In the hot June sun, mapless above the rooftops of Hastings Old Town, I’m faced with a decision: which way? Swallows dart overhead and the clouds bloom white and pale grey, like the sky from an old railway promo poster. I head for the top of East Hill, past the icecream truck and a small hollow filled with reeds and yellow flag irises, and find a west-facing bench to eat my lunch. Halfway through my baguette, I look up and see that Eastbourne has disappeared. By the time I’ve finished, Bexhill has vanished and a dark ribbon is moving across the sea towards me. Church bells carry on the wind, sounding an alarm. I hear the distant rumble of thunder.

I don my raincoat and set off to explore. It feels high and bleak, perhaps all the more so because it was in full sun only minutes before. The stormfront cuts across the sky, stretching out over the channel to a smudged horizon. A fat, sludgy raindrop hits me on the back of the head. I follow rabbit highways through fields towards the shelter of a young oak. The sound of the rain increases in volume and deepens in timbre from shishi-shishi-shishi on the grass to tosha-tosha-tosha as I approach the trees.

I find a bench and watch birds, unfazed by the weather, wheeling around of the cliffs on the other side of Ecclesbourne Glen. Lightning sparks. A monster crack of thunder makes the ground tremble underfoot. A boat races against the storm towards Hastings, white sails pale against the cloud. I’m glad I’m not on board.

And then, as quickly as it began, the storm abates, leaving the air fresh with petrichor - the smell of soil after rain. I head up to Rocklands Lane and further into Hastings Country Park. Here, the grass grows lumpy with dock and thistle, the latter festooned with cuckoo spit. Trails dive into the brambles, masked by nettles, buttercups and cleavers. I follow one into the scrub, ducking under an arch of blackthorn and ash, to find a hidden shelter. Another leads into a world of ferns and tiny waterfalls, submerged in shadow.

Wandering without aim, I follow a path awash with pink campions and emerge in another clifftop field. Redheaded sorrel waves in the wind and troupes of tall ribwort plantain, the seedheads in flower tutus, bend gracefully above the grass. Looking back towards Hastings, I see I’m on the other side of Ecclesbourne Glen: here are the gulls wheeling and the jackdaws flicking and diving on the wind. Beyond the safety fence, sea pinks cling to the cliff edge. I lie down for a moment to listen to the sea on the rocks far below. Half an hour later, I wake up.

I meander a little further east, but soon feel like it’s time to turn home. Cutting through the woods, I follow paths that could be human but might just as well be made by deer. At one point I find myself walking amid slow swirls of hawthorn petal confetti - May is over and her flowers are falling.

Back on East Hill, there’s a point at which it seems the grassy path could carry me straight into the sea. This is one of those invitations that can never live up to its promise, I think - a soft road onto a wide plain that shimmers green as mermaids. And yet, when it is time to leave, that is the path I take. What better way to go?

The simple (and incomplete) answer is: no. A cup of green tea usually has less caffeine than a cup of black tea, and a cup of black tea has less caffeine than a cup of coffee. Generally speaking, the caffeine ladder from most to least per cup is: coffee > black tea > oolong and green tea > white tea. “Decaffeinated” black or green teas still contain some caffeine. Herbal and fruit infusions (i.e. not made with any tea) and alternatives like rooibos are naturally caffeine free.

But there are some caveats. First, just as tea flavour varies as a result of geography, climate, weather, picking time, grade of leaf and processing, so too does the caffeine content. Here are some interesting stats about caffeine in green tea. Second, if you’re really keen to track your intake, it’s more important to note the caffeine content of your brewed tea than the dry leaves - the content per cup will vary depending on the amount of tea you use and how long you brew it. Also, if your tea contains non-caffeinated ingredients (like flowers, herbs or rice)  your cup will contain less caffeine. Finally, if you’re reusing leaves (this is traditional for some teas) the caffeine content decreases with successive brews.

I’ve just received two tea deliveries, so I have lots to choose from! I ordered my favourite Keemun and a Lapsang Souchong from Hazelmere Cafe and Bakery. They also sent me two free samples - a Darjeeling (which I am yet to try) and an Assam (which I have finished). The Assam is from Dinjan Estate and Hazelmere describes it as, “A malty and full-flavoured red tea with a neat tippy sized leaf. It has a briskness and strength (typical of Assams) that make it an ideal morning tea or partner for strong or fried foods.” I say it has a good colour while the aroma has faintly fruity undertones along with the malt. The flavour not quite as deep or rich as I expected from the description, but is has a refreshing mid-palate zestiness. Four out of five stars from me.

I also ordered three teas from Imperial Teas: Earl Grey Cream, Osmanthus Black Tea and Ceylon Montecristo. The smell of the Earl Grey Cream leaves is incredible - delicious and almost overwhelming. I’m looking forward to my next cup. Finally, a month or two ago I bought some expensive fruit tea at Borough Market: a sweet and sour cinnamon and hibiscus infusion from Organic Life. It is delicious (which it should be at ~50p per cup) and I’ve enjoyed it both hot and iced.

Having chosen the theme, Mags went on a tour of historically interesting places in East Sussex.  Among them were the storybook-castle at Bodiam and the  Augustinian Priory at Michelham.

Danni's adventure was more macro than micro in June: she and Brianna undertook a cycle tour through Portugal. As you might expect, they visited many places of historic interest on the way. Check out Dani’s blog posts about the ride: Day 1, Day 2, Days 3-4, Days 5-8, Days 9-12 . . . final part coming soon, I hope!

As regular readers will already have seen, Dan and I visited Berwick church, tucked away at the foot of the South Downs. The interior is covered in paintings by artists of the Bloomsbury set: Duncan Grant, Vanessa Bell and Quentin Bell.

(As summer arrived in the UK, many of our usual microadventurers were so busy getting out and about that blogging this challenge fell by the wayside. That’s not necessarily a bad thing! Conversely, some of our Southern Hemispherean adventurers ran out of daylight hours to fit their exploring in. Alas.)

Clare has been getting up to her geocaching shenanigans and going on days out with (and without) her kids. We even got to meet the family in Hastings! Like me and Mags, Clare also took part in #30DaysWild - you can read her wild posts here.

Cal slept out for the summer solstice as part of Alastair Humphreys' Year of Microadventure challenge. Cal says, "I walked the stretch from Farnham to Guildford, and found a handy field to sleep in just off the trail. Sunset was pretty damn good, and the rabbits and deer were unaware of my presence. Started walking again at around 5am, with everything still and quiet.  Hunting buzzard, swifts, many many many rabbits, silent villages, fox, sleeping horses and an empty path. Reached Guildford just as the rowing club were setting up on the river.  Lovely!"

Dan and I also slept out on the summer solstice. I didn’t make a separate post about it then and it seems a bit late now! We were at our neighbours’ midsummer garden party in the afternoon and evening, so we didn’t manage to set off into the woods until after 10pm. It was still light enough to see without a torch, and I managed to locate the likely-looking spot I’d found while out searching for tadpoles earlier in the month. It was underneath some pine trees, so we cleared the pine cones away, rolled out our bivvies and jumped into bed. I slept well, with the treesong like water running past. In the morning we woke with the sunrise. We set up the stove on a tree stump that had previously been used as a feeding post by a squirrel - the remnants of pinecones formed little piles on top! We made tea and breakfast (mmm, instant noodles for breakfast), packed up and got home around 7am.

Alastair has collated a round up post of some fantastic solstice microadventures!

We live on the site of the Battle of Hastings (probably quite literally), our house is over 400 years old, our neighbour’s house has a 12th Century cellar and well, Battle Abbey is two minutes walk up the street - it’s impossible get out of bed without bumping into a place of historic interest! But in the end, we found something further afield . . .

I’ve been on a new kick this month: day-long, mapless walks.

My partner is working in Brighton, so I jump in the car with him in the morning, get him to drop me off somewhere, then start walking. He picks me up from wherever I happen to be on his way back from work. It’s been wonderful.

I set out with very little: a camera, a bottle of water, sunscreen, a notebook, my phone, a few things in my pockets (bank card, paw paw ointment and tissues) and perhaps a vague sense of where I might like to walk. The latter usually goes out the window - I’ll find an interesting looking footpath and go that way instead, or head towards a distant landmark, or I’ll just . . . get lost.

Getting voluntarily lost is a new experience for me. I’m map-obsessed and when I’m out walking with a map I’m confident I’m either on the right track, or how to get (back) on the right track.

Walking in moderately unfamiliar territory without a map means relying on signposts and waymarkers along the rights of way. Sometimes the waymarkers have faded to nothing. Sometimes the signposts are broken. Somethimes there's no marker at all. I’ve ending up wandering around fields of waist-high grass looking for exit points (so many grass seeds in my boots), jumping over a fence to escape a jostling herd of merely curious but nonetheless potentially dangerous steers, walking giant loops around farms because the paths seem to go in circles, going on epic diversions to find lunch, worrying about being cut off by rivers and wishing that a landowner would come to tell me I’m trespassing so they could put me back on a proper path!

That makes it sound stressful, but for the most part it’s just the opposite. Walking those big loops or having to backtrack doesn’t matter when you don’t have a destination: there’s never a “wrong way” to go. And every time I’ve been lost I’ve ended up finding an onward right of way. I quite like feeling the sweet wash of relief when I sight a proper finger post, or a circular yellow waymarker, or a sign showing a permissive path, or perhaps just a piece of yellow tape on a gate or post. 

Being destination-less also means finding places I would otherwise never go, because they’re not on the way to anywhere else: tiny streams; huge, shady chestnut trees; secluded fields where I might chance upon a flock of deer; beautiful houses with landscaped grounds; pastoral views and sweeping vistas; secret dens; pretty hamlets with summer gardens in full bloom; interesting churches…

Out on one of these mapless rambles this week, I found myself at Berwick Village Store buying a freshly made sandwich for lunch. The friendly people there suggested I visit Berwick Church. Berwick is in two parts: the newer village around the station and the older village, a mile or so down the road and across the highway, around the church. So I wandered off with sandwich in hand and, after scoffing my lunch (delicious) in the church yard, I went in to have a brief look. When my partner picked me up a few hours and several miles later, I suggested we head back to have a proper poke around. We figured this ticked the boxes for our monthly microadventure theme, too!

From the car park (no parking on Sundays, congregation only) a handpainted sign points to the church - up a curving, walled footpath, lined with multicoloured hollyhocks, purple mallow and other pretty flowers. You enter the churchyard through an arched gate and climb the path to the church itself.

The first unusual thing you might notice is that the windows are single panes of glass, so you can see into the church and right through to the other side. The windows were damaged by bombing in WWII and replaced with plate glass because many people considered it likely the area would be bombed again.

Once inside, the most obviously remarkable thing about the church is revealed: the walls and various panels are covered in paintings - not relics of ancient artwork, but relatively modern pieces. Apparently, in the 1940s, the Bishop of the area decided to experiment with bringing back the older tradition of murals inside churches, and Berwick was considered “a suitable case for an experiment because to all intents and purposes it is a modern church.”

Duncan Grant was the chief artist, while Vanessa Bell and Quentin Bell also contributed. The trio’s main claim to fame for many people will be that Vanessa was Virginia Woolf’s sister. Duncan and Vanessa moved to Charleston Farmhouse, a few miles away from the church along the foot of the Downs, which became the country house of the Bloomsbury Group. (We've never been to Charleston - an outing for another time!)

The paintings contain an odd mishmash of people (the holy family and other figures were modelled by the Bloomsbury set and local residents), styles (there were three painters at work, after all) and clothes (period costume, traditional swirling robes, 20th Century military uniforms).

But the scenes are held together by the constant presence of the South Downs and the fruits of this landscape: Firle Beacon shares centre stage with the holy family in “The Nativity”; a stylised chalk pit echoes the circle of Jesus’ halo in “The Supper at Emmaus”; the instantly recognisable downland slopes mark the division between earth and heaven in “Christ in Glory”. If you glance out of the clear south aisle windows, you may glimpse the same hills through the trees that border the church yard.

Once you tear yourself away from the colourful paintings, there are other interesting things to notice. Not least is a squat Saxon font that huddles into the wall at the back of the church - the wall is 12th Century, but the font is older still. The marks in the stone nearby are thought to have been made by people sharpening arrows on the wall during the 14th Century, when archery practice was made compulsory on Sunday after church. 

Back outside, you can stroll around the churchyard, stopping to admire a sculptural bird bath by Sarah Walton or stepping out through the back gate to the old chalk coach road that skirts the foot of the South Downs. The slopes rise steeply beyond fields of corn, wheat and barley.

Earlier in the day I was up on Firle Beacon, admiring the view of the sea to the south and the beautiful, sweeping vista across the Levels, the chequered fields, the swelling rise of the Downs to the west, and the wooded line of the High Weald marking the northern horizon. I could trace where I’d walked during my mapless rambles: back to Berwick, to Arlington Reservoir, the spire of Arlington Church, the tiled roofs of Hailsham and Horsebridge - and then, further away, the dome of the big observatory at Herstmonceux and a white speck that might be the windmill at Windmill Hill.

Somewhere even more distant, tucked away in the hills, is Battle - with its significant history and our little house.