Another village, another George
‘Tis the season for day trips.
The weather in England is surprisingly lovely surprisingly often, for something so bitched about. It’s incredibly temperate: seldom gets below freezing in Winter, almost never rises above 85° in Summer. The worst it throws at you is a season of gray or rain, but these aren’t endless, no matter how it feels. And rain maketh green.
At the moment, we’re having England at its best and have done for weeks. Sunny and seventies in the daytime, clear and fifties at night. So no matter how hot the sun, it’s always crisp and cool in the shade, with a light breeze. Whur I come from, we called this April, only we don’t get several months of it.
Today we took a long run over to beautiful Alfriston. The hymn “Morning has Broken” was written to honor Alfriston (probably). Love this place. All the shops are ancient, charming and woefully overpriced. The National Trust’s first acquisition is here (the Clergy House, closed today, dangit).
We had lunch in the George (above), first recorded changing hands in Thirteen-something. Then a stroll along the Cuckmere (the river Virginia Woolf drowned herself in). Then a drive back along the coast to…ummm…Tesco’s.
Hey, hey…weasel’s gotta eat.