retiredmartin

November 2026. Hastings. East Sussex.

A bit dull, using our last day in East Sussex for a while in Hastings,

but I doubt I’ll get bored of the Old Town anytime soon,

and I still haven’t been to the Clarence or the Clown.

On a dreich Wednesday in November George Street, gateway to the Old Town, was quieter than usual, bar a gaggle of French schoolchildren.

Half the specialist shops were closed, leaving the cats in charge.

On my last birthday (22 December, haven’t reminded you lately) we’d walked to Rock-a-Nore beach.

took in the fishing history,

and had a quick pint in the Dolphin,

But, despite it being my birthday, I’d only had a half, and because I never book we’d failed to secure a table for their feshly caught fish lunches.

But today we tipped up at half eleven to bag a seat by the fire and first in the queue to order.

It was magical, mostly Old Boys (“when you get to seventy you just keep going forever“),

with the tourists joining at noon.

Mrs RM found the “wow” factor I’d missed a year ago, notably in a near enough perfect Oakham Citra, really friendly young staff and a soundtrack of “Don’t Give Up“, “Freedom” (Wham !) and “Flashdance“.

I wasn’t sure about the huss (a small but angry shark),

but it made one of the meal of the year.

Just a shame they’d just swapped Kent’s Quiet American for that Citra. A quiet American is a rare find.

Almost as good as a noisy Sooty band playing in Pelham Arcade.