Brighton Rocks


I’m not entirely sure how a week has passed since we went away, but it has . . .

Last Thursday saw us drive down to the RHS Gardens at Wisley, traversing almost exactly half of the M25 in the process. Wisley was, perhaps unsurprisingly, very pleasant although it was also, again perhaps unsurprisingly (given the time of year), very warm indeed. So whilst the visit included much viewing of the flora on offer there was also a deal of shade searching because like Woody Allen, “I don’t burn, I stroke”.  We continued on to Brighton, (our destination), arriving in the early evening, took a turn on the pier – I do like a pier – and then found somewhere to eat and watch Mexico beat France in the World Cup qualifying groups.

Friday began with an unusually fruit based breakfast then a visit to the Brighton Toy & Model Museum – which was a delightfully low key collection hidden away under the railway station, next came a wander around the Brighton Museum & Art Gallery, to see amongst other things  the From Sickert to Gertler exhibition, and then a slow return to our hotel to watch England play ninety minutes of disappointing football against an equally uninspiring Algeria.

The start of the weekend proper saw us up late (evidently still suffering the after effects of the lone vuvuzela which played disconsolately into the night) before becoming involved with some high octane bus action. A more sedate wander round The Lanes followed – where I rather pleasingly purchased a letter “b”, then some time on the beach, Ghana vs Australia (not on the beach obviously), and a return trip to the pier.

I got up early on Sunday to sit quietly on the beach before breakfast, surveying the morning after the night before and watching a variety of work taking place in preparation for the arrival of the London to Brighton Bike Ride later that day. We left Brighton mid morning to attempt to get to Wakehurst Place although failed because of the aforementioned cycle based event (which we actually joined for a while in the village of Lindfield), so eventually ended up at Sheffield Park which was quite personable but failed to inspire – because to be honest it wasn’t where we actually wanted to be. So after what seemed an appropriate length of time we left and re-entered a maze of local roads to go and visit Pooh Corner, a visit which again was somewhat scuppered – this time by roads closed for resurfacing. So by the time we arrived in the village of Hartfield (via a number of esoteric diversions) we weren’t really in the mood to get back in the car to locate the poohsticks bridge, so we settled with a visit to Pooh Corner which, in the spirit of the day, really wasn’t worth the effort – essentially a very ordinary, somewhat sad shop selling a variety of Pooh based paraphernalia.

So back on the road, via the other half of the M25 (the fact that we managed a entire lap pleases me no end) to home. A great weekend because amongst other things I do like to be beside the seaside, I do like to be beside the sea, I do like to stroll along the prom prom prom . . .

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