last forever – or at least it had better not! But when you’re a child, a month can seem like a longtime, whilst a year appears to go on forever.

When you think about it it’s the little pleasures in life that we all look forward to, as well as some of the bigger ones, which help us get through a busy working week, or a spell of bad weather, and it’s these pleasures, whatever they might be, that are not just important, they are quite often vital in keeping us focused, sane and not freaking out.

Many of us look forward to nights out with friends or meeting up with family, whilst others look towards bigger things. That well-earned summer holiday, short city break, or a meal out with a loved one, all help us get through times of stress or just the mundane pressures associated with everyday living.

For me, its choosing a holiday destination and then carrying out the necessary planning to bring that trip away into reality. Equally, it’s a meet-up with friends where, invariably a visit to a pub will be involved, whether as the main theme or as an aside. A walk in the countryside or, a “Proper Day Out,” where a group of like-minded individuals travels to a town, renowned for its range and variety of decent pubs and, of course, decent beer.

It was one such day out in Burton-on-Trent, almost a year ago, that represented my last such carefree and enjoyable, get together, and my last meticulously planned opportunity to visit a different location.

There will be other such days in the future – these kill-joy public health officials can’t keep us locked in our own homes forever – even though they seemed determined to try their hardest. These obsessive fanatics focused solely on a single issue – Covid, at the moment, fail to understand the value and the pleasure that trips such as these contribute to our happiness and sense of well-being, and how much planning and looking forward to such events matters in all of our lives.

What a dull, boring and uninteresting world we are bequeathing to future generations if we prohibit activities that involve socializing, travel or just enjoying the company of our fellow human beings; all because of a virus with a morbidity rate of around 0.9% when averaged out across the population as a whole.

Economies too, are being ruined by the draconian restrictions on way we live our lives, that are a direct consequence of lockdowns. Adults can understand such measures, and put up with them, providing they are temporary and there is light at the end of the tunnel, but it is different for children.

The anguish of the local fish & chip shop owner’s daughter, about there being nothing to look forward to, must ring a bell with a great many people at present. Unless there is a clear and positive way out of this, we are stoking up a severe crisis in mental health, whilst attempting to avert a not so obvious and proportionally less serious, physical health crisis.

A roller-coaster week

It’s been a real roller-coaster of a week, with emotions running high and the mood music swinging both ways. Tuesday was the day set aside for my father’s funeral a sad but, as I will describe later, moving and uplifting occasion that allowed us legally, to escape the confines of Kent and journey up to Norfolk.

With hotel accommodation uncertain, and opportunities for dining whilst away from home severely limited, this meant driving there and back in a day. This is something I’ve always tried to avoid in the past, following the experience of the umpteen trips I’ve made to Norfolk, this past quarter century.

When my parents first relocated to Norfolk, it was common for myself, and quite often the family as well, to stay at their place, but as their health began to deteriorate, bed & breakfast or a hotel room, became the order of the day. An overnight stay, or two allowed me to experience a bit more of Norfolk than the area surrounding Dereham, which is where my parents settled down.

The return drive is perfectly doable but, it is not a particularly pleasant journey and being in the saddle for that length of time does take it out of one. Needs must though, so I booked three days off from work: one either side of the funeral itself. Due to the pandemic, I haven’t used much of my annual leave, and seeing as there’s only so much we can carry over into the next financial year, I thought I might as well use some up.

We were due at Breckland Crematorium at 1pm, for dad’s funeral, so obviously not wishing to be late, set off in plenty of time. We left Tonbridge at 8.30am, and whilst the traffic was steady, there were no holdups. The usual delays prior to the Dartford Crossing did not materialise, whereas normally there would have been congestion at that time of the morning.

This was probably due to a reduction in commuter traffic, but whilst the number of cars was definitely lower, the same could not be said about the lorries. Commercial vehicles of varying sizes abounded, including a fair number of foreign registered trucks, undeterred by the border chaos caused by leaving the Single Market. How could this act of lunacy have ever been considered a wise move?

Another thing that was increasingly evident, especially around the M25, was the poor state of the road surface, with rather too many potholes, including some potentially suspension wrecking craters. This really isn’t good enough, but then if government money has been squandered on converting large swathes of Kent into giant lorry parks, perhaps not surprising.

Despite these obstacles, we made good time, following the time honoured route of M11 and then A11, through Essex, a small section of Cambridgeshire and Suffolk into Norfolk. I know this route like the back of my hand, to the extent of every roundabout, what lane to be in, and the position of the speed cameras.

Breckland Crematorium is a new addition to the local area and from our point of view, saved a journey into Norwich and its congested inner ring road. It is in an attractive rural location, close to the village Scoulton, to the west of Watton.  Rather surprisingly, it’s a family-owned concern, rather than being run by the local authority.

We arrived a couple of hours early, so after parking up broached the picnic that Mrs PBT’s had packed up for us. A flask of coffee and a few sandwiches later, we took a drive into nearby Watton, for a quick look. The Hare & Barrel Hotel on the western edge of the town, where I’d spent a night a few years ago, ceased trading before the pandemic, but there are still several other hostelries closer to the centre. Watton also seems well served by Chinese and Indian takeaways, along with a Transylvanian shop – Romanian, presumably? And good too to see an independent butcher and several bakers.

We returned to the crematorium to await the arrival of my younger sister and her own grown-up children. The pandemic sadly meant my other sister was unable to fly over from the United States, although she was able to view the service via a live webcast. Other relations, including the Welsh contingent, were also unable to travel – the latter group falling foul of the same constraints regarding hotels, as us.

Dad’s age – he was five months’ short of his 90^th birthday, meant that surviving friends and contemporaries are few and far between, so sadly it was a rather thin turnout present, to say farewell to him. We’d chosen a celebrant rather than a priest to preside over the service, as whilst mum was deeply religious, dad was far less so, and went along with the church side of things just to keep his wife happy.

It was a nice and very moving service, with the celebrant leading the introductory words of welcome, based on information about dad that I’d supplied to her, followed by me reading out some memories of dad and his life, that I’d written. I’d been told beforehand, to speak up and talk into the microphone. Fortunately, I was permitted to remove my mask whilst reading out my tribute.

It was difficult, at times, not to choke up, but I managed to compose myself for most of my talk. It was the music that really brought out the emotion, especially the introductory track “Puff, the Magic Dragon,” by Peter, Paul & Mary. This was a favourite song from childhood, and one which dad liked too, whilst my sister and I were growing up. There is something powerful about music that can really stir the emotions, and this track certainly did this with me.

After the service, we all trooped outside managing to suppress the very powerful human instinct to hug one another. We agreed to meet up, as a family, for a proper get together, once this Covid nonsense is over. Dad’s ashes will need to be interned, in the plot next to mum at the natural cemetery and ceremonial park at Green Acres, on the outskirts of Norwich, so there will be at least one more trip up to Norfolk.

We drove home via Watton, Mundford and Brandon, passing the massive USAF base at Lakenheath, where my American brother-in-law had been stationed, before re-joining the A11 at Barton Mills. The return journey was uneventful, with again no hold-ups, although traffic on the approaches to the QE2 Bridge was predictably heavy.

So, despite news reports of motorists being stopped for travelling out of their immediate location, we did not see a single police car, let alone a checkpoint. Our outward and return crossings of the Thames at Dartford will obviously have been recorded, but as I have a Dart Charge account, the fees will automatically be debited from my account.

We had a lie in on Wednesday morning, before getting ready to go out shopping. Shortly before midday, I answered a call on the landline. It was our local medical centre in Tonbridge, offering Eileen and I a Covid vaccination the following afternoon. We both of course, said yes, even though it meant me taking an additional half day off from work.

The Baptist church, at the north end of Tonbridge, has been commandeered as a vaccination centre. We took a drive down that afternoon to check out things such as parking, and then on Thursday afternoon, I left work early and collected Mrs PBT’s from her workplace.

We arrived at the vaccination centre in good time, parked and joined the queue. It was all very well organised, with an army of volunteers assisting. After checking in, we were both interviewed by a doctor, who happened to be from our own practice, before being shown into the main hall, instructed to roll up our sleeves in order for a nurse to give us that all important, shot in the arm.

We were told beforehand that it was the Oxford AstraZeneca vaccine we’d be getting, and after the injection we were given a card, with the date, time and batch number of the jab, along with a date and time for the second shot. I must admit to feeling quite emotional about the whole thing, which really is a splendid example of the coming together of the scientific, research and healthcare communities in order to develop, test and roll out this vaccine in record time.

Those driving were asked to remain seated in the hall for 15 minutes, just to check for any possible reaction, and then we were free to go. We’ve both experienced very mild, flu-like symptoms that are similar to those associated with the flu vaccine. It will take three weeks for this first shot to confer maximum protection – of around 60%, with the second injection boosting this to around 90%.

Our combined medical practices in Tonbridge have done a first-class job and seem to be ahead of neighboring towns such as Tunbridge Wells. Eileen and I only turned 65 last year, so feel both grateful and privileged to have received the vaccine so rapidly. We will need to continue complying with current guidelines of mask wearing and social distancing, until the situation is well and truly under control, but at least in a few weeks’ time we will feel more confident about mixing with others. This will be a particularly welcome boost to Mrs PBT’s.

I said it had been an emotional week!

 

Ayinger Bräu - Munich's favourite country brewery

Whilst bemoaning the total lack of travel opportunities at the moment, I started looking back at some of the places I have visited over the years – places where beer inevitably plays a pivotal role. Most of my holidays have been relatively short city breaks, and there are two places that keep coming up. More than that, these two cities seem to compete with each other for my affection and hence it is often difficult to decide between the two.

The two cities are both relatively close to one another, and both are famed the world over for being places where large amounts of beer are brewed and enjoyed. You might well have guessed the names of these two places by now, but in case you haven’t, they are Munich and Prague.

Since the middle of the 2000’s, when I was free to travel again, following the sale of our off-license business, I have made six visits to both cities, although Prague comes out on top due to a much earlier visit, back in 1984. My son Matthew has accompanied me on most of these trips and, like me, he seems equally torn between the Bavarian and the Bohemian, but for this article it is Munich I want to concentrate on.

 Our last visit to the city was a fleeting one, in May 2018. We’d spent a few days in Bamberg, with some friends from Maidstone CAMRA and because we’d flown in and out via Munich’s large international airport, we managed a short stop off in the city on our way home. We also took a short break there, the previous February.

This was primarily to meet up with Matthew’s best friend; my role primarily being to keep an eye on the two, whilst acting as a sort of tour guide. Mid-winter isn’t the best time for visiting any city in northern Europe. The bright lights and the crowds of the Christmas markets will have long vanished, and spring still seems a long way off, but I still enjoyed the break. 

It got me thinking that it is a long time since we enjoyed a proper summer holiday in the Bavarian capital and when I checked it turned out our last high season break in Munich was in 2014. We were unlucky with the weather that year, leaving sub-tropical temperatures behind as we left England, to experience a 10 degree fall in temperature and leaden skies, on our first full day in the city. A sudden change in direction in the jet-stream, bringing the remains of tropical storm “Bertha” was responsible for the wettest and chilliest holiday we’ve had in Munich, but we still managed to track down plenty of decent beer.  

I was reminded of this holiday by some beers I bought back in December. Unable to serve the on-trade, local beer café Fuggles, who have outlets in both Tonbridge and Tunbridge Wells converted their premises into off-licences offering a wide range of bottles, cans and mini-kegs for customers to takeout, and it was here that I picked up some beers from Bavarian brewers  Ayinger Bräu,

The latter brew in the village of Aying, a 35-minute train journey on the S-Bahn to the south of Munich. The company like to promote themselves as “Munich’s favourite country brewery,” and it is well worth making the trip out to Aying in order to sample their beers.

A short walk from the station leads to the village centre, where you will find the brewery inn and guest house complex, known as Liebhards.  Ayinger Bräu’s large, modern-looking brewery is on the western edge of the village. It brews a wide and diverse range of different beers and also offers tours, although I have still to go on one.

Previously our visits to Liebhards, had been in the early evening, but in 2014 we made the trip at lunchtime instead. It was our first full day in Munich and the grey-leaden skies were pouring with rain like it was never going to stop. We got soaked just walking up from the station, but once inside the rustically furnished, but surprisingly large inn, and with a half-litre mug or two of Ayinger Bräu’s excellent, unfiltered Kellerbier in front of us, all thoughts of the inclement weather outside vanished.

We arrived at around 12.30pm and the pub was quite quiet, but not long. After we has sat down and ordered our drinks, several parties of mainly elderly people came in. Like us, they seemed glad to escape from the rain, and like us they ordered some food to go with their beer. Actually, we only ordered some soup, as we were planning on eating something more substantial in the evening, but the chicken noodle soup and the dense, dark local Landbrot that went with it, were exactly right for lunchtime.

If you don’t want to make the trip right out to Aying village, the company’s beers can be found in several outlets in Munich itself; including Ayinger am Platzl, opposite the Hofbräuhaus, right in the city centre. The latter is run by a member of the Inselkammer family, who also own and run the brewery, but for thirsty travellers, who have just arrived in the city, there’s another Ayinger run establishment, directly opposite the Hauptbahnhof (railway station).

On the northern side of Arnulf Straße, directly opposite the halt where the Lufthansa bus drops off passengers from the airport, you will find Wirtshaus Rechthaler hof.  Its yellow painted walls and distinctive Ayinger Bräu signs, are easy to spot, and on the last afternoon of our February 2017 visit, we decided to pop in for a couple of final beers, before taking the bus to the airport. We were glad that we did, as the place was spotlessly clean and welcoming, with an interior decorated in a traditional Bavarian-style, with wooden barrel ends mounted on the wall, animal trophies and historical pictures.

We chose one of the high tables close to the window, so we could sit and watch the world go by, whilst enjoying our beers.  I sampled the Helles, plus the Altbairisch Dunkles; both were good, with the former being probably the best beer of the trip. Judging by the newness of the décor, I was wondering whether Ayiner Bräu had only recently taken over but given the central location of this excellent pub and the quality of its beer, I would definitely recommend a visit.

I digress and returning to my haul of takeaways from Fuggles, I bought the following three bottles: 

 Kirtabier 5.8%, is an amber coloured, Märzen style beer, that is packed full of
chewy-toffee, malt-driven flavours. It is soft on the palate, whilst being rich in flavours, making it easy to drink and enjoy.

Winter Bock 6.7% is a strong, dark, Bock style beer, full of rich, but soft roast malt flavours, balanced by the spicy, earthy pepperiness derived from a generous hopping. Rich in flavours whilst soft on the palate, this is the perfect winter beer to enjoy on a cold late January night.

Celebrator 6.7%. This is a strong, Doppelbock beer, brewed specially for the winter season. I haven’t opened this one yet, although I might at the weekend, for reasons that might become apparent toward the end of this piece.

This talk, and sampling of Ayiner Bräu beers has increased my yearning for a return to Munich and that train ride back out to the village of Aying. Foreign travel may well still be several months away; it might not even be possible until the autumn, at the earliest. But when it does come, I shall make that journey to Aying, walk up to Liebhards and drink deeply of whichever beers they have on tap. I might even call in at Wirtshaus Rechthaler hof as soon as I arrive in the city.

One thing that really does fill me optimism at the moment, is the phone call I received earlier today, asking Mrs PBT’s and I to attend the local vaccination centre, for our first shots of the Covid-19 vaccine. The local medical centre has even given us the date for our second jabs.

A small step I know, but a significant one along the rocky road to an eventual return to some form of normality. That eventual outcome can’t come soon enough, and I’m sure we are all in agreement on that! 

Footnote: The Lufthansa transit service, to and from Munich airport, is a bus in the American sense of the word. Effectively it is what we Brits would call a “coach.” If you want comfort, style and a reasonable transit time, it really is the best way to travel into central Munich. It certainly beats struggling onto the S-Bahn with your baggage, and then sitting there as the train stops at every station en route – that’s if you can even get a seat!