Weekender

Camille O’Sullivan’s Brighton

Brighton was the first place I ever performed in England.

I love old seaside towns where it’s like stepping back in time.

I always go to this faded old hotel, The Queens,

to the same room on the first floor, facing the beach. It’s where I go if I’m wrecked at the end of a tour.

On a Friday evening,

I would get fish and chips, and I’d eat them sitting on a deckchair, drinking a Martini, and watching the sun go down.

Then I’d wander through the lanes

that follow the footprint of the old fishing village. They’re full of Goths and hippies and punks — like Cork or Dublin 30 years ago. A lot of towns have all the same chains, but Brighton is different, with all its own bars and restaurants.

If I go with my child,

there are man-made water pools on the beach, and a toy museum, with a huge Meccano carousel. An old electric train runs the length of the beach to the end of the pier, where they can go on the rides.

There’s a cafe called The Mock Turtle

that I miss when I’m home. They have green-pea soup and fish fingers and every cake you can think of. There’s a great vegetarian restaurant called Terre a Terre, and a fish place called Riddle and Fins. But I also like doughnuts and ice cream on the pier.

Brighton is an old duchess by the sea.

When you have lost your way, it’s a place where the world stops while you find your way again.