English seaside towns are sleepy places out of season. Two weeks ago Southend felt like the last stop on the road to nowhere; we took a quick look and hurried away. Last week Eastbourne, which we love, was empty and rain-washed. But Brighton doesn't recognise seasons. Brighton- like a handful of London streets scooped up and plonked down beside the sea- is always a-rockin' and a-rollin'.
Brighton- yeah, Brighton. It's not not the loveliest of the seaside towns, nor the most historic- but it's the Queen of them- handsome, infamous and bloody amazing.
It cost us £17 to park the car, but we gritted our teeth and decided it was going to be worth it. We ate at a Persian/Turkish/Armenian restaurant (I'm a convert), went round the Royal Pavilion and ate freshly cooked doughnuts on the pier- and, yes, it was. Totally.
