retiredmartin

October 2026. Hastings. East Sussex.

The six hour trek down from Sheffield to Rye Harbour continued on Monday with a check-in on Dad and his former next door neighbour (and cousin*) Mick, who’s just joined him in the care home. I was keen to see if they’d recognise each other after two years apart, but apparently not; Dad doesn’t recognise me these days.

I’d collected Mrs RM’s new glasses from All Eyes spectacle manufacturer up the A14 in Over, but it was my own glasses that collapsed irreparably somewhere near Maidstone Services on the drive to the coast.

Luckily I had sunglasses to hand, but as sunshine here becomes a distant memory it was pretty essential to get a new pair.

Mrs RM seemed keen to join me on a shopping expedition, but my male readers will know a man shops best who shops alone, so I sneaked out to the bus stop while she was enjoying the coffee and marmalade on toast I bring her as part of our marriage contract.

That Rye Harbour artwork shows the whale that swallowed a swimmer just off Camber Sands, the inspiration for the Whalefall documentary I could have watched at Hastings Odeon.

Your exit from Hastings Station is greeted by a swarm of 6th formers heading to East Sussex College, and in the Seadog across the road the staff are all aware of the importance of age verification.

Sadly, no-one asks me to show my ID card (CAMRA gold one), and the trade at this newish craft and noodle bar is rather older than the legal drinking age.

Blokes with lap tops, loud women with relationship issues “I said…you’re a f*****g idiot”, older folk enjoying pork larb, which is better than it sounds.

One of the best Thai meals I’ve had, expertly matched with a schooner (ugh) of murky Beak Parade. Suddenly I regretted bringing Mrs RM, but she’d have made me buy clothes and I did that in 2024.

The soundtrack is a bit sixth-form, in a good way. The Cure, Blondie, Siouxsie & the Banshees, and this long forgotten US Sisters of Mercy soundalike;

Perhaps the Seadog, with one hidden hand pumps (Marble Bitter today) won’t challenge the Old Town pubs for a GBG place, but I like it a lot.

You could spend an hour in the Gents just trying to read the stickers. But I wouldn’t if I were you.

*_{Though in the Fens everyone is your cousin}