For Valentines Day, the boy and I ran away to the seaside.
We spent two lovely days wandering along the beach, eating and drinking our weight in junk and snuggling down in the gloriously beautiful Old Ship hotel.
Our room in the hotel was plush and stunningly decorated. A silver seagulled focus wall and a golden spyglass in the corner gave the room an undoubtedly seaside feel, without becoming chintsy or losing it’s luxury feel.
Check that out. We settled in, tested the cushions for comfiness and then headed across the road to the beach. It was one of those scaldingly cold and bright days, with the wind biting through our coats and throwing white foam against the shiny pebbles of the beach. Having grown up on the freezing rocks of Troon beach, I seldom feel more at home than staring at a windswept, steely sea, bundled up in my winter layers, eating an inappropriate ice cream.
We wandered along the beach, past stores selling brightly painted driftwood, buckets of seashells and newspaper cones filled with mussels, across to the infamous pier. We treaded those creaky wooden boards, Mr I’m-Definitely-Not-Scared-Of-Heights occasionally clutching at me when the sea below became visible between them. The pier was gaudy and wonderful, covered with the same coin operated amusements, kooky old fortune tellers and rickety fairground rides that have kept its charm alive for over 100 years. We grabbed some candy floss and threw ourselves wilfully into the resulting sugar coma.
Thoroughly wind battered, we headed for a safe, warm haven: the pub. With my Valentines evening resting on a tightly fought rugby match, I fell into the welcoming arms of Prosecco before falling, with relief, into the celebratory arms of the boy. Still buzzing with sugar and bubbles, we went back to the hotel, laden with pizza and stuck on Back to the Future, because we’re glamorous like that.
In the morning, we made a beeline for the hotel’s breakfast room. I always judge hotel’s by their breakfasts, so I was particularly excited for this. We were met in the bright and gorgeous restaurant by a seriously friendly lady called Gillian. Gillian, if you’re ever reading this, thanks for giving us such an excellent start to the day. We were given a pretty table overlooking the hotel’s wonderful view of the seaside. The breakfast was great, the usual slap up full english, with decent pastries, fruit salads, cereals and hot drinks. Once we had filled up, we headed back out into the sunshine and nosied around the Brighton lanes. All too soon, it was time for the pub again and more rugby. This game didn’t go quite so well. So we ordered some more drinks.
We had dinner booked in the hotel’s restaurant on the Sunday evening, and man, does that restaurant scrub up nicely. The bright morning room was made warm and intimate with candelight, and the garish lights of the pier, made beautiful by distance and mist, twinkled in the inky sea.
Service was quick and friendly, and the food was delicious. After dinner, and a considerable amount of wine, we retired back to the bedroom. And watched the Godfather. Because, again, glamour.
I had an absolutely incredible weekend. Sometimes, all you need is to get away from everything and do nothing with your favourite person for a while. If you’re looking for a gorgeous seaside escape, I’d say they don’t come much more beautiful than this.