Latest Homes Sussex magazine

Daniel Frickelton’s guide to the finest golf courses in Sussex. This month Rookwood Golf Course

We have played this course in all sorts of weather, mostly bad, and all through the winter months. In fact, it is hard to think of a course we have had to cancel as often due to inclement weather. Luck of the draw, I suppose. It was therefore especially satisfying to play this interesting and challenging course in glorious late summer Sussex sunshine for a change.

We have all struggled to put positive spin on this “mother of all British summers”. “Rain’s good for the grass”, say the green thumbed brigade. “Think of the reduced incidence of skin cancer over the next 25 years due to less UV rays this summer,” say the freckletons and semitranslucent among us. Golf addicts have their own rationale for this wet, wetter, wettest summer: the greens and fairways of Sussex are looking like Catherine Zeta Jones after a five star Brazilian. Nowhere is this truer than at Rookwood right now.

Nestling between the A24 and Horsham West in signature Sussex countryside, Rookwood has always been a delight to the senses, even when reduced to muddy slurry in winter. But on this particular day it was a source of inspiration to the ‘Golf Goddess’ (GG), my playing partner. On the outward nine the GG shook off weeks of disappointing play, out driving yours truly on a couple of holes and successfully negotiating her approach shot over the water hazard, guarding the third green on her first attempt, without losing a single ball. This third (304 yard par 4) is a beautiful hole, and one of our favourites. Bloke addicts will want to smack a four or five iron out there, depending on whether you had full English or a Continental breakfast. This will leave you with a nine iron or a wedge (see above) over water to the green. I cleverly managed to snap hook my tee shot into the hedge row left, so even though the GG chose to sacrifice a shot laying up in front of the pond, she nevertheless managed to win this one. That’s when I began to notice the worrisome, sharp pain in my back…

Brilliantly located between the seventh and tenth tee boxes is a tea shop featuring cold and hot drinks and the incomparable aroma of bacon frying. The only downside to enjoying a buttie and a hot cuppa before commencing the tenth is that this tends to create an audience on the seventh and a queue on the tenth. However, after demonstrating two sublime, fairway-splitting drives to the gob-stuffing buttie boys, ever hopeful of a bit of gratuitous comedy off the seventh tee, we finished the hole in style and were relieved to find the toilets at the 105 yard eighth. Unfortunately, something mysterious must have happened in those toilets as we subsequently shanked three balls between us into the trees after using them. GA advice: just avoid the toilets, ok?

Rookwood is blessed with a full array of hazards to confound selfabusing golf addicts. Water tantalisingly awaits you already on the second and third holes. Less obviously, but no less menacingly, lurk watery graves for wayward balls at the start of the fourth and conclusion of the twelfth. If your drives often go as far laterally as forward, leave the big dog in the bag off the fourth (509 yard par 5) and opt for something you can (usually) hit straight. No fun, you say? Allright, then…they are selling some very inexpensive golf balls in Tesco these days, and they float at least as well as any premium ball.

There is no way you will leave your driver in the bag when facing the outstretched arms of the twelfth hole (542 yard par 5). We managed to place well struck drives just on the corner of the right-bending fairway. As we neared our golf balls, passing three punters in “search mode” in the tall grass (a too familiar sight), maintaining a respectful and dignified silence of course, Old Gnarly loomed into view…

Old Gnarly was probably overlooked by Harald Bluetooth and his fellow Vikings when they were sniffing out oak trees from which to build their longboats. Which means Old Gnarly is quite venerable. And very tall. And wide. There are several holes at Rookwood featuring prominent, in-your-face oaks. You will need to think clearly, in a testosterone free zone, if you want to save your score. Water, trees, sand… Rookwood has it all.

The facilities at Rookwood are wonderful. The first time we went there we thought we had fallen out of a helicopter in southern France; lush green picnic areas adjacent to water features, cheeky swans waddling up to get any available freebies and a stylish converted barn to cater for any events one might wish to hold. Although there is no driving range at Rookwood, there is a lush par 3 course on which to hone your skills, and the practice putting green is challenging, a true reflection of what lies ahead.

Rookwood Golf Course

Robin Hood Lane, Warnham, Horsham, West Sussex, RH12 3RR.
Tel:
(booking) 01403 252123
(enquiries) 01403 250168
www.rookwoodgolfcourse.co.uk
18 holes, 6261 yards total

From Victorian cut glass and streamlined Modernist creations to rare design classics and quirky novelty items, scent bottles are both decorative and collectable, if you have the nose for it, says Francesca Collin

The range of scent bottles available to collectors is vast. Most collectors today concentrate on the 18th century to the present day. Prices vary according to decoration, quality and the presence of the original packaging.

To be successful, by the mid-20th century perfumes required an identifiable container and packaging. Designer fragrances became popular in 1921, with the introduction of Chanel’s No. 5 perfume. Bizarre designs, such as Jean Paul Gaultier’s corseted bottle and tin container are becoming collector’s pieces today.

Perhaps the best tip if you want to start collecting perfume bottles is to hold on to the free samples available over the counter – but don’t be tempted to try the scent first!

1 [lot 960 July 05]

During the 18th century only the wealthiest could afford the status symbol of fragrance. The containers were of decorated enamel or colourless glass, with gilt metal or silver mounts. As a result of the Industrial Revolution a prosperous middle class was able to afford scent too and by the middle of the 19th century the demand grew for attractive containers, including coloured glass from Bohemia. Although commonly over 100 years old these bottles are often reasonably priced. These ruby glass bottles with silver overlay sold for £150 at Gorringes.

2 [Lot 740 April 05]

This pair of early Victorian perfume bottles fetched £150. When examining bottles, look for traces of poor restoration if they are made of porcelain. If they are made of glass, like these, avoid any cracks or damage to the painting on the glass itself. Another tip is to feel inside the neck of the bottle for chips.

3 [Lot 927 Victorian glass bottles]

This group of Victorian cut glass scent bottles shows the range of deeply cut and faceted bottles produced in the 19th century. This group fetched £100 at Gorringes.

4 [Lalique apple-shaped bottle]

In 1907, the great French glass designer Rene Lalique teamed up with parfumier Francois Coty to launch the concept of selling highclass perfumes in their own, stylish, speciallydesigned bottles. Major fragrance houses and fashion designers commissioned Lalique to produce for them, and their work is now highly coveted. This Lalique perfume bottle, in the shape of an apple, recently sold at Gorringes for £210. The company produced containers for numerous small perfumeries and collectors should look carefully, as not all bottles are marked.

5 [lot 1697 Dec 05]

Novelty perfume containers come in all shapes and sizes. This silver-topped ceramic scent bottle modelled as a walnut was produced in Birmingham in 1920 and sold for £110 (part lot). During the 20th century the demand for cheaper cosmetics and scents continued apace and commercial producers slipped scent bottles into a Bakelite shoe or tucked them inside a tiny fur-fabric teddy bear.

International Perfume Bottle Association
www.ipba-uk.co.uk
Gorringes, 15 North Street, Lewes, East Sussex BN7 2PD.
Call 01273 472503 or see www.gorringes.co.uk.

Andrew Kay – Town mouse or country mouse, that is the question

If I’m known for anything it’s my appetites. Yes plural. I have a capacity for stuff that can be alarming, whether it’s food, drink, art, theatre or country dancing. Oh yes, on one level I am urban man, city smart and sophisticated, on another I am happy whirling up and down a village hall, stripping the willow in a twister of enthusiasm and perspiration but seldom with precision. I am also happy swinging some innocent victim around to a jive or swing band. I guess that gives me what are commonly referred to as catholick tastes and I have come to terms with that status over the years (pogoing is now longer an option is the simple ‘up-down’ action of my body can be detetced on the seismograph at the San Andreas Fault’s laboratories).

‘‘I’m not easy to pigeon hole but how people love to pop us into envelopes for ease of filing’’

Other people can find my particular brand of catholicism hard to deal with. I’m not easy to pigeon hole that’s for sure. Nor do I want to be. But how people love to pop us in convenient envelopes for ease of filing.

I rather enjoy the fact that these days my shock value comes from the fact that I enjoy country living. It’s quite a laugh dropping a rural gem into an urban conversation. I have known people wobble on their bar stools when they discover that I can often be found walking the dog for miles through local forest or along river banks.

It’s much the same when people learn that, despite my ‘gourmet and gourmand’ leanings, I actually really love simple food. I adore fish and chips and have a thing about Heinz Salad Cream that I am not even going to start to justify. You see there again people build expectations about my role as a restaurant critic but they shouldn’t. I love fine food but when busy I will bolt a burger and in my cups I might kill for a kebab.

So town mouse or country mouse? Who cares, I’m all for taking a chance and giving things a go. I love my home in a suburb that borders on the real Sussex countryside. I like my nights out at the theatre, eating oysters, dining, dancing, drinking cocktails as much as my nights in playing board games, reading books, listening to music or watching the television.

I do have one enduring passion and that passion is Coronation Street. I cannot abide any of the other soaps and in particular I hate Emmerdale. Maybe I can use that as a guide and say that I am clearly town mouse but a bit of a country mouse on the side.

The Dead Sea Diaries

I have just returned, intact, from a whistle-stop tour of Jordan, which is an amazing and diverse country. I almost need a week off to recover, such was the pace of our travels.

On departure day, after a two-hour delay and a couple of large gins at Heathrow Airport, my friend Anne and I finally arrived at Amman Airport at 3am local time and were relieved to discover that the air was much cooler than it had been on the plane. After tackling a very odd queueing system in order to purchase a Jordanian visa, we were sped down to our hotel on the Dead Sea, which was about 70km away. En route, our taxi driver gave us half a bottle of water and urged us to watch what happened to it. We wondered whether we should mix it with the bottle of Bombay Sapphire we’d just purchased in duty free, but were so excited by the sight of a lit-up Jerusalem that we forgot all about it.

Down and down we sped, our ears popping wildly. Just 20 minutes later, our driver reminded us about the water and, upon further examination we discovered that the entire bottle had been sucked inwards. This was, apparently, because we were now 400 metres below sea level as the Dead Sea is the lowest point on earth. By now we were quite excited, although in the pitch darkness we couldn’t actually see the Dead Sea at all, just the lights of Israel twinkling on the far shore.

“We managed to survive on the nuts, olives and watermelon handed out by the infinity pools”

After far too few hours sleep for my liking, we awoke to the vast, breathtaking blue expanse outside our window. The sea itself is an intense blue and is surrounded by white shores (due to the salt residue) and beige mountains. The Rough Guide description of a ‘stinking, desolate lake’ was not far off. In fact, if it had not been for the seven (yes, seven) infinity pools spread out over terraces all the way down to the shore, I would have thought I’d landed next to a gravel pit on the moon. The hotel was huge and very difficult to negotiate via a complex lift system. It was almost lunchtime by the time we made it down to breakfast. The lobby area of the hotel was big enough to host the FA cup final and, because it was a brand new hotel, was spookily empty, to the point where I almost expected Jack Nicholson to lurch out of one of the many lifts with an axe in his hand.

It soon dawned on me that this was the most luxurious hotel I’d ever stayed in – and it was a fraction of the cost of similar hotels in the UK, or anywhere else, for that matter. What is more, our room rate included a free spa treatment, free breakfast (cue us stuffing smoked salmon in our handbags) and, most exciting of all, a complimentary mini-bar. We didn’t buy a meal in the entire two days we stayed, as we managed to survive on the free nuts, olives and watermelon handed out beside each of the infinity pools. I know, it’s a hard life.

But the best thing about this part of our trip was the Dead Sea and we regressed to kindergarten levels as we submerged ourselves in this bizarre lake. Even in one foot of water, it is impossible not to float on the surface like a cork and in places where it is 400ft deep, one cannot sink below the chest. It is also 32 degrees celsius, which is the temperature of a very warm bath. By noon, while trying to perfect a Brigitte Bardot-style exit from the water, we decided that we never wanted to go home. And we hadn’t even really been to Jordan yet…