n to Brighton is that the
rear end of the train queue often gets mixed up with the rear end of the
tram queue for the Surrey cricket ground, so that strangers to the
complexities of London traffic who happen to get firmly wedged in sometimes
find themselves landed without warning at the "Hoval" instead of at Hove.
To avoid this accident you should keep the right shoulder well down and
hold the shrimping-net high in the air with the left hand. If you do get
into the train the best place is one with your back to the window, for,
though you miss the view, after all no one else sees it either, and you do
get something firm to lean up against. It was while I was travelling to
Brighton in this manner that I discovered how much more warm this summer
really is than many writers have made out.

Around Brighton itself a lot of legends have crystallized, some more or
less true, others grossly exaggerated. There is an idea, for instance, that
all the inhabitants of this town or, at any rate, all the visitors who
frequent it, are exceedingly smart in their dress. Almost the first man
whom I met in Brighton was wearing plus 4 breeches and a bowler hat. It is
possible, of course, that this is the correct costume for walking to
Brighton in. Later on I saw a man wearing a motor mask and goggles and a
blue-and-red bathing suit. Neither of these two styles is smart as the word
is understood in the West End.

Then there is the story that prices, especially the prices of food, are
exceedingly high in Brighton. After all, the cost of food depends
everywhere very much upon what you eat. I see no reason for supposing that
the price of whelks in Brighton compares unfavourably with the price of
whelks in other great whelk-eating centres; but the price of fruit is
undeniably high. I saw some very large light-green grapes in a shop window,
grown, I suppose, over blast furnaces, and when I asked what they cost I
was considerably surprised. Being afraid, however, to go out of the shop
without making a purchase, I eventually bought one.

But these things are all by the way. It was when I reached the sea-front at
Brighton that I made the tremendous discovery which is really the subject
of this article. I realised the secret of Brighton's charm. It can be
stated very simply. _It lies in the number of things one needn't do there._

At little seaside resorts, such as Cockleham, there are a very limited
number of things that people do, and as soon as on