It Rocks

The weather was inclement. In fact it was foul. A gale was blowing, hurling rain across the coast with gay abandon. The Silver Vixen needed a new component for one of the sewing machines for use at a class she will be attending. Brighton, once more, was the destination.

This time we would not park up, but rather GF would drop SV at the shop, and then move into a holding pattern. Umbrellas were being turned inside and out, and several had freed themselves from their humans and soared, unfettered, through the rain-drenched sky.

Traffic was slow, but despite everything the tourists were still out in their droves – lines of foreign visitors snaking their way through the streets; hen parties, already dressed up at eleven in morning, determined to have fun; and of course, nutters just wandering about along the sea-front watching the furious waves hurl spray across the unwary.

First circuit complete, GF slowed as he approached the drop-off. The Silver Vixen had been watching for him and appeared seemingly from nowhere. The course for home was plotted and we peeled off into the traffic.