Offsprog One has had her prints on display at the Old Windmill in Rottingdean; funny, after living in Brighton for five years I never once went there.
On the way back, the bus into Brighton was diverted around thousands of motorbikers and their bikes. It was just like the glut of ladybirds there in about 1977, when the aqua-painted railings along the seafront were encrusted with tiny red and black spotted shields in search of greenstuff to eat. The pavements, the traffic islands: everywhere you looked there were bikes of every description. They roared along the roads, and bikers changed into beach gear flaunting their Tescos underpants shamelessly.