retiredmartin

October 2026. Rye.

A stormy weekend scuppered my plans for the train to Hayward’s Heath, perhaps the UK’s dullest town.

But with a short interlude between gales (caravan still standing) we took the bus into Rye for a pint and managed to nip in its most regular GBG pub just before noon opening.

I’m surprised “regular” isn’t a beer name at the Waterworks, whose beers are all toilet themed.

U-Rye-nal, Pissoir Porter and the flagship “I Pee Alot”, which is evidence if needed that home brew beers can be sublime.

That IPA has been EXCELLENT on two recent visits, the sort of pint that makes you turn to Mrs RM and say “This, this, is the epitome of the brewer’s craft“. And she’ll say “Can I have another one then ?“.

Great bar snacks, too, and the only issue I have with the Waterworks is that it’s too busy. Turn up at 10 past instead of 10 to and you’re scambling.

The Guvnor bangs a gong (probably for sale, like everything else in the pub), and tells us how things work (PRESS : PLAY).

Well, it’s not exactlyt Brunning & Price, is it ? I move up onto the cushions to free up space for a couple of young New Zealanders to join us, and we have a heartwarming chat about kumara chips and pub culture and the risk that the table we’re sitting at might be sold quicker than those tea towels.

And, suddenly, the Waterworks feels like the pub that ought to win national awards.

A bit like the next one, in fact.