There is such little justification in giving the Clockhouse in East Preston its own post that I’m going to do just that. It’s not the best pub in Worthing, let alone West Sussex, but it has possibly has the cheeriest barman, and I know these things matter to BRAPA.
East Preston is nowhere near Preston of course; hopefully this map extract will clarify.
The Clock House is one of those classic GBG pubs that could be slotted under 3 or 4 different locations in an attempt to confuse dedicated tickers.
It’s a twenty minute stroll from Angmering, the closest station, looks to Rustington for it’s Chicken Cottages and Domino’s Pizza (surely the main indicators of civilisation ?) and is clearly one of the endless suburbs of Worthing.
Worthing is a bit like a Milton Keynes with hills and beaches, a sprawling town of roundabouts, Garden Centres, Harvesters and commuter villages.
But East Preston claims the Clock House, and to celebrate GBG inclusion the Parish Council produced a pleasing map to guide my pre-pub walk (pubs not marked).
First of all, though, an Eggs Royale at Kerry’s Tearoom, home to the most industrious, unflappable and efficient café owner you’ll ever meet.
It’s the highlight of a village best called spick and span, but which lacks the youthful vitality of, say, St Leonards. Plenty of housing for Retired Gentlefolk (possible blog name right there) and commuters living in private roads pretending to be in Esher.
Gentle Folk who have plenty of time to knit their own seagulls*.
It’s the sort of place that looks like it should have a solid Fullers pub. And does. I felt a shiver as I walked past to the beach, as if I’d been there before. Perhaps I had.I visited on the final day of Summer 2017, when the south coast sea breeze offeredonly light relief. Despite the UK being hotter than the Sun, or something, it was still a culture shock to see folk in the sea in mid-June.
I put on my raincoat and walked along the pebbles, admiring pretty beach huts that presumably coast a fraction of their Southwold cousins.
It was a beautiful walk along a spotless coast unsullied by cafes, parking lots or pubs, with unfussy low rise flats set back from the beach. If I had any wish to retire to the beach, I might choose East Preston. If it had a Sam Smiths pub and Bass on gravity.
The Clock House is a beach bar converted from a bank, which seems to determined to exercise some West Sussex decorum.
There weren’t enough other customers at lunchtime to observe whether anyone would breach that requirement, but I was a bit a bit self-conscious as I shuffled round the different levels being nosey, glass in hand.
The old boy in front of me, who’d clearly been let in well head of noon opening, went for Tribute rather than the funny looking local beers, so I did the same. I thought the young and enthusiastic barman would chide us for ignoring his cask and craft menu, but I was wrong.
Tribute is a beer I’ve enjoyed once before. In Tamerton Foliot to be precise. Here, it was cool and refreshing, but rapidly grew much too sweet.
From my vantage point below the 100 clocks telling different times, I looked in vain for a receptacle for the rest of my half. What good is a pub without plant pots ?
*Someone will tell me they’re not seagulls.