The beach town on the south coast of England. A lot like Santa Monica.



Antony and his best friend Flash. The self-conscious Ant insisted that I cover his face. Says Ant, "my friends would have that photo printed off in seconds and abused throughly."



A view of Brighton from the top of a nearby hill. You can just make out the white cliffs in the distance which continue all the way along the southeast coast of Britain.



Ant tries to figure out where the heck he is.



Fatboy Slim's house (I believe it's the last one on the right). Here's an article about the celebrities who live here that I received from my friend Harry.



The view from Fatboy's. France is not far away.



Brighton parking: confusing.



The "Lanes" of Brighton.



Me and Ant on Brighton Pier.



A merry-go-round going really, really fast.



Sally holds on for dear life.



A view of Brighton from the pier.



Two strangers enjoy a sunset.



Ant and I decide to get married.
(photo by a friendly lady)



A closer look at West Pier. It stood there for almost a hundred years. Two days before I got there, it fell into the sea.



Antony's favorite hotel.



The Travelcard for my ride back into London.

January 3, 2003, 8:45pm London time Vic's flat Antony lives just outside Brighton in what is more or less a retirement community. At his house, his mum and some family friends from Finland were waiting with a hot vegetable curry dinner. Ant's mum is super cool, a real party animal. And her Finnish friends were pretty cool too. After dinner, we went for a drink at the local pub where we talked about cultural differences and expressions in different languages. Antony taught me things like "beaver leaver" and "amber gambler" (figure it out). Some of the other guys in the pub had their dogs with them. Before going to bed, we popped on the telly and watched female topless boxing, which seemed to be (gasp!) an American production, and a dreadfully cheesy show called "Eurotrash." The next day, Ant and I explored nearby Arundel Castle and then spent the rest of the afternoon in Brighton. The pier was nice, and seeing Fatboy Slim's beach house was kinda cool, but the highlight of the afternoon was when Antony told an annoying beggar that she was a "fucking skank." Antony is a very cool guy. It was great hanging out with him. Before leaving, we made plans to meet up again and do some traveling together. Then back into London to meet up with Nicola, another backpacker friend from New Zealand and the Cook Islands, for a nice dinner. After the Tube shuts down at midnight (what the hell?), all these black guys pretending to be cab drivers come out onto the streets. Weird. So I was stranded with Nicola. We caught buses and taxis through the largely Indian community of Wimbledon to get back to her place and went to sleep. The next morning, back into London for lunch with Barbra, a backpacker friend I met in Australia. Then back home to Vic. I'm exhausted.

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