Subscribe: Subscribe to me on YouTube

Monday, March 24, 2008

What a nightmare. I thought Good Friday was the day we commemorate pain and suffering, not Easter Monday.

Needless to say, the egg rolling didn't go well.

I should have learnt my lesson from Halloween really. Back then, I turned up at the Devil's Dyke to find the car park so full of the undead that I only just managed to park. But for some reason I thought Easter would be different. It was. It was even worse. By the time I got there (20 minutes late, admittedly, but that wasn't my fault) the place was so full of high rollers that I couldn't get within twenty yards of a parking space. I had to drive back down the road and park in the nearest scenic layby instead.

Unfortunately, what seemed like a short drive in the car turned out to be a ten-minute trek through the mud. Which might have been ok had it not started snowing the moment I left the car.

But still, I made it back to the Dyke with only light frostbite and mud up to my knees, and it has to be said that two hundred hand-decorated eggs rolling down the hillside in front of you is a truly spectacular sight.

Unfortunately I missed that. I got there just in time to see two hundred people looking for their eggs at the bottom of the valley.

Eggheads will roll.
It's not quite so spectacular.

But hey, I still had the walk back to the car to look forward to. And frankly that was a joy compared with the drive back into Brighton. The problem is that by late morning on a bank holiday, the world and his wife are attempting to drive down to the coast (through the snow) for a nice afternoon by the seaside. Which meant I was stuck in a traffic jam for half an hour trying to get back to my flat.

So to cheer myself up, I took a small detour to the bank holiday market at the race course. Lisa had already advised me against it on the grounds that she used to go as a child and hated it, but I rarely listen to a word she says, so I thought I'd give it a try. Needless to say, I regretted it within two minutes of arrival. I'm not saying it was full of chavs, but I was the classiest person there. It was like walking through the Whitehawk estate on a Saturday night, only slightly more dangerous. Frankly I was lucky to get out alive. I know it's Easter, but half of them looked like they'd crucify you for a chocolate egg.