Echoing your frequent posts from the South American sea-side; Sunday 28th April, Gabs & I boarded the train to good ol' Brighton for a breath of ozone. Much compulsory seaside diversions were undertaken; a stick of Brighton rock was crunched, ice-creams were licked, pebbles were skimmed, the horizon was gazed at, the pier was meander'd, sandwiches were slyly consumed under the interrogating eyes of seagulls patrolling the beach; "I know what you've got in that bag, prawn sarnies, M&S ones, no point tryin' to hide 'em, got a whiff of 'em all the way from Hove, we did.... Giv'z a bit..."
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| Member of the Brighton Inquisition |
Gabs dragged me into the arcade on the pier... Eeeek, me-no-like-it-in-there. I feel rather sorry for my kids at such times - I'm the antithesis of my own parents. Whereas they'd generously supply my sister and I with a tupper-ware box full of 1ps, 2ps and 10ps for hours of gambling in the arcade at Butlins; I, however, squirm & shudder to hand over copper&silver to my own kids in such places of vice... Heh heh. (And three whole British pounds for a go on the dodgems, indeed! More squirming & shuddering...)



eee... that murals brilliant.. Gabs looks like a bird-beak as if the hands were an owl, love it!
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