Eating out for the nth time this week (kitchen still not functioning), the empty brasserie is suddenly filled with merriment, show business-looking people presumably down for the Brighton festival. Some know each other, some don't.
"I'm on television" one man says behind me.
I wait for (forced) laughter, an embarrassed giggle. Instead a momentary, serious, silence. I think of Troy Macluhan on the Simpson's: You may know me from such TV shows as... I don't look round.
They have now pulled half the tables of the brasserie together and have sat down. The man nearest me looks like The Pub Landlord, only half the size.
