Two weeks in England: Detour to Bexhill-on-Sea, Sussex; beating the bank holiday traffic; De La Warr Pavilion; Laetitia Yhap art exhibition; Relais Cooden Beach; via Lewes to London; Docklands and Canary Wharf; shopping disappointment; two London shows; Blackheath pub grub; Gatwick Sofitel and EasyJet to Montpellier
It’s over 300 miles (480km) from Liverpool to the Sussex east coast, where I’d managed to convince Roy to take us to spend the night at the Relais Cooden Beach, at Bexhill-on-Sea. (As mentioned before, I do freelance writing and editing work for the Relais Group, which also took us to The Relais Henley the previous week: see Part 1 of Two Weeks in England, here). On the other hand, it would be just a two-hour drive the next day from Bexhill-on-Sea to London, the last stop before France.
We expected a good 5.5 hour drive from Liverpool, plus the frequent pit-stops that this flesh of mine is hostage to; so leaving early was a good idea. Like most Brits, Roy vehemently dislikes being wrested untimely from his bed; but we were surprisingly up, out, and on the road by 7.15am… and that was how we beat the Monday bank holiday traffic.
From Merseyside in NW England to Bexhill-on-Sea in East Sussex
Bexhill-on-Sea
Relais Cooden Beach is located in the southern part of Bexhill-on-Sea.
Two weeks in England: The Plan; Singapore stopover; nothing to wear; cream tea at The Relais Henley; not visiting Blenheim Palace, Woodstock; not visiting Shakespeare’s birthplace, Stratford Upon Avon; Roy’s family birthday
It wasn’t easy for Roy to leave the house we’re having built in Perth WA, especially at rather a critical point – our cursed builder went into liquidation, remember? – but this trip had been booked a year earlier. Two weeks in England, then the full month of June in the South of France – bookended by three days in Singapore.
He had planned this first post-COVID trip to England mainly with extended family in mind. It felt well due. His sister Lyndsay and John live near Stratford Upon Avon, so it made sense to kick off with a week there. Then, not having seen Aunty Marjorie, cousin Richard and cousin Kate for far too many years, we would head up to the Wirrall and Liverpool for a few days. Finally, we’d spend four nights in London.
Getting there
We took an SIA flight from Perth to Singapore, arriving on the evening of Sunday 12 May for three days with the ever-hospitable Paul and Salinah. Thanks, guys!
Singapore, all about food and friends… and foodie friends
Morag Frew, our neighbour and the boss lady of the Boaters Bar at Thames & Kennet Marina, not only raved about the West End show, Kinky Boots, but had been to see it three times! So I went online to book a couple of Wednesday matinee tickets; it would be our last trip into London before heading to France next week.
I’d been wanting to try The Bull Inn at Sonning ever since I read Jerome K. Jerome’s description in his comic masterpiece Three Men in A Boat – Not to mention the dog (1889): “If you stay at Sonning,” he advised, “put up at ‘The Bull’.”
Built in the 16th century, it is still owned by the neighbouring St Andrew’s Church (which rents it to Fullers).
Summer in the UK is festival time! In the immediate run-up to the big Reading Festival (from 24 August), tiny Mapledurham village has just hosted an enjoyable food festival in the grounds of the 16th-century Mapledurham House – with everything from artisanal cheeses and locally produced rapeseed oil to Provencale rosé, South African biltong and the fruit scones I’m scoffing right this minute with butter and tea.
Like the bear that went over the mountain, what often keeps me going is the urge to know what’s coming up ahead. So wherever we stop to moor up, I can’t help wondering what the next lock or village looks like. (Whereas Roy, apparently, has no such interest.)
Fortunately, the place that’s ahead is often close enough for me to be able to gently jog there along the towpath. Here’s what I saw on the 10km route from Wallingford to Shillingford and back, via Benson lock.
Along the Thames, it’s common for a bridge to immediately link two separate towns or villages, one of which is obviously more flourishing than its neighbour. Goring has Streatley, Pangbourne has Whitchurch, and Wallingford has Crowmarsh Gifford. (Sounds straight out of Harry Potter, doesn’t it?)
It would be rude not to at least take a stroll through the bustling metropolis of Crowmarsh, especially as we’re moored on its side of the bridge. Apart from boasting an impressive total of two builder’s merchants, the village is perhaps most memorable for:
After shopping for a dinghy in Putney and popping in to the Brompton Bike shop in Covent Garden, The Real Greek restaurant – just up the road from the bike shop – was perfect for lunch.
Around 2pm, we were lucky to get a window table at this buzzy, friendly and authentic-feeling joint. Half-a-litre of retsina (£12.50) accompanied several tapas-sized plates: some of the nicest char-grilled octopus ever (£7.50), authentic horiatiki (no lettuce, slab of feta), chips (£3.50), and a serving of gigantes (giant beans; £4.75), followed by a slice of superb baklava (£4.25) with our coffee.
In such a touristy location, the place would probably manage to survive on passing trade alone. But that’s not the feeling you get here, either from the food or the service – we could almost have been on the Plaka in Athens.
An idyllic riverside location in a picture-perfect village isn’t enough. When you’re forking out for a gastropub on the Thames, you want really good food and service, and – after trying a few along the way – that’s what we eventually found at The White Oak, Cookham.
Though our mooring at Bourne End looked to be a bit “ulu”, as they say in Singapore – meaning inconveniently far-flung – it was in fact only a ten-minute walk from Bourne End village, and five minutes from The Spade Oak pub. On the plus side, The Spade Oak has alfresco seating and an interesting menu; disappointingly, both the food and the service were patchy: over-brown chips came with my cod (£11); Roy’s delicious fillets of sea-bass (£16) were served lukewarm the first time round; and other people’s drinks took forever to arrive. (Intrepid Roy got ours directly from the bar.)
There must be a connection between The Spade Oak and The Ferry at Cookham Bridge, nearby: the menus are identical, and the service equally poor. We’d stopped in at The Ferry on our new bikes for a couple of halves of cider, which did eventually come; but having witnessed the sorry confusion, decided not to return for dinner. A pity, that, as it has a nice alfresco setting right on the river and was literally 150 metres from our mooring.
Cookham High Street
The Crown, young and buzzy
Instead, we tried our luck along Cookham High Street. I loved the ambience of Bel and the Dragon, which came highly recommended by a couple of our marina friends,and could have spent a week curled up with a few of its marvellous collection of old books. Disappointingly watery cocktails (£8) – especially Roy’s martini, even the second time around – drove us away after one drink.
Across the road, the menu at The King’s Arms was almost identical to both The Spade Oak and The Ferry – just laid out differently. So, after a glass of French chardonnay (£6) at young and buzzy TheCrown, which marks the end of the High Street, we headed back to the boat for a chicken curry that I’d made “just in case” – fortunately, as it turned out.
The White Oak
Finally, we made it to The White Oak in The Pound, Cookham, a pleasant 15-minute walk from our mooring near the bridge. It fully deserves the moniker “gastropub”; it’s #1 on TripAdvisor, and you can see why. Spacious bar, well-proportioned restaurant and lovely garden were all full to capacity on Friday, 22 July – the first day of the summer, according to the manager. (The last day of the school term?) Even so, the service was lovely, the atmosphere convivial and the food excellent.
The White Oak, CookhamChilean chardonnay, eminently drinkable
We opted for the day’s set menu (£15 for two courses; £19 for three). To start, breaded beef rib, horseradish and carrot salad for both of us. To continue, we shared both the slow-cooked pig cheeks, sultana and caraway ragu, mash and burnt savoy, and the smoked haddock, squid ink and leek risotto.
For dessert, just one sticky toffee pudding with ice cream to share, and all washed down with the unoaked Chilean chardonnay (£20) pictured below. Fabulous.
The Bounty Pub
Marina neighbour Al (who, by the way, lives on a boat named “Alestorm”) said we should visit The Bounty if we found ourselves in Bourne End. You can only get to this popular establishment by boat, or by crossing the pedestrian and railway bridge*, turning right and following the river for a couple of hundred metres.
Cod and chips at The Bounty
The Bounty Pub, Bourne End
At this welcoming, relatively cheap and decidedly cheerful joint, shirtless mad dogs and Englishmen happily roasted in the sun, while Roy and I cowered under what little shelter there was to polish off some jolly good cod and chips (£11). Happily, the friendly service included a lift back across the river to the Bourne End Marina, just five minutes from our mooring.
* In the days when The Bounty was Al’s local, he recalls, it was only a railway bridge, and they used to walk across the railway track, flattening themselves against the sides if a train came along. The pedestrian bit was added later for a bit of ’Ealth & Safety. (He also recalls popping into the pub on a Friday night and not getting home until Sunday.)
According to our neighbours at the Thames & Kennet Marina, near the English town of Reading, the Bird in Hand, “just up the road”, is one of the best places to eat in the neighbourhood. That’s not surprising – the chef and proprietor is a Sicilian, Santino Busciglio, who cooked at several Michelin-starred restaurants in London before taking over proprietorship of this reportedly 13th-century country inn.
It certainly looked the part when we popped in last Sunday, partly for a half of cider but mainly to check things out. Having done lunchtime duty, Santino came in with his dog to commune with a table of diners and their own dog, who’d been slumbering under the table. We introduced ourselves, and then followed a delicious discussion with this delightfully charming man about the benefits of brining pork for several days; that day’s Sunday roast had been a gorgeous belly, and the diner who was finishing off his portion of it had such a look of glazed contentment that I could hardly wait to return for a meal.
So we were back the very next Wednesday evening, this time with daughter Wendy, who was visiting from France. It was the Bird in Hand’s weekly pizza night: From 5pm until sunset (around 10pm now, it being mid-summer), Santino creates his own authentic, slow-rising sourdough pizzas in the wood-fired alfresco oven out back, next to a verdant expanse of beer-garden. Pizza is not generally my first choice, nor Roy’s, but the signature Leggero (£12), thin of crust and topped with mozzarella, fresh tomato polpa, anchovies and just a hint of chilli, was everything we’d hoped for.
All our neighbours had recommended the Bird in Hand’s beef, and Wendy polished off her grilled fillet of aged Herefordshire (225g; 24); it came with a “divine” peppercorn sauce, mixed vegetables and fat golden chips that had been thrice-cooked in beef dripping (!).
From a mostly Italian wine list, we chose a nice Bordeaux (£28). The service was good – especially when you think that the chef was having to run between the alfresco pizza oven and the indoor kitchen; and did I mention what a lovely, picturesque old place this is to linger in? (It offers rooms, too, by the way.)
We’ll be back before long. The Châteaubriand for two (560g; 28 per person) is calling, and so are the various small sharing dishes – especially the grilled Galician octopus and the salt cod fishcakes. Who thought there’d be such a place in the heart of the English countryside?
