Yesterday wasn't as bright and sunny as the day before but even then we decided to go to a sleepy hamlet with a rather oddish name ROTTINGDEAN. we boarded a number 2 bus from George street stop and headed for our destination. I convinced my better half to climb upstairs for a better view and she willingly agreed. After many a Twist and Turn, negotiating Churchill square we climbed uphill after St James street and had the majestic Race Course to our right. As we entered Woodendean we saw horses grazing on the meadows. This was now Rudyard Kipling territory, literally speaking, where the grand old Indophile had spent the terminal days of his life.
On reaching Rottingdean our bus halted at the seaside with two pubs adding lustre to the sight and one having the outlandish name of SMUGGLER.
We spent some time strolling on the beach and the briny breeze cooled our nerves.
May Rottingdean survive in her pristine beauty for a thousand years.