Promenade

As we drive through the Sussex countryside towards the coast the smell of Sunday roast wafts through from a roadside Carvery. As soon as we reach our destination we're going in search of lunch. Our hotel is a huge white Georgian building on the seafront road; wide corridors, high ceilings and huge windows. Our window faces the car park but you can't have it all. On the Eastbourne Promenade we spy a pub serving Sunday roast until 2.30. It's 2.40. Further along we find another pub where they serve lunch till 4.00. This could be because they don't take your order until you've been sitting there a good twenty minutes, and they're not too interested in the details of your request either.

"One lamb, one turkey."

"Ok, so that's two lambs."

On the Prom a brass band plays. We had imagined a town untouched since 1952, the grandeur unfaded, and although this isn't quite the case the brass band is adding something magical to the atmosphere.

At Beachy Head the rain starts once we're a safe distance from the car. The black cloud hangs heavy while the sea below the white cliffs is a calm green. We head through the rain towards the red and white lighthouse, wondering whether people really jump or are blown over by the strong winds.

At 9.15pm we leave the hotel to check out the Eastbourne nightlife. The brass band is still playing into the night, the sound drifting along the row of lights that light the Promenade and the Pier. Amongst the adverts for the Abba tribute bands and swing bands is a poster for the Balkan folk sounding Beirut. They are playing their one English gig of the year, here in Eastbourne. Well, they were. The gig was Friday. Today is Sunday.

The glass fronts of the Georgian hotels are filled with pensioners, drinking and looking wistfully out to sea. A couple of streets back, in the town, it is quiet apart from drunk teenagers stumbling along shouting to one another. There are signs of life from a couple of pubs playing 90's dance music but it ain't our bag baby and besides we're too old. We decide to look for a decent chip shop. We find one which shuts at 10. It's 10.05.

Fortunately we find another one up the street and eat fish and chips on a bench on the Promenade, watching the twinkling of the lights on the Pier and the sound of waves drifting towards the shore.