Pull shut the glass door, head up the garden path, avoiding the rose bush thorns that twist out of number 12's greyish soil. Only one Strawberry left. Open/close the gate. Look back down the Bay Road towards Kings Caravan Park. Memories of the guy that the local kids called 'Honky Tonk' (after a Dick Emery character), gently flouncing his way to whatever job it was that he did in the nightclub.Cross over Pevensey Bay Road and stroll past the four houses that originally earmarked the beginning of the track to Pevensey. As the Roman Catholic Church slides by one step at a time on my left. I look across the fields, beyond the orchard, up the hill to see if a bus is coming down from the Martello. I then double check to see whether the girl that lives/lived over the roundabout is in/out/running for a bus or striding over to see me. All and none of the above.
Not too far down Princes Road I pass Pete's house and the sound of a big amp being revved up to 11 greets the soundtrack of my past. The Admiral's Estate and the lure of the girls that haunt the phone box/bus stops and newsagents caress my lustful soul. The sound of Choppers and Raleigh's reverberate the length and breadth of Ramsey Way. Loose change rattles into the phone slot. The brick wall is occupied and our vantage point is secured...
It's going to be a nice day today.
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