The Devil’s Dyke
Sussex where I live is blessed with picturesque countryside right up to the coast. Yesterday my brother visited and I decided we would go to Devil’s Dyke, a popular beauty spot not 5 minutes drive from the sea front at Hove.
It gives its name to a story that the Devil himself tried to flood the South Downs from there but was put off by an old woman or a crowing rooster depending on which tale you believe.
It was very popular in Victorian times where it had its own railway station, funicular and 30,000 visitors were recorded one Whit Monday.
We found it less populated yesterday with the odd hiker on the South Downs Walk.
The views are truly spectacular and I’m told though we did not find, let alone use it, that there is a decent pub there too.
Instead for nourishment we returned to my home and ate a light fish repast in the garden. It enabled us to converse free of interruption and I doubt if the whole meal including a bottle of Chardonnay came to more than £15.
Of course you had some preparation and clearance together with the unwelcome appearance of my cat attracted to the smell of fish but you did not have over familiar waiters interrupting you, over priced wine, people on mobiles, and a wait for the bill when you wanted to get away.
I feel an extension of the great Rust debate coming on: “This house would prefer to eat at home than out in a restaurant “