Birghton's wonderfulness is like your hungover best friend cooking you a fried breakfast. It's bright, entertaining and just a little the worse for wear. Even it's buildings have made the extra special effort to be fun.
The Brighton Pavilion is such a work of ludicrous entertainment it's all it can do to keep itself from giggling while the tourists are around.
Wonderful Gemma summoned me to Brighton to spend Saturday with her husband Serge (the kickboxing count), her parents (the wonderful Sheila and Damien who appear to be controlled by a team of expert scriptwriters), her sister Julia, and Julia's new boyfriend... seven feet of studly skiing German called.... Life.
It was a strangely great day. While Sheila told me and Gemma in the kitchen all about the gorgeous pilots she used to date in the sixties, Serge and Damien battled each other on Damien's beloved PS2.
After supper, Damien lowered the blinds so that Serge could roll joints, and then insisted that we all try and play Lord of the Rings Trivial pursuit.
DAMIAN: "Question One: What word does Aragorn shout when the ladders go up? Come on, come on... [hopeful glance around the room] No one? Serge? [he glances proudly at his son-in-law]
SERGE: "Er... Attack?"
DAMIAN: [An edge of disappointment in his tone] "No, 'Swords' of course. Let's pack this in. Who's for the Rizla Game?"
We end up playing a weird variation which involves increasingly less description. Trying to evoke Terence Conran merely through a single sound is bloody hard. Seeing your friend's mum have to do the same thing with a german porn star is just disturbing.
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