Friday, October 24, 2008

Four Do a Mini-Break in Battle (and Hastings)


Une Cottage

In yet another installment on my perpetual love-letter to my lovely friends, this weekend, after a meeting with an agency in London town (which we hope will prove fruitful on the job front), they whisked me off for a lovely weekend in a cottage in Battle, East Sussex.

Why Battle, East Sussex? Because my lovely friend Laura's mum owns the above charming little abode, and was away for said weekend. Enter us, stage right, to look after the cat and watch Strictly Come Dancing.

We didn't just tend to feline needs.  We also took a field trip to Hastings!

Pier = closed = unacceptable

We took a lovely, albeit windswept stroll along the seafront to the pier. With visions of playing with our pocketful of pennies in the slot machines and arcade games. You know the ones, where the gaudy machines with the taunting shelves of 2ps and 1ps move backwards and forwards and you put in your chosen token, willing for the jackpot, because let's face it, there's been a complete pileup of coppers for a good 15 minutes now, and surely, surely, this will be the one to tip it over the edge.

We had these dreams, but when we got to the pier, we found it abandoned, boarded up, and neglected. No garish amusements. Not even a cash machine. 

In short, Hastings Council: BOO YOU WHORE!

It was very disappointing. 

And so we frolicked on the beach instead.

James and Holly. They're frolicking. Oh they're frolicking...

Well, I say "we". Really I mean James and Holly. Because I wanted to take pictures, and Laura was not wearing the right shoes. Hey, sorry to spoil the illusion, but I'm just not going to lie.

When we got home, we were still feeling pretty bummed out by Pier-Gate. But it was ok, because we made enchiladas, watched Strictly, cracked open a few (read: more than should be allowed) bottles of wine, and played Monopoly.

Laura, Holly, Monopoly moneys and wine. An unbeatable and strangely intoxicating combination.

And all was right with the world.

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