So, right, Knitting Teacher and I threw caution to the wind, laughed in the face of our fledgling relationship status and embarked upon a mini-break.
I shoud like to make it clear that the words 'mini' and 'break' were at no point uttered, thus decorating the venture with altogether more edge, mystery and adventure.
(Basically, what we did was spend three days playing viciously competitive Scrabble and drinking in a static caravan in Newhaven. Glamour be damned, it was ruddy good fun.*)
But it has left me with a ethical dilemma; being officially On Holiday was the perfect excuse for trying out as many pubs as possible in the local area. So I can say this with some degree of expertise. I'm not talking one or two watering holes. THEY WERE ALL RUINED. RUINED!! And by what? Energy-saving lightbulbs.
Now I am totally all for environmental measures, efficiency, recycling and imporving the way we live our lives and run our societies to help halt the murderous impact the human race is having on the planet. And I have an enormous amount of faith in humanity - I really believe we can be better, and that small things make a big difference.
But that doesn't mean that this needs to damage my in-pub drinking experience.
It was like trying to enjoy a quiet pint in a dentist's reception. Not relaxing. Has no one invented a tinted energy bulb? Do landlords not consider candlelight? Or getting some better-fitting light fittings**?
We reckon the clever Bods at Seaford have sponsored an energy efficiency scheme to put a spanner in the entertainment industry of its neighbours. It worked. All the pubs were pretty deserted.
It bothers me enormously that once lovely, cosy places to have a drink and a natter have turned into clinical, sterile hellmouths.
THE CAMPAIGN TO RE-GLORIFY THE NATION'S PUBS STARTS HERE.
Of course, possibly the South Coast needs two drunk, toff-ish sounding people in their late twenties putting its towns to rights and criticising its nightlife like it needs a tsunami in the Channel. But we escaped unharmed. Unless that insect bite incurred while roaming across the countryside like two people desperately pretending they are in an Austen adaptation is something more sinister.***
Oh crap. I sound like such a prick of a Londoner... I should be banned from leaving the M25 region for a bit.
UPDATE: No, I wasn't kitted out like Guy Ritchie, mmkay?
* Apart from wandering into a business park late a night by accident.
** Better fitting.. yes that does scan.
*** Much humour was generated by the fact that many place names near hills were appended with the word 'bottom'. EG, Poverty Bottom. I had to literally stop, sit down and laugh for ten minutes before I could carry on. Pity poor Knitting Teacher, who actually grew up in the countryside.