retiredmartin

October 2026. Rye.

Dad’s death sent me into action mode on Monday morning. Meeting care home staff who’d come to love his smile over 2 years, contacting funeral directors, letting relatives know and urgently clearing out a rather spartan room and taking four bin bags of clothes to recycling, leaving one of photos to sort with my sister.

But after that, it’s a waiting game, waiting for the Medical Examiner to call and confirm cause of death before you can make plans and answer dozens of lovely texts that end “When’s the funeral“.

I drove back to Mrs RM in Rye, urgently needing clean clothes, and food. Unsure which county we’d be in from day to day, our fridge is down to spinach, Greek yoghurt and cheap sphagetti.

Pub, then.

After a quick pint in the Waterworks, where a baby and a young girl entertained us, we walked to the smart dining place on the edge of town.

I know what you’re thinking when you see that exterior of the Globe on the Marsh. There ought to be laws against blackboards on the outside of pubs,

and why so much tat ?

But it’s back in the GBG with Harvey’s and Tonbridge (GOOD), and if you like Brunning & Pricey (and who doesn’t ?) this one’s for you.

We sit down next to an interesting young couple who live on (separate) housboats in Greenford and Tottenham, down for a weekend by the coast, and hope they’ll chat to us.

“You’ve ordered exactly the same as us” says Zoe.

“Pint woman, too” I say to Zoe, as Adam is the DES today.

It’s not cheap, but it was an unusually leisurely lunch, comparing notes on travel with happy, positive people, and by the end we’d succumbed to not just a pudding to share, but one each.

I’m sure Dad would have had the Marsh Crumble, too.