Bill's (I had Eggs Florentine).
Lewes is now a pastiche of itself, with 'black face' Morris Dancing and extortionate farmer's stalls. Everyone is dressed in Jack Wills, Barbour, Joules or linen and there are more antique shops crammed into a square mile than is good for anyone. The epitome of the English arty middle classes if you could ever want to find such a place. I explain to the cashier in Waitrose that you are charged 5p if you want a plastic bag in Wales and he is bemused.
Back home at my mum's and my sister is there. It's so lovely to see my son with his auntie.
I inspect the damp heat of my mum's tiny geometric green house. Aubergines and peppers hang.
She has a small apple tree too. The fruit inside the apples is as red as their skins.
The last of the passion flowers cling to the fence.
After lunch we decide to go to Sheffield Park and Garden to see the tree colours. We drive down this road which is called Witches Lane.
We find the most incredible and perfect toadstool fairy ring growing up through the orange leaves. I hadn't seen one since I was a child.
Through the Rhododendrons.
Huge mushrooms have appeared between the pine needles.
Here's Sheffield House which is privately owned so you can't go in. A shame because it looks really fantastic.
We go home for dinner.
My mum has exquisite taste in home furnishings.
Huw and my sister drink red wine.
After stuffed peppers and home made apple and blackberry crumble we say goodbye to my sister who is going back to London. An interesting evening follows in which Huw, mum, her partner and I intensely discuss, as we always end up doing, meditation, reincarnation, consciousness and 'truth'. Language is a huge barrier for us and we always end up agreeing that after hours of talk we are only arguing about jargon.
On Sunday morning we leave at about 12 to get home to Wales before dark. But before we leave we take a short stroll to my mum and her partner's impressive allotment. The first frost has been that night.
Squash grown from a packet of seeds that my grandmother, who died in 2004, gave my mum many years ago.
The dew is still on the grass at 11.30am. My mum's partner who is from Nottingham chats with some neighbours at the swings. Their accents hail from The North too though they have lived in Sussex for 18 years after moving down from Yorkshire. "It's a totally different world down here" they agree. Living in Wales, we get the nod of recognition too. "You don't realise until you go back."
We leave and start the 4 hour drive home. I watch the landscape change and the clouds gather.
Over the Bridge to Wales, home with my jar of homemade blackberry and apple jam and greenhouse peppers. It was nice to go back.