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Dreadful Nonsense

"I've read your blog. it's really funny. you should write a column." - Jon Ronson

We spent a lot of time on the beach in Brighton. I think if you've been starved of both fresh air and open spaces, you can't help but to be drawn to the expansive horizon that dwarfs you as you stand in awe in front of it. Plus, running towards the water as the waves are drained out by the tide and then not quite as quickly running back in as the water crashes up the beach never gets old.

Don’t get me wrong - we did all of the usual Brighton activities, the things you’re expected to do while on a day trip in Brighton - we walked up the pier, right to the end, marveling at the hideousness of the funfair and the hideousness of the people playing in it, bawking at the lights and noise in the arcades while simultaneously being overwhelmed by the desire to win a badly made highly flammable stuffed giraffe. We wandered up, down and through The Lanes, we ate vegan lemon cake and spent far too long looking at second hand junk. But in the end, it was the beach that occupied our attention.

All the way on the train the night before, I had insisted that we go paddling if the weather was nice. This was because I had expected the weather to be terrible, because the television had promised that it would be. Snow, thunder, sleet, winds, rain, the whole game show was promised over the weekend, and I had insisted that, if none of that appeared, we would be paddling.
The weather was absolutely as glorious as it’s possible to be the first weekend of March.
However, I also knew that I was safe with my back-up, ready-made excuse that I have arthritis in my feet, and even beginning to attempt paddling in the sea would be the death of me. However, He Who Only… had no such get-out-of-paddling card, and he manfully stripped down to his bare toes and waded in up to the ankles.

Grimacing in pain, he immediately waded back out again, and we sat on the beach while he waited for feeling to return. I picked up stones and pointed out various differences in them.

"A finger stone!" I exclaimed, holding up a stone through which I could almost fit my finger.

"Yes," said He Who Only…

"A big flat stone!" I exclaimed, holding up a stone that was big and flat.

"Yes," said He Who Only…

"Half a stone!" I exclaimed, holding up a stone with a jagged, flat edge that had obviously been broken in two.

"Yes," sighed He Who Only…

"A killing stone!" I exclaimed, holding up a stone that was big enough to bludgeon someone to death with.

"Yes," said He Who Only…, showing a bit more interest.


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