Brighton Beach here in the UK has always held great allure. It's only about an hour away from London and I can't count the number of times I have hopped into my car and taken off to get some sea air and a bit of breakfast. The parking is more often than not a pain in the arse, but once sorted the place` is just magical. On an ordinary day the water is just a calm lapping on the stoney beach. There is a fine Pier that is very English and there are quaint old fashioned foodie places along the water's edge and then when you head into the built up area you can find yourself getting gloriously lost in The Lanes. There are all sorts of eateries and little shops that are not part of some boring chain.
But yesterday's visit was even more fabulous, cos the weather was bloody wild and wonderful. It was blowing a gale and intermittently pissing rain. All this whipped up the water to a damn fine surf, but there was a lack of nutcases ready to take it on, which was just as well cos I reckon any loon having a go would have lost their board and then probably their teeth as they got slammed straight into the rocks.Walking back to find the car was a windy battle and my hair and clothes and as hard as it might be to believe even my fat old body were whipped and bent about. I laughed and laughed. It was very exciting, perhaps more so cos I had not seen it like this before.
Brighton Beach in all it's wild glory
So to the Aussie beaches. Well I do love 'em, everything about 'em. They too can go from calm peaceful places to weather ripped up bits of chaos, but it doesn't matter to me, cos I am always happy there.
Aussie bold colours and white squeaky sand and vast emptiness.
Oh and of course I must remember that Dog loves the Oz connection.
So I guess this is not like the Rugby World Cup.
In this instance there doesn't have to be an absolute winner.
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