Tuesday: Fishbourne

After early plans to get away this half-term were reluctantly ditched (asked to work next Wednesday and Thursday), and I said a reluctant goodbye to my £20 Rome flights *sob* I turned my attention to more local destinations. I hadn't really got much beyond the initial planning stages when Anita (yes, we've seen a lot of each other this week :D ) said that as Tom would be in Zurich on Tuesday night, she was thinking of going somewhere too, and why didn't we go together? I thought this was a fab idea (yes, 'fab'), and the destination was decided upon - Chichester, a gorgeous coastal town in West Sussex, about 90 minutes from London by train.

Upon arrival, we discovered that our B&B, a 16th century coach house on what used to be the only road from London to Portsmouth,

was not in Chichester itself, as we had thought, but in a little village (Fishbourne) about three miles out of Chichester town centre... at first we wondered if that was going to be a drawback, but upon exploring that afternoon, the verdict was definitely that it was NOT.

We stopped at the B&B only long enough to greet our landlady, and set straight out again into the blustery afternoon... following a public footpath down to the 'harbour' and passing a willow-draped millpond complete with ducks, straight off a chocolate box, we found ourselves on a very muddy and squelchy pathway passing through reeds higher than our heads. We could smell the sea and hear the gulls but there was no sign of water; however, nothing daunted, we continued, lugging Eddie's pram behind (good thing it's got four-wheel drive ;) ), and soon came out to find... this.

It's simply impossible to describe the atmosphere of that gorgeous place; it was wild and free and windswept and so alive, and somehow completely English, in its colours and sights and sounds. We just marvelled at the beauty of it.

It was too wonderful an evening to go indoors again, so after back-tracking to the mill-pond we went on in a different direction, along a narrow muddy path over the lowlands by the water (I want to say 'fens' because they looked like how I've always imagined fens to be, but I have no idea if that's the correct word or not). By this time we were heedless of mud on shoes and such paltry concerns, and hoisted Eddie, sitting happily in his pram, over stiles and hillocks without hesitation. After about forty minutes trekking through the ever-darkening landscape

we went across a field to the church, and came back round via the road. The Bull's Head (just across the road from the B&B) was a welcome sight, as was the venison stew and new potatoes and vegetables they served up to us; we sat in the lovely front bar for hours, enjoying the open fire and the atmosphere (and the wine). It was dark when we got back.