By a HUGE stroke of luck Kentish Paul was able to avoid me when I visited Tonbridge. It’s actually almost impossible for us to meet up when we do visit in-laws, as I have to sneak out when they’re asleep and then finding the key is a challenge.
But having failed to tick new Guide entry the Beer Seller on 3 previous visits I wasn’t missing out.
AND I had just enough time before the butler called tea to make a first visit to the grounds of Tonbridge Castle.
The castle was built in 1999 (Ed: check that) to allow the good burghers of Tonbridge to have a clear view of the ancient Humphrey Bean, one of Sir Tim’s most vibrant Wetherspoons.
I know it’s vibrant as Mrs RM and I had a night on the tiles with Paul and his charming son Matthew (proper names) a few years ago and we did the Spoons and the Man of Kent, but escaped before the karaoke.
Tonbridge looked wonderful in the sun, every bit as compelling as T’Wells, and I never lie on such important matters.
And the Beer Seller joins recent entries in really boosting Tonbridge’s pubby stock.
Rustic is the word.
First in at 4pm, so no chance of saying “what he just had” , but you can’t go wrong with Goachers.
I took a sip of Gold Star at the bar.
“Blimey (or possibly cor Blimey) that’s the perfect temperature”. I guess 11, but I’ve no idea 11 what as I failed CSE Chemistry.
But it was perfect, even if some folk disagree on perfect temperature and head size.
Decently priced too. I’ll go back with Paul and we can have a conversation about Alice bands, possibly a Grealish reference.
But it’s the toilets you want to see, right ?
There is, I fear, a minor Smokey Robinson obsession going on here. Fair enough.