retiredmartin

November 2024. Rye.

Just like Red on the night before Andy escaped from Shawshank, my rail journey from St Pancras onto Ashford was fraught with anxiety.

I only seemed to have one bit of card. Where (oh where) was my return ticket to Waterbeach ? Would I be stranded in Rye with Mrs RM forever ?

“Your two tickets are stuck together mate” said the kindly Revenue Inspector, and indeed they were, no doubt bound by a gloppy post-snow substance sloshing about in the ticket dispensor..

I beat Mrs RM to Rye station by 10 minutes,

clutching my trio of friends who had been evicted from my rucksack while I searched for that return ticket.

Ten minutes is, of course, the minimum amount of time needed for a pint in a pub, and the Cinque Ports is the minimum sort of pub you need in a town like Rye before the Ypres Castle opens.

Mrs RM had taunted me last week by having a half here on her own, non-CAMRA approved,”Rye romp”,

and although it’s a basic Sheps town pub those handpumps are rather splendid, I think.

Actually, biggest range I’ve seen in a Sheps in quite a while, though absolutely no sign of any cask trade among half a dozen Old Boys and Gals, all with dogs.

Mrs RM had the Bishops Finger, so to speak, and since Simon had been deprived of that joy in Bishopsgate last month I followed her steer.

And then retired to the large table for four underneath Flo Rida. Would that naming work in the UK ? Would a rapper be called Ben Fleet or Faver Sham ?

There’s obviously a decent food trade, but it wasn’t evident on Thursday, even with the weekly Rye Market next door. I’d call it a flea market but it’s not that exciting.

It’s a working pub, not a smart one, and I warm to a pub with a Jungle Book poster and one saying;

“If at first you don’t succeed then skydiving isn’t for you”.

The Bishops Finger was OK, strangled a bit by that crime of a thin glass;

but it certainly wasn’t drinking at 5.9%.

The female staff, and a mixed bunch of customers, were great. If it ever makes the GBG (and since even the Ypres Castle doesn’t you have to wonder) Simon will be in heaven.

Big dog meets little dog, a truce is declared, large wine lady asks to sit at my table, and since I’m a sociable sod I can’t say no.

But just then Mrs RM arrives, decides she’s not staying for fish and chips, and we head out to the cobbles.