Brighton, Day 2

Woke up too late (damn jet lag) to do anything in London yesterday before boarding the bus and coming to Brighton, so it was an all Brighton day.

But before I get to that, seems Jack Passion inspires many, so I'd like to start with a Jack Passion tidbit I forgot yesterday. I caught him checking our professional photographer out in Trafalgar Square, and I called him out on it, to which he responded, "You can't spell passion without ass." Priceless. I hope he doesn't find out about this blog.

So, we took a delightful coach down here to the seaside, with all the youngins' in the back and the old retirees in the front. It was great. Then when we got here I went in search of lodging since I had nothing, and found a delightful little hostel called Baggies Backpackers, which reminds me quite a bit of Synergy, for those that know it. This was better than the hotel that the rest of team is staying in, apparently, as one dude opened the drawer of the dresser, and rather than finding a bible he found hypodermic needles and some bloodied clothing, etc. Heroin is fun!

Then went on a walking tour of Brighton, where the tour guide was too quiet, so basically he just took us around town as me and a few guys didn't pay attention but instead just took the opportunity to snap some photos. Got a good feel for the city, and I must say, I like it quite a bit. It's small, but very lively and with very nice people. I ate dinner at a pub and chatted it up with a few locals, and this on girl Becky, who has toured with a band in the states said that San Francisco reminds her of Brighton, and I see that to an extent. Brighton is clearly much smaller, but it seems to have a similar energy and style. Also, anytime we wandered from the group, we would get even more slowed down, because we had Jack Passion with us, and that means it will take you four times longer to get anywhere, because he gets so much attention on the streets, and he loves it. I might even say he lives for it. Yesterday there were these girls taking some tourist photos, and he just jumped into the picture, which they thought was hysterical, and then he started rubbing his beard against one of the girls faces, and as she giggled he actually said, "you like that, don't you?" Wow. This also led to a discussion between me and teammate about how much Jack is able to capitalize on all this attention, and we both think he gets zilch. Who could follow through with that?

After the tour I walked around some more on my own and found the pub where I ate dinner. Bartenders were really funny, everyone got a kick out of the 'stache (though here in England they say 'tache), and the food was actually quite good. I told the chef that it sucked as a joke, which he liked, then he grunted, "Not bad for an Irishman, huh?" Not bad indeed. Oooh, also on the walking tour we saw the Grand Hotel, which apparently was partially blown up by the IRA at one point. Crazy.

After dinner I raced back for the official biennial BTUSA team meeting. Shit. There are a lot of politics involved in the beard world. In a nutshell, the Germans want to rule everything and control the WBMC and always have them in Germany, some tight asses from Norway and whatnot don't want to let us have any voting rights in the World Beard and Moustache Association (the Germans are too snooty to even recognize this group) because they don't consider us an official "club" (no dues, no annual meetings, no elected officials), and have even gone so far as to create a fake club to gain another vote for the annual meeting on Sunday in an attempt to rub us out, and Phil, our captain, is prepared to walk out of the meeting on Sunday and remove us from the WBMA, in an attempt to strip the group of any legitimacy. We talked about this for two hours, and made no decisions. I was sleepy. This shit is too serious for me.

After that I went back to the hostel where I chatted it up with some people (Spanish, French, Swiss), then went out to a club with a couple Frenchies, an Aussie, and met some more Frenchies. It's hard talking in a club, but especially hard when you don't speak the same language. Had a couple beers, then walked home and crashed hard. It's now noon and I think I'm ready to head out into town for who knows what. Registration a little later today. I've started seeing other countries around, and this town is about to be overrun by freaky looking men. Also, went back to the hostel this morning after a quick walk outside, and this girl looked at me and said, "Are you Justin?" "Yes, I said, and you are?" "Oh, I'm just (foreign name I didn't quite get), but everyone kept asking around if they had met Justin, the dude with the moustache. You are kind of famous around here, I guess." Great. Spent about an hour in the hostel and I've made a name for myself.

Until the next Jack Passion story...