Walking the England Coast Path Eastbourne → Bexhill (10 miles) England Coast Path is a massive project to open up and waymark a right of way around the country, as yet incomplete. In most cases you could have walked it anyway but the signposts are a reassuring sight in areas where the route isn't as simple as merely walking along a cliff or beach. The most recent section is the 28 miles from Eastbourne to Rye Harbour which gained official status last month, creating a continuous path from Chichester Harbour to the Medway Towns. I chose to walk from Eastbourne to Bexhill because it's one of the longest stretches of the Sussex coast I've never walked before and because rail tickets to the towns at each end were briefly £3.50 apiece. These ten miles follow the shingle arc of Pevensey Bay where William the Conqueror landed in 1066 and are virtually all beachside walking, there being nothing resembling a cliff until you reach the Bexhill end. [14 photos] finest walk in southern England, so it was a bit of a wrench to stand on the pier and look east instead. My destination seemed very distant at the end of a long low curve, substantially undeveloped, with none of the excessive chalk undulations I was more used to. The start of the walk was all typical seaside resort, a promenade faced by elegant vanilla-toned Victorian buildings, not many of which are still operating as hotels or guest houses. One modern intrusion is a rotatable beach hut based on a telescope, the Spy Glass, though it's looking somewhat shabby ten years on with its colourful cladding missing. Being January it's hard to tell whether kiosk-owner Jon has stopped selling fish tacos or whether he's just closed for the winter. The first significant building is Eastbourne Redoubt, a circular Napoleonic fortress 68m in diameter, which for many years has been used as a military museum but is now closed pending longstanding repairs. Disappointed visitors may end up in the Glasshouse restaurant newly-opened in the bandstand gardens, or more likely in the less pretentious Splashpoint cafe on the far side. We're now far enough from the town centre to find a few sailing boats and fishing boats at the top of the shingle, which'll be Fisherman's Green, plus enterprising sheds selling the catch of the day. Eastbourne's bowls clubs also have to go somewhere, as does the town's last financially-endangered swimming pool, and of course the Wastewater Treatment Works which in this case have been cunningly disguised as a postmodern seafort with unnecessary crenelations. Best keep walking. On Eastbourne's eastern outskirts is Sovereign Harbour, a luxury marina development begun in 1990 and now (checks notes) northern Europe's largest composite marina complex. The outer harbour is all you see properly on this walk, a gouged-out tidal rectangle fronted by flats on three sides, not the three inner harbours and the inevitable retail park. Pedestrian passage is shortened if the lock gates are closed allowing you to walk across the top. I imagine residents pay a premium to live here but the apartment blocks are relentlessly unimaginative, a full mile of stacked boxes each with their own sea-facing balcony and a strip of communal shingle in front laughingly described as a private beach, so it's a relief to finally leave all that behind. And then everything changes, an abrupt switch from serviced real estate to a strand lined with fearlessly individual homes. The promenade stops too and those who wish to continue are cast out onto the shingle. The Coast Path appropriates a brief unkempt back lane past a caravan called Scuzzy's but then it too admits defeat and points towards a bank of pebbles because it's that or nothing. It was at this point I realised my onward progress might not be as fast as I'd intended and regretted having had to book a timed train home. I scrunched along the upper ridge, flattened by some vehicle with thickly ridged tyres, while to my right the pebbles sloped down semi-steeply to the sea's edge. There are only seven places on the South East England Coast Path with warnings that the path sometimes vanishes at high tide and six of them are on this next stretch. Ahead is the linear village of Pevensey Bay, not to be mistaken for the historic settlement of Pevensey with its Norman castle a mile inland (been there, blogged that). Here a long flank of cottages and newbuilds faces the sea while less hardy souls live a street or two back with the A259 as a spine road and a proper parade of shops including Rose's Fish Bar, the Ocean View Bakery and the 16th century Castle Inn. Scattered along this stretch are three Martello Towers repurposed for residential development, ideal if you want to live inside what looks like a fortified sandcastle with a glass rotunda on top and limited illumination below. Only about 50 such defences survive on England's coasts and this walk boasts half a dozen of them, including two derelict towers back by Sovereign Harbour and one more to come at Normans' Bay. For the next couple of miles I stepped down onto the lower beach and walked along that, it being substantially less pebbly, so started to make up time. I'd been careful to check it was low tide when I booked my train tickets and was now reaping the rewards. This was more like it, the English Channel lapping to one side and ahead a seemingly endless sequence of groynes to stride between. So steep was the shingle that I could only see the upper storeys of the beachfront houses, this because the bank of stones had been piled here as part of a massive multimillion pound flood prevention scheme... hence the caterpillar tracks I'd seen along the upper ridge. I passed very few other people, mostly those exercising dogs, and noted how the incoming waves gradually grew stronger as the bay curved round to face the prevailing wind. Initially I was thrilled to think that somewhere along here I'd be passing the point where the Norman armies landed, then thought again and realised not. This shingle beach didn't exist in 1066, the coastline instead indented to form a considerable inlet stretching all the way back to Herstmonceux. Only after longshore drift inexorably blocked the entrance with an arc of pebbles did this sheltered haven silt up to create the Pevensey Marshes, so now if you walk along the top of the beach and look inland you can see vast areas of lush grazing (and the inevitable golf course) beyond the railway. The hamlet of Normans' Bay is perhaps at greatest risk from rising sea levels, an isolated cluster of residential defiance whose beach huts and red phonebox may one day be unfooted by the waves. The longest uninhabited section crosses two sluices, their outfalls passing beneath the shingle and marked with red warning markers. It's so remote that two motorbikers had parked up on the coast road and walked down to the water's edge to unzip their leathers for relief, perhaps unaware it's Southern Water's job to discharge into the Channel. Eventually a finger of beach huts reappeared signalling the approach to Cooden and the tyre tracks in the shingle wall became deeper, this because one plank of the flood prevention scheme is to scoop up lorryloads of pebbles from here and drive them back to the foot of the cliffs in Eastbourne. Beyond the station a gentle cliff edge begins to emerge, an elevation which inevitably encouraged developers to build houses on top, so best stick to the beach if you want to follow Bexhill's promenade which starts abruptly beneath someone's back garden. I confess to speeding up at this point because I still had two miles to go and a train to catch, edging past well-wrapped retirees, determined families and dozens and dozens of dogwalkers on the promenade. I skipped past the illuminated stage where they were setting up for Bexhill After Dark, the town's annual winter lights festival, and strode on to the finest building in TN40, the artsy modernist De La Warr Pavilion. Alas I only really had time to walk up the spectacular staircase, inhale the grandeur, wait for cafegoers to get out of shot and take some photos before heading off to the station for my timed train. My walk might have been flat but I'd underestimated the effects of shingle underfoot, so I'd suggest allowing six hours if you try Eastbourne to Bexhill for yourself. Achievement unlocked: I've now walked all the way from Littlehampton to Hastings, approximately 60 miles 2024→ Shoreham →2011→ Brighton →2011→ Newhaven →2018→ Seaford →2009→ Eastbourne →2025→ Bexhill →2018→ Hastings

Quite often all you need to know about a restaurant is the smell that greets you as you walk through the door. The smoke and fat of a busy ocakbaşı, The burned onions and masala spices that cling to your clothes after an evening at Tayyabs, the intoxicating mix of funky aged steak and charred lobster shell that fill the upper dining rooms of the Devonshire, these are all indicators enough that you're in for a good time even before you see a menu. amazing, the kind of smell that gets you immediately vowing to order whichever the menu items are responsible for it (hint: it's the lamb skewers) and let anything else be a side order. So let's start with those skewers, which are, needless to say, an absolute must-order. Expertly grilled with touches of salty crunch on the extremities but beautifully tender inside, they come resting on fluffy flatbread to soak up any escaping juices, and two little mounds of spice (don't ask me what they were) for dipping. At £3.95 each they weren't quite the same budget as Silk Road v1, but in terms of form and flavour they were right up there. Spicy chicken was indeed commendably spicy, consisting of ugly-cute chunks of soft potato and bone-in chicken (I hope I don't create some kind of international incident by noting that Chinese 'butchery' seems to consist of hacking at a carcass with a machete with your eyes closed) soaked in a deep, rich, heavily five-spiced and chillified sauce. Add to this ribbons of thick, home made belt noodles which had a lovely bouncy, tacky texture, and you have an absolute classic northern Chinese dish. Manti (advertised with a 20min wait but which speeds by if you're distracted by fresh lamb skewers and belt chicken) were also fabulous things, soft but robust and packed full of minced meat ("usually lamb" the menu rather noncommittedly states) and with an addictive vinegar-chilli dip. But quite unexpectedly given the otherwise quite meaty focus of the menu (I'm not sure I'd bring a vegetarian here), Tarim have quite a way with salads, too. This is lampung, in which giant sticks of wobbly beancurd are topped with pickled carrots, beansprouts and chilli, all soaked in a very wonderful vinegar-soy dressing. I can honestly say I've never had anything like this before, and anywhere that can surprise a jaded diner like me with a new type of salad deserves all the praise it can get. The bill, for two people, came to just over £42, which although not rock-bottom basement pricing still seems fair given the quality of the food and the area of town (about 5 min walk from Holborn tube). I have noticed the pricing at a lot of Chinese places in Holborn/Bloomsbury creeping up over the past few years - nobody is exempt from food inflation after all - so this is just perhaps the New Normal that we all have to get used to. Instead of spending £12 on your hot lunch, it's now more like £20. Still not bad, though. Gosh Nan (fried stuffed flatbread) and perhaps most intriguingly the Uyghur Polo, a rice dish which looks like it comes with some kind of offal. And you know how I love my offal. A charming and exciting ambassador for Xinjiang food, think of Tarim Uyghur as the Silk Road of Central London, a comparison I hope they take as the huge compliment that it's intended to be. Why should Camberwell get all the fun, anyway? 8/10

It's time to tackle one of London's great unanswered questions. Where is London's most central sheep? I don't believe Charles III keeps sheep at Buckingham Palace, nor has anybody else nearby got a large enough back garden. London Zoo's website does not reveal the existence of any sheep - at best llamas. Also none of the armed forces based in London have a regimental sheep, the UK's sole ovine mascot being a ram called Pte Derby XXXIII owned by the Mercian Regiment in Lichfield. So, city farms it is. Where is London's most central city farm? Vauxhall City Farm which is just over a mile south of Trafalgar Square. It's been here on the edge of the Pleasure Gardens since 1976 so is one of London's oldest city farms and receives over 60,000 visitors a year. Some of its residents live out front in wooden pens but they're not sheep, they're goats as any self-respecting three year old could tell you. The entrance is off to the left past an outdoor desk staffed by cheery volunteers who'll grin, sell you feed and encourage you to make a donation. The City Farm is 50 next year so has an anniversary appeal underway, should you have part of £250,000 to spare. For the sheep turn right. Where is London's most central sheep? Shetland, a hardy breed with a good-natured temperament, so ideal for pottering around with toddlers in a confined space. There were many such underage visitors during my visit, all overexcited to be right up close to a sheep's head nuzzling through railings. Crossing the divide into the yard itself is more of a paid-for activity, or if you're a volunteer just part and parcel of your dung-sweeping duties. Alas I don't know what this sheep's name is, the City Farm isn't as keen as some in pinning biographical details to the railings, but there is no closer sheep to Trafalgar Square so she is London's most central sheep. Where is London's second most central sheep? alpacas called Rolo, Toffee and Cookie. I suspect sometimes Daffy hops up the steps to the top platform and surveys her domain like a woolly empress. She is thus not always the second most central sheep in the capital, sometimes she's first depending on the precise location of the other sheep. Where is London's third most central sheep? Where is London's fifth most central sheep? Where is London's sixth most central sheep? Where is London's eighth most central sheep? Where is London's second most central city farm? Spitalfields. It took some working out to confirm that this was the second closest to Trafalgar Square, I had to make myself a map using the extremely helpful list of London's city farms at londonfarmsandgardens.org.uk. They reckon there are twelve city farms in London but I reckon one of those is just over the border in Essex so it's eleven. The map's interesting because eight of the city farms form a near straight line running diagonally from Kentish Town through Hackney and Mudchute to the foot of Shooters Hill, but I think that's a coincidence. Spitalfields City Farm is on the site of a former railway depot and was also born in the 1970s, but is less cramped, easier to walk round and less pungent. Where is London's eighth most central sheep? Beatrix, another Herdwick ewe, here at Spitalfields City Farm. Their information game is strong so I know she used to graze on the North Downs in Surrey but lost an ear in a dog attack when she was young and moved here in August 2020. Her enclosure is a much better size, with scattered wood and the inevitable spare tyre, even room for gambolling. Don't expect to get close enough for feeding but that's fine because feeding's not permitted here anyway. Where is London's ninth most central sheep? Castlemilk Moorits, a rare breed with brownish wool originally from Scotland. They're 37% Shetland, 28% Soay, 18% Manx and 17% Wiltshire Horn and all descended from a single ram on Sir Jock Buchanan-Jardine's estate, apparently. The information board also confirms there are nine of them here altogether with names like Twiglet, Lavender, Samphire and Rolo. Rolo is occasionally London's seventeenth most central sheep when he stands over by the polytunnels. London's most central donkeys are two pens away, one of whom is called Derek, but that's another story.

Hove is a very acceptable place to spend a day. I was last in the area when visiting the Urchin, a seafood-specialist gastropub and microbrewery (I bet there aren't too many of them around) which made the (pretty easy actually) journey down from Battersea more than worth my while. Since then, I've discovered that we paid way too much for our train tickets (apparently we should have gone Thameslink, not Southern) and also that etch by Steven Edwards has opened, thus giving me another great excuse to travel. This time on a much cheaper train. The fact that Hove is so well connected to the capital city has a couple of main effects. Firstly, it means etch's catchment area is a few million or so people who can make it there and back for lunch (or dinner I suppose if you don't mind getting back too late) in a very sensible amount of time. And secondly, it means that the astonishing £55 they charge at etch for 7 exquisitely constructed courses (or another £28 for 9) is even more mind-blowing for day-trippers from the big smoke as it is for lucky locals. We shall start at the beginning. Amuses - in fact extras of any kind - are more than you've any right to expect on a £55 menu but these dainty little things, one a Lord of the Hundreds biscuit topped with cream cheese and chive, the other a mushroom and truffle affair shot through with pickle, were an excellent introduction to the way etch goes about things. Beautiful inside and out, generous of flavour and a delight to eat, from this point we knew we were in safe hands. Cute little glazed buns formed the bread course alongside seaweed butter. Perhaps the idea was for these to accompany the next couple or so courses, but I'm afraid because they were so addictive they disappeared way before anything else arrived. Still, no regrets. "Soup of the day" was a bit of a misnomer as this consisted of two courses that arrived as a pair. One a gorgeously rich and fluffy winter vegetable soup - chervil and cauliflower with some irresistible chunks of roasted cauliflower hiding underneath and topped with toasted pine nuts - and a couple of beef tartare tartlets on the side (tartartlets?) to provide a nice companion to the soup. I'm not 100% sure if the tartare was just a blogger's bonus or if they really did come with the soup as standard, but I'm going to give them the benefit of the doubt and assume they do - I'm sure someone will correct me if I'm wrong. Oh, and it was all paired with a Retsina, which was a touch of genius. Halibut could have perhaps been taken off the heat a minute or two earlier but I'm only really saying this out of a dearth of anything else to complain about. It was still clearly a very good fish, with a bright white flesh and nicely bronzed skin, and the parsnip underneath made a remarkably good pairing as well as being nicely seasonal. The crunchy, seaweed-y, noodle-y bits on tops were fun to eat, too. Of all the dishes, perhaps the crisp hen's egg made the least to write home about. It was perfectly nice, with some good texture provided by croutons and cubes of pickled veg, but the egg itself was...well, an egg yolk in breadcrumbs, decent enough but compared to everything else a bit familiar. Although having said that, I'm very aware I do have slightly more likelihood of getting 'familiar' with tasting menu classics than some people, and there's every chance this could be someone else's favourite course. Such is life's rich tapestry. Scallop next, a good sweet specimen that had been given a nice firm crust, then sliced and shot through with pumpkin. It's in restaurants like these where you don't have to worry about waiting until the more abundant seasons begin before committing to a meal out - their skill is such that the dishes will be equally exciting and imaginative at every time of the year. My own personal heaven was embodied in the next course, though, and I'm sorry to be so predictable but there's nothing I can do about that. Beef arrived brilliantly charred from the grill but beautifully tender inside, both as a neat medallion of fillet and - joy of joys - a slice of ox heart with a texture equally dazzling as the fillet but with an extra note of funky offal. Next to it, a little finger of celeriac and a cluster of enoji mushrooms which soaked up a glossy, beefy sauce that made the whole trip worthwhile on its own. I would have paid £55 just for this dish, then gone home happy, it was that good. More was to come though - firstly a gently flametorched (can you gently flametorch anything? I can't think of any other way of describing it sorry) piece of Tunworth, with a red grape sorbet and bit of pickled endive. After having moaned for years about places trying to gussy-up the traditional cheese course by piling things on top or heating things up (I still have a bit of a problem with baked Camembert) I've realised that with a bit of sensitivity, applying (gentle) heat to a cheese is just a way of presenting its charms in a slightly different way. Think of when a sushi master briefly torches a nigiri before presentation. And finally dessert, beetroot mousse topped with apple sorbet and with a little red hat of beetroot crisp on top. Colourful and cleverly presented, like a kind of miniature Miro sculpture, it was a lovely coda to the meal, which had ended with the same technical ability and attention to detail as it had begun. But look, enough hand-wringing. You will know by know if this is the kind of food you like to eat, and whether you think £55 (or more realistically £120-£150 ish if you have matching wine and supplemental courses) is the right amount to pay for it. All I can tell you is that this is the kind of food I like to eat, and Steven Edwards and the team at etch are exactly the people I want to bring it to me. And I would have no hesitation in going back to Hove later in the year, paying in full and seeing what other delights the seasons bring. This is a place worth revisiting. I was invited to etch and didn't see a bill. As above, expect to pay between £55-£155 +service depending on what time of day you go, how many courses you choose and what you drink.

Earlier this week I spotted this 40 year-old poster at Leytonstone station. It's an original from January 1985, unexpectedly uncovered. come loose in the bottom left hand corner and half a dozen even older posters were lurking underneath. Travelcards only allowed travel on the Underground and buses, but the more expensive Capitalcard allowed travel on British Rail services too. You can see an example of a Capitalcard here. They remained in use until 1989 when Travelcards gained BR validity and the Capitalcard brand was phased out. fare-related posters might be in the stack, before and after... 1900: Pay the clerk at the ticket office window, there's a good chap 1913: Please be patient while we locate the correct paper ticket from our rack 1932: Let our new automated ticket machines speed you on your way 1947: Riding the Underground is cheaper than half a pound of brisket 1955: Your Central line journey now costs a ha'penny more 1968: Yellow flat fare tickets are fair for all 1971: Use your new pennies to take a ride to Bank 1981: Fare zones make travel cheaper and more flexible 1982: Your fare has doubled, sorry, blame Bromley 1983: The new Travelcard means more convenience and less queueing 1985: The power of London's Bus, Rail and underground services from just one card 1988: Don't be afraid, stick your ticket in the electronic gate 1995: You should absolutely definitely buy a One Day Travelcard 2003: Embrace the future, get your Oyster card today 2005: Daily capping is a proper gamechanger innit? 2010: Oh go on, we'll let you use Oyster on rail services now 2014: Why not go contactless, but avoid card clash at all costs! 2015: Are you still using Oyster? Loser 2023: Please stop buying One Day Travelcards, we hate them now 2025: Just swipe your device and let us worry about how much it costs