The elusive spirit of Brighton

At work on Gordon Road first thing. Lots to digest and think about after my conversations with Charlotte and Steve but feeling optimistic that I could sort it.

Lorraine zoomed off to Eastbourne to do a morning's pottery. At elven I was collected by Yvonne and we hopped into her mini and went to Mamoosh in Newhaven. A good chat and some coffee. She's full of good advice about grandchildren and the importance of dinosaurs. Apparently her two grandsons do a good deal of roaring when they come back from the Dinosaur Safari, at nearby Paradise Park in Newhaven. 

In the afternoon Lorraine and I pressed on with sorting out the spare room, so it works as a guest room and  as Lorraine's knitting and sewing domain. 

In the evening to Brighton where I met Anton at the Signalman. And a curate's egg of news to catch up on.

We also talked about AI. Anton apprehensive about how it will develop. Then we nostalgically popped into the Joker and had some chicken wings -- sadly not the woof woof wings of yesteryear. But there were three musicians in there playing Irish music, and the food was fine. 

Anton had read that the Argyll Arms was good these days. We went there, me not expecting much as it had been a bit of a dive with big screen TVs with sport on, and other signifiers of a bad pub. However The Argyle is now a lovely place, with a mellow Brighton vibe, pleasant staff and really interesting music. We sat there enjoying the place, and playing a game of bones. We shall return. Strange how the spirit of Brighton seems to flit between places, abandoning some and reclaiming others.

Fond farewells with Anton, then I mooched up the hill to London Road station, and was soon home chatting to a sleepy Lorraine.

Below a snap of the Argyle Arms taken by Anton as we headed home.