Taking a tinkle at the Thomas Tallis

It’s become something of a tradition amongst West Kent CAMRA members to call in  at one or two local pubs in Canterbury, after a visit to either, or both of the beer festivals held in the city. As well as the recently staged Canterbury Food & Drink Festival, the Kent Beer Festival also takes place in Canterbury, meaning there are two festivals to attend each year, and two opportunities for a post-festival pub crawl.

I gave up on the Kent Beer Festival several years ago, after it moved from its long-standing home at Merton Farm, to Canterbury Rugby Club’s ground on  the other side of the A2 Canterbury by-pass.  For safety reasons, the club operate a strict, “no glass” rule, so not being a fan of plastic drinking receptacles, this was the end of the Kent Festival, as far as I was concerned. I also think that over the years, I became less and less enamoured with the festival itself and more and more in favour of the aforementioned, post-event evening pub visits.

After last weekend’s Canterbury Food & Drink Festival, I was even more in the mood than previous year’s for a few après festival beers. Because of my walk, plus the problems on the rails, I didn’t arrive at the event until 3pm, and was just getting stuck into the beers, when my companions announced they were contemplating a move. Why so soon I asked, but I answered my own question after looking at my watch, and discovering the time was fast approaching 6pm; the time at which the festival closes.

A pub called the Thomas Tallis was mooted as an ideal place to visit. It was described as a micro-pub, but a couple from our party who had been there before, said there was more to it, than just a micro. After coming to terms with the festival closing shortly, and hence no more beer, I was game for checking the place out.

We set off, dividing into two distinct groups, depending on walking speed, as we went. Being a relatively slow walker, and having already walked several miles earlier in the day, I was in the slower of the two groups, although we managed not to lose sight of the quicker mob, up ahead in the distance.

Our route took us past Canterbury’s historic cathedral and the past the entrance to the prestigious King’s School, which allegedly was founded in 597 AD.  We then passed into Northgate, a thoroughfare leading to one of the city’s former medieval gate-houses. On our left, and set at a slightly lower level from the road, was the Thomas Tallis Alehouse; Canterbury's first micro-pub, which opened March 2016.

The pub is housed in an attractive, half-timbered building, which was formerly part of the historic Hospital of St John. It is said to date from the 15th Century, with an interior that certainly seems genuinely old. There are two rooms at the front, which lead off from a narrow passageway. According to WhatPub, there is also a rear snug with chairs and a sofa, but as the pub was rather full when we arrived, I didn’t notice this section.

We looked at sitting outside, given that the pub was rather crowded, but we eventually managed to squeeze around one of the high “posing tables” in the left hand room. Seat or table service is the name of the game at the Thomas Tallis, and it involves queuing up, in front of the chalkboard in the central passageway, choosing your beer and then placing your order from one of the serving staff. They then bring you your drink, and take payment – cards seeming very popular. If you are feeling lazy, they will bring it to your seat, or table.

As you will notice from the beer list, the ratio of key-keg to cask is 4:1, so as the cask range didn’t seem that inspiring (unless you’re into home-brew from a certain Thanet micro-pub), I opted for the key-keg. I tried both Cloud Water offerings, along with the strangely named, Triple Goat Porter, but no NBSS scores, as they were not cask.

Before settling down at a table, or even ordering a beer, there was the problem of the toilets; or rather the lack of them. Having just come from a beer festival, several of us had rather full bladders. This is where we faced the problem which afflicts many micro-pubs, namely the lack of adequate toilet facilities.

A single WC closet, for the use of both sexes, simply isn’t good enough! Customers wishing to use the loo, had to queue along the same passageway where the beer was served from. This was rather chaotic, given the packed nature of the pub, particularly when we arrived. When my turn to use the facility arrived, I took a couple of photos of the many pump-clips adorning the walls, as I know there are some real admirers of pub toilet décor out there.

Leaving aside my grouse about the toilet, (as this applies to rather too many micro-pubs), I enjoyed our visit to the Thomas Tallis. The group of friends and acquaintances I was with were good company, and we had a number of interesting conversations. As some of the early evening crowd started to drift away, we moved into the right hand room, where there was more space. This meant we were nearer to the serving area, and the toilet!

One individual, who obviously likes to live dangerously, tried several of the more “experimental” beers, including the Rhubarb Saison from Leigh-on-Sea Brewery, the Peach Sour from Wild Weather Brewery, before ending with a pint of the 9.1% Peanut Stout from the London-based, Hammerton Brewery. He did share some of the latter amongst the rest of us though.

The cask ales and ciders are served under gravity dispense from a temperature controlled cellar room at the back. Five or six locally produced ciders are also served. According to the pub’s website, the Thomas Tallis offers  up to 30 beers at any one time, as a wide range of  bottles and cans are also stocked, alongside the draught. The pub’s owners state, “The beer selection will constantly change as we seek new and exciting brews from around the world so don’t get too attached to a particular beer!”

So if you fancy taking a walk away from Canterbury’s tourist-thronged centre, and into a quieter part of the city, which is still historic and full of character, then a visit to the Thomas Tallis Alehouse is well worth your while. Make sure to empty your bladder before setting off, though!

Footnote: Thomas Tallis, 1505 - 1585, was an English composer who occupies a prominent place in anthologies of English choral music. He is considered one of England's greatest composers, and is honoured for the original role he played in English musicianship. (Source, Wikipedia).

A few odds and ends

There’s a few odds and ends I missed out from the previous post, but as it was already quite lengthy, here’s what I neglected to say.

To begin with, I didn’t take a wrong turn out of Chartham Hatch,  although I did still manage to miss the Chapter Arms. With my hood up and my head down against the wind, I obviously walked straight passed it, but it made no odds as the pub has been closed since the beginning of the year.

There are mixed reports as to what is going on with the place, and these range from the pub being converted to a private dwelling, to the site being developed to provide holiday accommodation, along with a micro-pub.

I haven’t seen the plans or the pub itself for that matter, so I can’t really comment, but having said that the reviews on Trip Advisor, prior to its closure, were generally favourable. Given its isolated position, food was a prominent feature, so I’m not sure whether a  wet-led micro-pub is going to attract much custom.

The other snippet I can’t resist from including is me taking a crafty leak – ala BRAPA, on Chartham station. Unlike Simon, I got away with it, as I checked for CCTV beforehand. Also, there were no other passengers present when I made my way to the far end of the platform, and took advantage of the luxuriant weed growth, next to the rusting cast-iron fence. When you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go; especially when you’re a gentlemen of a certain age!

Next time, a tale about an unusual Canterbury micro-pub where key-keg outsells cask by four to one.

For the sake of completeness

Before arriving at the Canterbury Food & Drink Festival on Friday, I completed a couple of outstanding tasks. The first was of far greater significance than the second, but the latter was still important to me, from a personal point of view.

The previous evening I left my alarm set at my usual, weekday time for getting up for work. I allowed myself a slightly longer  “snooze” period, then leaving Mrs PBT’s fast asleep (no work for her on a Friday), I slipped out of bed, showered and grabbed a couple of slices of toast for breakfast.

All very routine, but instead of donning my work clothes, I put  some casual gear on instead. The latter included my trusty old walking boots. I also packed my rucksack, which I'd packed the night before as, whilst I was heading for Canterbury, I’d a spot of walking to do en route.

First though, I had the most important and the most satisfying of my tasks to complete. I left the house, and walked down into Tonbridge, arriving at my local building society branch, just after it opened at 9am.  My objective was to make the final payment on our mortgage, and having now done so I am pleased to report that after 41 years, during which I've owned three different properties, I am now mortgage free!

That final payment was an easy, over the counter transaction, and the whole thing seemed something of an anti-climax, but in reality, it wasn't and represented a major milestone in life's journey. From a personal point of view, it was a highly significant and very satisfying achievement, brought about through making regular monthly over-payments which reduced the term by quite a few years.

Despite that, I didn’t feel any different walking out of the branch,  as I was focussed on catching my train to Canterbury. This leads onto my second, and far less significant objective, which was to complete the missing five mile section of the Canterbury loop, of the North Downs Way.

Some of you might remember I set off on a three day walk, back in July, with the objective of finishing the Canterbury loop. I’d walked a couple of sections with some friends, several years previously, but having left myself fourteen and a half miles to complete on the final day, I sort of ran out of steam, and called it a day when I reached Canterbury.

That still left five miles from Canterbury to Chartham station to complete, so the germ of an idea formed in my mind that by catching an early train, I could alight at Chartham,  walk into Canterbury, thereby completing the whole of that loop, and still be in time to meet up with friends at the Food & Drink Festival.

That was the plan, but I knew from the outset that I would have to delay my departure until after the morning rush hour, in order to make use of my Senior Railcard. I therefore didn’t hurry to the station. I wished I had when I arrived at the ticket office, as services out of London were disrupted and delayed due to a signalling failure at Lewisham.

In the end I caught the train I’d wanted to catch, had I not had business to attend to at the building society. So far so good, but as we sped towards the coast, the announcement came that due to the late running, the rear half of the train would terminate at Ashford, rather than detaching and heading up to Canterbury. This was all well and good for Dover bound passengers; their section of the train would continue as normal, but for us poor souls with a hike, plus a beer festival to squeeze in, this was a serious spanner in the works.

I left the train at my old home town of Ashford. The station is nothing like what I remember from my youth, as Ashford was designated as a convenient joining point for the planned passenger services to Europe, via the Channel Tunnel. Against British Rail’s better judgement the town council insisted that the high speed line be constructed right through the centre of the town - as if their ill-judged ring-road scheme hadn’t caused enough devastation to what was once a pleasant market town.

The rail station was completely rebuilt, and renamed Ashford International, and in the early days of the Channel Tunnel there were regular Eurostar services to both Paris and Brussels. But with the opening of Ebbsfleet in north Kent, (part of John Prescott’s vanity, Kent Gateway project), services from Ashford were curtailed, leaving the International Station as a white elephant, and a monument to people’s over-inflated egos.

I digress, but it still annoys me every time I have to change trains at Ashford.  On this occasion, I needed to get to Chartham, but to compound my frustration I knew trains only stopped there on an hourly basis. So rather than kicking my heels at Ashford, I decided my best plan was to take the next train to Canterbury, and do the walk in reverse.

I arrived in the cathedral city at just after 11:15. The journey should not have taken that long, but I took advantage of the onboard, train Wi-Fi to check departure times, which informed me that services from Chartham departed at 21 minutes passed each hour. I reckoned I could complete the walk in two hours, allowing me to catch the 13:21 service back to Canterbury. I could then walk along to the festival, in Dane John Gardens, and arrive at around 2pm.

I set off in high spirits and found my way out of the city, and the all important way marker showing the direction of the North Down’s Way. The weather was blustery, but for a while at least, the threat of showers held off. The route took me through a development of expensive looking properties, before disappearing into a wood. Eventually the path came to a road and a bridge over the busy A2 trunk road, before leading off into a further area of woodland.

This wooded area is known locally as the Blean, and contains the site of a substantial Iron Age settlement called Bigbury Camp. According to the sign, at the entrance to the woods, Kent Wildlife Trust and English Heritage have been working to restore landscape surrounding this ancient hill fort to what it would have looked like, two thousand years ago. Hence several hectares of sweet chestnut coppice have been removed.

After passing back into the woods, I came across a quite stocky, solitary walker, heading in my direction. It can be a little spooky, stumbling upon someone in the middle of a dark, dense wood, but after exchanging a few pleasantries, the stranger turned out to be a forager, in search of fungi. Furthermore, unlike me, he was glad of the damp conditions, as it encourages the fungal fruiting bodies to form.

Eventually I left the wood and came to a more open area. This was another nature reserve, with the intriguing name of  “No Man’s Orchard.” You can read more about the purpose behind this area of traditional orchards, if you click and enlarge the explanatory photo, but it was here that I took the first of two wrong turnings, despite having a quite detailed map to guide me.

I eventually emerged into the hamlet of Chartham Hatch, and as I made my way towards the centre of this settlement, I regained the NDW in the process. I noticed the sky up ahead, looking increasingly dark, and was now starting to wonder if I would make it to Chartham station for the 13:21 train.

I quickly hit upon plan B, which was to call in at the Chapter Arms pub. According to my map, I would soon pass the pub on my right, and could then dodge the imminent downpour whilst enjoying a quick pint. This would also kill some, whilst allowing me to arrive in a more leisurely fashion to catch the 14:21 train instead.

I carried on along the lane, hastening my pace as the first drops of rain started to fall. I reached a T-junction, overlooked by a prominent group of  inter-linked oast-houses, now converted into a very desirable looking property. A sign on the wall indicated I had reached Hatch Lane, the road which would take me down to Chartham village and its station.

I turned left into Hatch Lane, surprised to have reached that point, but thinking I must have taken the wrong turning back in Chartham Hatch. Shortly afterwards the heavens opened. I had my wet weather gear on, but with the rain coming down like stair-rods, I took shelter under an overhanging tree, and remained there until the rain has eased off. The combination of dodging the rain, plus taking the wrong exit out of No Man’s Orchard was sufficient to ensure I would not make it to the station for that 13:21 train.

As it happened I missed it by 15 minutes , so with three quarters of an hour before the next service, I toyed with the idea of walking further into Chartham village and calling in at the Artichoke pub.

A similar situation had occurred two years ago, whilst walking the Wye to Chartham section of the NDW, with a group of friends. This time though, my knee was starting to play up, and my right ankle was also sore, due to my boot laces being tied too tight. In addition, the Artichoke is a Shep’s house, and I really fancied something better to quench my thirst than a pint of Spitfire of Master Brew.

Instead I sat in the shelter on the platform, watching the crossing-keeper shutting and opening the gates, to allow the non-stopping trains to pass through the station. I was quite surprised to see a manual level crossing still in operation on this busy line.

I arrived back in Canterbury, an hour later than intended and made my way to Dane John Gardens, through the tourists and the shoppers. After grabbing a swift glass of Old Dairy Green Hop Bitter from their stand in the festival grounds, I caught up with my friends. They’d made themselves comfortable in the Green Hop Beer tent, and the narrative of what happened from that point onwards is as described in my previous post.

Have green-hop beers lost the plot?

I was in Canterbury on Friday, visiting the city’s annual Food & Drink Festival, which also happens to coincide with the launch of Kent Green Hop Beer Fortnight. I’d missed the previous two festivals due to clashes with family holidays, so it was good to renew my acquaintance with the event.

As in previous years the festival was held in Canterbury’s Dane John Gardens, which lie in the shadow of the city’s medieval walls. The event seemed larger than I remember it, occupying the entire length of this historic park, with a huge array of different food stalls, selling all sorts of tasty offerings. There was also the beers of course, along with a selection of Kentish ciders, plus various artisan gins and liqueurs.

As well as a large marque, with a bar featuring all the Green Hop beers available at the festival,  several breweries had stands of their own, offering keg and bottles beers, alongside their cask, Green Hop ales. I noticed stalls from Old Dairy, Goody Ales, plus a large tent for those who enjoy beers from Kent's largest, and Britain's oldest brewery - Shepherd Neame.

The only fly in the ointment was the weather, which was “changeable,” with plenty of passing showers along with the odd longer spell of rain, but the damp conditions didn’t
seem to dampen people’s enthusiasm.

Possibly with an eye to the weather forecast, the organisers had provided an open-sided marquee, which provided shelter for both performers and the audience on the “busker stage” and the Green Hop beers were also housed in a much larger tent than I recall from previous years.

So what about the beers? First, the majority of the cask offerings were Green Hop Beers, and I counted a total of 27 Kentish brewers offering their wares. It was disappointing to discover there had been a problem with local favourite Larkin’s, but it was made up for by the 4.2% Fuggles Bitter from Old Dairy Brewery. This for me, was definitely beer of the festival, and I know that several of my companions felt the same.

Old Dairy will definitely be one to watch in the Green Hop category at my local branch’s Beer Festival, which is run jointly with local Heritage Railway group, the Spa Valley Railway. The Tenterden-based brewery have won the Green Hop Beer competition at the festival, on at least two previous occasions, including last year, and from what we tasted on Friday, it would be no surprise to see them picking up another award.

Although the majority of the GHBs were either bitters or pale ales, there were a couple of green-hoped porters. To my mind anyway, the concept doesn’t work as well with dark beers, as it does with lighter ones. This is because the dry, roast coffee and chocolate flavours in beers such as porter and stout, tend to overwhelm the more delicate floral and fruity bitterness associated with pale coloured ones. In addition, the roasted malts used to provide both flavour and colour in darker beers, often impart a bitterness of their own. This can often be quite harsh and over-whelming.

This brings me onto my final point, which was that whilst all the green-hopped beers I tried on Friday were good, there was little to distinguish them from their normal dry-hop counterparts. Several of my companions said the same thing, and we think this is because over the course of  the decade or so that green hopped beers have been produced, brewers have become more adept at using hops in their natural “wet” state.

We all remembered that many of those initial green-hopped beers had a rich resinous taste, with an almost oily texture to them, (you could actually feel the hops resins coating your tongue and the roof of your mouth). Many brewers now seem to have cut down on the amount of wet hops used. We suspect they were adding them at the same rate to the brew-kettle, as they would the normal dried hops.

So by cutting the amount of green hops used to brew this uniquely seasonal type of beer, they have unwittingly removed the very characteristics that attracted drinkers to green-hopped beers in the first place. Effectively they have turned a unique and very time of year dependent beer, into just a another run of the mill and rather ordinary one.

This doesn’t detract from what was an excellent day out, and from a long weekend which showcases the very best that Kent has to offer in terms of food and drink. Combine this with the normally benign, early autumn weather, and the splendid setting of Canterbury’s Dane John Gardens, and you have a uniquely English experience, which is well worth putting in your diary.

 

Footnote: for details of the process by which Green Hop beers are produced, and the rules governing the times between harvesting and adding to the brew-kettle, please follow this link.

Please also be aware that similar “wet” hop beers are now produced at harvest time, in other hop-growing regions of the world, including Belgium, the Czech Republic and the USA.

It would be interesting to discover whether these beers have suffered a similar loss in the very properties which make them so special, and so unique.

A cultural morning in Krakow

So after the interlude which allowed me to catch up on a couple of domestic projects,  let’s head back to Poland, and pick up where we left off.

I slept well in my cosy and comfortable third floor hotel room, and whilst on wakening I was disappointed to see rain falling outside my window, I was determined to make the most of the coming day and not let the weather dampen my spirits.

I enjoyed a heart breakfast, which included scrambled eggs, cooked just the way I like them - soft, but not too runny, with some extremely crispy, and rather salty bacon to go with them. I knocked back several cups of coffee as well. There is something about strong continental coffee to really get one going in the morning, and whilst I hadn’t had a heavy night on the beer, I’d been feeling rather tired after my journey.

Having made a pre-emptive visit to Krakow’s old town the previous evening, I decided to head south towards the Wisla River and take a look at Wawel Castle. Together with the neighbouring Wawel Cathedral, the castle occupies a prominent hill overlooking the river, providing a strong point to prevent access to the city. It's worth noting that Krakow was Poland’s capital for several centuries and many of its kings and queens were crowned in Wawel Cathedral.

 

The rain was easing off as I headed up towards the castle entrance. I then climbed the steep row of steps leading up to the castle/cathedral complex. I queued at the kiosk to purchase a ticket. The state rooms were closed on that day, but it was free admission to visit the castle armoury and see the jewellery which constitutes Poland’s "national collection."

I have backed off from using the term “Crown Jewels” purely because much of the nation’s most precious and most treasured items of jewellery were looted, over the centuries, by successive invaders and occupiers. Life’s tough when you’re a relatively small country sandwiched between large and much more powerful nations!

Although entry to the armoury was free, my ticket was still at a set time. I therefore had a good walk around the main courtyard, plus the smaller inner one. I also stood on the ramparts, overlooking the river and the southern sector of the city beyond. The rain had stopped by this time, but the view was still partly obscured by mist and low cloud, which was a pity.

I enjoyed my look at the jewellery collection, even though many of the items on display came from neighbouring countries such as Germany and Austria.

The armoury was housed at a lower level, virtually in the bowels of the castle. The exhibits were interesting and there was some intricate work amongst the suits of armour. Some of the old cannons and massive siege guns were also well worth look, but I’m kind of glad I didn’t have to pay to view them.

I made my way down from the castle complex shortly before midday. My plan was to head in a roughly easterly direction to the old Jewish quarter in the district of the city, known as Kazimierz.

We will halt the narrative there because in the next part I want to write about Auschwitz and the Holocaust, and relate what happened to Krakow’s Jewish population. I also want to explain why I decided not to make the trip to Auschwitz, despite the fact that the former Nazi death-camp attracts over a million visitors each year.

Sunday lunch at Pevensey

I referenced briefly in the introduction to my previous post, about escaping down to the coast in order to get away from my over-running DIY task, and also just to enjoy a short break and charge our batteries after a busy week at work for us both.

Before packing up the previous evening, I’d roped a tarpaulin in place, over the apex of the shed roof. I was glad I did so, as there was some quite heavy rain just after dawn on Sunday morning. So, safe in the knowledge that my hard work would not be spoiled by the weather, and after a well-deserved lie-in, we jumped in the car and headed down to Pevensey.

The latter is a large village situated five miles north-east of Eastbourne, and one mile inland from the coast at Pevensey Bay. I’ve always muddled up Pevensey and Pevensey Bay, but for the record the latter is a relatively modern settlement which is built virtually on the shoreline, whilst Pevensey itself has origins dating back to the 8^th Century.

Pevensey is dominated by its surprisingly large castle, parts of which survive from Roman times, when it was one of the “Saxon Shore Forts,” built to protect Britain from, you guessed it, the Saxons and other Germanic raiders. Although the old shore fort at Pevensey was later strengthened by the Anglo-Saxons, it wasn’t sufficiently fortified to prevent the landing nearby of forces belonging to Duke William of Normandy, in 1066. And we know what happened soon after that!

I’m pretty certain that I hadn’t visited Pevensey since childhood, when exploring castles, and other ancient ruins, was a favourite pastime of the Bailey family. My father in particular enjoyed this activity, and took my sister and I to castles up and down the country. I have a vague memory of visiting the one at Pevensey.

Pevensey Bay, on the other hand, is where, in more recent times, son Matthew and I spent many largely fruitless hours, attempting to catch fish from the shore. It was good father and son bonding though, and the settlement’s excellent fish and chip shop compensated for the lack of live fish nibbling away at the bait on our submerged hooks.

As mentioned, in the previous article, the purpose of our visit to Pevensey was to call in on Mrs PBT’s brother, and his partner, who were spending a few days in their campervan at the nearby Fairfields Farm campsite. Unfortunately, the glorious early autumn sun and accompanying warm temperatures, of the past few weeks,  had vanished to be replaced by grey skies and even some rain.

The change in weather did however, prevent us from being unable to sit outside when we reached our destination as, whilst the rain had eased off, a strong south-westerly wind was blowing.  Fairfields Farm is a medium sized and well-laid out campsite, although I have to grumble about it being the only site I’ve ever been to where visitors are charged to enter and park their cars.  The buggers charged us £4 per vehicle as well!

Eileen’s brother’s campervan is a medium sized Fiat model, which can accommodate three people. It is a replacement for his much larger Hymer vehicle, which was written off in a crash, caused by an inconsiderate driver, a couple of years ago.

We had the usual cup of tea plus a chat on arrival, before heading into Pevensey for Sunday lunch. I would like to have walked, and explored the village on foot, but both Mrs PBT’s and her brother were incapacitated in one way or another, so I had to drive us there instead. This unfortunately means there are no photos of Pevensey and its castle.

On the way, we passed Pevensey and Westham railway station, which provides a link from the campsite into either Eastbourne or Hastings. Our destination was not the 16^th Century Smugglers Inn Eileen and I thought we were heading for, but the rather more modern Heron, in Westham High Street, where a table had been booked for 2.15pm.

The Heron is an imposing, but pleasant, late Victorian pub, which still retains a two-bar layout. The interior is finished in that contemporary, washed-out, pastel look, and is quite sparsely furnished. It wasn’t overly busy, but there was a family who were just finishing their lunch when we arrived.

A very acceptable pint of Harvey’s Best (3.0 NBSS), was served up by the friendly barmaid,  along with an equally good, roast dinner (turkey or beef). I joined the others for a dessert afterwards.

As I said, I would have liked an amble around the village, but we did take a short walk when we got back to the campsite. Consequently there are quite a few animal photos, to make up for the lack of village ones.
 

On the plus side, a pub which I probably wouldn’t have given a second glance from the outside,  turned up trumps by providing us with a well-cooked and substantial Sunday lunch, along with a very drinkable pint of Harvey’s; both enjoyed in pleasant surroundings. If proof was needed never to judge a place until you have stepped inside, then this was it.

We left just after 5pm, as Mrs PBT’s was starting to feel a little claustrophobic cramped up in the campervan. All thoughts of us owning such a vehicle evaporated with those feelings, but I think we would both go stir-crazy if we were cooped up in one for too long.

I took the scenic route home, heading up from the Pevensey levels towards Battle, via the villages of Ninfield and Catsfield. We both thought Pevensey was worthy of a return visit, for a proper look round; but next time, on our own!