Here we go again - but this time it's lock-down by stealth!

With Christmas fast approaching, we unfortunately seem, once again, to be on familiar territory.  Think back to last year when after categorically stating that Christmas celebrations would go ahead as normal, Prime Minister Johnson was forced into a dramatic U-turn.

Things had been developing for some time, with the alpha, or Kent variant of Covid-19 spreading rapidly across the country, bringing in its wake a wave of hospitalisations and deaths. In the face of mounting evidence, Johnson was forced into re-imposing restrictions on the hospitality trade, travel, workplaces, shops, and businesses along with strict rules about families mixing, outside their own “bubbles” (stupid term). In short, the PM was forced into an embarrassing U-turn and had to “cancel” Christmas - something he said he would never do.

Things were very different back then, as the roll-out of an effective vaccine against Covid-19 was in its infancy. 12 months on, and with most of us having received at least two shots of vaccine, and a substantial number having received a third dose – the so-called “booster” vaccine, you might be forgiven for thinking we were nearing the end of this wretched pandemic.

And so, it appeared, but just over three weeks ago, news broke about a “variant of concern” that had been discovered in South Africa. This heavily mutated Corona virus, notated by the Greek letter Omicron, was spreading rapidly and was likely to be heading our way.

Fortunately, the government acted quickly, this time around, and suspended flights to the UK from southern Africa. This was in sharp contrast to their dithering over the delta variant, which originated in India, but despite their quick-thinking Omicron was soon spreading rapidly, throughout the population at large.

Fast forward to the present and the media is awash with stories of how fast Omicron is spreading. The UK’s Chief Medical Officer, Chris Whitty, found himself in hot water, particularly from a number of senior Conservative MP’s for requesting that people should limit their socialsing over the Christmas period, and it appears that many people have taken his nannying advice to heart.

Following on from the CMO’s speech the other day, many people have been frightened into modifying their behaviour, although the government’s advice appears to be saying, carry on as normal. Weighing into an already confused situation, are the newspaper and public broadcasters who, working on the basis that bad news sells copy, seem hell-bent on forcing us into another lock-down. This view is reinforced by the stay-at-home, “protect the cheeldren” Mums Net brigade, oblivious of the fact that their precious little darlings are probably the biggest plague spreaders of the lot!

Downing Street is of course insisting that there won’t be another lock-down, but instead we are seeing a situation that many are calling “lock-down by stealth.” On commuter routes into London, passenger numbers are already way down on what they were, just a week ago, as, “stay at home” office workers desert their desks, in favour of their kitchen tables. These namby-pamby, remote workers, didn’t need much of an excuse to abandon their offices and slob around once again at home, perhaps attending the occasional, token, “Zoom meeting.”

The upshot of this contradictory advice can be seen in the already struggling hospitality industry. Hard-hit throughout the pandemic, the sector is currently experiencing a wave of cancelled bookings, with Christmas parties bearing the brunt of this. After the total washout of Christmas 2020, this is the last thing that pubs and restaurants needs.

I saw evidence of this for myself on Thursday afternoon, when I took a walk down into Tonbridge town centre. My mission, as decreed by Mrs PBT's, was to post the Christmas cards, so having popped the local ones through the relevant neighbour’s letter boxes, I queued up at what is now the town’s only post office. This is a section of shop space towards the rear of WH Smith’s, a sorry reminder of a once far more important business and operation.

Like most towns of any size, Tonbridge once had its own Crown Post Office. These were large post offices, directly owned and managed by what was originally the General Post Office (GPO). Many were distinctive and quite attractive buildings, dating back to the period between the two World Wars. They can still be seen on many High Streets, although many have alternative uses. Tonbridge’s former Crown Post Office* is now the town’s JDW outlet – the Humphrey Bean.

I digress, but the point I am making is that as the demand for postal services has declined, due to much quicker and far less costly means of communication, such as email, the Post Office has found it cheaper to rent out floor space, in separate, and totally unconnected establishments, such as Smith’s.

Mission accomplished, I fancied a pint, despite Mrs PBT’s warning not to set foot in a busy and crowded pub. Unfortunately, she is someone who, swayed by constant reports in the media, is convinced that it’s the end of days on our streets, and in particular the nation’s pubs.

Determined to prove her wrong, I thought I’d find out what was happening on the ground, so to speak. The Beer Seller, which was the first pub I walked past, seemed more or less empty – unusual for 3.30pm on a Thursday afternoon. The aforementioned Humphrey Bean also looked quiet, although in both cases my observations were made by peering through the window.

Next up was the Gatehouse, on the opposite side of the road. That too seemed much quieter than I imagined it would be. Finally, I reached my destination Fuggles, one of the town’s premier beer outlets, and somewhere I knew that wouldn’t compromise on customer and staff safety. Donning my mask, even though it’s not compulsory at present, I walked in.

Only two of the tables were occupied, each by just two persons. There were two members of staff behind the bar. They were also masked, as this has been Fuggles’ policy ever since full indoor service resumed, back in the summer. I ordered myself a drink, a rather nice pint of Gadd’s Yule Special – Little Cracker, a 5.0% Kentish Ruby Ale.

I asked the barmaid if I could take my drink outside, and she of course said yes.  thereby placating Mrs PBT’s unfounded fears about putting myself at risk. There is bench, out on the pavement, primarily for the use of smokers, but with none present, it suited my purpose of enjoying a pint whilst not in the confines of a pub.

Fortunately, the weather was quite mild, although I have to say the diesel fumes from a passing bus, caught up in queuing traffic, weren’t particularly pleasant. The beer was good, and whilst I am not normally a fan of red ales, the inclusion of some rye malt in the grist was a pleasant and flavoursome touch.

After finishing my pint, I made my way home, and made a point of telling my good lady wife, that I had enjoyed a beer OUTSIDE of a pub. She of course, knew that I would grab a beer whilst down the town, but used the news about the pubs being quiet, as reinforcement that people were heeding the warnings.

In a way, she was right, and this afternoon the Evening Standard couldn’t wait t break the news that the daily Covid infection rates were at their highest since the start of the pandemic. No mention of course, that testing is also at an all-time high, so much so that pharmacies have reported a shortage of lateral flow test kits. We have witnessed this at work, with some members of staff testing themselves on a daily basis, even though there is clearly no need to.

Meanwhile the madness continues. I might post another article on this tomorrow, but on the other hand being heartedly sick of the whole Covid debacle, I probably won’t.  

*Footnote: One of the less pleasant tasks my father had to perform, during his final days of working for the Royal Mail, was travelling around south-east Kent, in order to oversee the closure of some of the smaller Crown Offices, in places like New Romney and Hythe. He was glad to retire after that soul-destroying task! 

Winter ales at the Nelson

A winter beers festival has been running  at Tonbridge’s Nelson Arms since the end of last week, so it seemed rude not to go along, take a look and try some of the carefully selected ales on offer. I wasn’t being facetious with that last statement, as the beers had all been hand-packed and hand collected as well, by Nelson licensee, Matthew (Matt) Rudd.

Although most of the beers were dark, a few weren’t, and these included Victoria Bitter from Earl Soham Brewery near Stowmarket, and Black Country favourite, Holden’s Black Country Bitter. There were also a couple of heavy weights, in the form of Prince of Denmark, from Harvey’s and Baltic Trader Export Stout, from Green Jack Brewing, near Lowestoft.

Matt told me, and another customer, how he had embarked on a circular trip, taking in, amongst others, breweries such as Church End, Holdens, Blue Monkey, Castle Rock, Earl Soham, Lacon’s, Green Jack and Bishop Nick. That sounded like quite a tour and quite a haul as well.

 The “other customer” was a chap I got talking to, whilst standing at the bar. He was quizzing Matt as to why he didn’t pick up any Batham’s beers, when he stopped to collect the Holden’s.  Matt took the hint and said he would try and get hold of some Batham’s when he returns the Holden’s empties.

My newfound “friend” turned out to be a fellow called Brian, who had travelled over, by train, from Maidstone.  Given his enthusiasm for, and knowledge of all thing’s beer, I guessed he was a CAMRA member, and I was right. He turned out to know several people that I know in the Maidstone branch, so I asked him to pass on my best wishes, the next time he sees these individuals.

The pub was quite full, with a crowd in the public bar watching some motor race or other – something to do with a Grand Prix!  Now I’ve never been that interested in this so-called sport, which seems to rely on which team can change a set of tyres the quickest, and which driver can slip past the one in front, when it comes to a corner. Many people are fans, so it was good to see the “public bar” area full of Formula One devotees.

The area at the other end of the pub, which is around the corner of the bar, seemed popular with diners, getting tucked into the Nelson’s popular Sunday roast dinners.  There was a roast dinner waiting for me at home, so I was content to stick with the beer. I started off with a pint of Holden’s, thinking that the last time I enjoyed a glass of this tasty Black Country Bitter, was just over two years ago, in the bar at Codsall Station. Yesterday’s pint at the Nelson was every bit as good as that one, which came at the start of a boozy day out in the neighbouring Shropshire town of Shifnal.

I then moved on, at Matt’s suggestion, to the Old Ale, from Kent Brewery. Regular readers will know I enjoy a drop of the dark stuff, and old ales, which are normally of reasonable strength, have always been amongst my favourites.  So, after tracking down some Harvey’s Old Ale, the Sunday before at the Elephant’s Head, and now a pint of a slightly stronger old ale, was enough to put me in dark beer heaven.

Matt claimed that particular gyle of old, had been maturing in a tank at Kent Brewery, since last year. It was an interesting beer, with more than a touch of liquorice lurking in the background. Whilst I was getting stuck into my pint, Brian from Maidstone, left to catch his train, but I wasn’t on my own for long as a couple of local CAMRA members, Jon, and Claire, called in.

They were just in time for a spot of lunch and managed to grab an adjacent table to me. Jon was straight in on the old, with Claire, who was chauffeuring him around, on the orange juice. I hadn’t really seen either of them since before the last lock-down, so it was good to have a bit of a catch up on both the beer and the CAMRA front.

Time was getting on, and I had only really popped in for a swift one. I couldn’t leave though without sampling at least one of the strong ales that Matt had on tap, and seeing as I’ve tried, and enjoyed, the 7.5% Prince of Denmark from Harvey’s, in previous years, my choice had to be the Baltic Trader, Export Stout from Green Jack Brewery. With an abv of 10.5%, this rich dark ale doesn’t take any prisoners.

Fortunately, the pub had thought of this, and was offering the beer in 1/3^rd, 2/3^rd, half-pint, or full pint measures. I opted for the smallest of these, and at £2.60, compared to £7.50 for a full pint, it was worth paying the small, extra premium for a small glass of this fearsome beer. The two stronger beers were dispensed straight from casks in the cellar, presumably to minimise wastage as well as leave room on the pumps for the more standard strength beers.

When tasted, this full-bodied Export Stout certainly didn’t disappoint. I described the beer on Untappd as “Liquid dynamite. Thick, dark, and like liquid molasses.” Others described it as being packed full of preserved fruit, with liquorice and chocolate notes, but whatever the description, it was certainly a beer not to be missed.

Green Jack Brewing are based in Lowestoft, which makes them Britain’s most easterly brewery. The brew-plant is hosed in an old smoke house in the heart of Lowestoft’s old town, and Green Jack beers can be found all over the country. A wide and eclectic range of beers is produced, including a smoked beer, which is highly appropriate, given the brewery’s home in an old smoke house. 

I left, after finishing my glass of this very special beer, but as the festival still has another week to run, I’m quite likely to be making a return visit to the Nelson before next weekend is out.

Christmas party 2021 - no, not that one!!

I mentioned at the beginning of the month that I had been to two Christmas parties, which had been held on consecutive days. They were two very different events, and the first – the British Guild of Beer Writers’ Annual Awards, was just that - an awards ceremony, rather than a party in the accepted definition of the word. Both were enjoyable in their own ways, but it is the second of these events that I want to write about here, in a little more detail.

My company’s Christmas dinner took place on the afternoon of Friday 3^rd December. It was the first, proper sit-down meal we had had in three years, because 2019’s event, was a buffet, rather than a more formal meal, and last year’s event didn’t take place, for obvious reasons. All agreed that whilst the buffet, get-together, held at the Greyhound in Charcott, had been enjoyable, with some excellent food and a good range of beers, the pub itself was more than a little crowded.

I’m right in saying that with just under 40 members of staff on our books, the cramped nature of a small country pub, did make it rather difficult to mingle.  So, with some semblance of normality appearing at the end of September (what happened there?), the decision was taken to return to the much larger Little Brown Jug pub, which is just over five minutes’ walk away from our office and factory in Chiddingstone Causeway.

During my 15-year stint with the firm, the Jug has hosted quite a few Christmas dinners on behalf of the company, so it seemed logical to return there. In the early days of my employment, the dinners were evening affairs, which saw spouses and/or significant others invited along. The company also paid for, and arranged taxis to transport the party-goers to and from the pub – a strange decision give there is a railway station (Penshurst), literally across the road from the pub.

As the company increased in size, such events became unviable, and the decision taken to return to a sit-down meal, for staff only, held from mid-afternoon onwards. This was fine with the vast majority of employees, and fine by me as well, given the Jug’s reputation for good, heart food. Not so fine has always been the pub's less than exciting beer range, which never seems to get out of second gear.

This is a minor gripe, and the other Friday was of no real importance to me, given the surfeit of different beers I’d enjoyed the previous evening. Friday is actually my day off, but I was quite happy to wander down to Tonbridge station and take the 13.01 train, for just two stops to Penshurst.  

If you are wondering why the station is called Penshurst, rather than Chiddingstone Causeway, it’s because the latter settlement grew up around the station, rather than the station coming to an existing village. When the rail line first opened in 1836, as part of the first London-Dover route, settlements along the route were of secondary importance. Although Penshurst is 2 miles away, it was the nearest village at the time – hence the name.

Due to the timings of the train, I was amongst the first to arrive, but given the beers I’d indulged in the previous evening, was in no hurry to start drinking again.  This continued to be the case as the afternoon gave way to evening.  As mentioned previously, the beer offering was a little disappointing. The Tonbridge beer had been taken of sale - cloudy, apparently.  This left Larkin’s Traditional – a bit of a staple around these parts, plus St Austell Tribute. I didn’t fancy either, so stuck to water, plus non-alcoholic ginger beer.

The food on the other hand was excellent. I tend to go for something different at these events, rather than stick with traditional turkey. After all I will get enough of that at home, over the Christmas period. So, with a starter of citrus cured salmon, a main of poached smoked haddock, Welsh Rarebit – served on a bed of spinach and creamy mash potato, and a dessert of apple and plum crumble, my meal was anything but Christmassy. It was extremely good though, and there was plenty of it.

Whether or not the party went ahead, was somewhat debatable, at the beginning of that week, given the emergence of the Omicron variant of Covid. The consensus amongst management was the event should still take place, but the company would ask all attendees to take a lateral flow test, on the morning of the party. This was voluntary, rather than compulsory, and had little to do with Omicron.

The main reason was that having gone right through the pandemic, virtually unscathed, we had an outbreak of Covid amongst the workforce, some three weeks previously. Six members of staff were affected, all but one of whom had been double jabbed. The un-vaccinated individual was the person who initially shared the virus with the rest of her colleagues and was also the one who experienced the most severe illness.

We have since had a further two colleagues test positive, and again both these people were double vaccinated. Being of a certain age, I received my booster, three weeks ago, as did Mrs PBT’s, so with a flu vaccination a well, my left arm is starting to feel like pin cushion! I’m not really sure what to think, apart from two things. The first is that as society as a whole has opened up, following the lock-downs at the start of the year, people are mingling more. This affords more opportunity for the virus to spread.

The second point relates to waning immunity – something the scientists were aware of for quite some time. The fact that the fully vaccinated members of staff experienced relatively mild symptoms, whilst the unvaccinated individual was laid up in bed, is evidence that whilst the vaccines can’t always prevent infection, they can limit its severity AND make transmission far less likely. Because of that last point, we strongly suspect but, of course, can’t prove that the unvaccinated person was responsible for infecting the rest of her colleagues.

 Omicron too, now seems inadvertently linked to Christmas parties – ones which the government is still pretending didn’t happen. With the proverbial brown stuff, about to hit the fan, what better way to deflect criticism of the Prime Minister, than by calling a press conference and beefing up the anti-Covid measures. Strange times, indeed!!

 

Pre-loading at a couple of London Heritage Pubs

In the comments section of my post about the Beer Drinkers Guild Awards Dinner, I mentioned briefly that I called in at a couple of National Inventory Heritage pubs. This was on my way to the event, which took place in the sumptuous surroundings of One Great George Street, just along from Parliament Square.

Having looked online, I discovered there were two Heritage pubs in close proximity to the venue. With this in mind, I took the decision to take an earlier train up to London, to allow time for a brief visit to both. What I hadn’t bargained for was both pubs being full to the gunwales but, as the saying goes, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

 The first of these two pubs was the Red Lion, a Fuller’s tied house, situated at the far end of Whitehall, where the road merges into Parliament Street.  It is a tall building occupying a corner site and was rebuilt in its current style at the end of the 19^th Century. As might be expected from a building of this age, the Red Lion has plenty of etched and polished glass, along with equal amounts of carved and molded mahogany.

I wasn’t really able to see much of these ornate surroundings, given the amount of people present, as it really was a case of standing room only. I also thought should I have even been there, given the crowded nature of the pub, and a new variant of Covid-19 on the loose. Having received my booster vaccination shot, three weeks’ previously, I dismissed these concerns, as on the plus side it was good to see a pub so busy, once again, but if I’m honest the crowded situation didn’t make for a pleasant drinking experience.

I managed to wedge myself in next to the bar counter and right in front of the pumps, but I was disappointed to see no ESB on sale. Instead, I tried a half of Jack Frost, which is one of Fuller’s seasonal offerings, but has never ranked as one of my favourites. Brewed to a strength of 4.5%, using dark malts, plus a dash of blackberries, the beer was pleasant enough, but wasn’t really what I was expecting. 

The barmaid was friendly and quite chatty, despite being busy, but annoyingly payment was card only. It was time to move on, and the second pub was only a short hop away. The St Stephen’s Tavern turned out to be another cashless pub, as well as another corner one. It was also equally crowded. Situated directly opposite the Houses of Parliament, St Stephen’s Tavern is reported to have a Division Bell, which can be used to summon MP’s back to the House, if an important vote is due to take place.

Another unusual feature is the pub is owned by Dorset brewers, Hall & Woodhouse, who bought, restored, and reopened this historic drinking house, in 2003. As with the Red Lion, there was plenty of ornate, cut, and etched glass, which form a special feature of the back bar. Being equally packed out, it again wasn’t that easy to appreciate the lavish surroundings. 

 In keeping with it ownership, Badger beers were pride of place on the bar, and the half of Badger BestI had, was particularly good, as well as being rare for central London. With the prospect of a boozy evening ahead, I had deliberately stuck to halves, but I was also trying to limit my exposure to the breath of dozens of fellow humans, anyone of whom might have been a "plague carrier." This was more of a sub-conscious decision, but as with the previous pub, the St Stephen’s Tavern was uncomfortably crowded. 

 The time was getting on, and I had an engagement just the other side of Parliament Square so, as they used to say in the News of the World, "I made my excuses and left." After all, there were plenty of other beery delights to look forward to that evening, and on the plus side, I had scooped a couple more National Inventory Heritage pubs.

Marching down from the top of the hill to the Grand old Duke of York

I nipped over to Tunbridge Wells on the bus, last Monday. It was a miserable day, weather-wise, although the rain fortunately held off long enough to allow me to set the Christmas lights up, outside the house.The reason for my trip was to return a pair of shoes that I’d bought online. They shoes were made by Clarks and I’d picked them up at the end of last month, at a heavily discounted price, in the company’s so-called "Black Friday" sale.

The shoes were delivered, ahead of schedule, but when I tried them on, they were uncomfortable and too far too narrow, especially across the widest part of my foot. In some respects, this serves me right as whilst the Clarks website did show several photos, taken from different angles, it was difficult to know whether they would fit, or how they would feel on my feet. This was in spite of the ability to enlarge the photos, on the site.

So, a lesson learned as, in a way, I broke my own rule about not buying clothing or footwear online. The clue is there folks – you can’t try the items on, prior to buying, no matter how large the discount! Fortunately, there was the opportunity of returning them, so there was no real harm done, and reading the small print, I discovered I could return the shoes to a local store.

This certainly beat the hassle of having them to be couriered back to Clarks and was also the perfect opportunity of calling in at one of Tunbridge Wells’ many pubs. I travelled over by bus, from a stop that is just three minutes’ walk from my house, taking full advantage of the free travel afforded by my bus pass. I alighted a short distance away from the company’s Tunbridge Wells shop, where I not only managed to return my “uncomfortably tight” pair of shoes, but also managed to exchange them for a pair that fitted well, and comfortably too.

Mission accomplished, I decided it was time for that rewarding pint of beer, I had been looking forward to, since lunchtime. The rain that had been quite light earlier on, turned heavier, so taking advantage once again of my free travel pass, I hopped on a bus, for a quick three-stop ride down to the town’s historic Pantile’s area. I was making for the Duke of York, an early 18^th Century pub, on a prominent corner site, close to the historic Chalybeate spring, that established Tunbridge Wells as a spa town.

I have used the pub on and off, over the years, but in 2012 it went considerably upwards in my estimation, when it was bought by London brewers, Fullers. I had it in my sights last Monday, as providing the chance of a pint of the brewery’s famed ESB, and when I walked in, and embraced the Duke’s warm, inner glow, the pub and the beer did not disappoint.

 

A welcoming log fire was blazing
away at the far end of the bar, whilst the bar, that runs virtually the entire length of the back wall, was festooned with Christmas decorations. A bank of five hand-pulls adorned the counter, offering a range of beers that included Dark Star and Gale's, as well as Fuller’s. I of course went for the ESB, which despite retailing at £5 a pint, was well worth it. Full-bodied and satisfying, and packed with rich, juicy malt flavours, I had forgotten just how good this beer, which was once Britain’s strongest, regularly brewed draught bitter, could be.

There was a reasonable amount of people in the Duke of York, particularly for a damp and dismal Monday afternoon, but the pub wasn’t crowded, by any stretch of the imagination. Perhaps it was the soft glow of the fire, or the twinkling of the lights from the Christmas tree, by the door, but the bar that afternoon, possessed a real feeling of warmth and contentment, which not only added to the general atmosphere, but was also something that is hard to describe at times.

It was difficult to take photos, without making it too obvious, and in this respect, I admit I’m nowhere near as adept at surreptitious photography as seasoned "pub tickers” such as Retired Martin or Simon Everitt (BRAPA). So, short of standing up and pointing my phone in the general direction of people, who might not want to be photographed, the internal scenes of the Duke of York, captured here, are the best I managed to come up with.

There wasn’t time to stay for a second pint, or the visit another pub, especially as “dad’s taxi” had been booked to pick son Matthew up after work. His car was awaiting repair. So, after consulting my Arriva Bus App, I walked up to stop outside the rail station in order to catch the bus, back to Tonbridge.

I missed the No. 402 bus, because I was unable to read the number and destination displayed on the front of it. My glasses had steamed up, as a result of the mask I was wearing. The sensible thing would have been to have not fitted it until just prior to boarding, but I dislike having to keep faffing around with the wretched thing. Unfortunately, waiting for the next bus meant missing my connection in Tonbridge, by a couple of minutes.

The latter was a local bus that would have saved me a 20-minute, uphill walk, but the exercise did me good, and it had stopped raining.  I still arrived home in time to drop off my new shoes, pick up the car and then drive back down into Tonbridge, to collect young master Matthew. 

Before finishing, I’d like to share a few facts with you, about Clarks Shoes, and my association with this iconic brand of footwear. The company was founded in 1825, at Street in Somerset, by two brothers Cyrus and James Clark. It might sound strange, but it was one of the first companies to offer proper, “foot-shaped” shoes. In 1873, James’ son William mechanised the shoe making process, and by 1910, Clarks had become a “must-have” brand for the fashion conscious.

When my sister and I were growing up, our parents insisted on buying Clarks shoes for us, but it was only recently that I discovered the reason why. It was in the early 1940’s, that one of the company’s directors developed a foot measuring system for children, that ensured that shoes were fitted correctly. I mentioned about having my feet measured in a blog I wrote, back in April, describing my purchase of a brand-new pair of walking boots. They were Meindl, rather than Clarks,but the principle remains the same.

Today, Clarks shoes are once again being made in Somerset, following a 12-year hiatus, when production was transferred to the Far East. The company has changed hands a number of times since the start of the new century, and is no longer family owned, but it remains in the collective consciousness of many of us, especially those who spend large amounts of time on their feet.