September 11th 2019

Today I drove down to Brighton in preparation for a work training conference thing tomorrow. I’ve never been to Brighton before, but I’m enjoying it already. Don’t get me wrong, driving here was a pain in the ass and took over three hours, but once I got here things improved.

For starters, my hotel is incredible. I’m staying at a place called the Artist’s Residence (shoutout Em for finding it), and it’s perfect for me. It’s quirky and hipster and bohemian and chic, and, genuinely, in the eventuality that I ever get a house of my own, the decoration and aesthetic will not be too dissimilar to this place:

I am all about that exposed brick aesthetic on a singular wall, and I understand how basic that makes me sound. There’s even a Smeg mini-fridge and a vintage Roberts radio that was already playing Jazz music when I walked through the door, and hasn’t stopped doing so since. That’s a bit of me, that. All of that.

Except I’ll do well to top this view in my own place:

After I’d checked in to my room, settled down, and stopped looking at the sea, I went for a wander around Brighton. I’d forgotten to bring a jacket with me and, as you can tell from the above, the weather isn’t great, so I did a bit of shopping.

At some point I stopped at a, and I’m reusing adjectives here for effect, not laziness, quirky and hipster and bohemian and chic, coffee shop called Cafe Coho in The Lanes (shoutout Dad for the recommendation) where I sat by the window and watched the (this one is mainly laziness) quirky and hipster and bohemian and chic people of Brighton walk by. Everyone here is so fucking cool and they wear what they want and do not conform to what hair colour you think is appropriate.

Me? I bought a black jacket to match my black jeans and black boots. Chic.

Later, I got back to the hotel, quickly changed into some shorts and went for a run along the sea(?)front. Channelfront? It’s all sorta connected anyway, right? Fuck it.

I headed towards the sea, turned left and ran until I ran out of beach. Or, more accurately, ran out of beach-adjacent path. It’s a pebbly peach and that is not conducive to good running form.

Post-run I needed food, obviously, and so hunted down the nearest Vietnamese restaurant. When that place told me the kitchen was closed, I went next door to a Japanese place called Sushi Garden, where I ordered not-sushi. Instead, I had Chicken Yakitori and Pork Donburi, and it was fabulous.

You can probably tell by the fact that this is the first time in a long time that I’ve written a blog post that is longer than 500 words, but I’m really liking Brighton.

Until tomorrow, and I’ve only been here for 8 hours.

Jacn