After a sunny week, the weather was a bit galling but I perked up as we walked up to the station, as I'm still into the Arts and Crafts Movement myself, and it has a fair bit of pleasing detailing.
And, of course, nostalgia in spades. And buckets. Buckets and spades of nostalgia.
Our train was already in the station.
It wasn't long before we were climbing into a non-corridor single compartment ...
... which immediately made me shudder and think of this.
I remember a woman my name and age was found murdered in one of these compartments at Victoria as late as 1988. (I believe London and its suburbs were the only places this type of rolling stock was still being used.)
Fortunately, my travelling companions were quite safe, if a bit silly.
We'd decided to alight at Kingscote Station, for a nice country walk to a nice country pub for a nice country lunch but it was tipping with rain.
So we explored the station instead while we waited for the next train back.
When it arrived, it was being pulled by the same engine as before.
This time, though, our carriage had a corridor.
Even the weather was atmospheric.
Back at Brighton, the wind had put in its teeth and was pretending to be winter so we gave the beach a miss.
Maybe we'll try again some time next year.