Yesterday for the ramble we were four, a good number to get round a table. There was S.B. moi, Froggy and Paco. My muse had gone back to Denmark on a secret mission,
The Bish
had a cold
, Matt was off cruising
and Imogen couldn't come.
The weather was bright, sunny and warm so S.B. marched us off to The Depot for expensive coffees and where we wouldn't get too sunburned. We made a fine looking band
in our scruffy rambling gear
amongst all the Lewes Cognoscenti with their fine clothes and posh laptops all pretending they were not just DFL (Down from London)but also WFH (Working from home).
Then we began rambling through Lewes where we were held up on a pavement by a crocodile
of very polite school kids
going off somewhere to play footy. Lafayette stood aside to let them pass and they thanked him and called him "Sir" - very proper.
We did a bit of country walking
and got a bit disorientated in South Barn Farm where we bickered over the location of The True Path. Eventually we found it and went over the fields to the back of Kingston and thence into The Juggs.
As the sun was still shining we opted to eat outdoors (but under cover)
and started to lay into the Harveys.
Food was pretty good and coffee was augmented by the addition of clandestine brandy.
Lafayette had got a double hip flask given to him by his thoughtful daughter but S.B. provided the lunch brandy from the miniature he had nicked from a shop.
When it got cold Paco and Laf walked up Kingston High Street importuning hapless females by saying they were lost and enquiring about the time of the next bus. Since we established this was hours away we decided to walk back to Lewes instead. Half way along the road S.B. hailed a bus to Newhaven for Paco who was flagging.
Unfortunately Paco had forgotten his bus pass but the driver said he'd let him on as long as he promised not to drive his car back from Seaford station while under the influence. (Ha, ha!)
The other three managed to make it to The Swan where a discussion with The Black Barmaid about vinyl (wots that? )
ensued. Froggy promptly recited to her all the records he had ever owned and those of Curly Clarke too until she eventually expired of boredom.
Nothing much else happened in the pub; we were all too tired from the unaccustomed walking so we had a last pint then went home.
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