retiredmartin

October 2026. Rye Harbour.

Back at the holiday park from pubbing in Rye last Saturday, having abjectly failed to buy fresh groceries from Jempson’s for tea, we’re resigned to the emergency rations in the harbour shop (mainly crisps and tins).

“How about a pint in the William” says Mrs RM. YOU try saying no to her.

To follow grain with grape may not be too bad, but to follow that grape with grain is asking for trouble.

Never mind. No-one ever kept great pubs alive with halves. Not that the William the Conqueror, no longer the harbour’s only boozer (ugh), is a great pub.

A heavy focus on the three “C”s; Cypriot cuisine, colouring books for children and canines.

And a typically apologetic beer range that, once again, omits Spitfire.

Perhaps the jingoistic advertising campaign of old did for Spitfire, but it was once a classic beer.

At least there’s a very decent Master Brew, and a potent bottle-conditioned 1698 that was apparently kept just for an Old Boy who I’ve never actually seen drinking it.

The barmaid asks Mrs RM if she wants ice in her glass for the 1698.

“Ice in beer ! That’s like Cinzano in coffee* !“. Oh, no, she’s off now.

“I’ve seen it done !” says the barmaid. Yeah, by people who drink Bud Light through a straw, probably.

Good beer, even better chips, and a soundtrack designed for that Saturday afternoon of moderate overindulgence.

“Breakfast at Tiffany’s”, “Stepping Out”, “In the Summertime”, and then jug-of-sangria Helly Hansen bloke sings “What’s Going On” (which I bet he thinks is the actual title) as this comes on ;

And I’m a bit emotional and suddenly the worst pub in the world might just be the best.

Mrs RM, who’s STILL talking about ice cubes in beer, is heading to the village store for Kentish gypsy tarts.

*_{As offered in a Barnsley trattoria, New Year’s Eve 1993.}