It’s only when we settle down on the beach to eat our
picnic, that we realise we’re not the only hen party in Brighton. I count at least six within the throw of a stone from the pebble beach we're sitting on. And we are to meet many more on our jaunt
around town with my soon-to-be-married friend Tanya.
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| Tanya and friends |
But it’s easy to see why it’s top of the hen-party pops.
It’s taken us just one hour to get here on the train from London, and with sea
breezes, wine-tasting and a comedy club on our itinerary, Brighton ticks all the boxes for 'best woman' Liz, chief organiser.
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| Seagull defences |
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| Improvised protection |
Next up is our wine-tasting party, where we sample a variety
of wines and try to guess the grape and variety from a list. I get one right.
What a lovely way to get yourself gently sozzled and find out, as Tanya comments, how little we all know about wine.
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| Through a glass artly |
We finish our picnic grub in the grounds of the Royal Pavilion, the extravagant seaside retreat built for George lV when he was Prince Regent in the 18th century. Designed by John Nash, the gloriously exotic palace mixes Regency trends with the visual style of the splendours of India and China, very much reflecting the flamboyant personality of the man for whom it was built.
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| Pavilion garden party |
Brighton Komedia is the evening’s finale. A packed house lap
up the comics on stage and roar with delight when a couple in the front row
(what were they thinking?) are discovered to be on an illicit date. There are
sharp intakes of breath from our table in response to one stand-up, who really
misses the mark with some sexist drivel.
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| Laughs at the ready |
On the way back to the train station, our hen is pulled into
a pub to continue the rabble rousing.
With trains running into the small hours and home just an hour away, it’s
surely what any hen would do.
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