Well after a couple of days of boys in full cowboy gear (well sort of; chaps, but they forgot their pants) and women of a certain age (mine) with the most amazing tattoos I feel very boringly sedate. I have had a lovely couple of days in Brighton, but in hindsight, the assault on the senses probably meant I should have stayed one day less. The B&B where I am staying is lovely and in a great location.
A wander down the street to the seaside, and up the street toward the totally fantastic North Laines. I set off in the morning toward the Brighton Marina but only walked two steps beyond the double glazed windows, and was hit by the roar. Ken would have been in his element. Wall to wall Ducatis and racing cars of all shapes, ages and sizes. I thought about the last time I found myself in the middle of a car race, but that was the Miglia in Verona with scarf wearing movie star types. This time, not quite so glamourous. More beer swilling, cave men, with bushy beards and top to toe leather. It was slightly surreal though, as these cars and bikes were roaring along the foreshore for the National time trials right beside the outside movie screen. I must admit I did find myself singing ‘grease lightning’ complete with hand gestures as I wandered along with Grease playing in the background. Lucky no one knows me here eh? Maxine, it was sort of like Christmas karaoke. By the time it got to ‘Sandra Dee’ I thought, I gotta get out of here.
Headed toward Rottingdean, as I heard there was a hidden walk along the white cliffs on the sea wall. Well I marched off with Olivia ringing in my ears in search of the Kipling gardens. It was gorgeous. 30km later, according to my Apple watch, I had done Kipling and had a fantastic wander through small village streets where I expected the Vicar of Dibley to accost me. Back through the North Laines through wild sex shops, tattoo parlours and shops selling Wedgewood china, and very British homewares (can I fit a cool daschund clock in my case? – although from stories of the shoe eating daxie monster at home, Tom might not be impressed with another one).
The graffiti were fantastic and I found myself stopping beside Harajuku young Japanese girls staring up at Brighton’s priceless ‘New Masters’. Was I homesick. Don’t think so. But found myself at Bills for dinner. Great food in an old mechanics shed. A bit different to sedate Sydney. There was a large table of gals all dressed in 50s gear on a hen’s night (they seem to be big here), so had a lovely evening of people watching. My walk back through the Lanes was lovely but then I hit the beach again. Shakespeare in Love, it looked like on the big screen, which would fit with my book on Henry’s last wife, but can’t seem to reconcile the scantily clad boys and rainbow signs, and the mountain men on their bikes roaring along the road. Maybe I need to get a tattoo. What do you think Lyd?
Sleeping under the stars 