This meant a walk to the station on Saturday. And what an eventful walk it was! Especially if, like me, you are able to conjure scandal and intrigue out of the smallest nugget of happenstance. If you are dangerously paranoid, in other words.
The first thing that happened was that a man with a folder and clearly in more of a hurry than I was passed me in York Place. We then ended up side by side once again at the crossing, but he of course ended up ahead once more when the walking resumed. I had some business to attend to in the North Laine, which if you do not know Brighton is a little warren of narrow streets just south of the station, packed with independent shops and the sort of cool people who patronise independent shops. So, being pretty au fait with the old topography, I cut through the back streets to get there. As the streets get narrower, it's less and less likely that there'll be a great deal of foot traffic.
But here I was, in a not-especially packed Gloucester Road and I was still just behind Folder Man. This was beginning to get suspicious. As the streets get smaller, the more unlikely it would be that two people would both be following the exact same route. What could it mean?
Naturally, I ended up stood on the roof of a nearby parked car, shirtless, screaming "I AM NOT FOLLOWING YOU, I AM NOT AN ASSASSIN" with tear-flecked cheeks.
Later, I saw a dog trying to fellate another dog in the gardens at the corner of Church Street and Queen's Road.