Next stop Dover for Matt’s post-hardcore gig, and a chance to evaluate the state of preparations for Britain’s latest car park (aka the M26).
Oddly, Google Maps then sent us via the M2, forcing a late change in GBG-driven lunch plans. Ah, Faversham.
Underrated as a pub destination due to some folk’s preference for Harvey’s or Adnam’s over Shepherd Neame, but as perfect a little town as anywhere in the South-East. Whatever the Pub Curmudgeon polls say.
Plenty of Olde England, plenty of real town. Starting at the underpass.
I’m not sure what’s most attractive about Ticklebelly Alley; the name or the font. Matthew Lawrenson can decide.
Why do ALL Faversham’s pubs look so inviting ?
I wanted to pop in the latest Kent micro, which lacks the splendour of the Sheps estate, but benefits from an entry in the Guide.
“Ooh, can I go in there ?” said Mrs RM.
“No !” said Matt, aware that a) they don’t serve salted caramel fudge cake and b) Mrs RM would never leave once she’d seen the Beavertown taps.
Instead, I installed wife and son in the last free seat in the Spoons and loaded the App.
Note, if you will, the holy trinity of pub transport. Pushchair, bike and mobility scooter. I should get an award from the Faversham Flyer for that one.
I ordered them about 7,376 calories worth of food for a tenner on the app (Punk IPA for Mrs RM) and nipped back to the Corner Tap while they weren’t looking.
Craft bar/micro yes, but a bit more airy and pubby than the norm. And some folk didn’t fit the micro median (middle-aged bloke).
Some nice clear signage at the bar, a huge range of beers, and some Whitstable cask served from those taps that confuse the whole keg/key keg/cask issue that some folk get awfully worked up about.
The Pale Ale was on the chilled side of cool, which I’m loathe to complain about after a Summer of soup, but there you go. NBSS 3, tasty but a bit thin.
But here’s the thing. NO-ONE SAID A WORD. With no music or banter, just appreciation of beer, it was deathly quiet.
A youngish visitor came in, stared at the bewildering range of options, asked for something “hoppy” and ended up with Gamma Ray. #CaskIsDead.
I hurried back into the bosom of the Leading Light, where Family Taylor had hardly missed me, but left me hardly any of the salted caramel pudding (which is epic).
Sadly, I had too walk past the Elephant again on the way back past the station. What a pub.