A Proper beer blogger would have called this “An Ale In Swale“. But I’m not.
The last of the Kent mini-series, which no doubt you’ll be pleased about. Hopefully I can meet up with Paul Bailey in Tonbridge and do karaoke again*.
At least the Sun in Bredgar is a Proper Pub, to a point.
Those villages south of the M2 are pleasingly mysterious and inaccessible. All I can tell you about this bit of Swale is that I was stuck on the A249 into Maidstone four years ago as pashmina-wearing Kentish folk queued to get into the County Showground for an “Elton John” gig. Reg hadn’t told me about it in advance.
Helped by blue skies, it was all very bucolic.
But you can never escape the twitching curtains.
“I’ve never been to Bredgar” as Charlene sang in 1982. Rural North Kent at its finest; technically Sittingbourne but with bottom ponds, light railways and Hucking, which was banned in the UK in 1984.
Annie Lennox, last heard in Tyler Hill, should have been banned in ’84, after the release of Music Crime (Nineteen Eighty-Four). Instead she continued to torment us with the soundtrack to a gazillion traditional pub lunches. The Sun was on track 2 of “Diva” when I got there.
Open all day, the Sun had an exciting suggestion of rare beers from Cornwall drawn from the cask.
Half a dozen drinkers spread throughout a rambling pub, none seemingly photogenic enough to warrant my intrusion into their privacy, and a decent Master Brew (NBSS 3) which nonetheless made me wish I’d gone for Sea Fury, since they’d imported it from Cornwall for the tickers..
After Annie, they played Toto. But not “Africa”. Mudgie can guess, I’m sure.
*No, I never did do that post. Saving it for a wet Tuesday in Stoke.