retiredmartin

April 2025. Tonbridge.

Another weekend down in Kent with the in-laws. They’re better company now than they were in 1992 when they almost didn’t show up at our wedding (Catholic stuff, don’t ask).

Arriving at 9pm we parked the campervan up by the castle, near the shop with Dylan vinyl (£15 !),

and hit the posh pubs.

Local resident Kentish Paul had only just been to the Ivy House, scoring the Harvey’s a 4.5, and I trust Paul’s judgement on such important matters.

In fact, I’m sure Mr Bailey was in there when I was otherwise engaged ferrying folk back and forth to Tonbridge School ahead of the “Messiah“, and I’m equally sure I sure some of these soloists,

sprinting between the church and the pub. The queue for the single loo was so interminable I should have taken Matt’s advice and followed them.

Mrs RM, of this parish in her late teens, recalls the Ivy House as an upmarket restaurant,

so the transformation of sorts into a casual pub with upmarket food is striking.

That “SNUG” is a lovely room, except for the seating. High tables throughout, the sort of seating that attracts the youthful and deters the gentlefolk in my experience,

but it’s packed and there’s cask and chat and more evidence that Tonbridge is a town on the rise.

Only space on the ledges looking out on to the street and a packed beer garden, but that’s OK, and the Sussex was more than OK.

OK, not quite the 4.5 of Paul’s experience, but a cool 3.5 would have warranted a second pint if Mrs RM hadn’t already said “Fuggles ?”.