All the stress of packing and leaving London evaporated on the way out of the city, and the bus seemed to fly over the chokehold of the encircling M25. I was elated to be on my way, and even the immediate ten minute stop in a grimy bus stand at Gatwick failed to bring my spirits down. I people watched shamelessly, and was very taken with the sight of an airhostess in a tight, bright pink number stopping at a bench, removing her high heels and replacing them with an even higher pair from the depths of her cabin bag! Gatwick is actually closer to Brighton than it is to London, and it was no time before we had reached the city limits. Crawling in through the traffic, I caught my first glimpse of what could
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