Location: Rye Old Town
Who’s there?: Ally n Jenny
When?: 25th-26th March 2024
Following from a recent trip to Rye Harbour to see our long-time pals Bob & Aisling, Jenny thought it’d be a great idea to head back there to the Old Town. Before I could even think about making sandwiches for the 1hr car journey, she had found us a nice wee hotel slap bang in the main thoroughfare. Called, Jeake’s House, it dated from nineteen oatcake (17th century actually), boasted ‘ancient beams, four-poster beds, showers as well as baths’. What more could you possibly ask for? A free bar maybe?! Hmmmm – that’d be nice.
Arriving at the nearby car park we sauntered up the steep, cobbled path, with kicking and screaming suitcases, towards the hoose, which fortunately was nearer the bottom than the top of the hill. The hill is famous for the Hovis advert – bread better wi’ nowt takin owt, and the annual Gloucester cheese rolling competition.
Figure 1: Jeake’s hoose & the cobble road – site of proper Yarkshire bred, & cheese rolling
Dumping our bags in our beam-free, four poster-free bedroom, with adorable UPVC window and miniscule TV, we find ourselves back on the street once again.
Figure 2: Oor wee room in Jeake’s wee hoose in wee Rye Old Toon
‘Best get a move on’, said Jenny
‘Hmm. Why? We going somewhere in particular?’
I gaze through the window of the Mermaid Inn, and salivate thinking of tasty Rye beer from, err, Rye.
‘Appointment’s at 2pm’.
‘Huh? What appointment?’
‘The house viewing.’
‘What house?’
‘You daftie! Remember we said we’d maybe buy a wee holiday house in Rye.’
‘Err, yeah.’
I rack my brains and think it must’ve been discussed pre-Rangers game, so I wasn’t fully switched on.
‘Yes, that wee one I was telling you about. You thought it sounded good.’, continued Jenny.
‘Oh, err, yes, Ok that one. Why didn’t you say so?’
The wee hoose certainly was. Located down a very narrow low head height, dingy cobbled path, we walked past it three times before realizing it had a door – best suited for elves.
Figure 3: Muggers Alley in Rye. Elves beware!
‘What is that it?!’, I exclaimed, looking at the Goblin’s abode in front and below me.
‘Shhh!’ said Jenny, ‘there’s the agent!’
Figure 4: The mansion in Rye: 1:1 scale between pot plant (right, foreground) and front door.
As we all bend over double to enter the front door, I already decide it’s not for me. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but it just doesn’t seem to be my kind of house.
‘You do know there is no garden or outside space?’ said the agent, in a terse tone.
‘Hmm.’, I grunted into the floorboards. ‘There’s no inside space either’, I offered as a light ditty.
‘Oh Ally’, said Jenny – ‘it’s adorable. Let’s look upstairs’.
‘Mind your head’ said the agent to me. ‘The ceilings are quite low.’
Nae jobbies Sherlock. Mind ma back more like, you numpty. I decide to crawl up instead.
It’s the sort of hoose Bilbo Baggins might live in. If he was under 1 foot tall, I’ve no doubt he’d be quite comfortable.
‘There is no central heating, no parking and no outdoor bins’, said the agent.
Hmmm – no bins might be handy I think to myself – that would free up my Monday nights. Maybe it’s no’ so bad after all. Being able to stand upright in yer own hoose is overrated anyway.
‘Oh, it’s lovely’, said Jenny.
‘Oh good’, said the agent. ‘It’s not everyone’s cup of tea, it’s for a very specific purchaser.’
Aye an effin mad man with osteoperosis! I muttered under my breathe.
‘We’ll give it a think and get back to you’, said Jenny, happy and delightful as ever.
I can’t straighten up yet so don’t bother shaking the agent’s hands. Instead, I nod to her boots and head back up Muggers Alley, hoping for an ale sooner rather than later.
We dawdle around the old town, looking at the church, various bits of architecture and a wee bit of window shopping – which, to be fair is the best form of shopping, unless it involves a pub window. Like Scooby Doo gazing at a stack of mustard-topped hotdogs inside a tank of sharks, I know there is no chance – but also, like Mr Doo, I know to bide my time. So, with slobbering chops wiped, we continue the tourist trail. TBF, Rye is a pretty nice old place, with winding streets, non-chain shops, a decent number of liver tickling boozers, niche cinema and even a record shop. More or less everything I like.
Before long, we came across the oldest pie shop in England, named after my good old Uni mate Simondo, who was always not known for his love of pies. He was more of a breakfast kebab man. It was established around 1920, a few years after Si was born, so I bow my head and think sentimentally of my dear old friend. He’s not dead, but he does support Notts County.
Figure 5, Top: Pie shop & Bottom: beer shop. The essentials of a Rye life.
Many, many hours later when my major organ has given up protesting about its lack of lubrication, the two exhausted wanderers finally stop outside a pub which has been carefully selected as the best for a Rye beer. i.e. it’s the closest. It’s called The Ship; sailors, who are well renowned for their love of beer (apart from those in the merchant and royal navy, my dad, Granda and Uncle Jimmy – who all preferred whisky and rum when they sailed, and on shore), and originating from 1852, it’s gotta be a safe bet. Great excite!
Figure 6: After hours of mountaineering and back breaking work, this poor man finally is served a beer
Somewhat disappointedly, Jake’s beer (which was actually mine) wasn’t as nice as I’d thought it’d be. Hailing from Balfour Winery in Kent, the IPA was disappointing, and took me a whole 80 seconds to drink. Burrrp.
Jenny had a pint of prosecco, and before long we’re back on the streets. Happily, I find a charity shop next to the sunken Ship and stumble across a vinyl classic from the ‘80s. It’s Big Country’s, The Crossing, with the most excellent Mark Brzezicki on drums (The Cult, Love Album – aside from She Sells Sanctuary). Great success. At £3.50 it’s an absolutely bargain, and a lot cheaper than buying a house.
Before long, the day turns to night and the weary travellers grab some grub in a tasty Moroccan, Lebanese, Turkish, Greek place. We have a mezze of grilled meats and houmous stuff with bread and nuts. Nae cheese n onion crusps tho, so we head to a nearby Jazz Bar.
As well as delectable eateries the Jazz Bar has some immense cocktails. Although I’ve only ever tried one there, during our visit with Bob and Aisling – it is fruit tastically delicious. I can’t remember what it was called (Smugglers maybe?) but it was orangey/rummy tangy frooty tooty, with wee bits of fruit in it and everything. That’s how the bar man described it, anyway. I’m not a fan of cocktails at all, but this one is the best. Thank you Grapevine Jazz Bar, which thankfully was not playing any Jazz. Perfecto! It’s not that I don’t like Jazz, it’s just that it’s a pretty gash form of music.
Figure 7: a) Frooty gorgeousness in Rye (Top), and b) my cocktail (Bottom).
As the night wore on, several exotic dancers entered the bar, one of which struck a statuesque pose near our table. Looking remarkably like Jenny, I wonder how strong the froootyy tooottty cocktail is. The last thing I remember is barking ‘woof woof!’ and it’s goodnight, Rye! And no, we did not partake in the ‘honesty bar’ at the hotel!. Honestly.
Figure 8: Wild exotic dancers from shores afar in the Jazz bar
Breakfast next morning is very formal and uncomfortable. The proprietor, lovely old lady, is somewhat scatty and thinks we are someone else. ‘I do hope you found the restaurant I booked for you last night satisfactory to your requirements’
‘err, aye. It was fine. What booking?’ I look at Jenny questioningly.
Jenny shrugged back.
‘You did get my email didn’t you?’, she implores of Jenny.
‘err, yes I think so.’
‘you simply must have got my email!’.
‘How is the honey moon?’, she continued.
‘err good thanks. How’s yours?’ I couldn’t help respond.
‘Would you like some more devilled kidneys?’
‘No thanks I’m having sausage, beans and eggs.’
‘No problem I’ll get you some more kidneys.’
‘Let’s get oot of here’, Jenny and I say to each other.
Not long later we’re checked out and down by a pretty nice sandy beach, that is somewhat undulating and aptly named, Camber sands. We splash factor 50 suntan lotion all over as we don’t want to burn and have a wee wander along the beach. Stopping for a quick fush n chups, we decide we’d best be getting home…to a hoose we can both stand up in.
Farewell Rye – we’ll be back!
Figure 9: Blazing sunshine at Camber sands – look at how tanned my jacket is.
Sources
1. Jeake’s House: https://www.rightmove.co.uk/properties/86367612#/?channel=COM_BUY
2. Bedroom, Jeakes’ House: https://jeakes-house-bed-breakfast.eastsussex-uk.com/en/
3-4. Phillips & Stubbs property brochure: 2 Hucksteps Row, Church Square, Rye, March 2024
5-9. Ally Grant photos, March 2024.