Brighton #3 - part 2

The last time I wrote up a Brighton trip, the multiple parts became a bit confused in a single forum post, hence this time, I thought I'd be a bit more extravagant with the real estate!

It was raining.

Heavily.

Was this an omen? Should I go back home and stop being silly?

I stood up, and the hem of my ankle length skirt tumbled gently down my legs, causing a slight shudder. Delicious!

I took my furry jacket from the back of my chair, and luxuriously slid my arms into it. Hmmmm!

Once I'd wound my long, fluffy brown scarf around my neck, the one I'd craved for the leafy autumnal look, I flicked my blonde wig tresses out of the way and paused, waiting for the shower to subside.

It did, briefly so I and several other people who had had the same idea scurried back to our cars, and ventured forth, onto the no-man's land that is the London Orbital.

Yes, the M25 around Cobham is an inhospitable place - a place to hurry away from, but the rain returned with a vengeance, and high winds, making hurrying a very unwise thing indeed.

Pretty soon, all 4 lanes were like lakes. Passing lorries became a challenge, with visibility becoming zero many times.

Now I felt committed. Nothing stops Laura. She is gently, carefully, lovingly inevitable.

The weather did not subside for the M23 junction which would feed me directly into Brighton, and the A23 was similarly drenched - I felt glad I'd thought to pack all of my coats, as my trusty green Parka sat on the very top of my clothing bags, a little bit smugly, I felt.

Arriving in Spring Gardens, I found my favourite space in the car park, grabbed my coat and the smile could not help itself.

Dear, welcoming, friendly, run-down, wet and windy Brighton.

Pulling my hood over my head, I made a beeline for the Hilton hotel on the sea front.

I quickly realised that walking was trickier than I could have imagined! The wind blew in from the South West unhindered by the sea and, bereft of the shelter of the buildings, it was my hood or my skirt.

Placing my flamingo handbag strategically in front of me, and to Hell with the back, I gripped my hood. Must protect the hair!

In doing this, I followed the wise example set by the other ladies on the sea front, all navigating the storm to get to the Hilton, and the attraction of the women's lifestyle show. A finer array of different types of knickers I couldn't hope to see... and I make no apologies - I've loved the sight since I was 5 or 6, and the world was free to see mine - which, although obscured by black tights, were a very pretty pink with small rosebuds, so perfectly lovely to look at, and not at all offensive or sexually overt. When you're a woman, stuff happens.

Once I'd fought the clearly signposted door open, and allowed other ladies through, I stepped in, pulled down my hood, and saw The disappointed faces all around...

The sign could not have been clearer, but the hotel wanted us to walk around to the side door. Back out into the howling gale and torrential rain.

I helped a particularly disgusted lady who had a buggy... I don't mean to complain, but the hotel has inner doors which lead to the conference room in which the show was held, and you'd think, for a woman with a buggy... but that wasn't how the hotel rolled, so my hair got wet, my skirt completely misbehave, and so did the other ladies, and we got wet, and finally made it to the show.

Which, dear ladies, I think will wait until I get some time tomorrow, as I must retire to my bed for an early start tomorrow.

Again, I'm really aware of focusing on the ordinary, but the story is sort of tumbling out on its own, so I will read it back and consider again whether it's worthy of a part 3...

Love Laura