I can’t take credit for that phrase; I saw it today on the side of a doughnut vendor’s kiosk in Brighton. On the pier, actually, which was quite long, quite windy, and quite overtaken with amusement park rides. Oh, yes, I forgot to mention that it’s quite old. I don’t know how old; certainly not as old as the town. But perhaps old enough to have existed when Jane Austen would have visited. I’m going to have to do some research on that–especially because I have an essay to write about the trip sometime for British Life and Culture class, and I might just mention Miss Austen.
I suppose the big historical draw to the city is the Royal Pavilion, the summer palace of King George IV. Before today, pretty much all that I knew about George IV was that he was “drinking buddies” with Banastre Tarleton. After today, I’ve learned that he was a womanizer, a spendthrift, and not very well respected by the people of England–thus why I may make so bold as to describe him in such terms. He liked Brighton because he could party there, and he liked it so much that he spent lots of pounds on a huge party house now known as the Royal Pavilion. It was completed, I think, in 1823, and took seven years–so was begun just after the conclusion of the War of 1812, to give you some sense of the political timing. The outside (designed by an Irish architect) was designed to resemble the style of India. The inside, on the other hand, is Oriental; they were going for Chinese, but, like anyone who has never been somewhere, they had some of their facts wrong. A common mistake, of course, and had the tour guide not pointed it out I’d have never noticed. Because I’ve never been there, see. (In fact, just to be sure that no one believes I came up with all this information on my own, I got it from the tour guide. She was very nice and had an interesting way of presenting all of these facts and figures. She used humour, so of course I took to her a great deal.)
But, overall, Brighton was rather like an English Myrtle Beach, if I had to compare it to anything. It had touristy shops (and some non-touristy shops, too), amusement rides, beach–but it had more history than Myrtle Beach, of course. And more vendors of fish-and-chips.
I had some of those today, by the by. The french fries (chips) are normal, but the fish is covered in this light batter, lighter than fried chicken batter and almost like the batter on sesame chicken, I guess. Anywho, it’s covered in that stuff and fried, I guess. I had mine with ketchup; is that bad? And it wasn’t wrapped in newspaper, either, but Harry Ramsdon claims to have “world famous” fish-and-chips, so I believed him. Not bad.
In fact, I haven’t encountered anything inedible yet–except a milkshake that I got yesterday in London that was supposed to be white chocolate but tasted more like coconut. It kind of freaked me out and made me wonder if maybe “milkshakes” in England are like mixers or something–so I gave it up after realizing it tasted like coconut, which took maybe two sips. It’s better for me that way, anyway.
So far I’ve had a cheese sandwich (which was really good and also cheap!), spaghetti (compliments of Mrs. Bridger), a roast beef sandwich, fish-and-chips, Subway, and peanut butter sandwiches–but those only because I haven’t been to the grocery store to buy things that I may prepare on my own. That’s the cheapest way, you know, to do meals, and over here I’m all about saving money if I can. Not to the point that I don’t get to do anything I want to; don’t worry about that! But I don’t see the sense in eating out every meal when I could save that money to have a splendid day in London, or see a show, or do something that I wouldn’t be able to do anywhere else. Do you catch my drift? But, see, the dollar is worth 51% of the pound, so every pound is really two dollars. I’ve been told not to think like that, but I just think it’s smart. And I don’t seem to have missed out on anything worthwhile yet.
Be seeing you!
