Brighton

Not going on holiday abroad, the Wiganer and I decided to brave the wet and the wind and embark on the traditional British holiday by the sea. Brighton is a mere 45minutes from Clapham Junction, a seaside city with shopping, eating and drinking all within walking distance and with the added bonus of sea views.

So we booked a guest house (Cross Street Guesthouse - really lovely and highly recommended). £45 for the two of us in a double room with a shared bathroom - not that we had to share with anyone, and the perfect distance from the shops, bars and seafront, without being in the middle of a drunken warzone come 3am.

We hopped on the train just before midday. I had barely had a decent snooze when we arrived in Brighton just after 12.30pm. We walked (well, were blown actually) along the seafront to our lovely guest house, dumped our bags, and re-emerged into, in my opinion, the best seaside town that England has to offer.

Having been to Brighton on a number of occasions during my sixth form, I assumed I would know my way around with no trouble. However, most of my time spent in Brighton back then was masked under a heavy cloud of drunkeness, and after about 5minutes we realised that my usually infallible internal GPS system was well and truly off.

Not to worry, Brighton is easy. We pottered to the Lanes, and had some tea and shared a cupcake (Angel Bake House again HIGHLY recommended) and then pottered some more, and had some lunch, and then had some more tea - in fact when we were on the train home we realised that most of trip involved eating and drinking at various establishments.

The second cafe was truly lovely, and truly inspired. Called Tic Toc, it was in the lanes, and yet had a view down a little road to the sea. And right outside was a perfect suntrap - it still had the sun at 4.30. But in case it was a little chilly, there was a big pile of fleecy blankets to wrap up in, provided by the owner. The milk was in an old glass milk bottle, and the victoria sponge was perfect.

After shopping, we headed back to the guesthouse, stopping for warming hot spiced rum en route, and then for wine, and nearly for a wash and blow dry (the dozy Wiganer had brought straigteners but no hairdryer, and this place offered any hair service for £9 - dangerous when drunk we decided).

And we went out, and had a great night, from having those first sophisticated cocktails, to the less sophisticated sambuca shots, and the totally unsophisticated dancing like a pair of loons, and finally the wobbly walk home, supported by a bumper bag of crisps (Kettle Chips no less - not all vestiges of class were lost).

And we were home and in bed, and then in the morning up and had breakfast, walked along the prom, drinking plastic cups of tea, and then headed to the station and then we were Londoners again. All in 24hours. It has made me bump Brighton back up to one of favourite places in the world. And the Boyfriend and I shall be revisiting imminently.

Growing up in Bath has given me unrealistic expectations of urban areas. And living in Stockwell has worked well at stamping out a few elements of snobbishness on my part. But being in Brighton, I realised how much I love being surrounded by beauty and space, and the comparitive tranquility. Coming back to London, and a tiny piece of me really sank when we rejoined the crowds. But the bigger part of me surged back with the excitement that, ever since moving to London, has never fully disappeared.