...a walk out the dudes' front door, to the park across the street. We'd heard the kids at soccer practice (and the soccer dads yelling at the kids) for a while already, through the skylight in the bathroom.
We did a quick run through the cute little monthly farmer's market, stopping to get some fresh and piping hot apple cider, and a loaf of "President's bread" from the baker's tent. The loaf was chock full of some kind of fruit and nuts, and as solid as a bulldog.
The train from Brockley took us to another train, which took us to the sea.
Brighton wasn't what I had expected. It was city-er, cuter, and more boutique-y than the english version of Coney Island I'd imagined.
We walked along the sidewalk above the boardwalk for a while.
There was another pier that had burned down - the sign shows what it had looked like back in its heyday. Its skeleton stands in the background, wading in the water.
It was like the hull of a whale.
Neil found his friend and we wandered onto the functioning pier. The weather had cleared up but it was still pretty cold and windy.
They were playing some 80's pop music over the loudspeakers as we passed the carousel and headed back toward land.
The guys settled on a good-lookin' fish and chips place.
Good tastin' too! The green stuff at the back of the plate? Not guacamole, but surprisingly delicious mushy peas!
We walked back through town, and the streets were jam packed. Even though the shops looked so very very promising, I had to bow out, as I'd started to feel super run down.
Neil and Co. stayed to pub it, while Gareth, Evan and I headed to the station...
...and on the train back to Brockley. Between small naps, we experienced a super "posh" girl clique, and a weekending husband/wife team doing a costume change for dinner in the city.Gareth made soup and toast+beans and I snuggled down and hibernated till morning.
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