Tonbridge High Street Advertising Banners....

If anyone was wondering how come Sevenoak's Stag Theatre managed to get their pantomime banner with pictures of Dirty Den emblazoned across Tonbridge High Street then you'll be pleased to know that they have agreed to have them removed. It's a bit ironic when the Tonbridge Arts festival and other events in the town have been unable to get permission to have their advertising banners across the street when the Stag managed it isn't it. What a flippin cheek you might well think. As usual with council matters it beggars belief how these things come about. I'm reliably informed that the Stag applied, quite legitimately, to the council and gained the correct permission to erect their banners. The confusion of course is in that phrase: "the council." The council in this case is not Tonbridge and Malling Borough Council, who we'd like to think would never have given their permission, but Kent County Council who have jurisdiction over the highways and pavements which, apparently, includes the air above the roads as well as the actual tarmac! The result, in this case, was permission being granted to a Sevenoaks organisation who clearly met the safety criteria when previous Tonbridge applications have been unsuccessful for whatever reason. Joined up thinking? I think not!...

Runners World comments on the THM....

....And still with the Tonbridge Half Marathon (is this becoming an obsession?!) there's quite a few comments going onto Runners World about the event which you can read here. The overall impression seems to be that the event was well managed, it was a hot day and the course was pretty hilly and therefore not condusive to getting a PB (that's personal best if you're not offay with runners speak!) There are however a few negative comments especially about the lack of water particularly for the back runners which I must admit I did suffer from at least at two of the water stations. The way I think of that is simple: I should have ran faster! Some people on the Runners World blog even have a moan about the sparse goody bag! Who the hell cares whether you get a mug saying "I made a difference!" or a souvenir plastic drinks bottle or indeed some Porshe car shaped fruity sweets. Surely the point is you did it, you survived it or you improved on your previous best time. That's what counts and you don't nee a T shirt to prove that, just the memory. I still say that this race was a brilliant inorgira, inhorigarl. inaugmentable, first attempt and I'll be putting on my race callendar every year from now until I'm at least in the over 70s category!

Tonbridge Book Fair Free Entry on Sunday October 16th

Actually I call it the West Kent Book Fair, but it may as well be called the Tonbridge Book Fair. (Should I change the name back to Tonbridge?) Anyway it's on Sunday October 16th at Tonbridge School in Old Big School Hall, which is the one right on the High Street, from 10am to 4pm and this year it's free to enter to encourage the whole town just to go and see what's there. There'll be around 25 book sellers coming from all over the South East and beyond to sell books on every subject imaginable. Some dirt cheap, some just ridiculously expensive. Come and have a look. It's free and free parking. The coffees and teas might cost you 50p but you do get a biscuit and friendly smile for free!...

The Camaraderie of the Long Distance Runners....

I made it and I've got a medal, energy bar and fruity Porsche shaped sweets to prove it!

TWO HOURS THIRTY SIX MINUTES AND THIRTY SEVEN SECONDS. That was my official race time. Although, rather confusingly, my chip time was about a minute and a half quicker than that. I'm told that the chip time is the actual time I took from crossing the line at the start to crossing it again 13.1 miles later. Now you might not think that the point one of a mile was worth mentioning but, let me tell you that, by the time I came staggering and stuttering around that bend onto Brook Street, that short distance seemed like an eternity. The number 30 in the picture refers to my race number and not, alas, my position at the end of the race; in fact I came in 762nd place. Look at least I didn't come last! First of all let's do what they do in those post match TV sports interviews and look at the positives, which is usually code for we didn't do all that great but you're making me do an interview so I got to encourage the lads by not being down beat. The positives then: bearing in mind that this was my first ever half marathon, I achieved my first goal of completing the distance without stopping or walking. Secondly, I was disciplined in my approach to the whole race and didn't get too carried away by the day; I kept checking my heart rate monitor to make sure that I stayed within the limits most of the time. Thirdly, apart from the aching legs and actually most other parts of my body come to think of it, I managed to stay injury free. I got my medal and completed the race in just about enough time to see the prizes being given. In fact the more I think about it the whole day was very enjoyable, very well organised and, so far as most were concerned, seemed to go without a hitch. Right now though, even two days on, I still feel like I've gone 12 rounds with Lennox Lewis, been forced to climb up Ben Nevis and then been beaten up by a gang of hoodies! I haven't felt like this since my University rugby days when a couple of sadist ex-army blokes took over the training sessions. Let's just say that I found it hard. I mean I knew it wasn't going to be like a stroll round Barden Lake but it was much harder than I'd allowed for. I'd trained up to about nine miles but those extra 4.1 (let's not forget the point 1) were ran on will power alone. I can't tell you how much respect I have for the many serious runners who came in with times of 1 hr and 20 minutes or there abouts, the winner, Thomas Fewster, came home with a time of 1hr 15 mins and 48 seconds. This is phenomenal if you think about it. It means that he ran a mile every 5.7 minutes for the whole 13 miles. It is incredible what the human body is capable of when pushed to it's limits. I'd be happy, as would most people, if I could do one mile in that time let alone 13. So hats off to the serious athletes, you must put in a lot of time and energy to be that fast. I would urge you to consider taking up reading instead though as it's a lot less taxing on the knee and hip joints!
As I write this the memories of a wonderful day come flooding back to me. The melee at the start line, the joking and the camaraderie amongst the runners. Seeing Kelly Holmes, the official starter, and hearing her tell us to pace ourselves "...as it's a long way and it's a hot day!" She wasn't kidding either I must have perspired, no let's call it what it was, sweated enough to fill Haysden Lake! I remember the pounding of two thousand feet on the road as we rounded the bend into Molescroft Way. The chats on the way with people I recognised, the friendly faces in Leigh clapping and pushing us all on with their shouts of encouragement. As the field of runners became ever more stretched out in the countryside around Watts Cross and Chiddingstone Causeway some where finding it all a little too much and where, in some cases literally, being carried by their fellow runners; others were receiving first aid from the St. John's Ambulance volunteers. As we rounded the corner in Leigh for the second time some one shouted out that there were only four miles to go and I realised that I was in unknown territory. I'd never ran further in my life so I knew the rest of the course was going to hurt and I'd have to dig deep. More than once I had the urge to stop and just walk for a bit but I also knew that once I'd done that the concentration and momentum would have gone and it would be difficult to start running again. Although I'd ran along Lower Haysden Lane many times, at the end of the half marathon it seemed to go on forever, it may as well have been Route 66! Past the Country Park entrance, even more familiar territory I thought that I'd have enough energy for one final flourish in front of the crowds still gathered along Brook Street but, when it came to it, my legs felt like lead and it was all I could do to just get to the finish line. My son shouted to me somewhere along that home straight and I was vaguely aware of him running along side me for a while on the other side of the barriers. I told him afterwards that I might not have finished but for his encouragement. He thinks I was joking, but I'm not sure I was! I don't think it was Dame Kelly who put the medal around my neck as I crossed the finish line but I was too knackered to notice anyway, all I wanted to do was drink some cool water and pour a few buckets of it over my over-heating head. So that was my experience of a wonderful day on Sunday. Thanks to the organisers and sponsors and may see you again next year when I reckon I should easily be able to shave off at least those 37 seconds!

Tonbridge Half Marathon this Sunday....

I'm all charged up and ready to go for this Sunday's very first Tonbridge Half Marathon. It's also my very first.  I said jokingly a few months ago that I didn't want to peak too early. That was a joke to excuse my laziness in getting started with training but actually it's proved quite good advice to myself. If we allow for a lack of time, injuries to my calf muscles, work commitments and all those other excuses then I reckon I've got the training about right. The trouble is the unknown bit. You see I've walked 13 and more miles lots of times but I've still never ran it. I've taken what seems to be the majority view that you should train regularly up to 9 or 10 miles for this distance but no need to train to the full distance. The excitement of the day will, so they tell me, carry me through to the finish line. Here's hoping so! I see from the list of runners and riders on the official THM web site that there are adrenalin junkies coming from all over the South East for the event. Many from parts of London, some from Brighton and at least one from Scotland. I hope they all enjoy glimpses of the countryside in the Garden of England as they whiz by. I'll be taking my time and just hoping for no injuries; a time of sub 2hrs and I'll be absolutely delighted for a first time out. To put that in perspective, Dame Kelly Holmes, were she to compete, would probably come in around the hour and ten mins mark, Paula Radcliffe, would be pushing for under an hour and Mo Farah would probably have finished before most of us had even got into our stride! But then they are the absolute cream of elite athletes and they do train twice a day six days a week!...

PB's and PMA The ingredients needed for the THM...

I'm now counting down the days and indeed the hours to the Tonbridge Half Marathon which is this Sunday. On Monday I did my very last training session before the event and I was quite worried that I'd pull something (usually a calf muscle) or turn an ankle over or be bitten by a dog. But none of those things happened. I kept it down to about five miles of pretty gentle jogging as I wanted to save my best for the day. I'm getting rather excited about the whole thing now. I'm sure that I won't win any prizes (except maybe the wooden spoon for last place!) but here's hoping for a PB which I'm sure I'll get with a PMA. Someone please translate....

Pepper Grinder lives on....

Looks like the Pepper Grinder, that superb sandwich bar at the north end of Tonbridge High Street, may have had a change of heart as they seem to have reopened. Maybe it's under new owners. I'll have to investigate further. Just hope that the tuna mayo bagettes with extra mixed salad and black pepper is just as good as before. Mmmm my mouth is watering at the thought of it....

New Look Rose and Crown....

Distributing posters and flyers for the West Kent Book Fair (on Sunday 16th at Tonbridge School by the way) I went into the new look Rose and Crown under new ownership if you didn't know. And very swanky the new bar area looks too. I may even go in for a drink and perhaps even a meal sometime soon to try it out. Mind you I'm slightly surprised that they haven't got a What's On? notice board for their guests. How else will they know where to go for the book fair when they have half a day to kill on that Sunday?!..

Good day to walk.....

There was obviously an accident or something on the A21 judging by the huge tailbacks right along the High Street this morning. I heard that it may even have been closed completely between Kipings Cross and Tunbridge Wells. The police were out in force on Quarry Hill and cars were at a virtual standstill. Looks like I picked a good day to walk into work....

Missed Bob Ogley talk last night....

Blast it! I couldn't make the Civic Society talk last night which was a pity. I especially wanted to go because I knew it was author Bob Ogley doing the presentation. Bob has written a number of very informative books on Kent including Kent Chronicles of the 20th Century and that one about the storms of 1987. Still I can always just read his books but it would hav been nice to hear some of it from the man himself....

50 Not Out....

Two of my very best friends are having their fiftieth birthdays this weekend which is making me glad and yet sad at the same time. Glad that I'm going to a big party in King's Hill on Saturday night, glad for them that they've been so successful in their lives, glad that I'm having a bit of a reunion with some old university chums. But, on the other hand sad that we're all getting older and gradually sliding downhill. It'll be my turn next year but, for now I'm going to rejoice at being the youngest in my circle of friends, albeit only by a few months!...

Meet Tonbridge Ted....



Called, quite simply, Ted

 The previous post was a little near the knuckle but Tonbridge Blog never promised you a squeaky clean site now did he? Anyway to calm down the nerves of readers of a more sensitive nature here is a picture of Ted who genuinely is my old teddy bear and, until recently, sat in Kids Corner at Mr. Books. He's taking a well earned holiday at the moment. I think I'll rename him Tonbridge Ted. Yes, that has it has a ring to it!...

One Man's view of Tonbridge....

Somebody calling himself MrLean sent me this on twitter today. Why? I'm not quite sure but there it was anyway. WARNING: this does contain, to use an old expression of my Mum's, some pretty blue language so don't read it if you are of a sensitive disposition. Also be warned that it contains some pretty depressing views about the town you live in so don't read it if you want to keep your nice rosy image of Tonbridge. I thought it was worth publishing because it's clear that some, especially younger, people do actually have these kind of views however misplaced. Though I'd say to Mister Lean or Dejay Lean or whatever he likes to call himself: It ain't nothing new mate! Young people get itchy feet, they want to break free; song lyrics have been talking about it down the ages. You've got the big bad city 35 miles up the train track and a whole world beyond it. Go and do some travelling, live your life, do some interesting things, visit some interesting places talk to lots of weird and wonderful people. Then come back some day and you'll realise it really isn't all that bad. Here's his blog post and if you can stomach more of it look here....

F*#k Tonbridge (his heading not mine!)

Most people dislike their home town, I’m sure. (Except residents of Bristol and Brighton actually, but I’ll probably come back to that.) I’ve disliked the majority of places that I’ve lived over the years, but I can think of places I did like, and still do; Rochester is picturesque in places, with its Dickensian charms and old buildings, and I did enjoy my brief tenure in Bearsted (before the aforementioned house fire). The cricket green our house backed on to, juxtaposed with two old style pubs was definitely aesthetically pleasing, and the village as a whole was pretty in its construction; lots of green spaces, old thatched roof cottages, and happily for the 3 male occupants of our house there was a near continuous stream of fit women pouring into the pub next door.

There have been places that were less enjoyable of course: Chatham was, as the area’s reputation might indicate, an absolute dump, populated by for the most part, very scummy people – for example my neighbour (who I’d know for years and who I always knew was a slight strange) turned out to be a rapist. That’s just an example of the type of people that live there; I’m not saying just because you lived in Chatham once upon a time you always precede coitus with a savage beating, but if the cap fits…

Most areas generally have a redeeming feature, one silver lining in amongst the retarded inhabitants and horribly designed cityscapes. For example in Chatham, there is a lovely park next to a college, which means you can effectively sit in the sun and get stoned and pissed whilst looking at 18 year old art students. In Horsmonden the general tranquillity and the horses at the bottom of the garden made up for the fact the village is the most remote place in the whole of Europe, and in Rochester the historical references to Dickens and co are redemptive of the fact that the town is sandwiched between Strood and Chatham. (For those not au fait with the area, imagine a sexual experience with Courtney Love, and Natalie Cassidy. You’re the ham in their sticky pale skin sandwich, in much the same way Rochester is infringed upon by two frankly horribly shit places.)

There is however once place, that has no saving grace; A place where it has rained everyday since 1952. The same place where bizarrely there are no married couples. The sky is always grey there, and rumour has it there are no fish in the river. In this place it’s perfectly normal, and acceptable for girls to have had sex with 49 men before their 18^th birthday (She actually used to read this blog, until she decided I was a “two faced prick” so I doubt she will be reading anytime soon.) Legend has it that Hitler initially had this place earmarked for Auschwitz but was worried about the effect the smog there might have on his German soldiers. This place, Tonbridge, is my town, and I hate it.

Apparently some people like Tonbridge. I don’t believe them. I think they hear my best friend and I constantly cussing the place, and have decided we are pricks and just want to argue with us. There is no reason to like this town. There is nothing here for anyone, except evidently amorous teenagers…

Situated between Sevenoaks and Tunbridge Wells, should make for a decent place. We have two relatively rich neighbouring towns, with haven’t really been overly affected by the recent period of austerity and we are geographically close to London, and Brighton, with decent travel links also. I know what some readers might be thinking at this point – redeeming features? NO. These things are a further kick in the teeth. Our richer, more historically important neighbours simply serve as a reminder of how disappointing a place my home town is. The river meanders through the town, which could be quite pleasant, but the problem with the river is the drunken dickheads constantly attempting to kill themselves/their significant others/their children in it. On a day where the council aren’t fishing bloated bodies from the river a stroll down by the riverside could be enjoyable, however the reeds and the muddy banks beside resemble a landfill site. A landfill site with a special section for needle and nappy disposal.

Tonbridge, according to Wikipedia, has 30,340 residents, all of whom can be found in the Wetherspoons, which is named after Humphrey Bean, on a Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night. I put in some research to find out about Mr Bean (the namesake of the pub, as opposed to Rowan Atkinson’s perennially unfortunate television character) in the hope that he would turn out to be a paedophile/mass murderer/insert other despicable crime here, as this would certainly add to the conviction of my diatribe, however it turns out he doesn’t exist. That’s good enough for me. Tonbridge’s primary watering hole is named after a fabricated character. In Rochester, they have the actual chalet Dickens wrote Great Expectations in, and the pub next door: Great Expectations. Even in Horsmonden (remember its half a million miles from civilisation) their pub is named after a local war hero. In Tonbridge they didn’t even have anyone worth naming a pub after). I’m going to assume Mr Bean’s mother actually named him Humphrey, because at times that’s the level of general retardation the unfortunate looking occupants of Tonbridge display, so that would fit nicely.

Pubs aside, Tonbridge town is bleak as fuck. I was recently looking through some pictures of the Somme. It looks a lot more fun than an afternoon in Tonbridge.  The “town centre” is one road. It has 145 hairdressers, 55 charity shops, and about 15 chain restaurants where you can buy 2 meals for 10 pounds (Microwave + Table + Waiter = Tonbridge ASK). 50% of the shops are empty and thus badly vandalised, and on Saturday morning, I genuinely counted 15 piles of sick between my house and the local McDonalds. That journey was probably 200 yards. More concerning that then sick piles however was the blood caked thong, deposited neatly next to a dog shit bin. That was just beautiful.

Tonbridge parenting is something else. I said there are no married couples, which was a bit of an exaggeration, I realised two of my friends are married, so there is at least one married couple. It would be too easy to label all of the parents here as the “Jeremy Kyle generation” but I know of three couples who live within walking distance who have featured on the popular mid morning freak show that is JK. Discipline in Tonbridge is, as far I’ve witnessed non existent or frankly sadist. The two general schools of parenthood appear to be “ignore the little shit” or “scream at the little shit”. Either way, we have created, (as detailed in my Intersports > JD Sports blog post) a generation of mongy, disrespectful youths who’s idea of a nice time is harassing punters outside of the local off license, or harassing punters outside the local pub, which is incidentally where their absent fathers can be found, when their not harassing the mother of their children’s new boyfriends. I am not going to talk about anyone personally, as I have set out to mildly offend a whole town, as opposed to horribly offend particular people, but suffice to say you would be shocked at some of the things I know about a number of the parents in this town. The half naked toddlers running riot in estates all over North Tonbridge (the very nadir of what is already an abhorrently horrid town) really do remind me of the famous picture of the Vietnamese child covered in napalm running down the road, except children of Tonbridge aren’t covered in 46 parts polystyrene, 33 parts petrol, and 21 parts benzene (napalm to most people), they are covered in a light layer of dirt. The parents of the dirty children are “horribly depressed”. So “horribly depressed” they smoke weed all day every day, and sniff copious amounts of cocaine at the weekends. I am not one to talk about partying habits and whatnot; however I do not have a number of young dependants, by a number of absent sperm donors. Dirty children in clothes that don’t fit obviously pale into insignificance when compared to the parents need to blunt the edge of the knife of realisation, by “bunning” (youth speak for smoking, so I’m told) some of Tonbridge’s finest home-grown herbal remedy. The realisation, of course is that your children are going to grow up to hate you, because you are shit parents, coupled with the fact you live in a shit town. The doctors surgery in Tonbridge is inundated with young-ish mothers seeking repeat prescriptions of their anti-depressants/anti-anxiety pills/sleepers – perhaps a more sensible idea would be to ascertain the scale of the women’s drug abuse, and build a care plan based around that, so that next time I go to the doctors to get my ears syringed my appointment isn’t actually delayed by 2 hours, because of an emotionally unstable North Tonbridge mother deciding to have a breakdown (read probable drug induced spastic attack) in the surgery. Remember Tonbridge mothers, when all else fails: “SHUT UP YOU C*NT, YOU’RE DOING MY F*CKING HEAD IN!” – Yep, it really is that bad.

The people, the shops, the pubs and the geography aside, Tonbridge has a horrible feeling associated with it. A general unhappiness resides, and hangs heavily in the air like mustard gas, so much so that it makes my soul hurt to spend longer than 15 minutes in the town, and I am almost sure that much like the theory about smoking cigarettes (1 cigarette depletes 15 minutes of your life) living in Tonbridge is terrible for your health. I had one grey hair when I moved here, and 2 years later I’m at the stage of finding grey hairs in my beard, and even one on my chest recently, which makes me quite unhappy. But not as unhappy as living in Tonbridge. We recently went on a rather massive party weekend, spent time in London and Bristol. I cannot put into words how sad I felt on the main road back into Tonbridge. Ben simply rolled down the window, looked at the decimation we were entering and bellowed: “SHITHOLE!!!!” Tonbridge.Nail.Head.

I know basically I am a bit of a prick, because there are plenty of Somalian children in Mogadishu, who would kill for a meal in the ASK, a pint in the Wetherspoons, and to be shouted at by some strange North Tonbridge woman for no particular reason, but I for one harbour an intent to leave this town, and all of the retards in it behind, and until the day I relocate to Bristol, or Brighton, or somewhere more suited to the lifestyle of Mr Lean I will continue to insult this shithole town and its retarded residents, and if you don’t like it, you can find me in the Mr Bean Wetherspoons, insulting you, the mother of your children and your town.

Big Kisses residents of Tonbridge, you truly fucking suck.

Half Marathon training: It's all so confusing....

I can't believe that the Tonbridge Half Marathon, the first ever, and my first ever, is only two weeks away! OMG, as they say on Facebook and other such sites, and a very nervous LOL while we're at it! Someone told me yesterday that the best training routine is a 9 mile run at the weekend and a 4-5 miler mid week. Now she tells me! Well it's a bit late now to change my whole routine. Basically I've just been running as far as I can once a week, which is about all I have time for. I've also been cycling to work which, admittedly, is only a couple of miles but there are some uphill bits! Does canoeing and body boarding count as training? How about painting the house and gardening? Another runner told me that I should run the 13 miles just to make sure I can run the distance. Sod that. 13 miles will be the furthest I've ever ran or, for that matter, ever likely to so I'm not going to make a habit of it am I?! Everyone else has told me that the excitement of the day of the race, the adrenalin and the crowds will cry me those extra few miles. Well here's hoping that the majority opinion is the right one. Then there's what food to eat? Don't get me started on that! Luckily I love pasta anyway. There's so many varying opinions on everything to do with running these distance races that I've decided to do the only thing I really trust and that's to listen to my body. Mind you my body was telling me weeks ago to not be so crazy and put my feet up so what does it know! My plan for the next two weeks is to put in one more 8-9 miler and then rest my body, come what may, to the event on Sunday September 25th. Oh, and I might stuff my face with lots of Spag Bol....

'ave ye sin that book: Kentish As She Wus Spoke?

I've just had a really nice conversation with an Australian family who were over here and came to specifically see me can you believe that?! The mum was born and brought up in Tonbridge and had been over in Oz for twenty odd years. She paid me a great compliment by saying that this blog was what had kept her in touch with her home town in recent years more than anything else. Bless her. Her husband was originally from Tunbridge Wells but we can't blame him for that! She reminisced about her days at Slade School in the 1960s when they could smell the cattle and livestock as they were traded on the market right next door to the school. Them were the days eh! Then we had a natter about how their accents had changed over the time they'd spent away and yet her friends in Oz still pick her up on her strange choice of words. The book she bought? Why Kentish As She Wus Spoke of course! They'll be taking it back to educate those Aussie friends of there's!...

September Tonbridge Insider out now....

Look out for your copy of the latest issue of TheTonbridge Insider which should be dropping on your door mat very soon if it hasn't already....

Residents save 1-3 Bank Street from the wrecking balls....

Tonbridge Blog has it on good authority that the fight to save 1-3 Bank Street from the demolition wrecking balls has finally been won. This is a huge victory for the Slade Area Residents Association (SARA) who've been dead against this from the start. A word of warning though to SARA: these developers are very canny and they've done all this a thousand times before. They often find another way of getting what they want, which is not usually what the residents want. They seem to be very patient and willing to wear planners and the public down over time. Not long ago it seemed to have been agreed that 1-3 Bank Street, which is almost opposite Mr. Books and is supposed to have been the first Tonbridge Bank, (thus giving the street its name) was destined to be redeveloped as a home for Hadlow College students; everyone seemed to be pleased with that outcome. Now that seems to have fallen through and then, surprise, surprise Marpaul, the owners, sneak through another planning application to tear down the half-delapidated building which, no doubt, they are claiming isn't fit to be saved. If it isn't fit to be saved then, it could be strongly argued, the reason for this is Marpaul's own neglect. Something needs to happen with this pigeon infested building soon or the council should have the right to compulsorily purchase it at below market price and turn it into something useful for the community. It's right in the heart of the old town centre and it's being allowed to crumble into dust, it just beggars belief. Comments below please....

Goodbye Pepper Grinder....

It's always sad when any local business closes but it's even sadder when an apparently thriving one closes right near you. Especially when it's the place you used to buy your sandwiches from! Now that the Pepper Grinder has wrapped it's last tuna mayo bagette on white with butter, extra mixed salad and black pepper where will I go now for my weekly treat? I didn't even get the chance to say goodbye to the girls in there but I wish them well whatever they chose to do next. Maybe someone will see an opportunity and open another equally fabulous sandwich bar at the north end of the High Street....

Antonio's back at Antonia's!...

Regular diners at Antonia's, at the north end of Tonbridge High Street, will be pleased to know that Head Chef, Antonio, has returned from his refreshing holiday back in Portugal no doubt full of new ideas of how to tempt your taste buds. Antonio of course is not to be confused with Antonia, the owner's other half after which the restaurant was named. It's just a happy co-incidence. Just thought I'd clear that up!...

Tonbridge Half Marathon gets 1,000 runners....

I see that the Tonbridge Half Marathon has attracted adrenalin junkies from far afield and has reached its limit of 1,000 runners. Must be an insurance thing as I'm sure Tunbridge Wells and Paddock Wood both attract over 2,000 and the Great North Run must be have around a million! So that's all more competition for me then as I push for my first recorded time over anything like that distance. Back in the day 110 metres hurdles was my main event. 14 seconds of explosive energy, a bit of a lunge for the line and it's over; so the prospect of 13 miles fills me full of excitement and dread all at the same time. Quite simply it will be the longest run I've ever done so please take pity on me if you see me straggling at the back of the field gasping for water and air. Sub 2 hours would be an achievement for me but I'm sure that the winner will come home in not much more than an hour. I don't quite qualify for the over 50s prize although if I have a bad run I might by the time I finish the race!...