Where was I?  Oh right.  The dodgy bar in Brighton with the knocking shop upstairs.

So … was the next place any better?


Praise the Lord.

We arrived at The Mesmerist desperately wanting our faith to be restored.  And it was. Billed as an ‘absinthe inspired wonderland of the weird and burlesque,’ The Mesmerist sure is something a little different.

Their policy is to ‘embrace the things most of us find bizarre’ and it’s just a shame that the night we visited there was no burlesque show or live music on (I’m convinced I’d be an awesome burlesque artist!) but my interest was piqued when we saw a couple in their fifties dressed up in retro 40’s clothing.  The lady wore a red dress and had a flower in her hair and her partner was wearing a very dapper suit and fedora.


They were SO cool.  Just when we thought they couldn’t get any cooler, they made their way to the small floor space and started jiving!  It reminded me of how Mum and Dad used to dance together and we were quite happy drinking and just watching these guys do their thing.

And then, of course, a guy approached us.  There on his own … not a good look.

(In his best Mr Bean voice.)  “Errr, hello girls, what are you drinking?”

OK, either he wants to buy us a drink (who am I to argue?!) or he actually wants to just know what we’re drinking, (weird.)

It was the latter.  When I told him I was drinking vodka and Diet Coke, he laughed like Beavis and Butthead and then asked the bloke the other side of him what he was drinking.


After The Mesmerist we remembered Tracey mentioning a gay jazz club that we should check out.  I was convinced it was called Cocacabanas (it wasn’t) … but I thought the name was pretty apt, so tried to Google it to see where it was.  Turns out it was called Casablancas (close enough,) but thankfully we stumbled across it … eventually.

It was in a dingy basement and after we had paid a fiver to get in we thought we’d made a big mistake.  As we took each step down to what we  now thought was our inevitable doom, we were convinced downstairs was in fact a massive S&M dungeon (which obviously I know nothing about!)

It was a bit of a dive but it was great.  Firstly, there was a cover band playing with three leading ladies taking it in turns to sing Aretha, Adele, Amy … and other artists not beginning with A.  They had great voices, the vibe was fun and laid back, everyone was dancing and there was no risk of weird men approaching us.  (Unfortunately.)

We danced like morons, flailing arms everywhere (actually, truth be told, it was our best dancing,) sang along with everyone, and basically just looked like tits.

It was fab.

We looked around and quickly realised we were actually the only women left in the club.  Now in any other club I’d like those odds but in this club, not so much.  Suffice to say I don’t think anyone had even noticed we were women.

We left, walked along the prom and made our way back to the hotel.  We even resisted the obligatory kebab.

The next morning, feeling extremely ropey, we watched some of the Brighton Festival taking place, which basically consisted of a whole loada kids singing, shouting and banging drums VERY loudly through the High Street.  Bless them, but SSSSHHHHHHHHHHH!


Pizza eaten, dehydration dealt with c/o several bottles of Peroni, and we were ready for home.


I entertained Jo with some beautiful (ahem) singing in the car and we weirdly ended up in our local garden centre on the way home, eating strawberry tarts, drinking tea and trying out all the sun loungers.  Don’t think we wanted our mini holiday to end!


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Published by Kate Sutton

Writer, Mother, Dater.

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