Day 4 • Sept. 2

We got up at 8:00 a.m. and went down to breakfast for the usual overcooked fried egg, et al.  The plan was to get to Heathrow Airport by 10:00 a.m. to pick up the auto rental.  But, of course, everything (e.g. showering, taking the tube from Paddington to Heathrow, locating the Alamo rental agency, which we discovered along the way was not at the airport and thus necessitated taking an Alamo shuttle bus) took longer than was fancifully estimated.

I was finally behind the wheel a little past noon.  After making a wrong exit in a roundabout, which sent us circling through Heathrow, and after coming to the realization that third gear was not first gear, we drove to Windsor Castle.  We arrived in Windsor and proceeded to pass all the available parking spots, which left us on the road heading back to London—very frustrating, particularly in light of the fact that I had not yet remastered the art of driving on the left side of the road.

On our second pass through Windsor, we successfully parked the car.  Next we ate a light lunch and drank a beer.  Then it was off to see the castle.  Admission to the castle grounds was free.  The only interior areas accessible to visitors were the __________ Church and Princess Anne’s doll house, and both of them had an entrance fee and featured long lines of people waiting admission.  So we passed them by despite Sharon’s keen interest in visiting the famed doll house.  While at the castle, we did catch a review of the Royal Guards.

We departed the castle and had a beer at the same pub we had stopped at on our way in.  Before taking off for the town of Brighton, Sharon purchased a couple of rabbit figurines.  The drive to Brighton was relatively uneventful.  The drive in Brighton featured a near accident at an odd sort of roundabout.  It seems as though I forgot to look to my right.

After parking the car in an underground car park, I bought a map of the town and then we began a long walk along the beach at Brighton.  Our tour started at the West Pier—an Atlantic City type pier that at some point in the past had a section washed out by what I presume was a severe storm.  The rest of the pier had been left to wither away over the years.  Barnacles clung to the dilapidated structure, rust corroded it, and the whole thing gave the effect of being haunted by a gay past that was long gone.

After stopping for sandwiches and coffee, we strolled along the walkway running between the beach and shops hawking tawdry souvenirs and eventually arrived at the Palace Pier, another Atlantic City type pier but this one was still alive.  The Palace Pier featured cotton candy, video arcades, amusement rides—all the usual stuff.  Continuing eastward, we walked to about a ½ mile from Brighton Marina and then cut up to the roadway, which at this location runs a hundred feet or so above sea level.

Our interest turned to locating accommodations for the night.  We found a few places recommended in Let’s Go England, but they either cost too much or were in what appeared to be Brighton’s only run down area.  Eventually, we arrived at the Royal Pavilion, where we briefly took a self-guided tour of the outside grounds of this noted Brighton landmark.  As we continued our travels through this lovely yet yuppie part of town, nightfall drew dear and our interests turned to finding dinner.  And Sharon’s feet were causing her considerable misery.

After first stopping at a pub for a beer, we dined at a small restaurant across the street from the English Channel and next to the car park; thus we were back were we started.  Dinner featured a plate of plaice and chips and a lamb dish.  The food was fair, the service lacking, and the view splendid.  Following dinner, we wandered through town some more looking for an establishment that sold beer to go.  Four bottles of the golden brew were eventually procured at a pub, but only after first being chastised for not knowing that it was illegal to sell beer (on the premises) after 10:30 p.m. on Sunday.  We returned to our car and paid the outrageous parking fee of £5.60 (what was a real pisser was that if we had entered the garage an hour or so later, it would have cost only 60 pence for the entire evening).

We drove back to Charlotte Street, where earlier we had noticed a couple of inviting bed and breakfast inns, and checked into the Penny Lane.  Parking proved to be a bit of a problem but was accomplished.  Our hosts at the Penny Lane were gracious despite our late arrival; the room was spacious with a shower, toilet, and television; and the cost was not outrageous at £26.

We settled into our room, taking in a beer or two and watching the movie “Niagara” with Marilyn Monroe, which kept us up until about 1:00 a.m.  Seems that they love old American movies everywhere.

Notes:

• Remember the cat on the table in the pub.