Church Square, Rye, East Sussex

May I say that a Jury's Inn mattress and buffet-breakfast combo is top of the shop. May I also say that while we found our first hour or so in Brighton a little unsettling given the frequency with which we found homeless people begging and/or sheltering in shop doorways - a discovery which coincided with news that the taxpayers of Great Britain have united to fund at the bargain price of just £1000.00 a week, an adviser to tell SamCam how to dress herself (something overlooked at the Sheffield's nursery perhaps?) - by Friday we didn't want to leave. We wished we'd booked the third night in Brighton as well. To make up, we wandered the lanes in search of the most whacked up coffee bar we could find. We chose Marwood. I loved it.

With our luggage in the boot we left Brighton behind and headed east to Crowhurst, a little village south of Battle. We zig-zagged our way there calling in at Sheffield Park (no connection with Sam) where the sun shone nicely and then to Bateman's, where it didn't.

We arrived in Crowhurst around 4:00pm. Our lodgings were the roof space of a former cattle barn. Never likely to sit still, from here we set off for Rye, another place which Cath had researched. Rye was cast in near horizontal sunshine and we wandered up and down from street to street sucking in all the lovely cobbley goodness found in Mermaid Street, Church Square and The Mint, to name but a few.

Having tramped the streets for an hour or more it was time to grab something to eat, but rather than stay in Rye where my guide recommended the Ypres Castle Inn, we left for Battle.
By when we left Rye I think we were both exhausted. I know I was. I had reached the stage where hunger was banging its gong, but the rest of me just wanted to crash. I was too idle to put in the effort required to choose from a menu. In Battle, we went to Ye Olde Kings Head. A pint of Timmy Taylor's for me and a glass of wine for Cath. We looked up and down the menu and couldn't decide. 'I'm not all that hungry really' announced Cath. 'I'll just have a bag of crisps'.

Lying next to me was a copy of The Mail containing an article from Richard Littlejohn about some oily celebrity and his/her (see what I did there?), three in a bed romp he was unable to elaborate, owing to a super injunction, but which, he informed us, was liberally reported wherever the jurisdiction of England & Wales could not reach. Such as America. So a 'USA, celeb, threesome olive oil' google search quickly followed. Thanks Richard. All is now clear. And before long our evening meal had turned into a wet one, winding up at the Battle Abbey Hotel. It was the local Co-Op which saved us, just before it closed, where the last of the day's selection included a tuna and sweetcorn sandwich.

The extras are
Steps, Can and Bins, Mermaid Street, Rye
Sheffield Park Gardens, and
Bateman's Gate