So I have a couple of days to kill here in Brighton and I decided to make the most of them. Dragged myself out of bed at 8am (!) and headed off into the city centre where I found a coffee shop in a small park. Grabbed a morning coffee and as I'm sitting there just watching the world go by notice a bunch of three rather odd looking men stood in the middle of a nearby roundabout. Unfortunately I didn't have a camera at the time but to give you some idea what they looked like just read through the following checklist:
After watching these guys for a couple of minutes I figured out what they were doing... Bus Spotting! Their entire hobby appeared to consist of standing in the roundabout (never saying a word to each other I might add), pulling out little binoculars every time a bus went past and writing down the registration number in some sort of little bus-book.
After watching for a couple of minutes, shaking my head at the sheer absurdity of what they were doing I witnessed possibly the funniest (and at the same time saddest) thing I have ever seen (well, except perhaps for this).
Two of the bus spotters got distracted by a plane going overhead -- they both pulled little telescopes from their pockets and were peering intently at it, I guess they were hoping to get its registration.
At this point a coach full of tourists goes round the roundabout, remaining just far enough away that the one alert bus-spotter can't get a good view. The bus gets stopped by a red light as it is coming off the roundabout and the bus-spotter takes of running (waddling) after it. Traffic beeps at him as he plows across the road, to turn corners he is holding his arm out and swinging round lampposts, and even the ten meters or so that he has run have him sweating and puffing profusely. Just as he is getting near to a good view of the bus the lights change and it leaves. I have never seen a man look so dejected. To top it off there were a couple of derisory jeers from some guys just out of my eyeshot.
After I finished my coffee and got up and went around the corner where I walked straight into the guys who shouted at the sweating bus-spotter. Turns out that they were a second, rival group of spotters. What the fuck were they doing? Having some sort of bus-off? I really hope there are rival bus spotting gangs. Men who will go to any length to get that registration. Even if it means killing.
Also why have I seen half a dozen bus-spotters in Brighton before 9am. Does Brighton have a particularly interesting public transportation system?
Anyway, rest of the day I spent doing touristy things including: \visiting the sea-life centre (I still fucking hate seahorses and there is a display of crabs that are two foot across); in the Brighton Royal Pavillion (the very definition of ostentatious); on the Brighton pier (the very definition of tacky); and just generally exploring the town. I like Brighton.
- Hair: Grey
- Glasses: Thick
- Hairstyle: Homeless Mr. Burns
- Clothes: Stained anorak and little leather satchel
- Shoes: Oxfam
- Gut: Beery
- Beard: Inevitable
After watching these guys for a couple of minutes I figured out what they were doing... Bus Spotting! Their entire hobby appeared to consist of standing in the roundabout (never saying a word to each other I might add), pulling out little binoculars every time a bus went past and writing down the registration number in some sort of little bus-book.
After watching for a couple of minutes, shaking my head at the sheer absurdity of what they were doing I witnessed possibly the funniest (and at the same time saddest) thing I have ever seen (well, except perhaps for this).
Two of the bus spotters got distracted by a plane going overhead -- they both pulled little telescopes from their pockets and were peering intently at it, I guess they were hoping to get its registration.
At this point a coach full of tourists goes round the roundabout, remaining just far enough away that the one alert bus-spotter can't get a good view. The bus gets stopped by a red light as it is coming off the roundabout and the bus-spotter takes of running (waddling) after it. Traffic beeps at him as he plows across the road, to turn corners he is holding his arm out and swinging round lampposts, and even the ten meters or so that he has run have him sweating and puffing profusely. Just as he is getting near to a good view of the bus the lights change and it leaves. I have never seen a man look so dejected. To top it off there were a couple of derisory jeers from some guys just out of my eyeshot.
After I finished my coffee and got up and went around the corner where I walked straight into the guys who shouted at the sweating bus-spotter. Turns out that they were a second, rival group of spotters. What the fuck were they doing? Having some sort of bus-off? I really hope there are rival bus spotting gangs. Men who will go to any length to get that registration. Even if it means killing.
Also why have I seen half a dozen bus-spotters in Brighton before 9am. Does Brighton have a particularly interesting public transportation system?
Anyway, rest of the day I spent doing touristy things including: \visiting the sea-life centre (I still fucking hate seahorses and there is a display of crabs that are two foot across); in the Brighton Royal Pavillion (the very definition of ostentatious); on the Brighton pier (the very definition of tacky); and just generally exploring the town. I like Brighton.
