I chose Brighton for my first camping trip of the year for several reasons, not least, meeting up with former colleague Robbie. Two weeks ago Britain was in the grip of a new ice age so I was relieved when temperatures started to rise. The chosen campsite, Sheepcote Valley, is to the east of Brighton, handy for Brighton Marina. It was full so it was lucky I booked.
The first part of my trip was to bag Cliffe Hill, a Marilyn, which is rather tricky as the summit lies on the 12th green of a local golf course. My plan was leave very early, avoiding the toll at the Dartford Tunnel, get to Lewes around dawn and using the element of surprise, get onto the golf course before any of the golfers. It was a good plan and it got off to a good start, as I arrived in Lewes around 7am. The hills were helpfully shrouded in cloud which would provide some useful cover when trespassing on the golf course. Then things gradually fell apart; I was too early for the car park; I was in the wrong part of town; I got lost getting to right part of town. The church clock was chiming eight when I finally headed up Chapel Hill on the very steep climb up the downs.
The downs were still helpfully shrouded in mist as I made my way across the golf course on a footpath. I left the footpath and headed to the top but lost my nerve and exited the golf course to see if I could find another way. I wasted another half an hour before deciding the only way was to brazen it out. By now golfers, singularly undeterred by limited visibility, were everywhere and the cloud cover starting to lift. I lurked behind a bush until the green had cleared of players, before leaping out to take my photo and get the hell out of there. I'm suprised no one had called security to get me evicted as I kept bumping into the same group of golfers, whilest assuring everyone I wasn't lost.On my return to Lewes I had a wander round, bought something to read from a charity shop and had a cuppa. Other things I might have done; visit the castle, visit Anne of Cleeves House, take a walk by the river or shop for antiques. Lewes is pleasant country town and a good base for touring the South Downs, the newest of our National Parks.
The weather was mild but rather gloomy so I settled into my van with a good book, The Other Boleyn Girl by Philippa Gregory, but alas no food as I'd left the soup behind. Saturday morning was also rather drizzly so I stayed put reading until I noticed that the van was rather warm, a sure sign that the sun had come out. I emerged blinking into the sunlight and headed off to the Marina, which was a bit like Brent Cross with boats. I thought about going to the cinema but opted for a bracing walk eastwards along the coast to Rottingdean, with bus ride back to avoid walking into the sun.
The sun was shining brightly on Sunday when I returned to Lewes to meet up with Robbie. We walked up Chapel Hill to the golf club and then onto the open downs above Lewes, eventually climbing up Mount Caburn, a much nicer hill than Cliffe. There are views along the South Downs to Ditchling Beacon to the west and Firle Beacon to east, both Marilyns I'd climbed with Noddy the dog. Robbie and I continued down the hill to Glynde for a pub lunch and caught the train back to Lewes. We'd probably still be chatting now if Robbie's wife had not rung to offer him a lift home.
