retiredmartin

August 2023. Royal Tunbridge Wells.

It was approaching 8.30pm on a Tuesday in Tunbridge Wells and a combination of Imperial Stouts and Danish cherry wine had left Mrs RM less convinced on the merits of a walk along the A26 back to Southborough and the bosom of the in-laws.

Being all heart (I even let the gal have a taxi back from Sheffield station on a filthy night last week) I tracked down a Number 7 bus headed for Maidstone, with a bus stop right outside “happy hair”, whose lack of capitals is still bugging me.

Of course, the Number 7 never turned up, and the only other chap waiting didn’t look surprised.

Mrs RM strode off, then suddenly made a jerky leftward turn at Culverden Down, which is indeed a handsome name for a road.

I’d pointed out the Tiger Tavern on the walk into town; Mrs RM was convinced no such pub exists, and her surprise was palpable.

I wouldn’t have said t’Wells has a bounty of back street boozers, but the Tiger looked a classic on entry with animated debate and ribald laughter and folk of all ages. And no signs of food.

At the bar, the young barman said “Have you booked a table ?“.

Oh. it’s the Tuesday quiz, the saviour of the suburban pub since 2013.

We weren’t playing, so we just sat at the bar and had a half and watched.

Wondering about the excessive beer range ? Well, it was Harvey’s on a font under the bar and the six old favourites on the beam (below).

The Sussex wasn’t great (2.5), but then I didn’t see another pint pulled amid a sea of Cruzcampo and Moretti. Talk about taking back control.

But when a pub is busy as this I doubt anyone cares about cask, and to be honest I’d doubt 1 in 20 pints being pulled is cask in the pubs I go in these days (outside of Kelham Island).

There’s some lovely quirky touches, including a guide to taking a vinyl record out of a sleeve and some great views out of the window in the Gents.

Back at the bar, Mrs RM was shouting out correct answers to annoy the quizmaster, and it was time to go.

“Name the five capitals of countries in the European Union starting with “B” “.

“Berlin, Bern, Budapest, Brusssels, Bratislava”

“NOT Bern, idiot, Switzerland ain’t part of the EU !”.

We returned to the A26, where amazingly the Number 7 then turned up 26 minutes late, the exact amount of time we’d been in the Tiger.

Back in Southborough, the Imperial looked like it might be the best pub in the world.

But it isn’t.