retiredmartin

June 2025. West Wickham. South-East London.

The struggle is real.

A 2:15 hour train trip to Boring Beckenham in the June heatwave to tick two GBG micros that could have been anywhere. Anywhere in Kent or South London, specifically.

You’re expecting me to say “It’s not you, Beckenham, it’s me“, aren’t you ? But it’s not true. Even from the front seat of the top deck of the 194 I could get no joy from a town famed for Bowie, (Enid) Blyton and (Floella) Benjamin.

In truth, I spent that 20 minutes working out a way to get to West Wickham, tick the (other) Real Ale Way and be back on the bus within an hour to make use of that £1.75 “Hopper”.

As it was, the traffic slowed to a crawl at Upper Elmers End and I walked the last mile, at least able to confirm that this was, indeed, a modest suburb of Bromley.

The heart doesn’t race when you arrive at a micro called “Real Ale Way” or “Ale Hub” or “Cask Corner”, does it ?

I’ll be hard pressed to distinguish this from any of the other 3 dozen small bars in this Kent/London borderland, though they’ve made a decent job at the seating,

the young barman was very pleasant, and the Tonbridge Country Best was a chewy 3.5..

But I was fading, my comments on the Untappd check-in as mysterious as that Ed Balls tweet.

And, despite there only being two other customers in that bar, both of them said “Excuse me” for no obvious reason. “Excuse” and “Me” really are the two most hateful words in the English language. Just go past mate.

I rushed the pint, deciding late on to risk catching the train back from West Wickham rather than New Beckenham. The fare would have been the same. Will I go to prison ?

Back in Waterbeach, I realised that Sunnyside had been cleared of all plates and utensils, and I had to scoop up my Singapore rice and spicy squid with the plastic lid off the instant coffee.

Some of my American readers will sympathise.