A day in Brighton and a practical joker.
In the very early days of our relationship, Mrs. Robinson and I took a day trip to the seaside town of Brighton.
Brighton, a small Saxon fishing village once known as Beorthelmstun and is mentioned in the 1066 Domesday Book. It is situated on the south coast of England and has had a chequered history.
Most of the town was burnt down in 1514 during a French raid on the town, leaving only a church and some streets now known as The Lanes. These lanes are a tourist attraction in themselves.
The patronage of the Prince Regent, later George the 4th, put the town on the map as a fashionable retreat, and the building of the royal pavilion drew people from the highest levels of Georgian society.
The town sports a spectacular pier and plenty of restaurants, pubs and bistros. It was to one of these restaurants, an Italian one, that the one day to be Mrs. R and I decided to have dinner. I chose the spaghetti Bolognese (I know a bit naff) and being partial to Parmesan cheese; I took the container supplied and proceeded to shake the cheese over my dinner.
Some wag who had eaten there earlier must have thought it a hoot to unscrew the lid of the cheese sprinkler, and almost the entire content of the sprinkler fell onto my spag bol.
Oh, how we laughed!
Well, the one day to be Mrs. Robinson did.
I ate my meal regardless.
Well, we did get married, and I still like Parmesan cheese.
Some more articles from me.
Are scientists going mad over wine?
Are men and women really different?
