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I woke just as the sun was starting to come up and made my way blearily to the toilet block to empty some ale. Seeing that I was the only possible source of food in the otherwise silent, sleeping site an entire mob of probably fifteen resident ducks made a bee line for me and started quacking, honking, parping and barking at the top of their little duck voices. I desperately threw some bread at the nearest caravan and dived back into the tent. Eventually Kez stirred and I got a coffee going, then cooked us up a bloody good breakfast of fried bread, eggs and mushrooms before we hopped on our unladen bikes and took a relaxed ride into Eastbourne.

We explored the enormous pier and grabbed an overpriced coffee on the seafront. The breeze unkindly blew Kez’s cocoa dusted milk froth onto her grey top, making a large embarassing poo stain down her front, but the coffee franchise girl grumpily gave her some stinking dish rag from the kitchen to mop it off with, which frankly didn’t help much.
Some exploring later we decided to have fish n chips in a famed ‘Harry Ramsden’s’ chip restaurant, it was fairly average to be honest, but filled a hole. A few beers in the town later we decided to head back to the campsite, however I suddenly realised I’d lost my favourite folding peaked baseball cap from the Edinburgh Woollen Mill. I worriedly flapped at my pockets for a few minutes before Kez pointed out that we were in fact standing outside an Edinburgh Woollen Mill, so I popped in and bought another. £3.49, bargain!
Harry Ramsden seemed to be having quite a worrying effect on Kez’s stomach so she necked some immodium, but even so we had to stop at just about every public toilet and pub on the way back.
At the campsite the wind had got up a bit, and although the sun was still shining on our tent, some amazing banks of rolling black storm cloud were rushing past in an ominously dark sky, so we checked the tent pegs, rescued Kez’s clown style pyjamas which were drying in the breeze and headed up the road to ‘The Castle’ pub where we planned the next days journey and met a nice Dutch couple who we had seen at our camp site. They were touring in a little Ford Fiesta and were certainly more travelled than us, so I suggested they try black pudding for an authentic English experience, they weren’t really sure about the idea but I assured them it would be a taste sensation for their dull dutch palates.
Eventually we wobbled back to the site and I cooked up a late dinner of sausage, Smash and beans. We really must start getting hold of better produce on our travels.