» Chez Kay
Andrew Kay watches the tumbleweed in Newhaven before loitering in Lewes
I’ve just had three glorious days with my brother, his wife and two sons. They are very lovely and very lucky, living as they do right by the river Wye just outside the crazy empire that is Hay-On-Wye, where the brilliant self publicist Richard Booth holds court over a town built on second hand books. Hay is like no other place that I have ever been, except Lewes which has a similarly wayward and rebellious streak. I love Lewes, not that I would want to live there, but to visit I can think of few places locally that hold my attention for as long.
‘‘We ogled the shags as they sat menacingly on wooden piles sunk into the muddy river bed’’
I decided for the family that a trip to Lewes was a topping idea for a day out and so off we went. Only to have our journey interrupted in Newhaven for an emergency tyre replacement and tracking adjustment. I have to say the local tyre man at Arrow was polite, efficient and cheap. We had to wait only one hour for the entire job and I was impressed that the price quoted included VAT. How often have you been caught out by that at a garage?
But what do you do in Newhaven for a whole hour. I took them down the quay to the fish merchants, we ogled the shags as they sat menacingly on wooden piles sunk into the muddy river bed and we went to a camping equipment sale where to my dismay there was nothing new to add to my battery of camping equipment. We then ambled up the high street through a drab market and back to the car.
Lewes was, in contrast, a complete delight. Within minutes I had lured them into Bill’s where we lunched on fine steak sandwiches, smoked salmon and scrambled eggs and pink lemonade. Hay has nothing that comes even close to Bill’s despite it being at the centre of a fabulously foodie region.
After that we did a spot of light window shopping. I can get as much pleasure from window shopping in Lewes as I can from spending money. I love the fact that it retains its gentile hippy quirkiness, that combined with a few truly ‘county’ retail experiences and the always slightly edgy world of antiques. My brother was in search of a pineapple ice bucket. I could do little to dissuade him. In the end he settled for an oversized pink cocktail shaker. There is clearly little to do in the rural borders of Wales as the nights draw in. I now have visions of him shaking toxic concoctions and then spending the evening coming up with silly names for them. Ah, the country life.
