retiredmartin

June 2023. Chislehurst.

For mysterious reasons, we parked our campervan at Dunton Green railway station and took the train into Chislehurst, just as half of the commuter world was heading in the opposite direction.

One of the highlights of the 2023 Guide (not that I’m doing it) was a return to Chislehurst, a place I can neither spell or remember anything about (apart from it being the poshest part of SE London outside that bit where Deserter lives), despite five (5) pubs in The Spreadsheet;

I gave Mrs RM clear instructions;

“Right Mrs RM, we’ve got an hour between trains, the rain comes at 8, one mile to the pub, one mile back, 20 minutes for a pint“.

Honestly, that’s not difficult, is it ?

But on the first stretch of the walk past the caves, the picturesque houses,

and the Travellers Rest hiding in the woods (“can’t we just go there instead ?”),

it became obvious that asking your wife to run to a pub is unacceptable in 2023, despite my encouragement (“did it in 21 minutes, good girl !”) as we approached the Cockpit.

This new micro-cum-florists is on Royal Parade, possibly the high street of Mumsnet dreams.

Inside and outside, this felt the smartest micro pub since, well, ever.

Mrs RM grabbed a table, shouted something about “soda and lime” and left me to it.

The chap who’d appeared at my right got served before me, a combination of locals privilege and the invisibility of the middle-aged Martin I presumed; I bristled.

But I think he’d assumed I was already being served as he looked MORTIFIED when the wonderful staff turned to ask me what I wanted. I mean, really uncomfortable. That’s why there’s queues in Spoons.

I forgave him his sins, and brought back a Gadds No. 5 (a bellwether pint) and, there being no soda machine, a lemonade for Mrs RM.

who was NOT happy that I didn’t know that lemonade is not a suitable sub for soda. Truth is, I had no idea what soda is, often mistaking it for tonic. Why can’t everyone just drink ale like CAMRA intended ?

Mrs RM went off to get her own sparkling water, I decided the Gadds was startlingly good (NBSS 4), and a partly placated wife judged that this was a rather special place, despite a lack of bench seating and Hi-Vis.

Upmarket pub snacks,

impressive bouquets.

Local Pub of the Year, and rightly so.

Gorgeous walk back to the station via the commons,

arriving back at the station just before the heavens opened.

We resisted a doner at the poshest station kebab hut* in the UK.

*Unless you know better.