Today was not a day to win prizes for caravanning; our
departure was less than efficient from the Caravan Site at Canterbury. We were
well jacked up to level the van, and because of that, the jockey wheel was well
extended. When we attempted to hitch, the shaft and the housing decided not to
align and there was a bit of a kerfuffle, followed later with a mumbled argument
about whether The Chauffeur needed to back up or come forward to line up perfectly
with the towball. Amazingly it was The Nagging Wife who was right. By the time
we hit the road it was 9 am which was a better time to avoid the worst of the
morning traffic, although as I think of this now, it is Saturday and there
would not have been the school traffic to contend with.
On paper, the route south west to Hailsham on an A road is straight
forward, apparently on good roads and stress free. However the A28 from Canterbury
through to Ashford was as rough as any flood damaged road in New South Wales.
Chris was not impressed and I was glad that he had been party to the route
planning.
We passed through lovely farm land travelling further on the
A2070 to Brenzett, then across the flat lands of the Walland Marsh now on the
A259 to Rye, one of those Cinq Ports I referred to yesterday. The castle
remains and township of Rye appeared above the marshes like the mountain top
fortresses one sees driving toward Rome from the north. It was with regret that
we passed through with no place to pull over.
As we wound our way around the low road that skirts the
hill, we had to stop mid-corner as a large truck met us at the same point. Both
parties carefully extricated themselves and we moved on with no damage. However
the same could not be said for another event that followed soon after; a large
truck had moved to a central lane, this time on an upward slope, to turn right.
Chris drove slowly up past him on the inside to head straight on and as the
caravan passed through the intersection, the truck swung tightly and hit the
caravan. No one was hurt, and the caravan is not holed, but it is now in less
pristine condition that was when we set off from Onehouse. Fortunately for travelling happiness
levels, the extent of the damage was not understood until we stopped for lunch.
Our route took us on down to the coast, descending steeply
into Hastings which, on first impression, delighted us. Again parking was impossible
so we pressed on along the seashore, through Bexhall which claims to be the
birthplace of British Motor Racing in 1902, and on to the turn off to Pevensey
where we found a Service Centre and parked up for about an hour on the edge of
a service station forecourt. Nowhere in the two and a bit hours we had been on
the road, had we seen even one spot we could pull over, apart from a couple of
small laybys soon after leaving Canterbury. Here Chris went across to use the facilities
and came back with a pork pie; I was happy to see him succumbing to such
temptation, it meant he must be getting better. (Of course it was Murphy ’s Law
that we would come upon half a dozen suitable laybys soon after leaving the
service centre.)
It was not too far to our camping spot, a Camping &
Caravan Club site, three acres behind the house of a delightful elderly couple.
We are apparently adjacent to the Cuckoo Trail, a walking track through to the
town, one that might be left for others to do. We are the fifth party in and as
such will be the last. The birdlife in the hedges is just wonderful, songbirds
just so happy to see us all. Although the Camping and Caravan Club Site in
Canterbury was probably the best camp we have stayed in apart from limited
laundry facilities, we really do love these rural sites so much more. Actually
the cost is not that different, or at least for the sites we have stayed so
far. This one is £15 a night, not that different from the £19 we paid at Canterbury.
The afternoon has been spent in an entirely sedentary way, much
needed. Dinner is prepared, the wine poured, the Roland Garros French Open on screen.
The sun has finally arrived and of course, the birds are still singing their
welcoming chorus.
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