For the past 200 years or so, Brighton has had something of a reputation, a reputation for being all sorts of things: edgy, kinky, rough. The phrase "dirty weekend" has become almost synonymous with "Brighton". Somehow things like kiss-me-quick hats seem to have passed the town by - they are more Blackpool or Southend than Brighton - although we do have our share of seedy guest houses. And the mix of clothing styles never ever causes raised eyebrows. An elderly man dressed as a pirate, complete with parrot on his shoulder, riding a skateboard through the town centre is considered an every-day type of thing and nobody bats an eyelid. But I had never suspected something like this.
I have never had a yen to cover myself in body art. Not for me an anchor on my forearm or "Mum" entwined in roses on my bicep, far less a hunt in full cry down my back with the fox disappearing . . . Well, you know where.
What I heard of is the annual Brighton Tattoo Convention.
And here's another:
I'm not sure which picture makes me shudder the more. (Both of them have been borrowed.)