November 2026. Hastings. East Sussex.
You rejoin me in Hastings/St,Leonards, two (2) days after The Great BRAPA.
I’m almost tempted to visit all the pubs he goes to 2 days later, offering an alternative view just to be contrary, but I wouldn’t live long. They have strong livers in Hull.
The Albion has the added lure of Harvey’s, and a first revisit since 2016, when I raved about a jangly pop song sung by young women. Some things never change.
It’s the first of the classics you come to at the start of Hastings astonishing Old Town, though you can’t enter from George Street,
and have to brave a seagull attack and the bracing winds of East Parade.
My pics look like they were taken by Michael Slaughter on a disposable camera in 1982,
but the Albion does really look like this.
They’ve got a cider festival on, and at least one young women goes for a pint of the strong one, but the bloke is a wimp and goes Sussex Best. As do I.
Lovely mix of custom, just like the Jenny Lind up the hill. Old Boys, older groups perusing the pies, young couples interrogating the barmaid about the range of teas.
It’s probably a wonderful pub; the Harvey’s is a chewy VERY GOOD (don’t like the loss of the numeric scores), Patsy Cline’s “Crazy” is the perfect soundtrack, and it’s just gorgeous.
The only issue is the lack of seats for the solo supper. I take the table for four with bench seating and immediately regret it as a couple eye it up, so I move to a backless table I never feel comfortable in.
But I’ll be back. Mrs RM walked past the Albion a couple of days, smelt the waft of pie pastry and demanded a revisit. And one never refuses Mrs RM.
