beer | Wait until next year

Monday, a day off and finally some sunshine, so I spent the day working in the garden, doing some good honest manual labour for once. By late afternoon my body was creaking and it was clear I needed a long, cold drink. I headed for the Duke.

The Duke is a funny old place. You have to ring a buzzer and wait to see if they will let you in. There’s a big screen behind the bar where staff can check whether you’re OK or look like you might start trouble, and then choose to ignore you, speak through the intercom, or buzz you in. I guess this kind of thing could give off a cool speakeasy vibe, of being allowed into a secret den, but in reality it all just feels a bit awkward – furtively waiting outside a pub for their judgement on whether you are a suitable patron or not.

I’ve heard this is related to past trouble, or their licensing conditions, or a combination of the two. I don’t know for sure. But I guess if it means a pub has stayed open I can’t be too critical, even if it does spoil things a little. It’s nice to walk into a pub without fanfare.

So, you press the buzzer, then you hear a second buzz – the judgement has been made and you’re allowed in! However, it is at this point that you realise that the door is really stiff. Or maybe the mechanism hasn’t unlocked yet. One last push and, yes, as you are propelled into the bar it turns out the door just is really stiff after all. It is not the most dignified entrance.

But things pick up. The TV is showing an 80s music channel. “Cuddly Toy” by Roachford has just started playing. I get a warm welcome from the barmaid. It is a pleasantly cluttered place, lots of pictures on the walls, various vases and knick-knacks about, bottles of spirits three-deep behind the bar, but all tastefully done. Somewhere that feels cozy without feeling like you are somebody’s nan’s house. The place was done up a few years ago and with the decor and a really nice green tiled bar it is far, far better than the hovel it used to be. This used to be a pub everyone swerved. Now when I walk by on a Friday night it is packed, generally with an older, fairly affluent crowd, by the looks of things.

I take my drink and then face my next challenge. Where to sit? It’s not that it’s busy, far from it, but every table is adorned with a little reserved label. I mill about a bit. The barmaid realises my predicament and reassures me they are just for Bingo Night later on and I’m free to sit where I like. Crisis averted. But with this and the door shenanigans I feel like a real novice.

The place starts to fill up, slowly. A tradesman with a pint and a paper. A man who sits at the bar, gets out his tablet and controller and starts playing computer games with his pint – certainly not what you see in every pub, but seems as good an activity as any. Some women enter and seem to have brought along some Tarot cards. The gentle hub-bub of regulars begins.

A beer rep decked out in company gear comes in after having similar trouble with the whole buzzer/stiff door set-up. It is good to know I’m not alone. I suspect being a beer rep is not the most fun job. Nobody wants to watch a salesman in a pub. He isn’t too pushy, seems more focused on being helpful, and is soon on his way.

I finish my pint and pop across the road for a Chinese takeaway. I don’t want to get caught up in the rush when the bingo starts.

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February 27, 2026

Pub Thoughts #6

A black and white photo of a pub on the corner of a street. There are some mock tudor features, black bars on white walls. On the corner there is a turret with a pointy roof.

God, it’s rained a lot lately. Day after day of the stuff from the start of the year, relentless precipitation, the only variety in weather being whether you’ll get drizzle, a shower or a downpour.

And yet, the dog still needs walking. And one night we headed out for a walk and the heavens opened and we were all soaked and we were very grateful for the dog dragging us obligingly into the nearest pub. She’s a well-trained pub dog.

The Duchess of Kent has always felt very much like a local’s pub. It’s not quite a backstreet pub, but it is pretty tucked away and surrounded by residential streets, a park across the road, a school next door. It is rather handsome on the outside, a corner pub that looks like a cross between a cottage and a castle, a mix of mock tudor and red brick with a conical roofed turret as its centrepiece. We haven’t used it often but it’s always been fine, by no means a destination pub, but certainly a pretty fair option when you’re wet through.

We got the most lovely welcome. The landlady recognised us from the odd visit. She offered to take our coats out to the back to dry them off properly. The dog’s coat was placed over the grill of a small open fire to dry too.

The landlady’s family and friends, who seemed to make up most of the clientele at the time, were shooed away from the fire so we could sit by it and warm up. For a moment it felt much more like being a guest in someone’s home than being a customer in a pub.

Once we’d dried out and thawed out a little we moved away from the fire, not wanting to hog it and increasingly aware that the dog wasn’t too sure about all the spitting sounds from the flames. We found a table in the corner, well placed to take everything in but not feel like we were in the way. The landlady brought over dog treats, told us the dog was welcome to sit on the banquette seat we were on. Her son came over and made a fuss of the dog too. This all pleased the dog very much. We enjoyed a drink and some crisps, packets torn and opened out on the table, as they should be.

A few other people popped in and sat at the bar, nursing their pints. The pool room seemed popular. A woman came in and had a drink while doing the crossword. I always think it is an encouraging sign when you’re in a pub and see women feel comfortable drinking alone in there. The football was on the telly, but more as background than as focus.

It was time to brave the rain again. Hopefully it had died down. We asked for our coats and they were in a much better state than when we came in. Wrestled the dog into her coat. And out into the world giving our thanks for the welcome, for the warmth. We stepped out. The rain wasn’t so bad now.

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February 20, 2026

Pub Thoughts #5

The ceiling of a pub. There is a huge branch reaching across. Various lanterns and light hang from the ceiling and fall between the branches.

Sunday afternoon in The Old Tiger’s Head, Lee. It’s good to see a pub doing well when it has had its fair share of trials and tribulations – to go from boarded-up to thriving is quite an achievement, I think. It was sad seeing its counterpart across the road, The New Tiger’s Head no longer a pub, but at least the building hasn’t been completely left to rot. As an aside, I think more pubs should have matching names.

The place is very much a Sunday Lunch kind of pub. It seems like every table is having a roast dinner. The decor is modern and a bit trendy, but with an underlying pub-ness. It appears to be catering more for the monied folk up the road in Blackheath than the less well-heeled lot down the road in Lee. Everything is, well, keenly priced. The staff, on occasion, seemed harassed.

I could absolutely see why it is popular, but I also thought it wasn’t really my kind of pub.

A midweek lunch at the White Cross, North Cray. A country pub that one day woke up and found a massive dual carriageway was running past it. And as such, it’s not the easiest pub to get to unless you’re driving there.

Inside was all more modern than I was expecting from the look of the place outside and the age of the pub. At a small bar at the front sat a few drinkers, the locals/regulars by the look of it. As you walk around the bar to the back of the pub there’s two seated sections, one very much looking reserved for those having meals, but really the whole area seemed more for eating than drinking. Drinks were to be ordered from the bar. Food from a separate counter. So, you have patrons dancing between the two, and their table, trying to get through their order.

There were older couples, a few people who looked like they’d popped out from work, at one table a big family birthday party.

Clearly the food is what brings people in, and a busy pub on a weekday afternoon is another achievement in this day and age. The staff seemed a bit harassed too.

Clearly food-led pubs can and do work. But I’m not sure they make for the most relaxing places to go. The staff are having to juggle food and drink orders, along with whatever other demands coming from patrons often with very different needs – it’s hard enough serving drinks quickly let alone fielding questions about the menu, asking about allergies or dealing with special requests to change what will be on someone’s plate.

And there can be a bit of an off-vibe too. People in for a pint create a different atmosphere to a big family having a meal. Either can be annoying, and in the same place that annoyance can multiply – either with each other, or with the staff, or from the staff to the customers. Too many things for too many people makes nobody happy.

However, if food helps keep pubs alive I’m all for it. And there’s certainly times when it’s nice to head out for a meal but you want something less formal than a restaurant but with a little more service than a fast food place. But I don’t think it is easy to find places that get both food and drink right – it takes two quite distinct skillsets to strike the right balance and create the best possible environment for everyone to enjoy. A great pub that does food and drink right, with an atmosphere that appeals to all, feels a bit like a unicorn.

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January 31, 2026

Pub Thoughts #2

A framed beermat advertising Shepherd Neame Blacksmith, a strong stout, in black and red lettering. There is a picture of a blacksmith working in the centre of the beermat.

Back with more thoughts!

We were in the William the Conqueror at Rye Harbour last weekend. We went in at teatime Saturday after a stroll around the nearby nature reserve and it was a reminder that a long walk is improved immeasurably by a good destination. The place was cosy, calmly lit and while not too busy it wasn’t too empty either. The kind of place to rest weary bones and enjoy the post-windchill glow of cheeks.

It’s a funny old place in the sense that a lot of its business happens during the day, and so by teatime things are winding down, whereas in most pubs this would be around the time things start picking up for the evening. But it made for a nice refuge – the daytrippers and dog walkers had gone and there were just a few of us hardy souls still out here at the last pub before the sea. I like a pub that feels like an outpost. The last call of civilisation before the wilds of nature take over.

I had one of their last bottles of Shepherd Neame’s Christmas Ale. I can take or leave SN’s beer but their bottled ales are almost always worth a go. It was pretty strong but packed full of malty and spicy flavour. Best to only have the one, I think.

The other night back home and another trip to the Local Unfashionable Pub we went to last week where we got a warm welcome despite being far from regulars. It’s those little things that make a difference and help you to overlook any pub’s shortcomings. Give me a friendly pub over a quote-unquote “good” pub any day. The 6X was a nice surprise too, the kind of boring brown bitter that is still worth championing.

The place soon filled up with the Tuesday cribbage club. It seems to be the case that Tuesday night is cribbage night in this neck of the woods, or at least that’s how it appears from seeing it in one or two other places too. This lot looked more like the pros though, displaying a trophy and everything. The place would have been practically empty without them, and it was good to see some frankly pretty elderly people out down the pub of an evening. While I’m not a big fan of pub games, if it brings more people in I’m all for it, and if it brings in different kinds of people then all the better.

Friday afternoon, and the local town centre Spoons was rammed. In some ways it benefits from being the only pub next to the shopping mall. But I think it also benefits from not only being the cheapest place for a pint, but also the cheapest place for a coffee, or a meal. All things to all men and women. The real ale is generally disappointing, despite the local CAMRA regularly voting it in the Guide – I suspect a case of never mind the quality, feel the width. There’s lots of choice, it’s just not that well kept. I went for one of the keg craft offerings, Mad Squirrel Sumo and it was incredibly murky. I feel like we’ve gone past the craft murk craze now and this felt almost…old-fashioned?

Photo from William the Conqueror, Rye Harbour

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January 22, 2026

Pub Thoughts #1

Several people sat at a pub bar, there is a glow behind the bar and a wooden fitting with lighting above. Hops hang from the ceiling.

I’m not sure I have enough to say on one pubby subject to justify a whole post, but thought maybe I could instead cobble a few things together – so this is either the first of a long-running series of disparate pub thoughts or a one-off experiment I will never speak of again. If it helps, just imagine me in the corner of an old boozer, rambling these thoughts to myself.

I went for a walk through London earlier this week, mainly around Bloomsbury and Fitzrovia, both areas not short of pubs. I noticed a couple of things.

First, there seems to be the beginnings of a softening on eye-watering London prices. I saw a few different places either making a point of advertising they have at least one pint available for a fiver or offering some kind of Happy Hour promotion. Considering how prohibitive any kind of session has become in many London pubs this felt like a really positive step forward. I’ll happily try out a new pub for a fiver, I get more wary when somewhere new doesn’t clearly list their prices and I might be looking at a nasty surprise when they ring up my drink. These pubs, on the whole, seemed like nice ones too. It’s a really encouraging sign and I hope the trend continues – as much as I appreciate overheads are high, pubs do need to do more to meet drinkers halfway and give them a reason to step through the door. Having at least one pint at a reasonable price seems a good start, and a good principle for all pubs to have.

Secondly, I saw a few pubs being renovated and several others that looked like they had recently been refitted. The trend seems to be to make places look a bit more “craft-y”, if that is actually a style of pub. I guess when I say that I mean some form of pseudo-restoration where the carpets are pulled up, the wood revarnished, tiling laid in various places and a general clear out of pub tat in favour of the odd bit of art or an old mirror. Someone has worked out that there is a certain visual identity that is appealing to drinkers right now and it is something that feels modern yet respectful, that is tasteful but not really homely. The kind of place I can admire but probably not love. The funny thing is that many of these places haven’t actually become craft pubs – they have all the aesthetics but none of the beer. More often than not the drinks selection is pretty uninspired, either the usual suspects or (at best) the most pedestrian craft-adjacent stuff. I guess this might be a brewery thing.

Drinking more locally, on the unfashionable outskirts of London, I’ve noticed that London Prices have very much made it out here – and in some cases have been surpassed. £7 to £8 for something not hugely exciting has become the norm in some of the more fashionable/”upmarket” places. My suspicion is this is to weed out a certain kind of customer, as much as anything.

However, we popped into a very unfashionable pub near us the other night and the prices weren’t so bad and there was a nice mix of people for somewhere that in the past has either been a bit dead or a bit “local pub for local people”. We took the dog along, and it was a reminder of how much a dog can be a great ice breaker when it comes to venturing in a pub where you aren’t known and aren’t sure what kind of welcome you’ll receive. The person behind the bar couldn’t do enough for our furry friend, the regulars made a fuss of her too and I guess in the process we showed we aren’t too awful either!

Finally, I watched the 1969 documentary I Love This Dirty Town on iPlayer. Margaret Drabble laments what has happened to the city and decries the facelessness of the suburbs. There are plenty of arguments I imagine people would still agree with today, although I think I’m a little too attached to the suburbs to accept all her criticisms. But I certainly agreed with her words at the end of the film:

“Neighbourhoods need pubs in the same way they need a church to bring in people – in a word this is…Life”

Image from First In Last Out in Hastings, a lovely pub with a proper pub interior and a real community feel.

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