Brighton. Day Trippin

Brighton feels like a city that exhales.

Just an hour south of London, an easy jaunt on the train and you feel how the air shifts. You arrive completely somewhere else and it’s charged with a creative undercurrent. The pebble beach stretches wide beneath a pale English sky, and the horizon sits low and honest.

A day trip to Brighton begins properly on the seafront. Grab a bottle, fish and chips and enjoy the view.

From the seaside, drift into the Lanes which are these cool narrow passageways folding into one another, full of antique shops, vinyl stores, and small wine bars that feel more Paris than pier-town. That’s where I discovered a natural wine bar.

A glass of skin-contact wine arrives and it was dead. Which lead to me fighting with both the waiter that this 60pd rose’ from Tavel had no life to it. They told me it needed to breathe and I sat, slightly fuming until the manager tried it and agreed with me. Which lead to a fucking unebelievable Chenin Blanc that I crave to this day. Called Lunatic and man, what a wine.

Natural wine asks you to engage rather than consume passively but natural wines don’t always make the cut. They can be awfully astere and frankly I’ve had apple cider vinegar that tastes better.

By late afternoon with enough tipsy to glow, walk back to the sea. The light begins to soften. Brighton at golden hour is understated but magnetic.

A day trip here is worth it and easy to do. And as the train carries you back north, you recognise that the journey is always worth it.