Everything is noisy today, I wonder if I should start recording sounds too. Apart from the booming of the wind around buildings, it buckles van sides with a bang, the weirdest seagull cry I’ve ever heard resolves itself into the whining and yapping of a toy dog waiting for its owner to throw it a stone (seriously) which crashes with a clang into the side of one of the permanent ping pong tables under the promenade, lines of rigging ring like bells against wet metal masts and plastic bins thunder as they roll. Chips, bits of kebab and pizza carpet West Street, Brighton’s very own Little Vegas, following the traditional late Saturday night rituals of clubbers.

Did I mention it is windy? it also turns very, very wet.