Chewing over gastro-tourism

At the end of May, my wife and I spent a week in one of our favourite holiday destinations: the fishing town of Padstow in Cornwall. As I sat by the edge of the harbour with a warm Cornish pasty in a paper bag, gently batting seagulls away with my free hand, a logo on the bag reminded me that my lunch was actually a product with Protected Geographical Indication status across Europe.

That meant, amongst other things, it had to be made in Cornwall otherwise it couldn't legally be called a Cornish pasty. It needed to be D-shaped and crimped along one side, not with the crimping on the top like a stegosaurus or a Klingon warrior. Inside I could expect to find beef, potato, swede and onion but no other vegetables and no artificial additives. Neither a carrot nor a sprinkling of monosodium glutamate were permitted.

Clotted cream and sardines also have similar protection in Cornwall. This got me thinking about unique delicacies I can enjoy here at home. Our bakery in Ringmer produces the Jack & Jill bun, which doesn't just contain dried fruit but is topped with icing and jam as well. The intriguing Val’s Purse is on the menu at the Cock Inn. Our butcher, Lew Howard, is renowned for his tasty sausages. Café Ringmer offers a cross-cultural collection of cooked breakfasts. We have an acclaimed Indian restaurant, an award-winning chip shop and two other pubs – each producing their own specialities. In fact, I reckon there’s enough exclusive cuisine to justify an entire TV series hosted by a celebrity chef. If that was ever broadcast, you’d soon see coach-loads of tourists driving straight past Lewes and heading up the hill to visit us and try our food. There’d be so many out-of-towners that takeaway pizzas would need to be ordered at least a fortnight in advance. Next, there’d be a campaign to turn Ringmer into one of those protected areas for agriculture and food. Before long the whole world would know about the high quality of our local fare.

Except there's a catch. You see, although true Cornish pasties need to be made in Cornwall, they don't need to be baked there. They can be assembled within the county and then cooked somewhere else. And that's why I think we should keep quiet about the goodies available to eat in Ringmer. If we don't, there'll be Jack & Jill buns for sale around the globe. Everyone will know what’s in Val’s Purse. Our special treats won't be special any more. So the next time you buy particularly good local food, don’t share it with anyone else. Better still, clear your plate and have a second portion. It’s the only way we can keep the secret to ourselves.

First published in Viva Lewes magazine issue 118 July 2016

Stepping out in style

I'm getting ready to head into Lewes. I've put my shoes on and I'm already slipping my left arm into my coat when I realise my wife has a kink in her eyebrow. I know what this means. I double-check my outfit. No fluorescent socks. No breakfast on my trousers. I give up. "What?"

"You're not wearing a jumper.” Indeed I'm not. I am, however, wearing a navy blue shirt. Dark colours for winter, pale colours for summer. Surely darker colours are warmer. But I can’t possibly explain this to her, so instead I choose the sensible option. "I'll just grab a cardie. Won't be a moment."

As a child, I was encouraged to wear a vest, despite the unfashionable nature of the garment. I rebelled for a while. These days I've progressed to something that calls itself a 'technical layer'. Technically it is a vest, although I convince myself I’m dressed like a mountain-climbing athlete when I wear it. Most importantly, no-one can see it. Despite having grown older and theoretically wiser, I still don’t want to look un-cool.

You see, many people make fashion mistakes by choosing clothes that wouldn’t really suit anyone. That’s not my style, if you’ll forgive the pun. Whilst I know it’s best if I stay away from flared dungarees and leather trousers, it’s taken me a while to realise that everyday clothes can also be worn in the wrong way. When it’s done deliberately – I'm reminded of a school friend who subverted the dress code by wearing two ties – the results are intentionally amusing. My worry is inadvertently breaking the unwritten rules of good taste. Since my teens, I’ve discovered that a perfectly serviceable pair of socks must never be paired with an equally serviceable pair of sandals. I’ve learned that Suzi Quatro is the only person allowed to wear a denim jacket with jeans. And I’ve realised that a tracksuit is intended for use on a track, not as a suit.

Yet there’s still one area of fashion that I’ve not quite mastered: holiday clothes. I’ve noticed that we Brits really seem to choose dramatically different dress when we’re on holiday, even when our destination isn’t that far away and our lifestyle hasn’t changed. Suddenly we’re donning storm-proof cagoules. Camouflage shorts. Climbing boots. Sarongs. All just for a trip to the shops.

There’s one problem. When I come to Lewes from my home in Ringmer, I'm a visitor too. So is it wrong to turn up in my regular clothes? Would it be better if I identified myself as a tourist by wearing an arctic explorer’s fleece and eating an ice cream? On second thoughts, forget the cardigan. I need a pair of plastic clogs. Accessorised with ski socks, naturally.

First published in Viva Lewes magazine issue 102 March 2015.

Having a wonderful time…

We're on holiday in Cornwall, leaving Ringmer free for Cornish tourists to visit. "What do you write in a postcard?" says my wife, as we shelter from the drizzle. Sadly she's not asking because she needs my literary skills. No, she doesn't see me as Hemingway in a Hawaiian shirt or Oscar Wilde with a suntan. It's purely practical guidance she's looking for.

Quite simply, she wants me to provide a summary of holiday highlights. But what have we done? We've eaten out a bit... but that's hardly unusual. In fact, there's not even a branch of Bill's around here, despite the company's recent expansion rate being equivalent to a culinary Big Bang. Perhaps my wife and I have been indulging in some holiday vices? Nope. Admittedly my pasty consumption is up, yet my coffee and cake consumption has dropped. No overall gain, I say.

I struggle to think how our behaviour has differed from any other day away from work. Let's see. Sometimes on holiday I wear trousers that convert into shorts. They seemed a good idea at the time. Instead of doing what non-holiday people do - checking the weather forecast before they leave home - I have trousers that contain a plastic zip below the knee. One day some enterprising sportswear manufacturer will probably create a jacket that transforms into a waistcoat and then a vest. I may buy one, despite the risk of ending up with just a single sleeve.

My wife was prepared for the rain and is dressed in a heavy-duty waterproof jacket. This is her sartorial antidote to my convertible shorts. It's a remarkable garment that appears to intensify her annoyance with the weather, compressing and focusing it into a glum laser burning from underneath the peaked hood. The result is like having a water-cannon aimed at your soul. In this coat she's barely recognisable as the woman I married, although I hardly dare look at her in case she turns me into a pillar of salt and then washes me away.

Anything else? Well, because I've been wearing shorts and sandals, my ankles are now sunburned. Under any other circumstance, a potentially carcinogenic injury that caused my skin to peel off would be treated as a medical emergency. Yet, from a holiday perspective, tradition dictates it should be viewed as somewhere between mildly annoying and hilariously funny.

I'm about to suggest this as a starting point for the postcard when there's a commotion down the street. As I turn to see what's causing the fuss, I notice a seagull fly out from a crowd of people. Adults are shouting at it. Children are laughing. The seagull displays a mouthful of stolen chips as it passes.

I steal a glance at my wife. She seems to be smiling. I wonder if she's amused by the seagull's antics. Then I see she's just written the phrases 'pink ankle' and 'comedy trousers' on her postcard.

First published on VivaLewes.com 14th August 2014

Come on in, the water’s fine

There's something rather compelling about a large body of water. The ebb and flow of the river Ouse captivates me whenever I cross the bridge at the end of Cliffe High Street. Swans swim past when the tide comes in, large chunks of Barcombe float by when the tide goes out. I'm equally intrigued by the harbour at Newhaven, the shingle at Saltdean and the pier-and-a-half in Brighton. This is probably because my childhood was punctuated with family walks along the seafront at Worthing, often featuring one of my father's weather forecasts. "If you can see Brighton, it's going to rain", he'd say. "If you can't see Brighton, it's already raining." Eventually I got the joke, although I spent many years marvelling at dad's meteorological accuracy.

Here in land-locked Ringmer, we have nothing bigger than a pond. This is a relatively static body of water, disturbed only by the occasional misplaced cricket ball or empty can of extra-strength cider. I once saw a heron there. It looked disappointed.

We can also rustle up a couple of old water pumps, which are fascinating historical artefacts but don't work. We even have a few half-hearted tributaries from the Ouse making their way into the village. But we just don't have the volume of water that has inspired poets and artists through the ages. There is, quite frankly, very little romance to be found in a shallow ditch.

My first thought is to mount a campaign. Plans to allow Cuckmere Haven to flood have proved contentious... so let's move the focus inland. Maybe the football club would trade their pitch for an artificial lake. Better still, perhaps the controversial plans to develop Clay Hill reservoir could be revived and refocused on the village green. Ringmer would become the windsurfing capital of Sussex.

As I search the internet for inspiration, my mission takes on new urgency. I learn that a research study last year found people living in 'marine and coastal environments' were happier than those further inland. This means my quest for some kind of aquatic feature is an issue that should concern everyone. Not only do we like to be beside the seaside, our well-being actually depends on it.

And, dear Ringmer resident, I have finally found success. I have tracked down a large body of moving water on the edge of our village. Not the swimming pool. Not a dew pond. No, I've found something with considerably more volume and more movement.

In fact, it's full of movements. So forget about the river. Ignore the sea. Bring your deck chairs to Ringmer's sewage treatment plant. The air is undoubtedly bracing and it's not too crowded. Some might even say you'll be flushed with happiness.

First published in Viva Lewes magazine August 2014 and on VivaLewes.com 31st July 2014

Keeping it real in Ringmer

It's important not to lose touch with reality. At least, that's what Rupert the cat told me last week. We were chatting on our way back from the vet, where he’d been treated for fight-related injuries. Mind you, I understand that some people may not define 'important' and 'reality' in the same way as I do. Back when I worked for a big telecommunications company, I was convinced that any presentation I produced could be given a title from a country music song. When I needed an off-beat starting point, I'd look to Nashville for inspiration. "Flushed from the bathroom of your heart" was a particular triumph. Shortly after I implemented this major lyrical innovation, my job disappeared. I reckon someone stole my idea and then covered up the evidence. Crazy? That's exactly what Patsy Cline said.

Anyway, these days I'm keeping both feet firmly on the ground... and living in Ringmer is one of the ways I do this. It's certainly a dramatic contrast from my previous home. Before I moved here I lived in a West Sussex town with many tourists and almost enough gift shops to house them all on a rainy Saturday. A little like Lewes, some might say. I couldn't possibly comment.

We even had a 'lifestyle' shop that sold an impractical and unlikely combination of kitchen equipment, cosmetics, stationery, imported photo frames and expensive toys. Plus, of course, coffee and scented candles. Secretly I loved it.

In fact, I could have enjoyed afternoon tea in a different place every day for a month without having the same type of cake twice. That's how many coffee bars and tea shops there were. Budgetary constraints kept my blood-sugar levels stable, although I was tempted on several occasions.

Fortunately, the reality of Ringmer has saved me from myself... and from any similar temptation. There's only one bakery. You see, no-one would raise an eyebrow if I walked into a pub and the barman said "your usual, Mark?" before pouring a pint of Harveys. It's much less socially acceptable to be presented with a Belgian bun in a paper bag whenever you meet a baker. The embarrassment of being recognised as a frequent customer keeps my patisserie habit under control. You need to know when to walk away. Well, that's what Rupert says anyway. Or was it Kenny Rogers?

First published on Viva Lewes 3rd July 2014: http://www.vivalewes.com

Going back to my routes

Certain aspects of holidays remained a complete mystery to me when I was a child. One such mystery was those 'Holiday Route' road signs - a yellow rectangle containing the letters HR in black - that often marked part of our journey to the exotic lands of Devon and North Wales. I could never work out exactly when or why dad was following them. Their only purpose seemed to be creating a procession of slow-moving traffic for locals to avoid.

Today, as an adult and a driver, I'm none the wiser. These days you hardly see HR signs, anyway. Everyone's on the motorway with their sat-nav and no-one's sitting in the passenger seat of a Mini Traveller with an AA guidebook.

What I did understand as a child (and still understand today) was the holiday appeal of Lewes. I spent my 13th birthday in the town, celebrating by taking pictures of the castle and the railway station with my new 35mm ‘grown up’ camera. Although I didn't really appreciate the castle being hidden up a little lane behind the High Street, we had a fun day out. There was picnicking on mum’s home-made cheese tarts and dad’s home-grown tomatoes, if I remember correctly. Unfortunately the camera wasn't particularly good, so my memories aren't photographic.

This year, Lewes has received plenty more summer visitors. Now, like migrant swallows, most have departed - and the snaking queue of customers between Le Magasin and Bill's Produce Store has finally disappeared. (Some say the queue changes direction on occasions, with a few people at the back of the line being served breakfast as they wait for lunch at the neighbouring restaurant). Yet while Lewesians breathe a sigh of relief when the sightseers say goodbye, we in Ringmer have enjoyed an entire season of peace. In fact, although there are a couple of places in the village offering Bed and Breakfast, I think I can safely say that Ringmer is not a tourist trap.

How can I be so sure?  Just five simple checks. First, I've never seen anyone in Ringmer suddenly stop walking down the pavement to consult a map. Second, I've not heard anyone here complaining about all the shops turning into coffee bars... or turning into bookshops... or turning into antique dealers. Third, I've never found anyone peering into the local estate agent's window to compare prices with those 'back home'. Fourth, we don't have multiple buskers. And finally, there aren’t any holiday route signs directing traffic along the B2192. Unless… hmm… perhaps we’re at the end of the route. Maybe that's how those yellow signs worked. When you stopped seeing them, it was time to stop driving!

First published on vivalewes.com 19th September 2013: http://www.vivalewes.com/going-back-to-my-routes/