feeble linguistic display and heaped praise on me as soon as we had helped the charming family off the train with their accompanying army of samsonite.
“Oh, it’s nothing, I picked up a few words when I was with Richard E Grant last summer, he speaks it fluently of course, coming as he does from that dry and arid land.” I said airily, remembering a radio programme I’d heard the actor speak on a few weeks ago.
A trolley cart of refreshments was being dragged down the aisle of the train by a boy who looked as if his calling lay elsewhere, who grudgingly served us with a combination of coffee, highly toxic fizzy cans of drink and a bottle of mineral water.
Sylvia looked on in amazement at such fare. I leant across to her and tapped her on the knee. “It’s hardly the Orient Express, is it? But really, I urge you to have a drink. Perhaps a gin and tonic?” She looked doubtfully at me, but gathering her courage about her she consented.
I asked for a glass (plastic, of course, which is I agree quite deplorable, but what can one do?) and poured an inch or so of the mineral water into it. I then topped it up generously with a small bottle of remedial sloe gin that I always carry in my overnight bag for such occasions. By the way, I urge you to do the same. It’s wonderful stuff, such a cheery colour to start with and then it does have simply marvellous effects. A well known antidote to the ennui of travel, it also staves off hunger pangs quite admirably.
I allowed Bella to have a sip of it, and she swelled in self importance.
“Delicious,” she said smacking her full lips together in a show of teenage bravado.
“Now then,” I said, as we settled down for the rest of the journey, “Where shall we stay the night? I have a few suggestions of my own, but perhaps you have a favourite hotel? I can call ahead and book some rooms if you like?” I gazed at Archie, who to my certain knowledge had no destination in mind.
“Oh, umm, I would think anywhere you like Flora,” Sylvia said with a show of insouciance.
“In that case it simply must be the little place I know. I’ll call them now.”
I pulled out my phone and made the necessary arrangements.
The train swept into Brighton station with an air of relief. Soon we were all tumbling down the hill catching a glimpse of the steel grey sea between the high rise buildings. Even Archie had entered the holiday spirit of the day, and he spontaneously caught hold of Sylvia’s hand as we dodged the traffic and crossed a busy road.
“Where to then Flora?” He called genially enough over his shoulder to me.
“Follow me,” I called back leading them through the lanes and twittens of Brighton, as if I had been born there. Which I could very well have been.
Bella and Hal had to be rounded up periodically as they stood stock still in front of a shop that caught their fancy. Tattoo parlours, 1950’s ephemera, amber shops, tiny little holes in the walls that sold nothing but saris or pipes. The wind caught at our heels and pushed along, leading us a merry dance through the breezy alley ways. The smell of salt was in the air mingling with the aroma of cheap food wafting from hundreds of burger bars and cafes. It was a curiously invigorating mix.
I dragged Bella away from a hot fudge stand, and then coaxed Hal from a stall promising the misspellt delights of old skool garage CD’s, making them follow me to the seafront.
The wide promenade swept along for miles, regally ignoring the hideous new buildings that it had endured. Glancing quickly to your right it was possible to glimpse, very swiftly from the corner of your eye the horses bowling along with Prinny, ready to deposit him for a night of indulgence with the ever ready Mrs Fitzherbert.
“Come along, no dawdling, and above all I implore you, no pebble throwing into the sea. Such a futile exploit I always think.” I said, tucking the end of my velvet scarf more securely around my head. We galloped along the
“Oh, it’s nothing, I picked up a few words when I was with Richard E Grant last summer, he speaks it fluently of course, coming as he does from that dry and arid land.” I said airily, remembering a radio programme I’d heard the actor speak on a few weeks ago.
A trolley cart of refreshments was being dragged down the aisle of the train by a boy who looked as if his calling lay elsewhere, who grudgingly served us with a combination of coffee, highly toxic fizzy cans of drink and a bottle of mineral water.
Sylvia looked on in amazement at such fare. I leant across to her and tapped her on the knee. “It’s hardly the Orient Express, is it? But really, I urge you to have a drink. Perhaps a gin and tonic?” She looked doubtfully at me, but gathering her courage about her she consented.
I asked for a glass (plastic, of course, which is I agree quite deplorable, but what can one do?) and poured an inch or so of the mineral water into it. I then topped it up generously with a small bottle of remedial sloe gin that I always carry in my overnight bag for such occasions. By the way, I urge you to do the same. It’s wonderful stuff, such a cheery colour to start with and then it does have simply marvellous effects. A well known antidote to the ennui of travel, it also staves off hunger pangs quite admirably.
I allowed Bella to have a sip of it, and she swelled in self importance.
“Delicious,” she said smacking her full lips together in a show of teenage bravado.
“Now then,” I said, as we settled down for the rest of the journey, “Where shall we stay the night? I have a few suggestions of my own, but perhaps you have a favourite hotel? I can call ahead and book some rooms if you like?” I gazed at Archie, who to my certain knowledge had no destination in mind.
“Oh, umm, I would think anywhere you like Flora,” Sylvia said with a show of insouciance.
“In that case it simply must be the little place I know. I’ll call them now.”
I pulled out my phone and made the necessary arrangements.
The train swept into Brighton station with an air of relief. Soon we were all tumbling down the hill catching a glimpse of the steel grey sea between the high rise buildings. Even Archie had entered the holiday spirit of the day, and he spontaneously caught hold of Sylvia’s hand as we dodged the traffic and crossed a busy road.
“Where to then Flora?” He called genially enough over his shoulder to me.
“Follow me,” I called back leading them through the lanes and twittens of Brighton, as if I had been born there. Which I could very well have been.
Bella and Hal had to be rounded up periodically as they stood stock still in front of a shop that caught their fancy. Tattoo parlours, 1950’s ephemera, amber shops, tiny little holes in the walls that sold nothing but saris or pipes. The wind caught at our heels and pushed along, leading us a merry dance through the breezy alley ways. The smell of salt was in the air mingling with the aroma of cheap food wafting from hundreds of burger bars and cafes. It was a curiously invigorating mix.
I dragged Bella away from a hot fudge stand, and then coaxed Hal from a stall promising the misspellt delights of old skool garage CD’s, making them follow me to the seafront.
The wide promenade swept along for miles, regally ignoring the hideous new buildings that it had endured. Glancing quickly to your right it was possible to glimpse, very swiftly from the corner of your eye the horses bowling along with Prinny, ready to deposit him for a night of indulgence with the ever ready Mrs Fitzherbert.
“Come along, no dawdling, and above all I implore you, no pebble throwing into the sea. Such a futile exploit I always think.” I said, tucking the end of my velvet scarf more securely around my head. We galloped along the
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