Having been down the south coast at the end of July, August saw us in the more familiar surrounds of another bit of coast, with some time in Hastings.

Sunday

Getting down to Hastings was a bit annoying, various train issues forcing us something of a circuitous long way round and taking over an hour longer than might have been expected—at least we had the compensation some of the way of a dog who’s panting sounded very like a steam train! Getting there eventually we forewent i usual wander down the hill to recover in the Seadog by the station.

Having slung off the aches and pains of the train journey we made our way down to the sea, and the always excellent White Rock Hotel, checking in to our home away from home overlooking the sea and pier. All settled in we went for a stroll along the seafront and up into the Old Town, finding our way to the Hastings Arms. The day was getting on though, and we wanted to be out and about early next day, so we headed back to the hotel for some dinner and sleep.

Monday

We were indeed up and ready early on Monday, Heather grabbing some breakfast before we climbed the hill to the rail station. There it was a short wait for a train to take us along the coast a little, to somewhere I’d never been, the traditional seaside resort of Eastbourne. The first thing we noticed on arrival was the interesting railway station, dating to 1886. The interior roof is impressive, and the exterior includes an impressive clock tower.

The way down to the sea from the station is pretty obvious, with a nice pedestrian route heading through the typical more major high street shops before they give way to more independent and interesting outlets and cafes. We investigated a few of the shops before reaching the shore, with the impressive pier the most obvious landmark. We headed that direction, through a pretty flower garden, and down to the bar at the pier end, slightly sad that it wasn’t possible to climb any of the higher parts up the staircases round the clock.

It had been fairly obvious so far that while Eastbourne is no longer the geriatric haven it once was, it’s hardly full of the more exciting seaside activities. Sitting on the pier though, a couple of things did seem worth visiting. We’d already noted a crazy golf course down the coast, but from the pier spotted an intriguing structure the other direction, which a bit of googling revealed to be a Martello tower.

We decided to head towards crazy golf first, following the sea past kite flyers and a preserved bathing machine to a little park adjacent another piece of defunct military architecture, the so named Redoubt. Despite having once been accessible as an attraction that was currently closed and somewhat derelict, thought there were signs that work may be going on to restore it. That was stretched to the little park, which was half cut off by fencing, but we did have the delight of finding a random Elmer sculpture.

The other side of the Redoubt we found the rather lovely Beach Deck which made a very pleasant space to sit in the open under the rather warm sun and enjoy al fresco lunch. It was also conveniently close to the crazy golf, which proved to be an interesting course with elevated sections, some long (for crazy golf) holes, and a good time.

We headed back to the sunlit deck for a drink to await our ride back along the sea, Dotto Train (named for the manufacturer), a little road train running right along the seafront. We squeezed our way on and allowed it to carry us along paths, and then the coastal road, past the pier and along to the Martello tower, which has acquired the delightful name of the The Wishtower.

Sadly you can’t get in the Wishtower but this was still the closest I’ve managed to be to one of the two hundred year old fortifications. Wandering the outside gives a sense of its strength and solidity, even if the access drawbridge is long gone with the guns and the grounds landscaped into garden.

From there we headed back, past the old lifeboat station and an actual AA sentry box, taking in The Cornfield Garage on the way, and the London and County by the station, the former being by far the more interesting of the two Eastbourne Wetherspoon. Then it was a train back and the hotel for sleep, after a nice little day trip out.

Tuesday

Sometimes I like to have breakfast at the hotel, and so Tuesday found us sitting downstairs to start the day. We’d decided that after the adventures of the day before we’d be sticking much closer to base and so set off to investigate the usual tourist shops and sights. Whether the time or the economy, they did all seem a little quieter than remembered from previous years (it had been noticeable that the music from the pier, which we’d been able to set clocks by, was distinctly absent also). Still, we made it through Old Town as far as the Pump House, which formed a welcome break. We weren’t ready for (more) food yet though, so headed up the hill, climbing away from the sea. Our aim had been to find the Stag but, after fighting through the maze of roadworks and barriers, we found it closed. So it was down the hill we went to the ever reliable Crown for a quick bite and fine beer.

Having reached that part of town we decided to have a stroll to the end, wandering along Rock-A-Nore and back, and of course finding our way into the Dolphin, always welcome to sit outside on a sunny day. With a detour to visit the lifeboat station we made our way up the East Hill lift (the west is somehow still not running), heading for the views and the Plough remembered from last time, who’s rear garden was just as welcoming as we recalled.

Having made it back down the lift just in time (with a car all to ourselves) we headed back along the coast to the hotel again to offload and prepare for the evening. We’d booked dinner at the normally excellent Webbe’s, but it must be said they let us down somewhat this time round. The food was still fine, but the service was terribly slow (though not as bad as for the rather well dressed couple on the adjacent table, who at one point were asked if they would like the dessert menu, before they’d had any sight of their delayed main course!). It put such a damper on the evening that we didn’t stay for dessert ourselves, adjourning to the nearby Crown again, which doesn’t have Heather’s favourite pudding at the moment, but did have an acceptable (if not as good) substitute.

The rest of the evening was spent in the hotel lobby, watching the darkened sea and wondering at one the other guests sat in silence by himself, apparently just staring at nothing.

Wednesday

Wednesday was another trip out of Hastings, though this time to a much more familiar destination in Rye. Arriving on a surprisingly busy train we made our way threw the disembarking crowd we headed round through the Landgate and up the hill to the main high street. There we wandered in and out of the little shops (an annoying one demanding no cards but cash only—it’s the twenty-first century!) We past by the restored George (more of which later); I have to say in person I can see why were some hesitant of its colour. Much more pleasing to the eye was the little outside courtyard of the Old Bell, so we stopped to sit down in the sunshine for a while.

Leaving we resisted the temptation to go straight up Mermaid Street and instead rounded down towards the river, with a couple more shops and tourist information. We weren’t going to hold off for long though, so headed up the cobbles and to the wonderful inn of the same name, settling into the bar with its giant fireplace for some lunch.

Sustained for the afternoon we made the top of the hill and decided to pop in the church for a quick look around. We were glad we did, as a young lady captivated us playing the piano (Mozart’s Piano Sonata No. 11 in A major—I know this because she was so good Shazam recognised it).

Uplifted, we headed back down the hill of the wonderfully named Watchbell Street and around to squeeze into the Waterworks micropub, something we’d never managed before. We hung around outside there until it was time to head back up to the George. Before it had burnt down and was almost lost we’d really enjoyed dinner there, so we thought it would make a nice evening to revisit. Unfortunately the rebuild seems to have removed a lot of the charm—it was just a standard, okay, restaurant experience; no gluggle jugs are nice glasses now, but a disinterested waiter with an iPad. A shame.

To recover we had a few more in the Waterworks before catching a late train back to base, and the hotel bed.

Thursday

Following another trip down for breakfast we headed out into a somewhat more rainy Hastings. We briefly poked around the pier, and then headed along Bottle Alley for the wind to blow any cobwebs away. Heading back along the more exposed top we certainly felt that wind, but actually took the time to note the art deco shelters and notice (confused how we never had done before) the rather wonderful and amazing weather station along the promenade, which is manually updated by volunteers daily.

We kept heading along the coast, and up the shops of Old Town again (some of which hadn’t been open earlier in the week). That led us once more the to the Crown, and from there onto the Hastings Arms. From there we had a wander around the Fisherman’s Museum, partly because it happened to be there. Being along that way, Heather finally got me onto the little train (I’m still not convinced by the idea of tiny gauge railway you can’t fit on properly) back along the sea to the Albion.

Having checked websites and times we decided to have another wander up the hill, and this time found the Stag open and welcoming as always, even if it was too cold for the wonderful terraced garden at the rear (we were also sad to hear the proprietors are moving on—hopefully the pub retains its homely atmosphere and that suntrap oasis). And then it was back down the hill to traditional fish and chips, picked up from the Blue Dolphin of course and taken back to the hotel (whisper it though, but it may be time to try another, for they’re certainly not the heights they used to be).

Friday

A last day, and so bags in the hotel and, after some as usual delicious food (and more banana rum for Heather) in the Hastings Arms it was time for the activity conspicuously absent from our time in Hastings, heading for the crazy golf, one of our top activities. We played one round and then had a break in the Albion, where we were amused by the coach load of what felt like an African church arriving, intent on dominoes and rum—one wondered how much of the seaside they’d ever see, but they certainly seemed happy.

After a second round though it was sadly time to go, as we strolled along the beach to collect the bags and then headed for the Seadog to wait the train to whisk us a much shorter journey home.