A couple of days ago, Dave mentioned the problems of apostrophe placement in the British potato industry. Well here in Brighton we don't have potato's. But we do have melon's...


I took that photo at Brighton Museum on Wednesday. I know, it sounds unlikely, but it's true. Despite it being the middle of half-term at a family-friendly visitor attraction, the museum currently has a display of prostitutes' calling cards on the ground floor (at children's eye-level) to illustrate Brighton's steamy reputation as the dirty weekend capital of Britain.

There was also this one, but personally I find the apostrophe in melon's more offensive. And if you're wondering what that white ribbony thing on the right is, it's a bra strap. It was quite a classy display.

We didn't spend long looking at the sexy underwear though, because just yards away there was a display which invited us to "tell other visitors what you think of Brighton" by writing something on a postcard and sticking it to the wall. To be honest they were struggling for contributions, and someone called Rory had just drawn a picture of himself, which wasn't really what was required, so having already contributed to the art exhibition upstairs by getting her hands on Mr Shindo's balls, Lisa was keen to have a go at this one. She ended up writing a joke about rest homes, I scribbled "I prefer Eastbourne", and we made a swift exit before the security guards arrived.

But on the subject of cultural displays, tomorrow sees the highlight of the theatrical year in East Anglia, and my name is already up in lights. Well, it's in the Essex County Standard. At the very bottom. It's not so much a headline as a footnote. I'm sandwiched between the boy who wouldn't grow up, and a madman, so I should feel quite at home come tomorrow night.