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| Anything Gose: Siren's freestyling has made light of the darkness |
Brought
to you by Nick Gilling
My
regular journey to the south coast town of Seaford can follow a fair
few routes, but none is more visually pleasing than the one I took
today.
It's a
stop-start affair through Sydenham and Penge before Beckenham beckons
and I wend my way through West Wickham. After a swirling descent of
Corkscrew Hill, I cross the divide that marks the edge of town and
the start of the countryside. Layhams Road begins as a perfectly
ordnary suburban lane, but just at the point where the speed limit
ups to 40mph, the whole vibe changes.
Suddenly
the trees overhang. The road surface mottles. Farmyard animals become
more evident. As you cross Sheepbarn Lane onto Skid Hill Road, it's
as if you've taken a wrong turn and ended up in the Yorkshire Dales.
Hills hug and shape the road and a sharp right reveals a most
gorgeous vale scarred only by the grey straggle of Beddlestead Lane.
That's
the first pastoral phase of the journey complete. A succession of
postcard villages such as Limpsfield and Crockham Hill punctuate the
road to Edenbridge, then the tarmac rears up, twists its way through
the woods and dips down over the border into East Sussex.
Watery
tree-lined hollows abound along the way to Hartfield, one of my
favourite spots on this route. It boasts two excellent-looking pubs,
both of which offer accommodation ranging from simple bed and
breakfast to 'en-suite' rooms. I'd like to stay over in one after a
boozy night but have never found the opportunity. I think I prefer
the sound of the simpler of the two.
A left
out of Hartfield takes you almost two miles upwards through Chuck
Hatch and Ashdown Forest, with its carpet of rusting ferns and
promise of deer. I saw a stag crossing the road here once. It just
bounded casually across the road as I applied the brakes and gazed in
genuine awe.
Once
atop the hill, the plain affords you many miles of East Sussex views
and several times I've stopped in one of the landscaped car parks to
survey the scene. It really is quite beautiful. And one day, I swear
I'll stop at the Duddleswell Tea Rooms that are tucked behind a
well-manicured green, neatly back from the road as it drops towards
Maresfield.
The A22
drags on laboriously past Maresfield, Uckfield and through Halland
and it's with some relief that I pull off towards Camberlot and Upper
Dicker. The highlight of the journey is still to come and I sense it
drawing nearer as I rumble over the level crossing at Berwick and
strain my eyes for my first sight of the Wilmington Giant.
Plains
flooded by the bank-busting Cuckmere River accompany the road to
Alfriston, as does my eternal dilemma of whether to sing the
village's name to the tune of either Galveston or Anchorage. It's
usually Michelle Shocked's number that wins out. Once I'm through and
past the Youth Hostel, I spy the white horse carved into Hindover
Hill and hope for a clear run.
My poor
little car doesn't like hills and struggles up towards High and Over
(see what they did there?) car park if there's a slow-moving vehicle
in its way. There isn't today and I get to the peak in third gear; an
achievement for dear old Cleo.
The view
that greets you as you crest the hill is quite breathtaking. To the
left, the Cuckmere River meanders its way towards the sea, sheltered
on its left by the first of the Seven Sisters. Seaford Head is
clearly visible too and often, like today, the sun turns the English
Channel into shimmering sequins that twinkle their way towards the
horizon. Even Newhaven looks good from up here and that's some
achievement.
Allowing
for traffic, the whole journey takes just under two hours. It's a
delight for the eyes and always gives me enough time to put things
into perspective. I arrive at my parents' place soothed, not
disturbed, by the ups, downs, twists and turns.
Now, all
appears well. I've left the darkness behind me where it belongs:
yesterday. Time for something black.
Beer:
Siren Black Gose
Strength:
A mercifully drinkable 4.2%
Smell:
Slightly decaying Christmas cake.
Tasting
notes: It pours like a bottle of Coca-Cola, so it's something of a
surprise to discover that, instead of an overly syrupy soft drink,
your tongue experiences a sensation not unlike that a sour, cynical
regular turning on you in your favourite boozer. Completely
unexpected. You thought it was your mate, but no. It lets you sit
down next to it, then opens up, calling you out for practically
anything it can think of and really getting under your skin. You
can't leave; you've just bought a pint. Neither can you go and sit
elsewhere. You've just got to sit and take it and hope he runs out of
insults or gets bored. Just weird.
Session
factor: It's one to acquire, this taste. But I'm getting there.
Arbitrary
score: 111,074
Sponsor:
Nick Gilling
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