retiredmartin

Regular reader Tom will know about the wonders of breaking your rail journey; I always assume this is a standard condition of travel but no doubt it’s not available in Maidenhead.

My return from Hove to Worthing needed three stops on the legendary Brighton-Bognor line. You’ll recall I needed to be back at my B & B by 7.59pm to secure my breakfast, so my legendary speed of foot was going to be necessary.

Things started to go wrong at Portslade, where the Stag’s Head turns out to be in a different country to the seaside resort and the station.

Never mind, a new High Street for me to explore in The Village, and some pleasing industrial heritage, including an old brewery chimney. As I ran up the street I could imagine Mrs RM’s disappointment at missing out on this.

I don’t know where the Stag’s Head has been all my (Beer Guide) life; it’s a little cracker, in the Southampton rather than Brighton style.

I’m not sure what the lack of photographic evidence implies, but the Watneys sign probably says a lot.

The Long Man Pale was cool and excellent (NBSS 3.5), a chap with a dog randomly chatted to me about the weather, and I only left when the Now 83 CD made way for “Galway Girl“.

Why is it so hard to escape Ed Sheeran in pubs ?  I swear the dog was singing that Carrickfergus line as I left.

A bolt to Fishersgate, another new station for me, made with 20 seconds to spare. Don’t run to catch a train after four pints, kids.

The stop at Shoreham was even tighter.  Train arrives at 18.02, allow a minute to negotiate retention of train ticket at the barrier, four minutes run through the churchyard to the Old Star, five minutes in the pub, four minutes run back to catch the 18.17.  Then hope there’s a loo on the train.

And it worked.  All I can tell you about the Star is that it’s tiny, the Gun Pale was OK, and the bloke on my left was obviously not seeking my help with his crossword when he read out the clues in a plummy voice.   The answer is “covfefe” ,by the way.

Sadly that flying visit left me no evidence of the beauty of Shoreham. Blame my B & B.

Which just left Lancing, whose Stanley Ale House I was at ten minutes later. Lancing has one gem of a building;

The Stanley isn’t it, but then pubs aren’t about buildings.

This may be a micro but with proper seating, a wide mix of drinkers and bizarre conversation, it was a place to settle in with (yet more) excellent Downlands.

My notes say “Yes Please” and “I haven’t got a clue“, which could mean anything. Answers on a postcard.

Topics discussed spanned strawberry plants, mobile phone contracts, substandard vision, and Sam Allardyce.  Some mild intoxication may have been present (it was nearly 7pm by now).  No-one was talking about beer, most were dashing in and out between pub and smoking shelter.

Few micros elsewhere have seemed this blokey, or this cheery.  Perhaps because the other pubs round here are largely for diners, the Stanley is as close to a proper pub as Lancing gets.

You’ll no doubt be delighted to I made it back to my B & B with my breakfast order with five minutes to spare.