Brighton’s Rocks


Anxious not to let all of my newly acquired British driving skills go to waste, Josh, my mom and I drove down to Brighton today.

I’ve always loved Brighton.

I think it all stems from The End of the Affair and this vision of London during World War II.

That and Brighton’s proximity to the ocean.

That always helps.

Even if the beach is made of rocks.


Which, I might add, was a huge hit with Josh.

So he didn’t feel left out among all the other British children, we brought his bucket and shovel along. And he had a blast playing there, the irony of shovelling rocks into a sand pail seemingly lost on him.


He had so much fun in fact, that he had to be put in time out twice for throwing rocks; one about the size of a golf ball, which thankfully I managed to notice and dodge at the last minute.

I tried to explain to him he needs to yell “catch” first and make eye contact with me, but that might be a bit advanced at this stage.

What is it with boys and throwing everything?

And he really throws well too.

A little too well…

Flying rocks aside, we had a lovely time there, playing on the beach.




When it got too cold, we went and explored the pier, which strikes me as the British equivalent to the Santa Monica Pier, complete with roller coasters and candy floss (aka cotton candy).




I even bought a bag of the candy floss to take home.


It sounded much more appealing than the cockles and whelks.

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