Monday, April 02, 2007
Brighton Beach Memoirs
So we hoped on the Tube and then the train and arrived in sunny - not ironic, but genuinely sunny - Brighton, a south coast seaside resort town famous for, among other things, hippies, Fatboy Slim, Julie Burchill and attempts to assassinate Margaret Thatcher. Since there were only a couple of hours of sun left at this point, we headed straight to the stone beach, where I pulled out my camera and made like a tourist, which I thought was fair since that's what I essentially was.
Behind me (don't get too close; I'm constipated!), you'll see the pier, which includes a funfair. Colin and I went on the Bumper Cars, which are called Rumpum Stumpum or Rockem Sockem or something here in England. ("Mini Dodgems" the internet tells me.) I lost a significant number of 10p coins in one of those machines where you suspend your understanding of the laws of physics and drop coin after coin in deluded that an avalanche of coins will fall into the slot and make you rich. We did not eat donuts, or crepes, or donuts wrapped in crepes, but it all smelt delicious/terrible.
This beaching and funfairing was followed by some walking, or "tramping", or walking actually. The walking went on for several, gosh, maybe half a dozen blocks before we settled down for tea (aka dinner) at a restaurant called Your Average Forgettable Seaside Town Restaurant. I had the surf and turf and the prawns (aka shrimp) arrived with their heads on - those beady little black eyes staring at me! - and I had to rip them off like a character in Frank Miller graphic novel.
Delicious, really, once that was over with. Maybe more delicious because of it. (Ha, ha! I am a man, you SHRIMP.)
Next, it was to the pub and to the Carlsberg, which, Canadians, is a beer that you don't have to be over 30 to drink here. Then, there was a devious plan hatched to woo women. Then, the plan was thrown to the wayside and we (read: me) moaned about our past mistakes and regrets and how the good ones are all snatched up, an expression that seems rather vulgar in this context.
Then, there was a train to catch. And that was Brighton. I'm sure the later nightlife is fun, so perhaps this summer I'll go back and spend the night. This was my introduction and - believe it or not - my first time in England outside of London.
This has been a post for Sarah Marchildon and everyone else who asks me to post about England and less about, uh, whatever it is I post about in this post-cat-posting era of On the Fence.
Posted by J. Kelly at 6:49 pm