19th February 2020
A night in the UK’s dullest
town Premier Inn.
I don’t know what Mrs RM did wrong in a previous life to be born in Tunbridge Wells, marry me, have a HQ in Maidenhead and get sent to Sevenoaks to work. But she soldiers on.
A mile into town and a lone GBG entry now the Spoons no longer makes the cut.
The Anchor is plain, unfussy and designed for boozing, though I’m fairly sure Pub Curmudgeon raved about the pub lunches (pies, ploughmans, salmon) in here a while ago.
Six in the pub at six, three pumps.
Gadds picks itself. Technically, it’s in the same county as the Anchor.
“Pint, Mrs RM? “ She always sits down and leaves life’s big decisions to me.
She wasn’t impressed with the Wantsum, not badly kept but with an oversweet taste.
Should have asked for a sample.
The Gadds was better, so she nicked that off me. I had to have a half of the Franklin to get the sweetness of the Wantsum out of my mouth. NBSS 3 for the lot, GBG standard I guess.
Good boozer, friendly service, no swearing, varying beers on this occasion.
Mrs RM then had a £5.50 bottle of imported Thai IPA (“tastes like BrewDog” ) in the Giggling Squid, and was almost giggling herself as we admired the tiny bit of Sevenoaks central that isn’t fast cars rushing past.
A newish micropub/gin bar (mainly gin bar) had already closed shop, and we decided against the Black Boy, which will no doubt now make the next GBG.