So a couple of weekends ago, I hopped in my car and drove the 118 miles down to my birth town and favourite place in the world, BRIGHTON. After living there for 20 years, just a stone’s throw away from the pebbly beach and a drunken taxi ride away from clubbers paradise West Street, to say I miss it is an understatement.
Braving the M25 on the Friday night, my stresses were eased when I realised an Uncle Sams would be there to greet me when I got to Emilys. The night that proceeded involved a batch of reality TV, discussing the latest goings on, and Brenty desperately showing us strange videos on YouTube.
After attempting a lay-in on Saturday, I was rudely awoken by my rumbling stomach begging for a poached egg and we were up and about by 9am. Then a routine trip to Asda resulted in a bagging couple of bargains, and we popped to Suzi’s for lunch where we treated to a delicious spread of hotdogs and chunky sarnies.
Dinner in the evening was a fancy affair; with a couple of us girls opting to dine in the company of some of our boy mates at a new haunt called Como. The wine was in abundance and before I knew it, I was slurring my words, and stumbling down the street and throwing some horrendous moves on the dance floor. I'm a classy bird!
After a sparodic nights sleep that fortunately didn't involve hanging my head down the toilet, we opted for a BK breakfast (although not sure a whooper with cheese meal at 10am counts as brekkie). After a quick catch-up on Jersey Shore and stalking Becky for the afternoon, Donna Dartnells famous lamb Sunday roast was piping hot and dripping with mint sauce waiting to satisfy my hungry tummy. You could say the healthy eating went out the window for the weekend.
To round off a spectacular weekend with my best friends, we went for a wander down the seafront and ate doughnuts, slagged off the tourists and tried not to get pooped on by the huge flock of seagulls that we attracted.