Day 3, and it was time to ascend the crazy wooden staircase from Bedfordshire (Rye) for another day of cheeky Kentish / East Sussex Good Beer Guide 2023 ticking ......
Tenterden. It is a thumbs down from me. Second visit here. Twee precious place with an inflated opinion of itself. But I think I'm being swayed by the fact I ALWAYS (twice) get stranded here.
Having been chinged a fortune for a ride on the KESR steam railway, a matter of seconds later an elderly volunteer guard conveniently tells me that due to a power outage, our train is stuck somewhere and might not arrive at all!
I knew I was being too clever and should've just got a bus from Hastings or similar to my first pub!
Having failed to convince a posh convertible couple that giving me a lift to a pub would make them BRAPA Year End Award certainties, the train chugs into view. Hurrah. I'd lost 40 mins. But hurrah anyway. All aboard. A dog won't stop barking. I'm feeling irritable.
I'm the only one who 'alights' at Northiam, so I wave farewell to the Bodiam bores, a leafy footpath stops me getting run over by traffic, a scary road bridge full of roadworks is less kind, but the pub soon appears:
A lot of effort for little reward at the White Hart, Newenden (2573 / 4468), an essential tick in my quest to complete Kent this decade, but apart from wielding the green Stabilo on it, it lacked satisfaction. "Is that your car in the car park?" says a local red man suddenly, doing his best Bernard Wrigley. When I say nope, he says "just as well". A barmaid appears, one of two chirpy crones. "Is that your car outside?" she prods. I confess not. She looks deflated. My Northiam IPA is a bit deflated too, unconvincing drop. I sit in an alcove under a low beam to try and force an atmosphere. But I just hit my head. A random pile of logs is doing nothing, it is that sort of place. A newspaper rack promises more, loos interesting, the building is old and weatherboarded, but don't let that fool you, jingle hell, jingle hell, dining all the way.
Time to stop buggering about with the KESR, so I catch a bus in a Hastingsly direction. Very much my hub of East Sussex activity to date. Just to the north, a village with a GBG tick. Would be rude not to eh?
Considering the high standard of Hastings' GBG entries, you can forgive me for thinking the New Inn, Westfield (2574 / 4469) would be a decent pub, but how wrong I was, and so are you. Worst pub of the week. It made our previous one at Newenden look like the Red Lion at Snargate. Clinical alien arse probe of an atmosphere, bland, harsh and shiny. I don't think the word 'soft furnishings' has ever been uttered here. The Harvey's 'Wild Hop' was a dreadful drop. And no matter which direction the BRAPA lens was pointed, it didn't feel worthy of a photo. I don't say that very often. What would Christine Taylor have done? Onto the next, please!
With the sun high in the sky, it was off back to Hastings, a connecting train to Battle (as in 'Battle o' Hastings), already school chucking out time, but what they didn't tell ya, the next pub was a two mile plus walk out of the centre. Even when I thought I was there, it was just a cottage with a squirrel flag!
Bit more scary road walking, then I was finally here .....
RetiredMartin told me this was one of the worst GBG pubs he's ever visited, and he's completed it mate. The bar was so low today (not literally) regarding my previous two. And if you combine that with a fantastic barmaid, it actually makes the Squirrel, Battle (2575 / 4470) one of today's more pleasing experiences. Good staff go such a long way. She firstly apologises for the pub's location, "Not your fault, unless you built it!" I reply, but she didn't hear. Shame, one of my better lines this holiday. She's gone into full 'Thorold, Marston, Lincs, mother hen' mode. "You poor luv, having walked all that way. I tell you what I'm going to do. Give you a pint of water to go with your beer. We've got a 'lovely' outdoor area where you can sit and get some breeze. You should get some crisps too. Sustenance for the walk back" (I had to pay for these). Sussex Best is the only ale on, but by gum, it is leagues ahead of the other two today. The 'garden' is pretty bland 'gastroturf', but you always feel a confused daytime owl or red kite might emerge from one of the gigantic overhanging trees. Careful Brekkie - he was replacing Colin this holiday and making zero impact. The only other customer out here, who looks like an ex lower league footballer, sinks three Guinness's in the time it takes me to drink my one pint + water, he's a smiley bloke too, but he's got the jangliest set of keys ever.
It was a battle back into Battle, I nearly picked up a bus but I was already two thirds of the way back so I thought I may as well carry on for the step count.
A semi-welcoming breezy micro of little consequence but fine air-con, I remember thinking 'what a refreshing change of pace!' after three pretty bland humungous diner types. Battle Tap, Battle (2576 / 4471) serves me a cracking fluffy pint of Gun brewery, one of those I'm enjoying the more I try them. Plenty of it down here. In a side room, a bloke clocks me, pulls a biro from a top pocket, looks thoughtful, and then turns his back on me. A lady does an almost identical manoeuvre a few minutes later and I'm wondering what this all means.
My battle was over, for this year at least, and although the heat had sapped my energy, I couldn't let up now. I continue north to Robertsbridge, which sounds like it should be in West Yorkshire or Tayside, but isn't.
Then a decent but not too taxing walk past cricket practice, down the gentlest of country lanes, relief after too much scary road walking recently ..... I could even afford to showboat ... "peace out!"
And a throbbing village inn comes into view ......
Although the locals both front and back were a bit reserved with sour expressions, it was a second heroic barmaiderly effort of the day that wins me over at the Salehurst Halt, Salehurst (2577 / 4472). She tells me she loves weird strangers on crazy adventures from weird places, so when I tell her about BRAPA and that I've travelled from York 'just' to come to this pub, well she should really be asking for my hand in marriage. "Cooo, I love York" she giggles, tells me about her morning routine, and advises me to sit outside. With a new found sense of well being leaping in my bosom, I negotiate the miserable salmon fillet stuffed faces scowling at me on the patio, give them a winning smile, and sit at the end of the pretty beer garden so I can observe all. Weird atmosphere. Could be annoying if I wasn't on pint 5, sunburnt and comfortably numb. The pink ping-pong lady is 10-1 down in this 12 set war of attrition, but she won't be beaten. 'Why didn't Jane last three weeks?' is the question on everyone's lips. Probably something to do with a 12.5% can of cherry chocolate banoffee stout in a Blackpool micro. That's my guess. There's only one Jane. Unless you count the one in Neighbours. "...BUT the good thing is, and a key point here, the dog WAS put in the back" adds a floral patterned sleuth of a lady. Interesting place.
One more tick on day three, but I'll tell you about that on Sunday for three reasons:
I've thought of a cracking blog title for it
Sainsbury's has just arrived and my frozen stuff is defrosting all over my carpet
It is just gone 9pm and that is the witching hour for BRAPA blog releasing.
I'm sorry you didn't find the Squirrel as comically bad as I promised. Timing, I guess. I thought you were building up to some free crisps but no it was just brutal upselling.
"What would Christine Taylor have done?" - she'd have sent you back to get a pint of the keg one with greene King's head on it and complained about the soft furnishings.