Yesterday was a very special day. Ignoring the "mild" hangover that came with two accidental cocktails and a bottle of wine over dinner, and rugged up against a bracing 4 degrees, I spent yesterday in Brighton with my dear friend Kirsten.
10 years ago a slightly chubbier, arguably less sarcastic, definately less worldly version of myself made this very same trip - for my gap year. It was while working at Roedean School that Kirsten and I met and it was yesterday that we went back for the first time. Such a good day - despite my apparent amnesia when it comes to remembering a number of the things we did and saw and drank while living here...
Our first port of call was a little village called Rottingdean - for a morning tea that starred scones, clotted cream, jam and pots of tea. We caught the bus there, ogling out the window at Roedean as we drove past...
(I don't think the resemblance to Colditz Castle is in anyway accidental...)
It's just bizarre to re-trace the paths of the ghosts of our former selves and to reflect on the enormity of a decade and the distances, literal and otherwise, that have been travelled since then. It's certainly been fascinating to ponder what advice I might retrospectively offer my 18 year old self, given the opportunity. To be honest it's oddly reassuring to realise that apart from "Resist the urge to cut all your hair off when a boy breaks your heart" and "Read the fine print - you didn't have to do all those pointless Gen Ed subjects" - well, it would simply be to stop worrying so much because actually it will all be ok. But maybe go easy on the clotted cream, yes?...
Waddling out of Ye Olde Tea Rooms in Rottingdean we decided to take the coastal cliff walk back to Brighton.
Such a beautiful day - despite the freezing temperatures and just so good to be by the water again. Though Brighton can keep the pebbles - I'll have my Bondi sand thanks very much.
Huffing and puffing our way back into Brighton we had a delightful afternoon wandering through the Old Lanes and the North Laine - lots of street markets and cafes and bric a brac antique shops just begging to be relieved of their fabulous jewels... On our way there we passed the Royal Pavilion. Built in the early 19th century, it was the destination for some of the earliest and most scandalous dirty weekends in history - the Prince Regent, later King George IV, enjoyed using the place for flings with his Catholic mistress while bathing occasionally in the sea water to alleviate his gout...
As with 10 years ago - I walked past but didn't go in...
After spending the afternoon wandering and shopping and reminiscing we headed to the Palace Pier - via a photo opportunity with a breathtaking sunset:
The Palace Pier is kind of like Vegas, but on water and with rollercoasters. It is tawdry and garish and crass and yet, strangely, so much fun.
After much dithering we decided, for old time's sake that while in Brighton.... while on the Pier... well, we really should ride on this....
And then on this...
Despite the fact my internal organs are still trying to find their way home it was a great way to wind up the day - and a great thing we did rides first, dinner second. It was such a special thing to be able to spend the day with Kirsten reconnecting to this huge adventure we had 10 years ago. Sentimental value aside, I do genuinely adore Brighton and in the words of my new canvas bag, "Oh I do like to be beside the seaside!"
If they'd had a bag that said "Oh I do like to spend Sundays in my flannelette pajamas because it's too cold to get out of bed - and is that rain or snow or some slushy combination of the two that's falling outside my window?" - well, I probably would have bought that too.
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