I remember late one night, years ago, walking up to Cissbury Ring, in Sussex. It’s an ancient monument with an Iron Age Hill Fort at the top containing sixty-acres of grassland kept bowling-green-short by the constant nibbling of Southdown sheep and rabbits.
Back then the pubs used to ‘call time’ at ten minutes past eleven.
Drink-up and shove-off! the Landlord would shout into your face in the classy establishment in which I drank. So we drank-up and were just about to shove-off when, because it was such a lovely evening, my friend and I thought we’d try to climb up to Cissbury Ring in the dark. Anything seems possible after five pints of Ruddles County.Continue reading