Brighton is that magical beacon for all those “oddballs” floundering in a society that preaches conformity. Where else would you be able to sport a neon fluffy ensemble without so much as a second glance? Or a rainbow Mohawk as tall as a small child? Vegan-vegetarian-everything-baked-in-organic-goodness café’s dominating every corner? A Taj Mahal-esqúe building plonked behind a Sainsbury’s? Brighton’s vibrant nature is what makes it such an interesting city and there are few places quite like it.
Although my virgin skin is unmarked by tattoos or piercings, my hair is a colour found on most natural palettes, and I like bacon far too much to ever become vegan, I revel in the quirkiness of the sea-side city. As a lover of junk and knick-knacks, Brighton’s lanes are a treasure trove; selling everything from made-in-China London merchandise, to intricately elegant Edwardian furniture. But even if you aren’t there to shop for vintage goods, exploring is just as rewarding an activity. And the best news? The city isn’t that big, and it’s just a fifteen-minute walk (if you are as slow as me, anyway) from the city centre’s train station to the seafront.
And what a whimsical seafront it is. Although it was quite (very) cold to sit on the beach in early March, it was easy to imagine the pebbles packed with people come the summer months. It was lovely just to watch the waterfront; chatting about how much has changed in the three years that have passed since our last visit.