The other thing to mention is that in 1984 British Prime Margaret Thatcher and her staff were staying at the Grand Hotel in Brighton for a Conservative Party conference when a bomb set by the IRA exploded. One politician and a few party apparatchiks were killed along with 31 people injured. It will become clear later why I mention this.
As usual it was the 422 bus to North Greenwich Station and then the Jubilee Line this time to London Bridge where we met Marie outside an upmarket toy shop. Trains to Brighton are frequent and we only had a few minutes to wait. The train was comfortable and sped along very nicely. It was a bit over an hour trip. The train also services Gatwick Airport and I was amazed at how far Gatwick is from London.
I know these are awful photos but the electronic signs within the train were very useful. The train was not crowded.
OMG, what is Brighton Station roof like! The St Pancras Station set the standard.
We walked down Queens Road which becomes West Street. This I think this clock was somewhere along the way. Cro?
We turned right once we reached the seafront and there was the Grand Hotel.
Isn't it very grand looking.
Oh, is this what is left of Brighton Pier?
It is an exaggeration to say Marie marched us into the Grand Hotel but she did ask us, and why not. The staff were all so smart and posh, the hotel guests and visitors not so much. No Madame, brunch in this area finished at 11.30, which was a pity as the area was at the front and overlooking the sea.
We decided on lunch in a lounge area. Wow, silver service. Of late when travelling I leave the nasty business of money to R and just pay my share once home without question. I expect it is just as well in this case.
We thought we each ordered a modest amount of food, but it turned out not to be so. The servings were large.
I really like this not so good photo. Marie is smart, fit, a good conversationalist, but best of all the we have a laugh.
This viewing thing goes up and down. I expect it costs a bomb for a ticket.
It is now down. I wonder what happened to the huge Brighton ferris wheel that former bloggers Jane and Lance Hattat complained about as it infringed on their view. Again, Cro might know.
I don't believe anyone should walk smartly along the Brighton seafront. It should be strolled, and that is what we did. So many places to eat.
John Gray of Wales volunteers for The Samaritans, kind of like our Life Line.
The slogan at the bottom amused me.
The Odeon looks better in this photo than it actually does. Demolish it.
A fountain in the Old Steine Gardens near the War Memorial.
Marie had a vague idea of the direction of The Royal Pavilion and found it.
Indian? Moorish? Maybe a bit of both.
While still a prince, it was built for King George IV, beginning in 1787 and completed in 1822. Queen Victoria did not like it and did not like Brighton. It was sold to Brighton authorities in 1850. Post WWII it was gradually restored and as well as being a tourist attraction with lovely gardens, is also a function venue for weddings etc.
We found a nice spot outdoors for a refreshing gin and tonic and yakked away. Not R nor I felt like walking back uphill to the station so we all used the nearby bus. The train journey back to London Bridge seemed faster than the trip to Brighton.
None of us could finish our lunch. We asked for doggy bags. They were quite some doggy bags we were given and we stuffed them in our backpacks.
We were back at the hotel by 4.30. R collapsed on the bed. I woke him at 8.30 and he ate a slice of hotel pizza and drank a cup of tea and slept until 9.00 the next morning. He was clearly unwell. He never said but he did not feel well all day. In time he will forget feeling unwell on that day and will remember the otherwise great day when we visited Brighton.
The O2 with some illumination.
The O2 with some illumination.