Location: Rye Harbour
Who’s there: Bob n Aisling & Ally n Jenny
When?: 8th-10th March 2024
Auld pals reunion
Well, it was great to see super Bob and Aisling in Rye! Our old mates, way back from Carlstadt NJ days, around 1998-2000! Nothing much has changed since then, aside from giving birth to beer bellies, kids, and wearing more expensive knitwear – and that’s just the girls. Oh, and Spurs won a cup. Like us, our pals have the misfortune of living in ‘the garden of England’, and recently bought a wee weekender cottage in the Rye harbour area, to dream wantonly of the Jersey shore, Sam Adams and chicken wings. We thought we’d best check it oot!
First things first though, we’re in need of a few scoopy dos before venturing to the shore-side with our bucket n spades, on this balmy early March Saturday avo.
Figure 1: The old team back together. A light refreshment (or 6) before we venture seaside
Rye Harbour is a fascinating place: it has an expansive beach area with copious bins, limited parking, a sea and a sky, winding paths that are jobby-free, unpredictable wind & rain, and miscellaneous random derelict huts on pebbly errr, stones. It’s probably best known for the disastrous, but true, tale of a sunken lifeboat back in November 1928, where sadly all 17 of the brave crew of the Mary Stanford drowned, in a vain attempt to assist the Alice of Riga steamer, which was drifting dangerously in stormy waters. Tragic ☹.
Figure 2: LHS: Mary Stanford Lifeboat House; RHS: Illustrative description of the fateful evening of 15th November 1923
Light refreshments
After a thought-provoking, humbling, windswept 5 hour walk, the gallant troupe made their way into Rye old town in search of much-needed refreshments and discussions about footy (the girls) and shopping (the boys). After many, many seconds of intense searching, Aisling and Jenny coerced poor old Bob and I into a local hostelry, which was rather nicely decorated with comfy chairs and a bar full of promise.
Figure 3: Jenny and Aisling discussing the footy results in a posh Rye pub
After a wee bit of scoopage, we all decided we were peckish. Fortunately, I had caught a rather big fish earlier in the harbour, so suggested we headed to a nearby restaurant for them to cook it up and serve to us. With all in enthusiastic agreement, it took no time at all to head over the road and offload my aquatic captive.
Figure 4: Remember fish-fans, you need a permit to fish Rye Harbour as there are a few whoppers in there. Some big macs too, seemingly.
Local delicacies
Not quite sure what the Michelin chef did to ma big fush, but it had deffo shrunk when he served it. I guess that happens quite often when you cook things in a microwave or when you drink lager – two gulps and it’s gone. The potatoes had gone a bit awol too tbf. All tasted very nice though, so we sconed everything in sight, drank loads and burped merrily into the wee small hours. Rye’s no’ so bad, I thought – Jenny hasn’t even been in any shops– although I still feel pretty bad about the sunken lifeboat, and I wouldn’t say no to a dirty big bag of chips.
Figure 5: Wee fish portions: Shrimp-flation is rife – even in the aquatic environment
A couple of wee cheeky night caps in the best hidden jazzy bar in the world ever – what a discovery! And the tastiest cocktail I’ve ever had. Some orangey rummy thingy that was sooooooo good I almost appeared excited – I had two.
Back to Bob and Aisling’s wee hoose, and as Jenny and Aisling effervesced about adorable kitchen extensions and lovely furnishings, Bob and I did the decent old man thing and fell asleep on our armchairs clutching undrunken glasses of beer, heads lolling back, mouths gaping and the soothing resonant noise of a baritone snore, perfectly in time with the breaking waves over Rye harbour.
Au revoir
Next thing I know it’s the morning! Comfortable sleep in the spare room. Glad I made it upstairs. Jenny’s awake, looking through a house lovely magazine and saying how much she’d like a hoose just like this in Rye Harbour.
I grunt and say hmmm, yeh. Wondering what time the Rangers game is on and what my current brownie points balance is. Maybe if I agree to buying a house I’ll be home in time for kick-off. Hmmm.
Bob was up bright and early at 11:40 am and gone to the local corner shop to secure a tasty breakfast. Being a top lad he took my sensitive cultural needs into account and whisked up a miracle, giving the kitchen is still being built and they’ve only just got the place.
Figure 6: Monsieur le Bobby Boy prepared a most excellent brekkers: Yes, that is a real strawberry flavoured filling in that croissant! Bit pricey at 99p but it is le weekend after all.
After congratulating Bob on a wonderful meal, he informs us there’s a few croissants left – enough for one more each. We all accept his offer to warm them up before we hit the road.
He’s a good lad. Shouting from the kitchen, he said, ‘and you’ll be back just in time for kick-off Ally’.
‘Oh err, is that right Bob? Oh.’
And like a giant goldfish in Rye harbor, Jenny takes the bait, hook, line and sinker. ‘Oh are Rangers playing today?’.
‘Oh I don’t know. Are they Bob?’
‘Yes, Jenny’ he replies ‘ can’t miss that one. Topo f the table clash, isn’t it Ally?’
‘Oh errr, aye so it is Bob. Yes. Don’t think I’ll be watching that though – no chance we’ll be home in time.’
‘Oh. We’d best get a move on then – after our croissant.’ Said Jenny.
She’s the best wee wifey. Although I’m a wee bit worried if we have another croissant, and no doubt a cup of coffee, we’ll be at least another 30 mins here, probs more likely an hour. Bugger, I’ll miss the first half.
‘How do we switch the air fryer off, Aisling?’ shouts Bob.
“What air fryer Bob?!’ replies Aisling alarmingly.
‘I set it to 220C for 10 mins.’
‘We don’t have an air fryer!’
‘Yes, we do. I put the croissants in it!’
‘Oh Bob. You didn’t. You must’ve put them in the microwave!!!’
We all look at each other not knowing whether to smile or sprint out the front door.
A loud ping from the microwave breaks the silence.
‘Oh no!’, shouts Bob.
Thick black smoke billows from the kitchen.
‘He he he’, he said, ‘they might be a tad over done!’
Smoke alarms go off like a blitz in the Somme as the microwave door is slowly opened.
‘Oh Bob’, whimpers Aisling.
‘Croissant anyone?’ laughs Bob, winking at me. We mime high fives from behind the girls.
Good old Bob, maybe I will be home on time!
Figure 7: Bob’s ‘Airfryer’ croissant recipe from Le Rye ‘Arbour terroir
Sources
1-7. Ally Grant photos, March 2024.