We got a can from our neighbours - doing our good bit for the environment and our wallets. (No self-respecting Australian drinks Fosters, just so you know.)

It took a while to cut the top out. It was fiddly to do with our little pocket knives and I got a bit annoyed and impatient at myself at this stage! Other people have suggested taking the top out with a traditional can opener, so I might try that next time. Note: If you want to do this with kids, please supervise them closely. I personally wouldn't recommend it for children under secondary school age.

Cutting the can down to size was easier. I was a bit too conservative, though: next time I'd make the stove shorter. As it is, it only just fits into its plastic container (which used to hold paper cases for muffins - hardcore).

Before making the stove, I spent a while trawling the internet learning all about fuel, then trawling the high street to find it. From what I read, bio-ethanol seems to be a good choice, but we could only find methylated spirits (in the hardware store) and 90% surgical spirit (at the pharmacy). We bought both, to compare them.

We poured a centimetre or so of surgical spirit into the can and set a match to it. It didn’t seem to light straight away, but after a second the flames shot up - not bright, but definitely there! We put a pot with 500mL of water on top, popped the lid on and timed it to boiling.

The fumes were apparent almost straight away. I was glad we’d opened the door and window and set up a fan to blow the fumes out of the room. It took about 8 minutes to come to a decent boil. I smothered the flame (with the plastic muffin paper case) and poured the remaining fuel back into the bottle, noticing that it had turned blue.

Next, we tried the methylated spirits. This also took a while to light, and it whooshed even higher when it finally did. We put another pot of water on top (I cooled the pot down first; can't give one fuel an unfair advantage). I’m not sure if it was the build-up of fumes over two boils, but I thought the metho smelled stronger. This time, the water only took about 7 minutes to come to a really rapid boil, but the process seemed to use slightly more methylated spirits than surgical spirit.

Our current gas-fuelled camp stove, which was never intended for backpacking and hiking, weighs 2.1kg (including case), while the drinks can stove weighs 30g (including storage). That's less than 2% of the weight! The drinks can stove is also absolutely tiny in comparison to the camp stove, so it's much easier to pack when walking.

Comparing fuels, a full can of butane for our camp stove weighs about 250g, as does 250mL of methylated or surgical spirits. However, the liquid can be decanted into smaller bottles.  Methylated spirits is cheaper (just!) per millilitre than surgical spirit and seems to bring water to the boil more swiftly. Surgical spirit seems to smell less and use less fuel.

By the way, we didn’t let all that water go to waste. We had a nice cuppa and biscuit for afternoon tea.

The follies were built by John (“Mad Jack”) Fuller, who was Squire of Brightling in the late 18th and early 19th century. As well as fostering an aura of eccentricity, Fuller was a philanthropist, member of parliament, patron of the arts and sciences, plantation owner, vocal supporter slavery and noted drunk.

After parking in Brightling, the Tower is our first stop, just a short way over the fields and between the hedges. A sweeping view opens up as we walk, with the dark green Netherfield Woods running down to the bright blue mirror of Darwell Reservoir and the Rother valley beyond. Fuller is rumoured to have built the tower to spy on Bodiam Castle, which he bought in 1828, but while I climb the wobbly ladder at the top of the tower to look out the window, I have not brought my binoculars to test this theory.

Back into the fields, it’s possible to see the next two follies: the round Temple on a low green hill and the thin triangle of the Sugarloaf, which could almost be the spire of a church on the horizon. The Temple lies at the centre of our circular walk, but after heading down past the Ox Lodge sign, over the duck ponds and up past the barn, we’re as close as we can get. Did Fuller host wild gambling parties here? Rumours abound, but we may never know for sure!

We slither our way down the fields and through the ankle-deep mud in the woodland making quite a racket, which might explain why our wildlife tally boasts only a few curious sheep and one robin.

Next stop: the Sugarloaf and a flask of tea. This folly was supposedly built when Fuller made a drunken bet that he could see the spire of the neighbouring church from his window. When this proved untrue, he quickly ordered the Sugarloaf built on this spot to win the wager. Apparently, the folly was inhabited until the 1930s, and we can see where the beams for the second floor would have been set into the walls.

After all that mud, we welcome a bit of road walking. The road runs along a long stone wall, which Fuller commissioned after the Naploeonic wars at a time of high unemployment, ensuring the livelihood of many locals. We spot the Observatory, but decide against the detour for a closer look - we subsequently also miss out on seeing the Needle. However, by all accounts the Observatory never worked particularly well, and the Needle is a fairly plain obelisk, so we don’t regret it.

Instead, we head back into the woods and pick our way along a permissive path until we emerge into a field and find ourselves above the temple on the opposite side to before. In the distance, the sea glinting in the low winter sun. Behind us is the first folly Fuller built: a gothic Summerhouse. The view is spectacular, with the Temple below us and the sea in the distance, glinting in the low winter sun.

We follow a horse ride through the woods to Fuller’s house, then step through a Secret Garden-esque door into the churchyard. Fuller’s final resting place, built 20 years before he died, is known, for reasons that soon become obvious, as the Pyramid. Two centuries later, his legacy is as remarkable and ostentatious as ever.

Unfortunately, there's no pub in Brightling, but the Netherfield Arms, only a short drive away, is a cosy and exceptionally friendly spot for lunch.

ESCC is reviewing their management of rights of way and ten countryside sites, including Camber Sand Dunes and Seven Sisters Country Park. The council is seeking feedback from walkers, cyclists, horse riders and other countryside visitors on why people use public paths and open access spaces. 

Responses to this survey, which runs until 20 February 2015, will help the council develop a new management plan, which it aims to put into action in April 2016.

Lionel Pringle, Treasurer of the Rother Ramblers, urged all walkers to complete the survey. "It is important that ESCC is made aware that a not inconsiderable portion of their electorate use these paths, and expect them to be kept in a useable state," he said.

We threw our bags in the car, picked up a very late lunch from a chip shop and headed to a nearby carpark to watch the sunset. It was completely overcast. We ate our chips overlooking a half-derelict old bus as the light faded and cars left the carpark one by one. A family flying a kite packed up. A couple of dog walkers came and went. By 4:30pm it was dark and ours was the only car left.

It was a brisk, windy walk to the top of our hill. Towns snaked away in a line of light on one side, and on the other was a skin of darkness, speckled with lights from farms and villages and cut through by the main road twisting out from the closest town.

We set up camp in a hollow to keep out the worst of the wind and, having learnt our lesson from last time, donned extra pairs of socks and trousers before hopping into our bivvies. We weren’t hungry and there wasn’t much else to do, so we decided to get a very early night. A few hours later, we woke up, cooked some noodles, brushed our teeth and went back to bed, setting an alarm for 11:45pm.

In the breaks between the clouds, it looked like the stars were speeding across the sky. I could hear gusts of wind approaching over the ridge and through the grass before they hit our little camp, whipping the bivvy bag around my head and making it rustle and snap like a sail. It was so strong that I moved when it buffeted me, like vehicles judder in the cross winds on a bridge. “How am I ever going to sleep in this?” I wondered . . .

. . . and then the alarm went off. I was warm and comfortable and had to convince myself to get up and watch the fireworks - that was the reason we were out here, after all! We spent a cold half-hour jumping up and down, running on the spot, shivering and rubbing our arms as the wind tore around us. There were a few sparkles here and there, but when it turned midnight every town and village within sight began sending up fireworks in earnest. We could see some big ones in the far distance - from Brighton, we decided - and the flares hanging over a nearby town demonstrated how useful they must be in an emergency. A village below us gave us a good display, but seen from high up and from a distance, most of the fireworks seemed rather puny. Still, we agreed, it was a new experience to watch the whole horizon twinkling so prettily. We wished ourselves a happy (Gregorian calendar) new year and dove back into our warm nests.

We woke up at about 5am and had a chocolatey snack to try and ward off the chill. I was thankful for my extra pair of trousers, but the three pairs of socks were still unable to keep my feet warm. At least I wasn’t tangled up in my sleeping gear like my partner. It was quite amusing (for me) to watch him wallow around like a walrus trying to sort himself out. We dozed again, then made porridge and tea as the sky turned from grey to pastel pink.

As we arrived back into the car park, we passed the first dog walkers of 2015. I wondered if they could tell that we'd slept out there?