ROLO's roots

The original Lakeland Terrier was bred in the Lake District. They were bred to fight the giant Westmoreland Fox, which was the greatest threat to farmers’ chickens and livestock, particularly the lambs. The Lakie should have a narrow chest about the same width as its head, so it can scoot down burrows to grab the fox cubs. Proudly displaying its bottom sticking out of the ground ready for a farmer to pull him out by his tail, ‘Good boy’.

A Lakeland Terrier’s coat must be warm and waterproof, full of curls and strong wiry hair. Imagine a coat that let in the whipping wind and rain off the fells, it would be a death sentence for a working dog in the north of England. The breed also had to have game – that’s spirit to attack even when they’re of a smaller size than their prey treading that fine line between courage and stupidity.

ROLO is part Lakeland Terrier and part Patterdale Terrier. Both breeds originate from the region we went to on a family holiday around the astonishingly beautiful Lake Windermere. I had no idea England had lakes and mountains like these, it made me feel like I could have been in Canada or Switzerland (both places which I have also never visited).

On the first day where there was no rain and low sun ROLO pondered the Lakes. She sniffed the air and rushed through the damp undergrowth of lush ferns, chasing scents and running wild. She had returned to her roots. However, her paw hurt. That night while she was conked out on the dog bed, I removed a tiny stone from her paw leaving a hole.

The next day the forecast looked clear, but we encountered strong winds as we climbed a moor then scrabbled down a fell into woodland. ROLO’s paws were constantly cold and wet from the mud and hard granite. The sheer number of puddles ROLO had to jump over to avoid getting drenched grazed more skin off her paws. At night I cleaned the wound with saline solution while she and her compatriot, Mac the Bedlington Terrier Whippet Cross, snoozed in front of the fire. 

The next day we ventured into Grizedale, which in Old Norse means Wild Boar Valley, where it rained pretty much all day. I had forgotten my canine’s coat, so ROLO progressively became sodden and shivery; unlike her ancestors her fur was not wiry enough. On another walk the loose jagged rocks underfoot had got too much for her and she had to be carried. At one point I looked round and found her sat with eyes half-closed looking very wet and zen sheltering beneath a small bush.

Don’t get me wrong, at times ROLO looked majestic on the moors. Standing tall in the land of her working dog cousins. Remember, the Lakeland Terrier was bred to hunt the legendary Westmoreland Fox, which is now extinct thanks to her bloodline. But, as ROLO found out on the walking holiday, it forever rains in the Lakes and she is a dog that likes to stay dry.

In London she is a pub dog, who sits on people’s laps while they quaff beer and discuss politics. She rides on public transport, gazing out of the top deck window of a bus while it careens around the busy streets of the metropolis. ROLO has a dog bed in every house and workplace she visits, which are all well-insulated establishments that hold the possibility of treats. 

And ROLO realised that the city creature comforts she had grown so accustomed to like the sniffing of the butts on the common; the organic dog chews; her Summer and Winter dog wardrobe had led her life to be removed from that of her ancestors. And she felt pleasantly surprised that she was in fact a different dog to what she had been bred for, and she liked her life just the way it was, which made her tail wag.

Lakeland terrier history sources:

https://www.lakie1.com/history.php

https://nationalpurebreddogday.com/a-snippet-of-lakeland-terrier-history/

All My Relations

Photographs of my great-grandmother Ito-san (top) and my grandmother Obaachan (bottom) when she was young

I have a piece about my Japanese grandmother Obaachan published in a zine in America called All My Relations. It's a new publication about ancestry, memory and the meaning of family.

My piece is called Where have the waterways gone? on p.79-83. You can read and download the full issue here.

If you like the writing and artwork in the zine then kindly send a donation via Ko-fi saying in the message that it's for All My Relations. The donations get paid out to BIPOC, gender diverse, and disabled creatives.

Travels: Singapore

Arriving home felt strange. The weather was cold, the atmosphere felt lifeless and the buildings were drab. My body had adjusted itself to expect the immense heat, which slowed you down as you walked over baked concrete. But the audio-visuals of the places had seeped in to my subconscious and I wanted bright yellows and powder blues, decrepit old colonial style architecture and the sharp smell of fish sauce running down the drains. I missed the heat but not the mosquitoes, I pondered, scratching my scabs on the way home.

Day 1. 13/4/19

Singapore

We arrived in the early evening at Singapore Airport, to coincide with the opening of a new terminal called Jewel. It has the largest indoor waterfall in the world, or something, and we had no idea. The airport is firstly beautiful, a totally relaxing experience. Nice smells, tranquil lighting and soft furnishing, like a hotel lobby or a classy shopping mall. Rachel Chew (aka Papa Chew) was there – waiting for us – GRAND REUNION! I was excited to be in Sing and she was excited to see Jewel. We were both excited to see each other. Win win.

Rachel drove us to her home in Palm Avenue, which is also architecturally beautiful (a running theme.) The country is hot and humid, but also lush and amazing. No bugs, though tropical, a first! We met her mum MeiLing, who asked to be called Auntie and her dad Robert, whom yes, we should call Uncle. We were shown to our big room, had showers, then left to go eat chilli crab, a Singaporean delicacy. Thy drove us out to the East Coast area where we were right on the seafront. It was dark and I could see all the flashing lights from the buildings on the other side of the bay, but then Auntie corrected me, to tell me they were actually lights from the ships waiting to dock at Singapore’s port. So many ships.

JUMBO Chilli Crab restaurant was filled with families sitting round large circular tables, and when we arrived there was a long queue snaking past the entrance. The Chews had booked a table, of course, so we went upstairs and were presented with a royal feast: Prawns “drunk” in wine, salted egg (has the consistency of houmous and tastes like salty, rich, custard) lathered on crab, JUMBO chilli crab (delicious, sweet and spicy and everything a crab could be), tofu with veg, razor clams in garlic sauce with glass noodles, baby kai lan fried with garlic (Rachel’s favourite, a kind of succulent kale), lilac yam pudding topped with sweetcorn, mango and fresh fruits. Absolutely stuffed. There was also a cool “Tiger Auntie” – a waitress who goes around serving tables with Tiger beer in frosted glasses.

TJ joined us, which was lovely, Uncle Rob enjoyed talking about space programmes to Aidan, Darren came late as he had been spearfishing, so he was tired and felt like he had altitude sickness. Auntie kept ordering us more food and Rachel was a delight. It felt like I’d been adopted in to a Singaporean family.

Afterwards we left Auntie & Uncle and jumped in to taxi, which looked like a school bus. We headed downtown to the Ann Siang neighbourhood; weathered colonial shopfronts, narrow streets, colourfully lit up temples by night, to go to a bar called Native. It was in an interesting building, which used to be a storehouse for spices, then an opium den and now a hipster cocktail bar. Run by a fanatic who makes alcohol from anything sourced or inspired locally. My drink ‘Concrete Jungle’ had bee pollen sprinkled atop a single ice cube (the clearest block of ice I’ve ever seen.) The drink tasted fine. Aidan’s cocktail smelt of turmeric and tasted like sour curry. In London this would be pretentious, but in Singapore it somehow worked, probably because the barman was earnest, sincere and handsome, so I was 100% on board with the concept of Native.

Ashish joined us and his friend Miles, then we all walked towards China Town, down a touristic alley where all the ex-pats were hanging out. It sort of had the feeling of Spain, what with the heat, cobbled streets, neon signage, European architecture and white people. We went to a bar called Flagship where we drank beer and listened to indie music that played over the speakers, where we remained for the entire playlist, from Green Day to Green Day. Then left in the midnight heat, which I still found surprising, after TJ had sneakily and generously settled the bill for all of us.

Day 2. 14/4/19

Singapore

We did a lot today. Aquarium on Sentosa Island, lunch in Little India, Mustafa shopping mall, coffee at the National Gallery, the Asian Civilisations Museum (ACM) and TJ’s dinner.

It was a hot and slightly overcast day. Rachel took us to Sentosa Island and during the drive I couldn’t get over the futuristic skyline of central Singapore. It really is something. Better than any city skyline I’ve seen - better than Tokyo, NYC, London - because things are so new. And the designs of the skyscrapers are so stylish, coherent with the rest of the architecture, fitting compactly within the city. Also, it’s tropical so lush greenery, palm trees and bougainvillea swathe the sides of the immaculate roads.

The S.E.A. Aquarium tickets were bought for us by Darren (oh!), so we went inside and saw some amazing fish. But first, before that, here is some copy from the aquarium posters outside, which we all laughed about, primarily as Rachel and Aidan work in advertising:

“50% Cow 100% Fish” (with a picture of a cowfish)

“Less heart than a bad date” (with a picture of a jelly fish)

“Oh Crab! I’m that old” (with a picture of a crab)

In the shark tank we saw a Great White with its spectral eyes. There was a ginormous tank filled with grouper fish, sting rays and manta rays, gliding through the water like Star Wars spaceships. Darren knows a lot about fish (he designed and built his own fish pond which looks more like an aquarium), so it was pretty interesting to go with him. He commented that the yellow fin tuna inside the tank was unusual and probably wouldn’t survive long, because they’re an open water fish, adapted to travelling long distances in the ocean. ‘It’s rare for tuna fish to be bred in captivity, so I don’t know how they got one in here.’ Darren informed us that that whoever figures out how to farm tuna will be rich, as people have been trying and failing for years.

He seemed right about the Yellow Fin in the tank, it was the one fish swimming faster than the rest, darting in straight lines through the artificial waters. Zoom. It seemed aggravated and touchy and didn’t want to be contained or have to swerve to change directions. Each time the tuna got to the end of the tank, it would do a sharp U-turn and gun it straight to the other side, like doing lengths of a pool but with no goal in sight. Immense speed blocked by glass panes. The Yellow Fin would probably die exhausted by a lack of freedom.

There was a funny-looking fish called a Potato Cod with a fat snout, and the luminous sea jellies were fun, more like an art installation than an organism. The Moray Eel was highly impressive and looked like an underwater ancient god, with smaller eels worshipping at its rock opening. At the end of the aquarium we got given a bright blue and pink plush toy of an octopus, as they came free with our tickets. So, me and Chew found some children to donate our toys to and Aidan kept his for his little sister, who is an adult.

Chewy drove us to Little India next. Darren joined us for Indian food at Madras New Woodlands. We had dosa (with ghee is best), VIP dosa set, fake meat biriyani, and mango lassis all round. The whole area was different to the other ones we visited in Sing because it’s filled with Indian shops selling gold, saris, electronics, groceries, spices, etc. After lunch we went to Mustafa Shopping Mall where they sealed Aidan’s and Rachel’s bag with those plastic seal tags, to stop shoplifting, I guess. It was a bane because I had to cut it open to get my wallet out of Aidan’s bag when I bought a pair of Samsung headphones.

We all felt sleepy but decided to carry on rather than nap as ‘That would be a waste of our time in Singapore’, Aidan pointed out. Darren drove us to the National Gallery where he dropped us off, then an old white woman asked Aidan if he was an Uber driver. (>.<) Rachel wanted to take us for coffee at the National Gallery because of its grandeur, as it used to be the houses of parliament, so the re-purposed space is divine. High ceilings, cold marble floors, and the winner of the best children’s museum 2018. The coffee turned out to be iced Ceylon tea for both me and A; and even though Rachel constantly tries to pay for everything, we succeeded by buying the drinks this time. Score.

After sipping our iced beverages in Eames style chairs, we walked through and admired the building, then went outside to the civic town centre. We marched through the supreme courts, which is now the Victoria Theatre and viewed one of the two Raffles statues standing in the area. A member of the British East India Company who is acknowledged to be the founder of Singapore, yet we find out later at the ACM, he only spent an accumulative 9 months in the country and was more of a colonial propaganda figure than an active founder. We three considered the plaque on the Raffles statue in front of the Singapore River which reads:

On this historic site, Sir Stamford Raffles first landed in Singapore on 28th January 1819 and with genius and perception changed the destiny of Singapore from an obscure fishing village to a great seaport and modern metropolis.

As post-colonial theorists we found it a bit “off”. This year (2019) marks the bicentenary of Raffles’ colonisation, so Singapore has made an effort to tackle this off-ish plaque in the centre of their city, by putting up other statues, to encourage a dialogue between histories. A newly erected statue of Sang Nila Utama is now 100m away with its own plaque that reads:

Sang Nila Utama was a Srivijayan prince from Palembang, who arrived on our white sandy shores while on a hunt in 1299. His vision of a lion – which he took as a good omen – inspired him to establish the city of Singapura, the Lion City, which he and his descendants turned into a flourishing port.

This inscription is nowhere near as plucky or as punchy as the East India Co.’s, but it’s a start. At the Asian Civilisations Museum, we looked round the bicentennial Raffles exhibition, where an awesome curator-guide took us through his mostly Javanese collection, because that’s where Raffles was posted for the majority of his career. I found out at the time the E.I.C. had a bigger army than Britain and is considered to be the first global corporation in history. Damn. After viewing the wide array of artefacts at the ACM, including an almost complete Tang Dynasty shipwreck, TJ came to pick us up.

(Before TJ arrived, I tried a bite of Chewy’s durian flavoured ice cream and almost wretched. I learnt I hated durian, but I loved how the Singaporean ice-cream man sandwiched the ice-cream between a slice of white bread, so it's not cold on your teeth making it easier to eat.)

TJ’s mansion is in the jungle residential district of Singapore. It’s a massive house, beautifully kitted out with artefacts, dark wood furnishings and a swimming pool. TJ and his helpers had made us another feast, with lemon steamed fish, cuts of pork, glutinous rice, grilled chilli prawns and casual champagne. We were eating like aristocrats in Singapore. TJ’s dad joined us for dinner, who is quite the charmer and then later on in the evening, I had the honour of meeting his grandmother, who at 95 is looking sharp. Red lace fitted dress, heavy jade necklace, straight posture, bright eyes, narrow frame, pale skin. Graceful and eminent are the words I’ve found for her. Later on, I’m told she was one of the first female doctors of Singapore. Once dinner’s over and TJ’s family have hosted us admirably, we say our goodbyes and I really admire a Fauvist coloured ceramic statue of a Trojan Horse they have in their living room. That’s quite the gift.

Day 3. 15/4/19

Singapore

Rachel took Monday off work to show us around the city, which her mum was shocked about, ‘She works so hard, she says she can never take a day off.’ Rachel took us to the Botanic Gardens, which is free and easy to access. People can go there to enjoy the greenery, tropical indigenous forest and lake, or, in the cooler hours go jogging. I saw my first iguana! It was hunting for a worm or insect in the undergrowth, and it looked really intelligent, completely focussed on the task at hand of catching its prey. Smelling the ground with its forked tongue, then shovelling the dirt out of its way, and snapping up the creepy crawly with its jaws. Chewy tells us this is where she used to play Pokémon Go, ‘There’s great Grass Pokémon here’, but she gave up after she thought it was a waste of her life.

At the lake we saw many many turtles, including a mother and baby, gently flapping in the water by her side. They were mostly terrapins with the red slashes on their cheeks and were relaxing to watch. We also got introduced to The Kindness Lion at the park. A very basic design for a lion, like a cartoon character wearing sports kit, who encourages kind acts, ‘Like picking up litter’, among Singaporean school kids, Rachel tells us. I jokingly called him The Obedience Lion, but we posed for photos with him anyways.

Rachel then took us out for another amazing meal, this time to a Steamboat place called Hai Di Lao, where they have the best customer service. We arrived and they covered all your belongings with protective cloth, so they don’t get splashed by the sauces, and the waitress even took my glasses and sealed them in a plastic bag and placed them next to my seat. Neat. Steamboat is a Chinese dish where they cook all the meats and vegetables in a hot pot, sunken in to the table and bubbling with delicious stock. One half was spicy, and the other half was chicken stock. It’s a bit like fondue, but you can use the stock to make a clear soup for your noodles, also to combine and eat with other dishes. You cook your pork and beef cuts for different durations in the different pots, then pull them out with your chopsticks to dip in to various sauces. It was delicious. There was even a fresh noodle maker (like a mixologist but for noodles) who strung out, flicked and flipped fresh noodles at our table. It was pretty exciting, like a live noodle show. Later on, I saw the same noodle guy performing the tricks for a completely disinterested family who were looking down at their phones, and I felt sort of sad for him.

After the meal was over Rachel wanted to pay, but Aidan wanted to pay, so there was a hoo-haa. Even the staff got involved, but Chewy spoke to them in Mandarin and so, Aidan was thwarted in his efforts. Since we’d been out in the hot, outdoor humidity of the gardens and now we were full of Steamboat, we went home, showered and napped. Aidan had also been hit by a wave of jet lag. I fell asleep next to Chewy on her bed and dribbled on her mattress.

We woke up to find Rachel’s mum was offering to drive us to Gardens by the Bay, where the Supertrees are! I’d really wanted to see the Supertrees (mainly because of the Planet Earth BBC documentary) and it would be the perfect way to top off our stay. The Supertrees looked super cool up close; synthetic though abundant with nature, wild but clean, like Singapore.

Chew also got us entry tickets to the Cloud Dome and the Flower Dome, attached to the Supertrees complex. The Cloud Dome was impressive, like a modernised version of Kew Gardens, with an indoor waterfall and skywalk around a massive central pillar of plants. All the plants are from higher altitudes, so cooler climes. The lush vegetation gets misted with water for long periods of time forming clouds within the dome, making for good photo ops. It reminded me a bit of Laputa – Castle in the Sky.

There was a bird stuck inside, flying back and forth beneath the glass dome. Outside you could see the Singapore port really clearly, and again, the hundreds of container ships waiting to dock there. It looked unreal because I’ve never seen the sea look so congested. Singapore is a free port, so it attracts more ships as it has less trade restrictions than others.

We left the Cloud Dome and walked over to the main courtyard where we got our photos taken by a friendly and competent cameraman, a Dutch tourist on holiday with her family. Then we went to check the Flower Dome, which is less showy than the the other one, filled with flower beds and bushes. They were holding a tulip exhibition, so we got to walk through a mini Holland, with cut out windmills and fake verandas surrounded by beautiful tulips. There was a “European Market” going on inside the Flower Dome and it’s always interesting to see your own culture through another culture’s eyes, so we went in. It had stalls selling honey, wine, apple presse, popcorn and candy floss.

It was dusk so time for the Light Show! We headed back to the Supertrees where we sat on the ground with the amassing crowd and waited for it to begin. A big announcement said it was going to be ‘Retro Night’ tonight, then all these Sixties and Seventies tracks started playing up like The Jackson 5 and Tavares, and the Supertrees pulsated with disco lights to the music. Pop, funk, crowd-pleasers - though none of the crowd danced, which was odd. (They do this light show every night for FREE can you imagine how much energy must go in to putting on these light shows? If it’s not green energy, then does that negate the environmentally friendly impact the Supertrees are meant to be having? Just an afterthought.) I was having fun.

Once the light show was over, everyone pegged it over to Marina Bay Sands (MBS). That luxury hotel made famous to me by a Martin Solveig music video. The walk to MBS is stunning, the bridge has mood lighting with trees placed along the middle and it crosses a curve in the river, which is also tastefully lit. This whole area is re-claimed land (so that’s Singapore building in to the sea where there didn’t used to be anything there before), meaning that the city planning must have been an ideal vision realised. I can see that. The bridge becomes a mezzanine walkway, which runs over the hotel lobby, and then out again, to enter in to a luxury shopping mall - where there’s an artificial river running under the shops with gondolas for hire. I mean, come on. There’s an indoor waterfall in this mall too, which is chock-a-block full of brands that I can’t afford: Gucci, Chanel, Hermes. We exit again in to the Marina where there is a hideously dramatic laser show going on.

Fountains of water shoot up in to the air! Green laser beams splice through cascades of water, as music from the last fight scene in LOTR (or something like it) blares over the loudspeakers. People are transfixed and it is the most tasteless and intense splashing I have ever seen. It ends by people clapping but also stampeding away from the Marina, which is actually quite pretty when there aren’t any laser beams in the way.

We decided to go to the rooftop bar on top of MBS, so that Aidan could finally get a chance to buy Rachel a drink, also to get a stunning view of the city by night. We even got a good table to perch on and discussed what that dark patch could be in the middle of the city? (We zoomed in on google maps and it turned out to be the National Zoo.) Drinks followed by Malay food, followed by beer at Haji Lane, where there was live music being played by different guitar singer/songwriters, all positioned equidistantly apart down the street.

Haji Lane used to be cool back in the day, actually Auntie told us she used to go hang out there when she was younger, but alas no more. Its hippy heritage is reflected only in the psychedelic street art, whose purpose today seemed primarily commercial. We sat outside a bar called Blujaz Café, where Chew had a gin & tonic as she was working the next day and me and A shared a jug of beer. I noted how Singapore must be so safe because a woman nearby left her handbag in plain sight on her bar table, while she went for a smoke around the corner, which would be crazy in London.

We’d had a really good time in Singapore, but sadly our time was up. Chew who had looked after us so well, took us home in a taxi, then said goodnight. She saw us off in the morning when we went to catch a bus for Malaysia.

From Peckham Rye to Rye

Take the no. 63 bus from Peckham Rye to Kings Cross. Board a train, with a changeover at Ashford Int., then you’re in Rye.

An odd town that slipped down the back of the sofa and is quite neatly tucked in to Antiquity.

‘I don’t see the sea.’

‘I don’t think we cross the sea on the way down.’

I thought it was a coastal town right up until the time we were standing in Rye. Feet firmly on cobbled streets, looking through thin panes of glass at nick nacks from another era – proud porcelain cats and those hairbrushes that have horse hairs for bristles. All the houses are lopsided from age. Red roof tiles slacken and look like they are slowly slipping downhill, pulling the plaster and the weight of the houses with them, sinking with decrepitude. But the wooden beams sprout upwards, holding up the entire town, lifting masses up to St. Mary’s church spire. Which has ‘one of the oldest working church tower clocks in the country’, says the free pamphlet. Dating to ‘1561-2’ it tells me, with the sort of accuracy only someone with smalltown pride would insist on hammering in. I mean, it was like 500 years ago. But this clock face has emblazoned on it an inscription, which I stare at morbidly when the bell sounds a delicate chime:

For our time is a very shadow that passeth away

-       Wisdom

That makes me think accuracy may be all we have. Quite timely too, as we arrive three hours early to check-in at the Tea House, next to the Mint. It is lovely, though the guesthouse owner surprised by our early arrival wants us to get out of her hair, so that she can tidy the rooms in peace (completely fair, but we only want to leave our bags here, so that we can walk on down to the sea – there is a sea nearby). He tells her full of gestures and charm (because he’s better at it than me) and Brenda who is accommodating and glittery, in persona, grabs her keys to the Mercedes and offers to drive us down. What a winner.

On the way to her parked car, she tells us a strange story of a cantorial monk who had done the deed with a local girl in the Medieval times.

‘He was holed up in here – Right here.’

Pointing to an embankment of green presided over by a weeping willow.

‘They buried him alive.’

I expected her to tell us tales of singing ghosts, but none followed.

Camber Sands. That’s where the sea is at! The Camber is a huge stretch of sand with wide open seas all round, rolling waves. Surfers and dogs. The weather was unusually warm so I took my socks off and got my feet sandy, then wet. Strolling. You can see Rye rise up in the distance. It sits on a ridge, which according to Wikipedia is the reason for the town’s name. I was almost right too, about it being a coastal town, because in Medieval days the sea reached Rye. It was a port town – one of the Cinque Ports – renowned for smuggling. But in the proceeding centuries landowners who wanted to expand their farmlands, reclaimed the marshland from the ocean. They stemmed the flow of the River Rother so that it became the only waterway that let ships sails right up to Rye, until the seascape changed to what it is today. Rye is about 2 miles from the sea when it used to be on top of it. I guess that clock face has seen a lot of change.

Cormorants and sturdy sheep. Tumbling border collies; funny scruffy looking dogs out on walks with their funny scruffy looking owners. It takes an hour or so to walk back to Rye. We eat sweet vinegary mussels from styrofoam cups, which reminds me in Normandy there was a dish on the menu called fruits de mer. We pass under Land’s Gate built in the 14^th Century, again Medieval, looking immoveable. Rye is really pedalling the School for Wizards & Witches and I’m starting to see a pattern. Anything that is so old that it could be deemed mystical is on the menu at Rye. The Mermaids Inn is very famous for being a smuggler’s haunt centuries ago. I eat two day’s running at Simon The Pie Man, where the older waitresses wear white pinafore aprons over their sombre black skirts and have their hair tied back in exquisite buns. I enter and buy books from the Tiny Book Store, where the bookshop owner gives me a knowing speech about his collection –

‘Like I say. Books come to me. I don’t go looking for them… We got a load of Vintage Penguins in. A whole load but it’s hard to find a First Edition… Can’t for the life of me get hold of any Seamus Heaney, not these days.’

I like Rye. I like how peculiar it is, or is trying to be, but does that matter? There’s a rusted blade of a short-sword sticking out of one of the beams in our guesthouse. No one attests to knowing what it’s doing there. Gold. I’m a tourist and I love it.

On the final day we go to Rye Castle and Museum. £4 entry. Bargain. A well kept Medieval castle later used as a jail. Also the first prison in Britain to have a women’s tower, how thoughtful. I particularly liked the exhibition cabinet on Coopers: craftsmen who made barrels. I learnt a lot of barrel facts, such as, ‘All barrels are casks but not all casks are barrels’. Did you know that a barrel is a measurement? And a Hogshead is one up from a Barrel? Me neither.

On the walk down steep cobbled streets to the station I’m inordinately glad I found Rye. For no good reason, I feel like I’ve made an important pilgrimage from my hometown featuring Rye in its title. (Do New Yorkers feel the same when they visit York?) As we leave, hand in hand, I am met by the exuberant copy of the tourist information board…

Welcome to Historic Rye

Perched on a hill, the medieval town of Rye is the sort of place you thought existed only in your imagination.