Fi & Rich asked H & I – and Mads of course – to come and stay at their house in West Sussex, The Pools, to look after their dog Bob and elderly cat Meggy while they were off doing mad stuff at Glastonbury.
We took the dogs down to Seven Sisters to do one of my fave coastal walks – at sea level, not up on the cliffs, too dog-risky – and they seemed very smile-y to be on the beach!
As we walked along the stones, I caught sight of what I thought was a dark labrador swimming parallel to the shore – turned out to be a big old seal, following us along. What a random treat!
Apart from multiple visits to the very good local butchers in Partridge Green (where H was offered a job as a 3 x weekly sausage maker!), we pottered about generally. Down to Worthing for a short walk along a very breezy and grey sea promenade – and then for an excellent light lunch at a dog-friendly little cafe called Malt. Recommended! Plus of course walks around the grounds at The Pools – big enough the keep the dogs exercised and happy in this warm weather…
We also made it to Knepp, the rewilding place which was much bigger than expected, with laid out walks among the wildlife corridor. And a good lunch in their very pretty outdoor restaurant, edged with banks of wild flowers. Came back to give the dogs a run in the garden – Mads here sporting one of Bob's toys as a snorkelling mask lookalike..
I then dropped H to Gatwick at a brutal 3.30am yesterday – we weren't too sure about trusting the local taxis in the middle of the night, so I took one for the team – he's now off on the boat for the next SEVEN weeks! Two of which will be with me, but that really is a pretty long disappearing act. Boo.
To make up for his absence, my old school chum Fiona & her husband Peter came down to The Pools for a day and night, partly as it was a nice idea and partly to introduce them to Maddie (and her foibles), who they are very kindly having as their furry house guest when I go to the boat.
We toddled off first of all to Trenchmore Fram, about 15 mins away, to sample one of their very fine wagyu burgers, plus a couple of pints of the farm-produced cider, Silly Moo, for Peter. Fiona here, saying hi to one of the cows – always slightly awkward that the beef providers are right where you have your lunch…
From there it was on to the wilds of – OMG – the Henfield vicarage summer fete, in the churchyard. You could not imagine a more British scene and set up! Vicar and wife at the entry gate (£1 to get in – who the hell carries cash these days?!) – who were very displeased when Bob ignored the (ridiculous) signs says 'dogs welcome but not to urinate or defecate' and immediately cocked his leg on the flower border. The vicar said 'no, no, not on the plants!' and rushed off to get water – next time Bob will pee on his leg.
We passed by the Hook a Duck in favour of trying the Tombola, with its not-changed-since-I-was-a-child array of bottles and bits from the heady heights of Martini and Badedas bath bubbles to Lidl mayo and ketchup. Fiona came away with a bottle of some white fizz, so not bad for a £3 investment. Then it was on to the Coconut Shy where Peter nailed a coconut and I am now left wondering how the hell to get into it..
We circled back via the preserves and cakes stall (a green tomato chutney for Peter) and the Handbells ringers, taking their turn before the local band returned. A final stop at the 'Guess the Brand' stall – right up my alley – where I shamelessly copied an answer from the chap filling out his form next to me – thanks for the Hobnobs tip off.
Then back to the house for a chilled afternoon of chatting, tea, Millionaire shortbread and cookies and then a BBQ. Hurrah for Peter volunteering to do the meat while I faffed with salads and fried new potatoes. Also a walk round the grounds, Fiona on her bench at the top of the meadow, watching Peter and I and the dogs wandering round it.
I'm now home alone for the rest of the day – the thrills of laundry, blogging, packing and watering a LOT of plants – before I head back up to the smoke to stay with Janine & Ross for the next week.
Our house is now rented out to a tennis player – who I am hoping will be knocked out of the singles and doubles very early, so I might get a chance to water the plants before I go out to the boat. Got the dreaded call at 9pm last night from the tennis agency 'your house doesn't have any hot water' – about 45 mins after I knew H had gone to sleep on the boat in Croatia – and he deals with that job usually. When I checked the Nest app on my phone, the dreaded words Offline and Error were written large – not a good sign, oh boy…
So I rang them directly and asked if it could be the wifi, as our Dora Rd WhatsApp group had mentioned there were Virgin Media problems, yet again, today. She said, nope not the wifi, that's working fine. I then remembered the Nest control in the living room and thought I could talk her through fiddling with that. She then went in there and said 'Oh. It seems to be unplugged. I think someone (one of them obvs!) has plugged their phone in there'. Massive relief – entirely their fault! One hour later and the Nest had rebooted, I boosted the water and haven't heard a peep from them today. Long may that last!!!
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