retiredmartin

A reminder of the targets for my sizzling Sussex saunter.

The first three of those have to wait till I get my “easts” and “wests” sorted. As Pub Curmudgeon will know, that may take some time.

Having waved John off at the train back to Chichester, I had a plan to conquer the lands to the east before tea-time.

Starting at the home of the Premier League’s newest whipping boys.

(The boys that beat City last time we played there in the Cup).

I’ve covered Brighton enough on this blog; it’s as good as it gets for pubs, gigs, burgers and art, even if the beer itself often disappoints. Good to see their sense of humour intact, as well;

It looks better, if busier, than ever. Just off the Level, past the Lady Boys of Bangkok tent, the Admiral must be one of the last Hanover pubs to make the Guide, though with three different names listed on WhatPub I can’t be completely sure it hasn’t.

This is a proper boozer, a Deserter pub,if you like. Bare boards, busy walls and micro cask all present, but this is far from an Antic.

Locals come here to drink, not to graze.

The Downlands Northern Hemisphere was surviving the heatwave pretty well, lilting somewhere between NBSS 3 and 3.5, which for Brighton is top-rate. An early contender for Loo of the Year too.

Because it was sweltering, I then decided to walk to the Watchmaker’s Arms in Hove, rather than risk the temptations around Brighton main station.

Obviously I didn’t take that highlighted route. I walked along Church Road and was briefly tempted to catch the last hour of Sussex v Durham, but even an hour of Collingwood digging in couldn’t justify Sussex CCC’s pricing.

The walk did throw up some new cultural gems.

I would say the Watchmaker’s (top) is as “micro pub” a micro pub as I’ve ever seen, from shop front to high tables to pump clips to beer range.

That’s no criticism, of course; never knock cheerful service and top quality beer (Downlands Dark NBSS 3.5).

Entranced by the Courage mirror, I nearly stayed for a second.  But then I noticed the small bit of paper handed to me by my anonymous B & B, instructing me to return a completed breakfast request (item by item !) to them by 8pm, or miss out on breakfast altogether.

If I’d know about the nuclear cooked repast then, I’d have opted for a Spoons bagel and stayed put.  But I’d paid for the breakfast, you see, and I needed to get back to Worthing in 2 hours, or hate myself forever.

On to Portslade, wherever that is.