Brighton belles

The lovely carousel on Brighton beach

There is something about arriving in Brighton by train. It really is the perfect London day out. You get on a train and head south until the train stops and then you walk in a straight line down to the beach.

I had a perfect day out recently.The sun was shining and the city was relaxed after the frenzy that is Pride. I met Emma on the pier for some freshly cooked doughnuts dipped in sugar (the English equivalent of churros) and we sat on the pebbles feasting on their sugary goodness. Whilst picking out shards of broken bottle glass we chatted and watched the world wobble by. Yes, it is summer-time. The time when people lose their sanity and unveil mutton tops and moobs as they suck on huge candy dummies and queue for the fair. We headed off for a calming beer or two in a traditional pub - with framed photos on the ceiling and friendly staff. After a gourmet debate, we decided to go for chips and fish for me and spring rolls for Em. And they were good!  I was happy until I saw IT. OMG...polla! In Spain the men descreetly release their beer behind parked cars. Not here. I looked out on a middle-aged flabby man watering the street and holding his polla aloft for all to see.  Why do these things happen to me?

I was going  to get the chipshop man to sort him out but at the very same moment a pigeon flew into the restaurant and he was in the process of creeping up and catching it. All I could do was sit with my hands over my eyes and wait for him to finish and go.

Shaking my head at the behaviour of the English in the sun, we wandered back to the station and a last beer before my train home. This time it was a very large pink-shirted Irish man who created the street drama. He staggered up to us and threw a pound coin onto the table, punched me on the arm, cursed and staggered off into the night. I wonder what happened to that pound? We decided it was best left.