5th February 2020
Our favourite Kentish blogger Paul Bailey is doing a great job avoiding me (or it the other way round ?).
First a trip to Dundee when I joined Mrs RM in Tonbridge last month, and now my flying visit to Charcott coincides with his Welsh funeral. We’ll probably catch up somewhere weird like Burton.
Yes, I’m really racing through the counties now; big spreadsheet coming up.
The Greyhound will make a great destination pub for walkers when the paths dry up a bit. The birdsong alone was worth the trip.
It’s only 5 minutes off the A21, and you can stay in this lovely B&B and stagger home the 100 yards from the pub.
Charcott is barely a hamlet, so a pub only recently saved by ACV (discuss) relies on trade from the bustling metropolises of Tonbridge and Penshurst.
I arrived to find about 20 cars parked in a yard opposite, but that turned out to be the eponymous body repair shop. It couldn’t do much for my Aygo.
Pubs in hamlets fall into two camps. Drinking clubs open 4 nights a week from 5pm, and often classic, and dining pubs drawing in gentlefolk from neighbouring village while keeping a seat for Bert and Dave to sink a pint and debate parking charges.
I turned up when they were taking a break from diners, but luckily still opened to serve foaming pints of 3.4% Larkins (NBSS 3.4, coincidentally) to a few cheery locals, one of whom had just been “propositioned”.
“After all that excitement I’ve got to go home and put the slow cooker on” he told us.
A lovely half hour, with the Stones for a soundtrack, and the sort of banter you just don’t here in Surrey.
“My advice is, don’t eat lettuce before bedtime. It’s all downhill from there”
“Aye, it’s the tip of the Iceberg !”
“I’m nicking that” I said, as I headed for the marvellous Gents. And I have.