First we visited the Booth Museum, which is an eerie Victorian taxidermy haven. This was fantastic seeing as I'm fairly sure I was a butterfly-stabbing, deer-shooting creepy Victorian bachelor in a past life. James mused that if it was his museum, he'd be watching with a close eye to make sure I didn't steal anything. That sentiment is about correct.
For example, THIS GUY;
would look mighty 'andsome on my desk when I eventually start revising all the American Gothic I need to get through in the next week.
Also you can never have too many bones knocking about the place.
We had a few night time strolls, drawn to the bright lights and confectionery buildings like the fat moths we are;
and had a great time strolling on the beach and chucking pebbles at each other.
We also found a brill paper and advertising shop with all kinds of vintage smut, including the captivatingly repulsive 'sexy baby' pin-up above, which I was incredibly tempted to buy (but just about managed to refrain). Though I DID obtain a slutty tropical Errol Flynn, posing here on a wooden table with some mulled cider and a vintage Brighton postcard.
(In case you ever wondered why my blog has such a stupid name, it is because I am a simple soul and really do always just want to blimmin' go to the beach. That and also the magnificent lachrymosity of mi amor Iggy Pop.)