I managed to completely mess up my wife's birthday celebrations this week, but I'll come to that in a moment. About a month before her big day, I asked if she fancied a little escape. She opted for Rye in East Sussex, wanting something different from last year's trip to Margate, lovingly dubbed Shoreditch-on-Sea thanks to its hip cafés and buzzing art scene.
This time around, we brought my mother's dogs along: Lola, the elderly pointer, and Wilf, the rather rotund chihuahua. My wife is absolutely mad about dogs, and after trawling through the collective knowledge of AI-generated blog summaries online, we discovered that Rye and neighbouring Camber Sands are hailed as dog-friendly destinations. The journey from St Pancras via Ashford International takes just over an hour, making it a tolerable trek for the pups in the July heat.
Our initial stop was Paws n Claws, a pet shop with a sideline in British wildlife funeral services. "It's all quite macabre," I commented to the shopkeeper, gazing at a container of furry deer limbs whilst attempting to protect my wife from spotting the rabbit ears, as per Kent Live.
The dogs, though, were absolutely mesmerised. We left clutching a dehydrated duck neck and a tin of Lily's Fish and Chip flavoured dog food (a mixture of chicken, herring, potato, and peas - probably a winner in some Eastern European nation and bound to appear on a Dalston small plates menu for £27 shortly).
Rye is a compact town that can be explored in just 10 minutes, allowing us to leisurely stroll through its streets multiple times, eyeing the delightful boutiques and pondering whether the 'dog-friendly' tags were worth the risk of a territorial incident. The hilly landscape and charming cobblestone streets of Rye certainly work up a hunger, leading us to our first pit stop at the Mermaid Street Cafe.
The crab sandwich, priced just under £10, was money well spent, with its soft multigrain bread packed with a generous portion of juicy crabmeat. The rum and raisin ice cream was also a hit. Having refuelled, we set off towards Camber Sands, following a footpath lined with lush brambles and patches of mugwort. At least two of us found ourselves frequently stopping to soak in the fragrances and views.
Early into our walk, I noticed a sheep with a rather daunting look behind a tall metal fence that seemed to have been lifted straight from a 1950s research facility. As we approached the beach, the farmland slowly transitioned into a more natural setting, with sandy brushlands bustling with energetic rabbits. The sight of these animals reminded us of their less fortunate counterparts in pet shops, but we decided not to dwell on it.
Just a stone's throw from the beach entrance, before the only child safety warning sign I've ever seen, I bought a pound of cherries and a punnet of strawberries from a chap under a marquee by the roadside. He assured me they were freshly picked that very morning. Both the cherries and strawberries were juicy and sweet, making supermarket offerings seem rather dull in comparison.
Sadly, our cherries were the first casualty of our mini break. Distracted by the sight of the inviting sea, I rushed towards it, forgetting to protect our cherries from the notorious British seagulls. It was during an impromptu yoga pose that I spotted the birds ravaging our lunch through my own legs. By the time I sprinted back, the culprits had scarpered, leaving behind only a solitary paper bag.
Left without any fruit and feeling a bit peckish, we decided to give Frankie's At The Beach a go, a burger joint boasting a 4.8-star rating on Google. Despite its unassuming appearance, this place surpassed our expectations with its juicy, sauce-drenched burgers. Beef sandwiched between two buns. Venison sourced straight from a local farm. What's not to love? We gave the chips a miss only because the portion size seemed so generous that you'd need a bucket and spade to tackle them.
On our way back to Rye, we stopped off at The Owl for a peaceful pint before checking into The River Haven Hotel. Given the significant amount of time it takes to travel anywhere with a dog, particularly if you let them lead and sniff everything along the way, we arrived at the hotel too late for a pub dinner or to grab fish and chips from the highly-rated Marino's Fish Bar.
Despite having enjoyed a McDonald's breakfast, crab sandwich, and a double-deer burger, I found myself drawn to Jempson's, a family-run supermarket chain that has been a staple in Sussex since 1935. Although it collaborates with Morrisons, the prices for its speciality items were more comparable to Marks and Spencer.
Nonetheless, I left with a delightful selection of fresh bread, cheese, and cider, fully embracing Rye's unique medieval charm. I reckon our dogs thoroughly enjoyed their first - and probably last - hotel experience. After hours of playing on the beach, they flopped onto a blanket in the corner of the room, allowing us to rediscover the pleasure of having multiple TV channels. The next morning, I took them to the car park to evaluate the effect of their unusual diet of duck neck and herring compared to their usual leftovers of pasta and kibble, but all seemed fine.
The day coincided with my wife's actual birthday, so we relished the complimentary breakfast (eggs royale), followed by another leisurely walk around town to build up an appetite for some genuine seafood. We spent a few unhurried hours wandering about, stopping to observe bees buzzing around lavender bushes and allowing the dogs to sip holy water from a bowl outside the rectory.
Unfortunately, due to my oversight and embarrassment, the highly-rated Fish Market Seafood Bar I had planned as a birthday surprise was closed. We opted for a pub lunch instead. We tried nearly every seafood dish available, including the oysters, and the accommodating barman even rustled up a Bloody Mary despite it not being on the menu. The food was delicious, with the oysters being particularly enjoyable.
The sun was shining brightly, elderly ladies were lamenting the lack of doubles coverage at Wimbledon, my wife was happy, and so were the dogs. If you had asked me then, I would have proclaimed Rye as the best place on earth, just make sure to visit when it's not overrun with tourists.
However, as we travelled back to London, where we planned to spend the evening at a comedy night in Angel, I began to feel strange. I usually experience a certain level of disdain upon returning to London, but this was different. This peculiar feeling intensified the moment I stepped off the Tube at Arnos Grove to drop the dogs off at my mum's.
I'm nearly certain it was a rogue oyster, but out of respect for the pub and the oyster farm, I'll entertain the idea that it might have been the slice of brie I left out overnight. Regardless of who's to blame, nothing has made me more aware of my own mortality. Even the dogs shied away from me.
Waves of nausea, cold sweats, and violent retching reduced me to a pitiful, writhing mess. Commuters getting off the train on a Tuesday afternoon could easily have mistaken it for a Saturday night. The kind station staff even asked if I needed an ambulance. I had been poisoned, and according to a quick Google search on my phone, there was no antidote.
After two bouts of severe discomfort, and with the dogs safely back home while I lay miserably outside the station, my wife arranged for a taxi to take us home, bypassing what would normally be a simple Tube journey. Shaking and subdued, I slumped into the backseat, my pale, shocked face hidden beneath a hoodie and sunglasses. I found some humour in watching my usually assertive wife awkwardly try to mislead the driver about our reasons for this highly unusual trip.
The car's air conditioning was a relief, but upon leaving the vehicle, our neighbour's begonias suffered the brunt of my ongoing discomfort. I ended up spending the rest of my wife's birthday confined to bed, nursing a cold Coca-Cola, too ill even to watch Puss in Boots, and clutching onto my most essential muscles. Rye is splendid, particularly when accompanied by dogs, but I found out that oysters can be a risky pick.
They might be seen as an aphrodisiac, but their effects were far from appealing. They only succeeded in creating terrible memories and nothing else. For the time being, the mere thought of them incites dread.
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