October 2026. Royal Tunbridge Wells.
Only down in Rye the night, then back up to attend to father-in-law ahead of his next hospital admission.
Tuesday saw calls from medical examiners and undertakers on my side of the family, the process of death temporarily more demanding than life.
We stayed the night in the Wells, in the Travelodge that was once the Wellington Hotel.
I reckon the views across the commons from Mount Ephraim and that Travelodge are some of the UK’s best;
10 minutes to the Pantiles, a minute from the sign-less Mount Edgcumbe Hotel.
It’s a Brunning & Price of a place, just with actual rocks instead of a tractor in the the hotel garden,
actual Halloween spiders in the cobwebs instead of lists of instructions at the entrance at the entrance,
and an actual cave where Mrs RM takes her pint of Pig & Porter while I try to get enough WiFi reception to have a chat about funeral services.
Neither pint is as good as you’ve had elswhere, but it’s a pleasant place to escape life (and death) for an hour.
Pig on the left, Harvey’s on the right.
Why do those heads look so different ? And which one is best ?
