retiredmartin

October 2026. Rye (East Sussex) to Ford (West Sussex).

Simon’s blog is always a great read, a tale of derring-do, parental love and indomitable livers, if not bladders.

Such has been the ferocity of his pub ticking that the Chronicles of BRAPA are some way behind (I also got massively behind in my GBG completion year), and this week we read of a fateful station change at Ford (Sussex) over a month before the new Beer Guide dropped (ugh);

With an actual base in East Sussex, albeit right on the Kent border, I should be well placed to get to those irritating newbies in to the West.

Look at how much detail goes into planning these raids by rail, which all seem to cost £14.10. Opening hours, closest station, calculation of minutes available to race from Platform 8 to Platform 2 at Brighton.

The day starts at 9:44 at Rye Station with me eavesdropping on a platform conversation. A woman is telling her boyfriend they’ll have half an hour wait at Ham Street. My mind searched for pubs in Ham Street, before suddenly clicking. Ham Street is on the way to Ashford on the platform over the footbridge !

I consider approaching the young lady but MumsNet tells me never to mansplain things like travel, and that women hate being approached by “random” men.

The announcer lists the stations on the way to Eastbourne, Ham Street is notably absent, our couple finally click and bolt off. In entirely the wrong direction. The train waits for them anyway.

Three trains and 152 minutes later I’m at Ford, a hamlet with an open prison, model railway shop and pub.

The Ship & Anchor has a giant campsite, and there’s powerboat training, kayaking and and a children’s play area next door. Simon may enjoy those more than the pub.

It’s like one of those old-fashioned riverside gentlefolk dining pubs you get in Cambridgeshire, where the excitement comes from splitting the bill and being glad you booked a table even though there’s dozens of seats. Remarkably for the 22nd October, most of the trade is eating outside. Perhaps living in Worthing hardens you.

At the door, the sort of dogs I like best in pubs.

At the bar, your usual suspects from Keighley and St Austell and Lewes I pick Harvey’s, which comes with a lovely bubble,

and is the sort of pint that impresses rather than delights, which means my VERY GOOD score is a tad reluctant.

An unspoilt pub, all beams and Lionel Richie and Knickerbocker Glories.

Pub Curmudgeon would have had something to say about those cushions, mind.

I could have lingered, but there’s a train to Littlehampton in 6 minutes and it’s a 6 minute dash back to Ford Station.

And when Phil comes on, it’s time to neck that last third of Sussex Best and sprint.