November 2024. Dungeness.
Plenty of undiscovered Kent and Sussex coast to explore from the base of Mrs RM’s Rye caravan; never been to Lydd. And oddly, until Saturday we’d failed to make it to Dungeness, which holds a strange place in the English psyche due to remoteness, the rolling (?) marsh, a desolate but beautiful shingle beach, and a power station. Like Spurn Head with a nuclear device.
I chose to drive Mrs RM there on a dreich November day, ignoring the charms of the touristy Pilot in favour of the bitter chill of the boardwalk,
the view to somewhere French and therefore dangerous,
and an arty little community that reminded me more of Sark than Southwold.
I’d hoped to get Mrs RM to climb the lighthouse,
but luckily for her it was closed so we had to visit the pub.
The Britannia looks like a beachfront cafe, and we enter to a display of postcards and an ice cream cabinet and a soundtrack of “Lovely Day“. Which it’s not.
Despite the beams, it feels it a bit “social club”.
But social clubs are the new craft bars, and you get a better welcome.
Yep, it’s Shep(s), which would make a good title when I make it to Faversham.
A rare sighting of Master Brew, a sighting that doesn’t last long.
“Sorry, I think this might be on the turn (?)”.
Well, you’ll rarely get a pint exchanged with better grace, AND the clip is turned round, though that may have betrayed the staff awareness the barrel needed changing.
I could have waited for that new barrel, but cut my losses and had the crafty Bear Island which means that a) Stafford Paul may never talk to me again and b) if the Britannia ever gets in the GBG I’ll have to go back.
“Young Hearts, Run Free” comes on, the Bear Island is…OK, actually, and though it’s only a quarter past 11 the place starts to come alive with folk who fancied a trip to the coast but forgot it’s windy there.
Worth staying for the music, to be honest.
As always, in a Sheps pub, always ask for a bottle of 1698.
retiredmartin 
I see that Southern Water – or whoever – have turned the English Channel back to the colour I remember from the 1960s, since the EU Commission couldn’t nail the last government for failing to enforce the laws.
And in so little time too…
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I worked at Dungeness B back in the seventies. The Britannia was a great pub then selling Courage beers.
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“a) Stafford Paul may never talk to me again”
You well know that’d never happen.
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Mrs PBT’s loves Dungeness more than I do, my opinion having been clouded by fruitless hours, sea fishing from that windswept, shingle beach, back in my youth.
Anonymous is correct about the Britannia being a Courage house, but as the lady of the house prefers the Pilot, it is many years since I last stepped inside.
My late father claimed that the pub started life as a WWII blockhouse, and it certainly looks like it’s made out of concrete.
Dungeness has become very popular, in recent times, possibly enhanced by the upmarket “Fish Shack”, of which there are good reports – from my neighbour. Still a great plaice though, if you’ll pardon the pun!
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Worth reading to the end for the pun, Paul 😉
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