Down hopping, again.

Coastal East Kent was shrouded in a sea mist at dawn this morning as Chelsea and I tramped through the hop gardens at Brooke Farm in Shatterling. We were out checking on the harvest again and to have the craic with wit, raconteur and grumpy old bastard Humphrey, the big man in these rural parts. The hops themselves were looking pretty good considering the droughtful conditions under which they grew - East Kent was particularly dry this summer and for a few weeks all were fearful of a failed crop. Anyway, we got a bit of rain just in the nick of time, the sun shone and now all the Goldings are in and packed, smelling better than they look and better than last year. We're a bit light on yield (price goes up) but we've got some quality to brew with (we charge more).

From Hop Gardens

The sun took no time at all to burn off the mist and it's another fine day in paradise.