The only het in the village

I went to Brighton for the day, to meet up with my book club ladies, expecting a pleasant, cultured and sedate high tea and what happened?  Gay Pride, that's what happened.  When the gay community say they are loud and proud, they're not kidding.  Sharing litre bottles of vodka on the 10:35am from East Croydon, I ask you?  I was shocked and horrified. 

My plan for the day started with a visit to Mad Hatters, to find something suitable for Jill's 60th-come-retirement do at Ascot in September.  I think I found exactly the right thing in the bargain bucket: not in the least understated or tasteful.  Jill likes things (including her friends) to be full on.  Richard hated my £120 hat, but experienced a miraculous change of heart when I told him that I picked it up for a tenner.  Fickle.

Then I watched Gay Pride. It's very weird to feel like the only het in the village, and that's exactly the point, so job done.

 

Next up - the Royal Pavilion. I've been to Brighton umpteen times in my life, but never visited the Pavilion.  It is stunning, and I learnt that George III's home was the original pleasure palace that led to Brighton's reputation as the place to party.   

 

We had vegetarian afternoon tea, delish and quite original, a discussion on the books we had read, and then off to catch the train home.  Oh, but Belinda and I hadn't quite finished, so we dropped in on a wine tasting bar on the way.  Probably assumed we were lesbians, so that was ok.   

 

Retired but still alive.