November 2026. Rye Harbour.
If you’re noticing a lack of spark in these recent posts you’re not alone. And it’s not just the strain of planning funerals and care packages; frankly the repetition of travel between Sheffield, Cambridge, Tunbridge Wells and Rye dulls the brain.
I’d give anything at the moment to be in (checks GBG 27 new pubs list) Slaggyford or Hillfarance or Lydiard Millicent. Wherever they are.
For now, it’s Rye, after a contemplative Remembrance service in Waterbeach, where Dad had played his final Last Post at the age of 85 (Press PLAY).
We’re playing that at his funeral, too.
Down in Rye Harbour, we celebrated the resurrection of the Inkerman Arms with late lunch and a pint.
Rye’s pubs have been more resilient than most, but it’s still a surprise to see a pub return after six years.
The young management have kept it simple so far. Open all week (good). breakfasts at the weekend, Sunday lunches, England v Australia on the telly for rugby (ugh) fans,
and just Fullers and Long Man on the pumps. Plenty, I’d have said.
“Video Killed The Radio Star” is competing with the rugby, and losing, the lone Pride is drinking well enough.
But as we wait for the Chicken Panko (always thought that was a penalty technique) Burger, the barman enthuses about the Long Man Blonde he’s just put on, and this is the first pint at the Inkerman that made me go, “Hmmm that’s really good“. Not that the more foody William the Conqueror round the corner is great for cask, but it does have the 1698 in bottles.
The Buggles give way to Steve Miller, and then to Rod Stewart, and I ask the barman for some ketchup to go with the mayo so we can finish the chips.
It’s nice to have a local pub where you feel welcome enough to ask for extra tomato sauce.
