I’m none too keen on the word ‘iconic’, but that’s what this photograph is, the one beside my lap-top. I’m looking at Suzi and I on Marine Parade with Brighton Pier behind us. We’re hugging each other. We’d been in town an hour. The woman who took the photo was the third person to say to Suzi, ‘Oh you’re from Glasgow.’ Our quartet of suit cases were a stone’s throw away in the Kemp Town B&B, from which we’d made a sharp exit: we had an appointment to see a flat. The Argus subscription, which we’d taken out about six weeks earlier, was paying dividends. Prior to leaving Scotland, and following-up an ad in the paper, we’d phoned several landlords. This one had what we needed: a one-bedroom furnished flat. Now we were on our way to meet him.

Not for us a leisurely stroll along Kings Road. Rather a frantic high-speed walk, to the Peace Statue, he’d said. We had little opportunity, then, to allow The Old Ship Hotel, The Brighton Centre or The Grand to make an impression on us, but one thing did: the sea.

Up north, any day of the week in Scotland, we could have walked to the castle Esplanade and observed a spectacular panorama: fields, a meandering river, hills and distant mountains. But that was inland, and one of the reasons we’d come to Brighton was there before us, on that first walk along the promenade. We didn’t know if the tide was coming in or going out, but we didn’t care. We had the city and the sea. We were canny Scots: we were getting two things for the price of one.

From the Peace Statue we made it to Western Road. We saw the flat, talked money, and said we needed to think about it – and look at other properties. The cordial visit over, we grabbed something to eat at Bankers and then walked back through the town to the front.

The day had been many things and it had to end with a drink. The St James, on Madeira Place, was where we had our first Brighton pint and Bacardi. In the warm, welcoming pub we talked excitedly about its variegated clientele, our feelings, the people we’d left behind, and the ‘do everything once’ idea. But we didn’t stay long. It would be bed-time soon, for tomorrow would be busy.

The pre-eminent thing was to find something in the self-catering line. We needed a base, not a B&B. We needed time to find our Brighton home. Little did we know, we’d done that!

(If you’ve enjoyed this, you might like to check-out post 1 and our Arrival! in town an hour earlier, when we had an unexpectedly delightful encounter at the railway station.)

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