Brighton Stories

Well, Canterbury was lively and exciting. Brighton is the same times ten, bigger, more cosmopolitan, more broad-minded.

We arrived by train, walked down to our accommodation (third floor, no lift) and headed down to the sea-front and the Brighton Palace Pier.

Being late on a damp, Tuesday afternoon, it was quiet, but all the elements of the British seaside were there - fried food, slot machines, drunks, young people being annoying. It was great, and the views out to the English Channel and up to the ruin of the long-destroyed West Pier were fabulous.

The following morning we moved from our room (third floor, no lift, bathroom door fallen off its hinges) and into a lower altitude one, with profuse apologies from the landlady.

Then we walked in light rain down to the Royal Pavilion.

Prince George, then Prince Regent George, then King George IV, then unpopular fat gouty bastard King George IV, built the pavilion as his party house, and spared no expense in doing so. We were wowed by the Banquet Room, moved by the Music Room, fascinated by the Royal Apartments, all of them beautifully restored and furnished and scattered with helpful and knowledgeable guides.

We walked around The Lanes, full of quirky shops and restaurants, then back to the seafront for another stroll, this time on the shingles of Brighton Beach. As a beach-building material, shingle is probably not going to take over from sand any time soon, but it does explain the poor injury record of the Brighton beach volleyball team.

One of the real highlights of Brighton was sitting outside the Dorset Hotel, drinks in hand, watching the passing parade of some of the most varied fashion choices you would ever see. It is an amazingly vibrant, tolerant and, from our brief observations, happy place.Read more