Brighton!

BRIGHTON

SUN AND SEA AND BOOKS AND GELATO AND SUNBURNS

Today was (as my days are so often) fairly fabulous. 

Thanks to my incredible friend Jessica, I was able to hope a train to Brighton, the beach city about an hour out of London.

Friends. It was fantastic. 

Here's the story the above photo-montage tells:

- Nero's coffe: I do love you. Woke me up on the train ride over.

- Went from train station to a stupidly scrumptious and reasonably priced lunch: Brie, bacon, lettuce, tomato, and cranberry sandwich. Um. YUM. I'm drooling.

- Meandered down the pretty, busy streets to the beach. Looked at the pier. 

- Made faces at the sun. That squinty expression is actually what my face does when I am reacquainted with one of my BFFs - which the sun is. 

- Picked out my spot on the beach. At first, the lack of sand and abundance of rocks made me question the quality of said beach. But, then, two hours later and totally free of sand-filled clothing and crevices, I reversed my opinion. Pebbly beaches: I approve of you. 

- Read my book and stuck my feet in the water and basked in the fact that, oh hey, this is my life and it is actually breathtakingly wonderful.

- Ate gelato. Ate a lot of gelato. It was this banana chocolate crunch delicious nonsense that was like Chunky Money but better. Yet, that's a thing. I know, I know, hard to believe, but I am a master of all things carbohydrate-y, and I know my business.

- Why, yes, that's a sunburn. You may be asking yourself, "Why, how is it even possible to get a sunburn in England? Isn't that a contradiction of terms?" Well, it ought to be. But my name's Marie and my skin never got the memo that it was raised in the land of 350 days of sunshine. Alas.

Moral of the story: I am –––––––– this –––––––––––– happy.

Also: Burned.