Brighton's North Street - I spent a glorious hour there

Have you ever noticed those weird chairs on Brighton's North Street? Just outside Hotel Chocolat, sandwiched between two giant plant plots, are a pair of metal chairs angled slightly towards each other.

Why are they there? No one knows. Yet there they are, in the middle of one of Brighton’s busiest pavements, waiting to be sat on.

What entertainment would our colourful city provide if you spent an hour on these funny-looking street seats? I decided to find out.

Two chairs are better than one (Image: NQ) I posted up just after 4pm on a Friday afternoon. There was a summery sense in the air, an anticipation of the fledging weekend starting to spread its wings.

A letting agent might describe the chairs as “offering stunning views over the panoramic vistas of North Street”. Certainly, they are prime real estate when it comes to people watching.

Just about every type of person seemed to walk past. An attractive woman floated by in full geisha dress. Floods of European school kids streamed down the hill. A man strode casually along in a T-shirt that read simply ‘Dick’.

What a view (Image: NQ) What a colourful population we have. I saw hair in every shade of the rainbow - sometimes all on a single head. I saw a number of women wearing England football shirts, showing their support for the Lionesses, and just as many men in beautiful flowing skirts.

It made me smile seeing how many families were out and about, readying themselves for a summer holiday perhaps. Who could deny the poignancy and simple joy of watching a mother and her young daughter enjoy a cigarette together?

As much fun as I was having observing the humans like an extra-terrestrial on a fact-finding mission, I hoped someone would sit down beside me and strike up a conversation (in order that I might learn more about their Earthly ways).

I tried to smile invitingly at passersby without being creepy - a tricky balance to strike. It didn’t seem to be working.

Inviting or creepy? You decide (Image: NQ) Eventually though I had some luck, when a gloriously hirsute gentleman took the seat next to mine. I don’t think he was expecting me to speak to him, but the subtle tilt of our chairs towards each other left him utterly defenceless.

“How’s it going?” I asked.

Jason, his name was, a photographer from Brentwood, down with his wife to see Lynyrd Skynyrd at the Brighton Centre and catch up with some old work friends.

He explained that he’d chosen to sit down instead of having to go into another shop with his wife. “These must be the husband chairs,” he mused.

My new pal Jason (Image: NQ) Had he always been so magnificently hairy?

“There was a period when we were bringing up the kids, I straightened up a bit,” he said. “But as soon as they left, the hair was back.”

With that, his wife emerged from Scamp & Dude, and off they went to enjoy some Floridian rock and roll.

Once more I was alone, watching the city and its innumerable buses go by. It did get a bit breezy at times in the shade, but fortunately there was no shortage of traffic exhaust fumes to warm me up. I watched the busy scene, bus drivers often nodding in mutual acknowledgement at each other.

Shirtless beer drinking men laughed loudly, their beach-ball bellies hanging out, reddening by the minute. City centre ambassadors patrolled the streets authoritatively in baby-blue uniforms.

Steif was a big fan of the chairs (Image: NQ) After a while, another man sat down next to me; a Belgian sculptor called Steif, touring England’s south coast with his wife.

“Brighton seems lively!”, he said, gesturing towards three women in revealing outfits. He wasn’t wrong, I suppose.

Before I knew it, an hour had flown past. I had come expecting madness - delirious drunkenness and derangement. What I got instead, rather to my surprise, was pure pleasantness: friendly strangers and cheerful families, teenagers excitedly exploring the city.

The perfect place to read your favourite local paper (Image: NQ) Probably if I’d done the same thing a few hours later, there would have been plenty of Brightonian bedlam on show. But in those 60 minutes between 4 and 5pm on a sunny July Friday, all went merrily on their way.

Brighton’s not perfect of course, and sometimes I think we can get a bit fixated on its flaws. But watching the sheer range and vividness of all those happy people passing along North Street, it was the perfect reminder of everything there is to love about this crazy, wonderful place.

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