I’ve always loathed Karaoke. In fact I’d go so far as to say that the only thing I hate more in the world is mushrooms. And maybe the Daily Mail. But in the great scheme of things it’s pretty loathsome. Why on earth anyone would want to spend an evening listening to people who think they can sing wail along to a selection of dull power ballads and 80s ‘classics’ is beyond me. Actually choosing to be one of those people is even more incomprehensible.
So I’ve managed to get away with doing it twice in my life so far, both times under duress, and when I found out that my friend had hired a karaoke booth for his birthday I was of course filled with horror and vowed not to join in. Until the beer intervened…
I’d like to point out that contrary to appearances I am not enjoying myself. Karaoke is the work of the devil.
Still, the weekend wasn’t all traumatic, and the unexpected choice of accommodation was a highlight.
The problem with Brighton being every Londoner’s favourite seaside escape is that it’s always impossible to get a hotel (well, if you’re me that is: other people are organised enough to actually plan these things a bit further in advance), and even if you do you have to book them for at least two nights. So I was left with two options: for out £300 for a posh hotel, or camp.
Now camping is something I always associate with the countryside, not cities. In fact, I’ve never even considered the idea of camping in a city, and only ended up doing it this time because I’d run out of options. Turned out to be a fantastic option – £18 for the pitch, in a quiet park in the East of the city, only a short walk from Kemptown (the nicest bit of Brighton, in my opinion). It was so nice waking up in the morning to fresh air and a beautiful view out over the sea (well, when it wasn’t raining that is), and so I definitely think I’ll do it again – I’ve spent a fortune on hotels in some cities in the past, and then end up spending no time in them as I’m out sightseeing and partying.