Some trips are spontaneous. Others feel inevitable, like they have been waiting for the right moment. This weekend in Brighton was one of the latter.
Swans, an epic band I had been listening to since my youth, were playing at St George’s Church, and I finally had the chance to see them live just a train ride away. It felt like the universe giving me a quiet nudge. Swans also held a special place for Victor and me. We had bonded over their music when we were dating long-distance. Their sound, expansive, intense, and often haunting, had scored so many moments of our relationship. So the opportunity to see them together in such a beautiful venue felt like something we could not pass up.
We decided to make a weekend out of it, taking the train from London on Friday afternoon and staying the night. I had been to Brighton once before on a day trip that started in Eastbourne. But this time felt different.
Arrival and Fog
As soon as we arrived, we made our way to Twin Pines Coffeehouse for a quick caffeine reset. The place was warm and welcoming with the gentle hum of conversation and the comforting scent of coffee. We tucked ourselves into a corner with our drinks and shook off the city.
Afterwards, we headed to the Palace Pier, ready to embrace Brighton’s seaside charm even as the weather had other ideas. A thick fog had settled in, the kind that blurs the line between sky and sea. You could not see the horizon. It was like standing at the edge of the world.
The Palace Pier was buzzing with life, even wrapped in thick fog. Kids darted from one arcade machine to the next, the sounds of clinking coins and 8-bit music echoing under the grey sky. There were cotton candy stands spinning clouds of sugar, hot doughnuts frying in oil, and a lineup of classic rides silhouetted in the mist. The carousel lights blinked into the fog, almost dreamlike. It is the kind of place that feels frozen in time, a blend of nostalgia, noise, and the comforting rhythm of seaside tradition.
We did not play many games, but just walking through the pier felt like stepping back into childhood. There is something sweet and strange about how the pier holds onto its past, resisting polish, embracing the slightly frayed edges of fun.
We walked slowly through the mist, the lights of the arcade glowing softly, their reflections shimmering on the damp planks. The sound of gulls echoed overhead and laughter spilt from the arcade, bright and cheerful in contrast to the moody grey around us.
Evening in Kemptown
We continued our walk along the waterfront, eventually reaching Kemptown, a neighbourhood that never seems to try too hard, yet somehow feels effortlessly cool. We wandered past pubs, vintage shops, and rainbow-painted doorways before settling in for dinner at Busby and Wilds, a quiet, cosy spot tucked just far enough from the main drag to feel like a secret.
The atmosphere was relaxed, low-lit, and unpretentious, exactly what we were hoping for. We started with a bowl of olives and fresh bread, nibbling slowly as we warmed up from the damp evening air. Then came a tomato salad, bright and summery with olive oil and sea salt, followed by a generous plate of fish and chips, crispy on the outside, tender inside, and deeply satisfying.
To end the meal, we shared a custard tart with a perfectly wobbly centre and a flaky, buttery crust. Sweet, simple, and utterly comforting, it was the perfect finish to a seaside supper.
Swans at St George’s Church
The concert at St George’s Church was nothing short of epic. The space itself already felt reverent with arched ceilings, echoing acoustics, and old wooden pews. But when Swans took the stage, the church was flooded in red light, casting long shadows across the walls and bathing the entire space in a surreal, apocalyptic glow. It felt like stepping into some kind of sonic ritual.
From the first note, the sound was enormous, dense waves of guitar, bass, and percussion building and collapsing, almost tectonic in force. The sheer volume was physical, pressing against your chest, vibrating through the benches. But despite its intensity, it was not chaos; it was composed, intentional, and hypnotic.
There were moments of near-silence followed by towering crescendos that filled every inch of the church. At times, it felt as though the music and the architecture were in conversation, echoing back and forth between the stone and the speaker.
For a band that shaped so many formative listening moments in my youth, and one that Victor and I had bonded over when we were dating long-distance, it was surreal to experience them live, finally, and in such a powerful venue. Seeing Swans under red light, surrounded by reverberating stone and stained glass, felt like witnessing something beyond a concert. It felt like a ceremony.
A Bright Morning in Brighton
The next morning, we woke to a whole new Brighton. Gone was the thick fog of Friday; the skies were clear, blue, and wide open, stretching over the sea like a promise. It felt like the city had shifted mood overnight from introspective and atmospheric to bright, airy, and full of light.
We started the day with a peaceful walk along the upper promenade, taking in the coastline from above. The sunlight shimmered on the water, the waves gentle and rhythmic below. People were already out walking dogs, cycling, or sitting on benches with takeaway coffee. The city had exhaled.
Breakfast began at Open Bakery, which at first glance looked like your standard-issue British bakery, and I do not necessarily mean that in a good way. The display was a bit understated, and I definitely underestimated what they had to offer. I picked up a blackberry danish and a kouign-amann, both of which looked pretty average. But one bite in and I had to admit, they were incredible. Flaky, buttery, deeply flavorful. I loved both and felt genuinely bad for judging them by their looks. A humble triumph of substance over style.
Wandering Through Kemptown
From there, we drifted back through Kemptown, seeing it in a completely different light, literally. The colours were more vivid, the windows clearer, and the small details of the shops and buildings stood out. Kemptown feels like Brighton’s rebellious little sibling. It is unapologetically weird in all the best ways, where rainbow flags fly year-round, and where you will find Victorian terraces standing next to neon-painted shopfronts. There is a raw charm here, a lived-in feel, like the area has grown organically rather than being curated for tourists.
We wandered without any real plan, which is exactly how Kemptown should be experienced. Secondhand bookshops with creaky floors invited us in with handwritten signs taped to the windows. There were vintage clothing stores with racks spilling out onto the pavement, full of sequined jackets, leopard print coats, and well-worn denim. One shop had old jazz records playing on a turntable while a cat lounged lazily in the window.
There are little pubs tucked into corners, and we passed a few that looked like they had not changed since the seventies in a good way. Just locals, dogs, and warm yellow light spilling onto the pavement.
We noticed several creative workshops and studios, pottery spaces, letterpress printers, and handmade furniture showrooms that doubled as cafes. Kemptown feels like a place that genuinely supports its artists and weirdos.
And yet, for all its grit and eccentricity, Kemptown also has this slower, almost village-like energy. People stop and chat. Shopkeepers know their regulars. It is a neighbourhood with rhythm.
Exploring the Heart of Brighton
After breakfast, we left Kemptown and made our way into central Brighton. The sky was still bright, but clouds had started to gather. We wandered into North Laine, one of Brighton’s most creative and vibrant neighbourhoods. This part of town is full of vintage shops, quirky gift stores, and cafés, with bold street art decorating the sides of buildings and colourful houses tucked along quieter side streets. It has an effortlessly cool energy that’s always evolving.
We stopped at The Botanist Coffee Co., a calming little spot filled with plants and natural light. From there, we continued along Gloucester Road, dipping in and out of shops filled with handmade candles, Brighton mugs, tote bags, and shelves of carefully arranged curiosities. We picked up some sweet samples from Roly’s Fudge Pantry, drawn in by the rich smell wafting down the street.
Then the skies opened up. As the rain came down, we dashed from doorway to doorway, ducking into small shops and narrow arcades to avoid getting completely soaked. Brighton in the rain has its own rhythm. The noise softens, the streets empty a little, and the whole place feels slower and quieter. We waited out the worst of it inside a little shop filled with houseplants and locally made ceramics.
When the rain let up, we continued our walk, passing by the Royal Pavilion. Its onion domes and ornate detailing always feel a little surreal, like a mirage in the middle of a British beach town.
From there, we wandered into The Lanes, a historic tangle of narrow alleyways lined with tiny jewellery shops, independent boutiques, and centuries-old pubs. Originally part of Brighton’s old fishing village, The Lanes are now one of the city’s most iconic areas.
Lunch by the Sea
By early afternoon, the clouds finally broke open and gave us a reward, blue skies over the English Channel. We headed back to the beach and made a beeline for the arches where seafood shacks serve up some of the freshest fare you will find.
We chose Brighton Smokehouse, a rustic spot with no frills, just really good food. Our feast included crispy fried whitebait with tartare sauce, a smoked mackerel sandwich on a chewy ciabatta roll, and potato puffs, golden and delicious, like the lovechild of chips and croquettes.
Across the promenade sat the Brighton Shellfish & Oyster Bar with its parade of seafood delicacies displayed in chilled trays. Little plastic cups filled with anchovies, prawns, lobster tails, and more. I could not resist picking up some fresh anchovies and, of course, cockles, my absolute favourite. Briny, chewy, perfect.
We sat on the pebbles by the sea, our paper trays balanced on our laps, the sun finally on our faces. Seagulls danced overhead, the waves rolled in slowly and steadily, and everything felt just right.
It’s funny how just one night away can feel like a true break from the routine. Have you done that recently?
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