Our American readers may have noticed an absence of news in the UK at the moment, so I’m pleased to bring you the item that has kept Brits glued to their televisions this weekend;

Luckily, Mrs RM and I don’t watch any television (now Better Call Saul has finished, anyway), though we’ve had to buy a TV licence for the caravan in Rye Harbour, where I returned after a week’s Devonian ticking to find Mrs RM had completed her conversion of a basic caravan into a letting property available to book all year round. Middle class letting properties are complete with luxury soap, a bottle of Prosecco and a packet of jammy dodgers, I believe.

Rye Harbour is a rather different beast from Camber Sands across the estuary.

Camber has the Pontins, the chips and the stabbings; Rye has the wildlife reserve, the twitchers’ cafe and the information boards (and the year round tourist trade).

You have to go a bit further east for the firing ranges (no cask).

I was sceptical about a caravan when Mrs RM told me she’d bought a home by the seaside, but I can see the appeal now that it’s covering its annual costs and the superspeed WiFi is working.

And the local cafe serves builders breakfasts AND squid.

This is a breakfast bap in a naan though;

We’ve spent a few days in the local pub, on the bottled 1648, but it’s the sunsets and seaside that will draw us back over the Autumn.

DON’T pull the chain.


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