Brighton Speed Trials

The Brighton Speed Trials, widely recognised as the world’s oldest motor race and a truly unique part of British sporting heritage, would have been unfolding this weekend were it not for the Brighton & Hove Car Club having permanently axed the event in 2023 - because of mounting costs and growing safety concerns. In 1905, Sir Harry Preston, a visionary entrepreneur (see Brighton Beach as runway), persuaded Brighton’s town council to surface the road by the beach with the then-novel material of tarmac, creating a perfect strip for speed contests at a time when the car was still a freakish newcomer.

The very first trials ran from 19-22 July 1905 as part of Brighton Motor Week, with cars heading west from Black Rock to the aquarium and motorcycles contesting over a standing start mile. The spectacle drew over 400 entries, including Charles Rolls - later of Rolls-Royce fame - and the indomitable Henri Cissac, a Frenchman who set world records for both the flying kilometre and standing mile, chalking up speeds then considered sensational. Dorothy Levitt, the pioneering ‘fastest girl on earth’, made her mark as well. The appetite among the motoring and local population was enormous, but grumbling ratepayers challenged the cost and, after just one memorable week, the Trials fell silent for eighteen years. (The image above is from Wikipedia, and the image below from the Brighton Toy Museum.)

When the starting flag dropped again in 1923, it marked the beginning of a golden era. Now running eastwards, and organised by the Brighton and Hove Motor Cycle and Light Car Club, the Speed Trials attracted hundreds of entrants and ever-growing crowds. By the early thirties, the realisation that Madeira Drive - owned by the Corporation and not subject to national bans on racing - enabled the sport to continue in Brighton even as prohibition bit elsewhere. Legendary duels were fought out on the seafront: Sir Malcolm Campbell, in his supercharged Sunbeam Tiger, pipped John Cobb and his giant Delage in 1932, surging past the finish at 120mph and etching a new car record into the event’s folklore. Motorcycles quickly claimed their share of headlines, too, with heroes like Noel Pope pushing the flying half-mile to ever-more astonishing speeds.

Throughout the twentieth century, the Brighton Speed Trials became known both for their intense spirit of competition and the intimacy of the experience. The course, framing the roar of engines with the sweep of the Channel and overlooked by the terraces, allowed crowds to get close - sometimes breathtakingly so - to drivers and machines that spanned everything from cherished hobby cars to fearsome engineering feats. The event was not without its perils or its interruptions: racing bans, war, the 1970s fuel crisis, and persistent debates about safety and cost all threatened its future. In 2012, a fatal incident led to a fresh council review, and it was only after vigorous campaigning that the Trials returned in 2014.

The enduring appeal of Brighton’s unique sprint lay in its accessibility to amateurs and legends alike and its position at the heart of the motoring calendar, frequently described as the most important speed trial in Britain. It survived for generations not just as a contest of speed, but as an event with a fierce and affectionate following, a living pageant of engineering, camaraderie, and spectacle. By the early 2020s, the Trials continued to draw large fields and fast cars, but mounting costs - new road layouts, revised safety standards, security measures, and logistical demands - combined with financial losses led to their reluctant cancellation after the 2023 edition. Although the event ended with immense sadness from participants, organisers, and supporters, the Brighton Speed Trials’ place in sporting history remains assured. (See also My Brighton and Hove, Wikipedia and Autosport.  For some 1947 photographs see Dacre Stubbs Photo Collection.)

New plans for King Alfred

Brighton & Hove City Council has set out detailed proposals for a new King Alfred Leisure Centre on the Hove seafront, with an estimated budget of up to £65 million. Willmott Dixon has been named as the preferred contractor, and the council intends to keep the current centre open for as long as possible while building takes place. The plans will be reviewed by the Place Overview & Scrutiny Committee on Monday 22 September 2025 and then by Cabinet on Thursday 25 September. If approved, the next steps will include public exhibitions, an online consultation, and submission of a full planning application by the end of the year. Construction is not expected to begin before early 2026, and the new centre is currently forecast to open in spring 2028.

The facilities would represent a major upgrade. The scheme includes an eight-lane 25-metre competition pool with spectator seating, a separate six-lane 25-metre learner pool with a moveable floor, and a splash-pad designed for younger children. There would also be a six-court sports hall meeting Sport England requirements, complete with spectator seating, as well as a health and fitness offer centred on a gym with at least 100 stations, an interactive cycling studio, and multiple studios for group activities. A café and on-site parking are also planned. The council highlights that the current main pool has only six lanes and the existing gym, fitted into a former café, offers just 31 stations.

The new building would be located on the western side of the site, where the present car park is, allowing the existing centre to operate while construction progresses. Two design approaches have been tested: one is a taller scheme with two underground parking levels on a smaller footprint, and the other is a low-rise version with surface parking spread more widely across the site. Parking capacity is intended to be similar to the current provision of about 120 spaces, though final details will be confirmed at the planning stage.

Delivery will be via the UK Leisure Framework with Alliance Leisure as development consultant (see ‘Big move forward’ for Alfred). GT3 Architects are leading design, supported by Engenuiti on structural and civil engineering, Van Zyl & de Villiers on mechanical and electrical services, and Hadron Consulting providing project management. Willmott Dixon has been working alongside these teams during the pre-construction phase. Funding would come from government grants, council borrowing, and income raised through the sale of part of the site for residential development, with the new centre expected to generate significant revenues in the long term to help offset costs.

The project is the outcome of the council’s Sports Facilities Investment Plan, adopted in 2021, and a Green Book business case developed with national sports bodies and advisors. More than 20 potential sites were assessed, with only two making the shortlist: the current seafront plot and land south of Sainsbury’s at the Old Shoreham Road/A293 junction. Cabinet members agreed in July 2024 to proceed at the existing site. Sport England and Swim England advised against pursuing a 50-metre pool, citing cost and city-wide provision considerations. A consultation in 2024 drew more than 3,600 responses, with a clear preference for keeping the centre on the seafront.

The proposals also emphasise wider design principles. These include ensuring accessibility and inclusivity, such as provision for gender-neutral changing and a Changing Places facility, embedding low and zero-carbon technologies, designing with coastal resilience and long-term durability in mind, and linking the centre with the recently opened Hove Beach Park to create a combined indoor–outdoor attraction on the seafront. The council has made public the above artist’s impressions: pool interior render (with sea views and spectator seating); east elevation at dusk; and south elevation at dusk.

The Pirates of Brighton Beach

On a bright morning when the sea heaved lazily against the shingle, five pirates - long since stranded on the Sussex coast - emerged from their hideout near the Palace Pier. No longer raiders of the Caribbean, they had been reduced to guardians of Brighton’s beach, their adventures woven into the chatter of gulls and the hum of amusement arcades.

First was Barrel-Bill, a thick-armed brute with a scarred face and a fondness for rum. He never went anywhere without hefting a barrel on his shoulder, claiming it contained both his fortune and his doom. Most suspected it was empty, but none dared ask.

Then came Laughing Redcoat, flamboyant in a tattered scarlet jacket, with a grin as wide as the Channel. He wielded a cutlass with careless joy, and though his jokes were bad, his laugh carried across the pebbles, unnerving fishermen at dawn.

Their captain was Hook-Hand Harrigan, grim-eyed in a sea-blue coat. His iron claw clicked ominously as he muttered plans of reclaiming the sea. Some said his hook had been forged from the ironwork of the ruined West Pier.

Lurking in the shadows was Skeleton Sam, a half-dead wretch who had once been left in chains inside the cliffside caves of Kemptown. He bore the look of a revenant, bones showing through ragged clothes, always watching the tide as if waiting for some ghostly ship to return.

And finally there was Dandy Jack, a sly rogue with rings on his fingers and a sky-blue hat perched rakishly on his brow. He fancied himself a gentleman pirate, though his pistol was always primed. He had a talent for mimicry, and often mocked the mayor and council from atop the railings of Madeira Drive.

Their tale took a turn one evening many years ago when the tide receded very low, revealing the barnacled hulk of a shipwreck just east of the Palace Pier. The townsfolk gathered, whispering of treasure. Barrel-Bill declared the wreck to be theirs, ‘by the rights of piracy and the law of the sea!’ Laughing Redcoat clapped his hands with glee, Hook-Hand Harrigan sharpened his hook against the railings, Skeleton Sam let out a ghastly rattle of breath, and Dandy Jack simply grinned, tipping his hat.

But as they set upon the wreck, Brighton’s beach stirred with more than seaweed. Out from the tide crawled shapes of old sailors, long drowned, their bones glittering with salt. Skeleton Sam greeted them like kin. The others froze.

The undead sailors demanded their ship back. Harrigan stood firm, barrel raised, cutlass drawn, pistol cocked. Yet the ghosts would not fight - they demanded a trade.

So it was agreed: the pirates would guard Brighton’s beach forever, keeping watch over the pier, the pebbles, and the restless Channel, so long as the townsfolk kept their memory alive. And to this day, on windy nights, when the sea roars and the pier lights flicker, you might just glimpse Barrel-Bill’s silhouette or hear Laughing Redcoat’s laugh carried on the air. 

The Crazy Mouse

This year marks a quarter of a century since the Crazy Mouse first arrived on Brighton Pier. Installed in 2000 by Reverchon of France, it quickly established itself as a landmark attraction, standing at the seaward end with its tangled lattice of track and sharp hairpin bends visible from the promenade and beach.

The ride’s distinctive appeal has always been its unpredictability. Four-person cars spin freely as they negotiate sudden drops and tight corners, so no two rides are quite the same. A generation of families, teenagers and day-trippers have been thrown backwards, sideways or forwards around its upper levels, the element of chance making the Crazy Mouse as lively and chaotic as its name suggests.

Over the years, Brighton Pier’s amusements have changed repeatedly, with new thrill rides introduced and old favourites taken down, but the Crazy Mouse has endured. Its survival for 25 years makes it now one of the pier’s oldest attractions, the illuminated yellow sign as recognisable as the helter-skelter or the carousel. Other rides have made headlines - such as a 2004 fine after a different coaster was found operating with a missing track section, or a 2019 incident on the Air Race - but the Crazy Mouse has run without serious incident, testament to its durability and design.

As Brighton Palace Pier continues to balance Victorian heritage with modern amusements, the Crazy Mouse holds its place as both a crowd-pleasing roller coaster and a slice of seaside history. A quarter of a century on, it remains what it was in 2000: noisy, unpredictable, and irresistibly fun.

The Hotel Avocado

On this day a year ago, the comedian Bob Mortimer published his second novel The Hotel Avocado. The book is rooted firmly in Brighton, with much of the action revolving around a fictional seafront hotel in Hove distinguished by a giant avocado sculpture outside its doors. Mortimer’s Brighton is a place of seaside hotels, bus stops, eccentric neighbours and surreal detail, a backdrop that frames his off-beat comic sensibility.

Robert Renwick Mortimer, born in 1959, is best known as one half of the comedy duo Vic and Bob. Raised in Middlesbrough, he studied law before turning to performance, eventually creating Vic Reeves Big Night Out, Shooting Stars and Gone Fishing. Though he lives in Kent, Mortimer has long used Brighton as a location in his fiction, and in The Hotel Avocado it becomes the centre of his comic universe.

The novel - published by Gallery Books and a sequel to his debut The Satsuma Complex - follows Gary Thorn, a diffident solicitor from Peckham. His girlfriend Emily has inherited and is attempting to renovate a Brighton hotel. Gary is caught between his safe but dull life in London - sharing pies and walks with his elderly neighbour Grace and her dog Lassoo - and the pull of Emily’s Brighton Beach project. Matters become more fraught when he crosses paths with the threatening Mr (or Clive) Sequence, who is intent on silencing Gary in a corruption trial. Meanwhile, Emily wrestles with planners over the proposed avocado statue, Gary’s friends embark on ever stranger schemes, and Mortimer shifts the narration through multiple unlikely voices, from Emily to a pigeon.

From the opening chapter of The Hotel Avocado; picture above is by ChatGPT.

‘If you’ve never heard of the Hotel Avocado, then you are way behind me. Miles back, in fact. If you have heard of it, then well done you, but don’t go getting all pumped up about it because I’ve actually seen it. I see it most days. Sometimes from the pavement as I walk past, sometimes from the bus stop opposite when I’m having my lunch. To be honest, I’ll take any vantage point I can. I’m not fussy like some people. There is a chance that you’re someone that has seen it for yourself, in which case we are #equals. Better still, of course, you might be someone who has been inside or even stayed at the hotel. If that’s the case, then I have to concede that you are an Avocado scholar compared to me. Yes, I’ve glanced through the front door and some of its windows (so I’d want credit for that), but I’ve never set a foot over its threshold. That would be the dream. Maybe one day.

For those who are coming to it all ignorant and innocent, let me add some paint to the picture. The hotel is second from the end of a long terrace of hotels and apartment buildings directly facing the sea on the promenade of my town called Brighton on the south coast of England.

It’s a big five-storey Victorian stuccoed building painted a yellowy magnolia and nestled between two identically designed buildings: the Royal Hotel to the left and the Hove View Apartments on the end plot to the right . . . You can forget those two places as far as I’m concerned; it’s the Avocado that steals the show. For one, its windows are always clean, but listen to this (and apologies if you are one of the people who has seen the place): on the front of the hotel is a huge (five metres tall), sliced in half, avocado sculpture.’

The Bad Guys 2

Brighton’s seafront played host this weekend to an unusual sight: a suave wolf in a white suit prowling near the Palace Pier clocktower. It was all part of a colourful promotional event for DreamWorks’ latest release, The Bad Guys 2, which opened in UK cinemas in late July. A branded tent and giveaways drew the attention of families and passers-by, while costumed characters posed for photos against a backdrop of desert pyramids and cartoon mayhem. The stunt brought Hollywood marketing spectacle to Brighton Beach, tying in with a film that has already been praised as a sharp, energetic sequel.

The appearance of The Bad Guys 2 team in Brighton underscores the film’s broad appeal. The original 2022 animation introduced a band of reformed animal criminals - Wolf, Snake, Shark, Piranha and Tarantula - trying to go straight after years of high-profile heists. The sequel, directed by Pierre Perifel with voices from Sam Rockwell, Awkwafina, Marc Maron, Craig Robinson and Zazie Beetz, expands their story. Having struggled to adapt to respectable life, the crew find themselves forced into a cosmic-scale caper by a trio of new villains known as the Bad Girls, with much of the action shifting to a rocket and a space station. The mix of snappy humour, frenetic action and moral dilemmas has been credited with keeping the franchise fresh - see The Washington Post.

According to Wikipedia, the film has already done well commercially. Produced on an estimated budget of $80 million, The Bad Guys 2 has grossed more than $117 million worldwide to date, with strong opening weekends both in the US and UK. Reviews have echoed the audience enthusiasm, with critics highlighting the film’s blend of kid-friendly slapstick and witty nods for adults. DreamWorks has hinted that a third instalment is already being discussed, following spin-off holiday specials and now a full-scale sequel.

In Brighton, where film promotions often make inventive use of the pier and seafront, the weekend’s activity linked global cinema with local spectacle. Visitors found themselves stepping into the film’s world for a moment, whether collecting branded bags or watching the wolf strut across the promenade. For families, it was an unexpected holiday diversion; for the studio, it was a reminder that in an age of streaming and saturation, taking the characters directly to the public can still turn heads and sell tickets.

World’s oldest operating aquarium

Brighton’s aquarium was formally opened on this day in 1872. Designed by Eugenius Birch, the engineer behind the West Pier (see Celebrating Eugenius Birch), it was built below beach level in the Italian Renaissance style and originally featured tanks lit by gas burners behind red glass to simulate sunlight. One of the world’s oldest purpose-built aquariums, it quickly became a Victorian marvel, drawing thousands to its seawater tanks, grand entrance hall and winter garden.

Among its more unusual early exhibits was a cigar-smoking sea lion, and for several decades it hosted regular military band concerts in a specially designed concert hall. In the 1950s and 60s, the centre of the aquarium came alive again as a music venue called The Florida Rooms, known for its nightly jazz performances and packed dancefloor. According to Sea Life itself, The Who played there every Wednesday and helped turn it into a hotspot for local mods.

By the 1920s, the attraction had been renamed the Brighton Dolphinarium and became known for its performing sea lions and dolphins. These shows later became the focus of growing criticism, particularly in the 1980s, as concern mounted over the ethics of keeping dolphins in captivity. The last were relocated in 1990, following sustained public pressure. For more history see Wikipedia and the Sea Life website.

Recognised as the world’s oldest operating aquarium and a Grade II* listed building, Sea Life Brighton combines original Victorian architecture and tanks with innovative modern exhibits, reflecting both its storied past and ongoing commitment to marine conservation. Highlights include the UK’s first glass-bottomed boat experience inside a tank, a 750,000-litre ocean display featuring sharks and a rescued green sea turtle, and the atmospheric Victorian arcade, still in use after more than 150 years. (Credit to Royal Pavilion & Museums, Brighton & Hove for the vintage picture of the building.)

Only for the bravest!

A quarter of a century old this year, the Wild River log-flume ride has become a fixture on Brighton Palace Pier, offering generations of visitors the chance to climb, plunge and get soaked against the backdrop of the Channel.

Installed in May 2000, Wild River is a standard two-drop model manufactured by the French firm Reverchon and was part of a wave of new attractions brought in to refresh the pier’s appeal at the turn of the millennium. Each boat carries up to four passengers, climbing to a peak before plunging into a splash-filled pool, and riders are almost certain to emerge wet, if not drenched. The pier’s own publicity calls it ‘a big thrill. . . only for the bravest of riders’.

Height restrictions require passengers to be at least one metre tall, with those under 1.2 metres riding alongside a paying adult. Pregnant visitors, those with neck, back or heart conditions, vertigo or mobility issues are advised not to ride, partly because evacuation in the event of a stoppage can involve a steep walk down from the track. No loose footwear or hats are allowed, and single-ride tickets currently cost £6, though unlimited-ride wristbands are available.

For many visitors the Wild River has been a cooling interlude between the pier’s faster, more intense attractions such as Turbo (see Loop-the-loop). One teenage reviewer in 2019 recalled the slow incline to the top, the plunge into ‘icy depths’, and how on a hot day it was ‘a blessing . . . refreshed with cool water’, prompting repeat rides among their group. Others remember it as a reliable family favourite, where the excitement comes as much from the shared anticipation as from the splash itself.

More elaborate log‑flumes elsewhere in Europe include Phantasialand’s Chiapas in Germany - an Intamin‑built ride with three drops, intense theming and a steep 53° plunge - often ranked among the world’s best for its immersive design. In the UK, Blackpool Pleasure Beach’s Valhalla is another standout: an indoor, multi‑effect flume combining fire, snow, audio‑animatronics and two lift hills, though it is far more theatrical than Brighton’s modest version.

Praise for Pride

Brighton & Hove Council and the managing director of Brighton & Hove Pride have praised this year’s Pride weekend as a powerful celebration of unity and diversity, despite acknowledging a number of logistical hiccups. The 2025 festivities began with Saturday’s Pride parade setting off from the seafront, then winding through the city towards Preston Park, cheered on by thousands lining the route (see Brighton’s biggest bash).

An estimated 115,000 visitors arrived through Brighton Station that day, with large crowds attending both the Party on the Park - headlined by Mariah Carey - and the expanded Pride Street Party, which continued into Sunday with a closing set from Sugababes. Brighton & Hove City Council described the weekend as ‘the city’s biggest and brashest event’ and said it might well have been the largest Pride in the city’s history.

Paul Kemp, managing director of Brighton & Hove Pride, told BBC Sussex that although some people had faced delays getting into ticketed areas on Saturday, the team had acted quickly. ‘We know some people were frustrated, and we’re sorry about the delays,’ he said. ‘But public safety always comes first, and we adjusted plans quickly to improve the experience on Sunday.’

Brighton & Hove City Council also acknowledged the problems, particularly queues and entrance issues on Saturday afternoon. ‘It’s fair to say not everything went entirely smoothly,’ the council said, adding that changes had been made for Sunday and that lessons would be reviewed with organisers and partners in the months ahead.

Councillor Birgit Miller, Cabinet Member for Culture, Heritage and Tourism, thanked organisers, volunteers, and emergency services, saying: ‘It truly was a celebration of resilience, spirit, passion and unity . . . It is a massive planning operation and the work from Pride and partners across the council, police, fire, health and many more made sure it was a safe and fun event for everyone.’

The city’s clean-up operation began even before the weekend ended. The Environmental Services team collected more than 37 tonnes of rubbish, and 300 Pride Tidy Up Team volunteers joined an early Sunday morning beach clean, filling 280 bags. Most of the city centre was reported tidy by Monday morning.

My policeman on the pier

‘We battled past the sodden deckchairs, fortune-tellers and doughnut stalls, my hair coarsening in the wind, and my hand, clutching the umbrella above Tom’s, going numb. Tom’s face and body seemed set in a determined grimace against the weather. “Let’s go back . . .” I began, but the wind must have stolen my voice, for Tom ploughed ahead and shouted, “Helter-skelter? House of Hades? Or ghost train?” ’ This is an extract from Bethan Roberts Brighton-set novel, My Policeman, published on this day in 2012. While themes of repression, betrayal, guilt, and enduring love are explored against a backdrop of post-war conformity, Brighton Beach provides both a place of apparent freedom and quiet entrapment.

Roberts was born in Abingdon, Oxfordshire, in 1973. She studied English Literature at university before returning to writing via a part‑time MA in Creative Writing at the University of Chichester, which she completed over three years while working in television in Brighton. In 2006, she won the Society of Authors’ Olive Cook short‑story prize, which helped launch her literary career.

Her debut novel, The Pools, was published in 2007, earning the Jerwood/Arvon Young Writers’ Award. The follow‑up, The Good Plain Cook (2008), was serialised on BBC Radio 4’s Book at Bedtime and selected as a Time Out Book of the Year. On 4 August 2012, My Policeman was published by Chatto & Windus. The novel is set in Brighton in the 1950s and explores a love triangle between a policeman, his wife, and his secret male lover. It was chosen as Brighton City Read 2012, became an Irish Times Book of the Year, and was turned into a film in 2022.

Mother Island appeared in 2014, winning Roberts a Jerwood Fiction Uncovered prize, and Graceland, a fictionalised account of Elvis Presley’s early life, was published in 2019. Roberts also writes short fiction and drama for BBC Radio 4; she has worked in television documentary production and has taught creative writing at the University of Chichester, Goldsmiths, University of London, and West Dean College. She is based in Brighton with her family. For more biographical information see The Royal Literary Fund or New Writing South.

My Policeman is a tragic love story set in 1950s Brighton, where social conventions and laws criminalise homosexuality. The novel centres on Tom Burgess, a young policeman who marries Marion, a schoolteacher, while secretly maintaining a romantic relationship with Patrick, a museum curator. The story unfolds through dual narratives - Marion’s confessional manuscript and Patrick’s diary - both written decades later, as the emotional consequences of the hidden triangle are laid bare.

Here’s one extract in which Marion, on her honeymoon, is choosing a fairground ride.

‘And so, a few minutes later, we were strolling arm in arm towards the noise and lights of the Palace Pier.

My bouclé jacket was a pretty flimsy affair, and I clung to Tom’s arm as we sheltered beneath one of the hotel’s umbrellas. I was glad there’d been only one available, so we had to share. We rushed across King’s Road, were splashed by a passing bus, and Tom paid for us to go through the turnstiles. The wind threatened to blow our umbrella into the sea, but Tom kept a firm grip, despite the waves foaming around the pier’s iron legs and throwing shingle up the beach. We battled past the sodden deckchairs, fortune-tellers and doughnut stalls, my hair coarsening in the wind, and my hand, clutching the umbrella above Tom’s, going numb. Tom’s face and body seemed set in a determined grimace against the weather.

“Let’s go back . . .” I began, but the wind must have stolen my voice, for Tom ploughed ahead and shouted, “Helter-skelter? House of Hades? Or ghost train?”

It was then I started to laugh. What else could I do, Patrick? Here was I, on my honeymoon, battered by a wet wind on the Palace Pier, when our warm hotel bedroom - bed still immaculately made - was only yards away, and my new husband was asking me to choose between fairground rides.

“I’m for the helter-skelter,” I said, and started running towards the blue and red striped turret. The slide - then called The Joy Glide - was such a familiar sight, and yet I’d never actually been down it. Suddenly it seemed like a good idea. My feet were soaked and freezing, and moving them at least warmed them a little. (Tom has never felt the cold, did you notice that? A little later in our marriage, I wondered if all that sea swimming had developed a protective layer of seal-like fat, just beneath the surface of his skin. And whether that explained his lack of response to my touch. My tough, beautiful sea creature.)

The girl in the booth – black pigtails and pale pink lipstick – took our money and handed us a couple of mats. “One at a time,” she ordered. “No sharing mats.” ’

Tuba or Not Tuba?

Here is the 13th of 25 stained glass window designs on the Palace Pier which AI and I are using as inspiration for some of these BrightonBeach365 daily posts - see Stained Glass Window 1 for background.  The image shows the backs of two uniformed figures, possibly musicians, wearing dark caps with red bands. They are holding brass instruments, one of which appears to be a trombone and another a tuba. The background consists of a clear blue sky with stylised horizontal lines, suggesting a scene of a marching band or parade.

A limerick starter

Two bandsmen set off with a grin,

But one had his slide stuck right in.

He puffed and he blew,

Till his face turned bright blue —

Then sneezed, and played jazz on his chin!

The Case of the Missing Marching Band OR Tuba or Not Tuba? (From a recently-found episode of The Goon Show.)

FX: [Sea gulls. Waves crashing. Brass band warming up tunelessly.]

SEAGOON: Good morning! I am Major Horatio Seagoon, OBE, MFI, RSVP. I have come to Brighton Beach on a matter of national importance.

FX: [BAGPIPE WAIL]

SEAGOON: Shut that manhole cover, Eccles!

ECCLES: Sorry, I thought it was a new type of sunhat.

SEAGOON: It’s got wheels on it and says ‘Brighton Borough Drainage Department’!

ECCLES: Modern millinery, man!

SEAGOON: Silence! Now, according to confidential government memos, intercepted via a fortune cookie in Worthing, an entire marching band has gone missing from the seafront.

GRYTPYPE-THYNNE (smooth): Ah yes, the Royal Regiment of Reversible Saxophonists. Last seen marching confidently into the sea during a rendition of Anchors Aweigh.

SEAGOON: You mean they drowned?

GRYTPYPE: Not exactly. They’ve formed a successful underwater jazz trio off the coast of Rottingdean.

SEAGOON: By gad, we must rescue them before they collaborate with French crabs!

FX: [Marching footsteps, slowly getting squelchier]

BLOODNOK (exploding out of nowhere): Ahh! Not them again! I still owe the euphonium player two guineas and a cod.

SEAGOON: Where were you when the band disappeared, Colonel Bloodnok?

BLOODNOK: Nowhere suspicious! Merely camouflaged inside a tuba disguised as a deckchair.

FX: [Deckchair collapses with a metallic clang. Distant tuba fart.]

ECCLES: Ooooh! I think I sat on a B flat!

MINNIE (sing-song): Henry, Henry! There’s a man in the shrubbery playing a clarinet with his nose!

HENRY: That’s not a clarinet, Minnie. That’s my bicycle pump.

MINNIE: Then who’s playing the triangle with our haddock?

FX: [Loud triangle ding. Distant fish slap.]

SEAGOON: Enough! We must assemble the backup band!

FX: [Horrible discordant crash of spoons, combs, and someone playing a mop]

ECCLES: I got my washboard tuned to C-sharp! But it only plays in the rain.

GRYTPYPE: Congratulations. You are now all part of the official Brighton Beach Auxiliary Marching Misband.

SEAGOON: Forward! Left–right–left–ooh!

FX: [Marching. Then a mass splash.]

BLOODNOK: Wait, wait! The tide’s back in! ABANDON INSTRUMENTS!

FX: [Chaotic retreat, a trombone honks like a goose.]

OMNES (singing): ♪ For we are the band that sank with pride, Near Brighton’s bins and paddle tide. . . ♪

VOICEOVER (LEWIS): And so ends The Case of the Missing Marching Band, sponsored by the National Society for the Prevention of Seaside Serenades.

FX: [Final tuba bloop, fading under waves.]

Brighton’s biggest bash

Today’s Pride parade - the city’s biggest and most colourful annual event - set off at 11 am from Hove Lawns, gathering thousands of float‑decorated participants, drag performers and rainbow‑clad marchers who made their way east along the iconic seafront promenade. They proceeded along Kingsway to turn into West Street and North Street before winding past Old Steine and heading up toward London Road and Preston Road on its way to Preston Park, where the music festival begins.

This procession continues a legacy stretching back to the Sussex Gay Liberation Front’s first demonstration in October 1972, followed by Brighton’s inaugural Pride Week in July 1973 - a protest‑cum‑carnival walk along the waterfront ending with a beach gathering. After a hiatus, modern Pride returned in 1991, growing rapidly through the 1990s, and by 1996 the parade consistently began on the seafront with a major festival in Preston Park.

A watershed moment came in 2011 when financial collapse forced the new Brighton Pride CIC to introduce fencing and ticketing for the Preston Park event, while preserving the seafront parade as free. That move stabilised the event and enabled the creation of a Social Impact Fund which now supports local LGBTQ+ groups.

The COVID‑19 pandemic marked another turning point: both 2020 and 2021 festivals were cancelled (the 2020 edition was replaced by streamed content), breaking the Pride tradition for the first time. In 2022 Pride returned in full force - with headliners Christina Aguilera and Paloma Faith - and a revived focus on activism as well as entertainment. 2023 emphasised trans rights and global solidarity; 2024 featured themes of environmental activism and celebration, headlined by Girls Aloud and Mika.

Economically, Brighton Pride is one of the city’s most vital events. It draws up to 500,000 people over the weekend, accounting for an estimated two per cent of the city’s annual tourism in a single day and generating approximately £30 million in visitor spending. Since 2018 the event has delivered consistent economic benefits and raised more than £1 million annually for community grants.

This year 2025 brings further evolution. The theme - ‘Ravishing Rage’ - signals both celebration and resilience, and the event introduces major improvements following widespread community consultation. Notably, the Pride Village Party stage in Kemptown has moved from St James’s Street to Marine Parade, which will remain open for pedestrian and vehicle traffic, while Marine Parade will host a new Street Party featuring outside stages and entertainment.

On the festival front, 2025’s Pride on the Park takes place in Preston Park on 2-3 August, headlined by Mariah Carey in a UK festival exclusive - her long‑awaited performance originally planned for 2020 - and supported by acts including Sugababes, Fatboy Slim, Confidence Man, Loreen, Will Young, Natalie Imbruglia, Ashnikko, Slayyyter and Sister Sledge. Hayu, the NBCUniversal reality streaming service, is this year’s headline sponsor, enabling over 150 LGBTQ+ performers across multiple immersive stages.

In sum, today’s procession along Brighton’s seafront is not simply a visual feast - it’s also part of a five‑decade arc of protest turning into celebration, of financial crisis becoming a sustainable model, of pandemic pause and triumphant resurrection, and of ever‑greater economic and cultural significance to both city and community. For further information see Time Out, Brighton and Hove Council, and Wikipedia.

On the Beach hit by weather

Thousands of music-lovers were evacuated from Brighton seafront yesterday evening after a Met Office yellow warning for thunderstorms prompted a swift and precautionary response from organisers of Brighton’s On The Beach festival. The warning, which forecast heavy rain and potential flooding, led to what some described as a ‘Code Red’-style evacuation. Crowds were seen leaving the site in orderly fashion just after 6pm as thunderclouds gathered and conditions deteriorated.

Drone footage - from Sussex Express - captured the mass movement away from the beach, with stewards guiding people safely from the festival grounds. The yellow warning had been issued earlier in the day, but organisers initially proceeded with caution. At 5.30pm, a statement on the festival’s Instagram page confirmed that the show would go on - ‘The weather forecast from the Met Office is now clear skies for the rest of the evening, but prepare for change.’

However, the skies did not stay clear. As heavy rain swept in and lightning was reported nearby, the decision was made to evacuate the site. Aerial photographs published by the Sussex Express showed thousands leaving the seafront just as the storm arrived. Emergency services assisted the evacuation, with no reported injuries or arrests.

By around 7.30pm, conditions improved and the yellow warning was lifted. Festival organisers reopened the site and revised the schedule, allowing the evening’s acts to proceed under clearer skies. The Argus reported that fans praised the organisers for ‘putting safety first without cancelling the whole evening’.

While no official ‘Code Red’ declaration was made, the phrase circulated widely among attendees as a way to describe the highest level of threat response used in emergency planning. The sudden storm interrupted the rhythm of the evening, but the quick return of music and clear skies by nightfall brought the crowd back together.

Bloc Party’s Silent Alarm

Today, Bloc Party headline On the Beach, the annual summer music festival that transforms Brighton’s seafront into a large-scale open-air concert venue. Held each July, the event draws thousands of fans from across the UK to the city’s iconic shingle beach. With the Rampion wind farm on the horizon and stages set just metres from the tide, the festival once again brings live music to one of the most distinctive coastal settings in the country.

On the Beach began in 2021, building on Brighton’s long love affair with large-scale seaside music. It channels the same spirit that drew quarter of a million people to Fatboy Slim’s chaotic beach show back in 2002 - a landmark event that still hangs heavy over Brighton’s pop-culture memory. Unlike that free-for-all, the modern festival is carefully ticketed and spread over several weekends each July, bringing big-name DJs, rock bands and indie outfits to stages erected almost within reach of the tide. Past years have seen Royal Blood, Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds, The Kooks and The Libertines claim the beach. This summer’s run continues the tradition, with today’s billing dedicated to a more guitar-driven, indie flavour.

At the heart of it all are Bloc Party, who tonight perform their seminal debut album Silent Alarm in full, marking twenty years since it first tore through the UK charts. Released in 2005, Silent Alarm fused jagged post-punk guitar lines, urgent dance rhythms and raw, nervy vocals into a sound that defined an era of British indie. Songs like Banquet and Helicopter became anthems in sticky clubs and muddy fields alike. Over the two decades since, Bloc Party have shape-shifted through electronic experiments, introspective rock and propulsive returns to form, all without losing their taste for sharp edges and restless energy.

Frontman Kele Okereke has cited everyone from The Smiths to electronic pioneers like A Guy Called Gerald as influences. Guitarist Russell Lissack, meanwhile, has a side passion for rescuing stray cats and once briefly joined Ash on tour. Joining the two founders of the band on stage will be Louise Bartle on drums and percussion - officially part of the band since 2015 - and Harry Deacon, who took over bass duties in 2023.

Sharing the stage with Bloc Party today are Everything Everything, the Manchester art-rock outfit celebrated for twisting pop into clever, unexpected shapes, and Mystery Jets, long-time darlings of the indie circuit whose bright, slightly psychedelic songs like Two Doors Down still ring with youthful rush. They’re joined by Leeds newcomers English Teacher (see English Teacher on the beach, who played this very location a couple of months ago) and Liz Lawrence, the genre-hopping singer-songwriter whose crystalline vocals have become a Brighton favourite. Rounding out the bill are FEET, bringing fresh energy off the back of their new album, and Martial Arts, a rising local band adding yet more sun-soaked guitar sparkle to the beach.

The Great Omani

Twenty-five years ago, Brighton’s seafront bade a flamboyant farewell to one of its most extraordinary residents: Ronald Cunningham, better known by his stage name, ‘The Great Omani’. On 10 July 2000 - his 85th birthday - Omani staged what he declared would be his final stunt, astonishing a crowd at the Norfolk Hotel by escaping from handcuffs while both his arms were set ablaze with lighter fluid. Frail, in a wheelchair, and undergoing treatment for kidney dialysis and cancer, he ensured that his last act was as daring and theatrical as the countless spectacles he had performed along Brighton’s historic front - many of them centred on the West Pier, the backdrop to some of his most audacious feats.

Living modestly at 10 Norfolk Street, Cunningham was a true local legend whose improbable career as a stuntman and escapologist spanned nearly half a century. Born into a wealthy family, he drifted through his early years without ambition until a twist of fate changed everything. As he browsed in a London bookshop, a volume of Houdini’s tricks fell from a shelf and landed squarely on his foot. ‘That moment changed my life,’ he later said. Taking it as a sign, he resolved on the spot to become a stuntman, adopting the name ‘The Great Omani’ simply because, in his words, it sounded ‘exotic and exciting, just like Houdini’s’.

His acts were as audacious as his origin story. Omani became the first man to travel from London to Brighton on a bed of nails, then made the return journey entombed in a ton of concrete. In a heartfelt homage to his idol, he staged a dramatic underwater escape from Brighton’s West Pier - echoing Houdini’s own feats of the 1920s. According to The Argus, ‘The Great Omani could be regularly seen jumping from the end of the West Pier, wrapped in chains and on fire’. His repertoire included smashing bottles on his throat with a hammer, diving through flaming hoops, and extricating himself from burning structures - stunts performed with a blend of swagger and scrupulous preparation. Remarkably, across his long career, he was only seriously injured twice, both times due to mistakes by assistants: once when a cardboard house was set alight with petrol poured inside, another time when a leaking fuel can caused minor burns during a flaming dive.

That final spectacle on his 85th birthday was meant to be his swan song (see this video at Youtube - the source of the screenshot above), yet in true Omani fashion he couldn’t resist also marking his 90th birthday with a last defiant farewell (see My Brighton and Hove). He died in 2007. Further information is available online at Wikipedia, but also in The Crowd Roars - Tales from the life of a professional stuntman The Great Omani which can be freely downloaded as a pdf from QueenSpark Books.

The Pier first sees red - in neon

Exactly one hundred years ago, on 11 July 1925, The Brighton & Hove Herald reported a dazzling leap into modernity: the first brilliant neon sign blazed across the front of the Palace Pier. It was a spectacle the likes of which the town had never seen - a vivid red beacon spelling out Palace Pier, its letters edged in electric blue, visible from a considerable distance along the bustling seafront. This photo - courtesy of Royal Pavilion & Museums, Brighton & Hove - is dated to 1925 (though I know not if it actually includes any neon illumination).

At the time, neon was still a novel wonder. Invented by French engineer Georges Claude and first unveiled to the public at the Paris Motor Show in 1910, neon signs were a marvel of engineering and chemistry, harnessing the glow of electrified gas to paint the night in colours more vivid than anything achieved by traditional incandescent bulbs. In Britain, neon advertising only truly began to catch on in the early 1920s. Londoners were awestruck by neon displays on places like Hammersmith Bridge, and Brighton was determined not to be left behind.

The Brighton & Hove Herald of 11 July 1925 was almost breathless in its report, explaining that the new Palace Pier sign was among the first uses of neon illumination in the town - part of a wider effort to give the seafront a ‘brighter aspect by night’. The paper described how ‘huge shaped glass tubes’, bent to form the letters, were filled with neon gas which glowed fiercely under electrical charge, producing a luminous red unlike anything seen before. Surrounding blue lamps heightened the effect, creating what the Herald called ‘a colour combination that was quite attractive.’

The article goes on to give more details; ‘The words of the sign are formed by vacuum tubes charged with neon gas and electricity, which produces the brilliant light. The sign on the Pier takes 8,000 volts (alternating current), but it is so cheap in consumption of current that it costs only 2 1/2 d. an hour to run; and after the sign has been lit for a month that amount will be reduced to 2d. With the aid of a little lunar limelight, a wonderful colour effect was obtained on Tuesday night, but this was for ‘one night only.’ A great orange-coloured moon rose out of the wall of dark over the sea, and the orange of the moon and the flaming ruby of the sign produced a colour combination that was quite impressive.’

This local marvel was part of a global neon boom that would come to define the visual culture of the 20th century. Within a few years, neon would spread to Blackpool’s promenades, Piccadilly Circus, and Times Square, becoming synonymous with nightlife, glamour, and the thrilling energy of modern cities. But on that July evening in 1925, Brighton stood proudly at the forefront of this new luminous age.

Glitzy history of sunglasses

Sunglasses - such as these photographed on Brighton Beach - have a curious, winding history that stretches far beyond mere fashion. Long before glossy magazines or film stars, people sought ways to shield their eyes from the sun’s harsh glare. The Inuit crafted slitted goggles from walrus ivory to narrow the world into thin bands of light, protecting themselves against snow blindness. In ancient Rome, it’s said (but also disputed) that Nero watched gladiators through polished emeralds, delighting in both spectacle and subtle shade.

Centuries later, in twelfth-century China, smoky quartz lenses appeared not to protect eyes from sunlight but to conceal them. Judges wore these dark panes in court, their eyes unreadable behind flat stones, masking any flicker of bias. By the eighteenth century in Europe, tinted lenses gained a new reputation, believed to ease particular visual ailments - blue and green glass held out as hopeful remedies.

It was only in the modern age that sunglasses began their true march into everyday life. In the roaring 1920s and 30s, seaside holidays and open-top cars demanded tinted spectacles. Sam Foster seized the moment in 1929, selling mass-produced sunglasses on the Atlantic City boardwalk, delighting beachgoers who craved a touch of glamour with their sunburn. In 1936, Edwin H. Land introduced Polaroid filters, cutting glare with clever chemistry and forever changing how sunlight met the human eye.

War gave sunglasses another push. In the 1940s, Ray-Ban designed protective eyewear for American pilots, launching the aviator - a shape that would later slip from cockpits into cocktail bars with effortless ease. By the 1950s and 60s, sunglasses were not simply practical shields; they were signatures of style. Audrey Hepburn’s enormous frames, James Dean’s brooding lenses - they didn’t just hide eyes, they created mysteries.

Today, sunglasses straddle the line between science and seduction. They promise UV protection, polarisation, sharp optics. But they also whisper of disguise, of attitude, of watching the world from a place just out of reach. More on this from Wikipedia, Bauer & Clausen Optometry, and Google Arts and Culture.

Burchill on the beach

‘The revamps, the facelifts and the attempts by a clumsy council to write the indigenous Brighton working class out of the upwardly mobile picture are real enough. But on the beach, you get the distinct feeling that Brighton will never completely pull its socks up.’ This is the Brighton treasure Julie Burchill - 66 years old today - writing about the seafront nearly two decades ago.

Born in Bristol in 1959, the daughter of a communist factory worker and a dinner lady, she left home at 17 for London to work at the New Musical Express. She quickly made a name for herself with a brash, slangy style and fierce opinions. Alongside fellow writer Tony Parsons, she helped define the paper’s punk-era voice, becoming a leading figure in a new, confrontational brand of journalism.

In the 1980s Burchill moved from music writing into broader columns and cultural commentary, writing for The Face, The Sunday Times, and The Mail on Sunday. She also spent several years as a star columnist at Cosmopolitan, where her wit and provocations reached a wide female readership. Her work was marked by controversial takes on everything from feminism to class, and she revelled in the notoriety. 

In 1991, Burchill with her husband Cosmo Landesman and Toby Young launched a short-lived magazine, Modern Review, under the slogan ‘Low culture for high brows’. Also in the early 1990s, Burchill relocated to Brighton. She became one of the city’s most talked-about residents, living out her fondness for seaside sleaze, nightlife and scandal. In 2007, she co-wrote Made in Brighton with Daniel Raven, a rollicking blend of personal memoir and city guide, paying tribute to Brighton’s gay culture, drugs scene, and enduring flair for eccentricity. The book can be previewed on Googlebooks. Here is a sample.  

‘Charlotte [Raven, fellow writer on the Modern Review] also called the old neglected seafront ‘a wonderful prompt for human narratives’ - and looking at the pristine Artists Quarter, Fishing Museum and Volleyball Court, where one’s responses are all cued up and ready to go, you could argue that prosperity has been paid for with sheer seedy character. And that this could be a chic, bustling promenade anywhere from Positano to San Francisco, as the beautiful people linger over a latte and plan a hard day’s antique shopping.

But I’m nit-picking. When it still feels like an honour to live somewhere after eleven years, how bad can it be? And it’s still so not London! Beyond the Palace Pier going east towards the Marina, the chill, slick hand of the style police has not yet crushed Brighton’s grand tradition of agreeable, ramshackle blowsiness, and you can still ride the quaint Volks Railway past the abandoned Peter Pan’s Playground and the desperately dated, utterly adorable ‘nudist beach’. Here Little Englander Modernists like me can find the rusty radiance of the resistance to the global village and the Euro-portion which is summed up in the county motto of Sussex: We Won’t Be Druv.

The revamps, the facelifts and the attempts by a clumsy council to write the indigenous Brighton working class out of the upwardly mobile picture are real enough. But on the beach, you get the distinct feeling that Brighton will never completely pull its socks up. Already the white-flight London breeders who came here to create a vast Nappy Valley - a kind of Clapham-on-Sea - are appalled by our unparalleled drug-taking [. . .] and assorted high jinks. Even between the piers, where the gentrification is most obvious and where every citizen should in theory be shopping for hand-painted objets, the vast dope cloud still rises, like a phoenix in reverse, silently and smilingly refusing to be born-again as an on-message, user-friendly unit of the ongoing British economic miracle which has seen us over the past decade come to work the longest hours in Europe - and along the way become one of its most miserable nations. But time passes so quickly in the blameless, shameless sun, on the eternal beach, where the going out and coming in of the ocean makes the only real sense. A working day can be lost forever in the blink of an eye, in forty winks, in a couple of cans of Stella and a cheeky spliff. And a good thing too.

[. . .]

Now I am one of those maddeningly jammy dodgers. I’ve been here in Brighton for twelve years, and the weird thing is that in the best possible way it still doesn’t feel like home. Instead it feels like I somehow got out of going home - time and time and time again - and that I escaped from the life that had been mapped out for me in the landlocked limbo of London; the slo-mo, stressed-out, wound-down fatalism of growing up and growing old. Now that’s lucky, if you like.’

The top photo is accredited to Dan Chung in a 2014 Guardian article. More on Burchill can be found at Wikipedia,

Happy splashing

Brighton’s popular Kings Road paddling pool is set to reopen today, 1 July, following weeks of essential repairs that saw the site drained, resurfaced and chemically balanced to ensure safety for thousands of expected summer visitors. According Brighton and Hove Council, the pool, nearby the West Pier, had been closed for work repair on its rubber-crumb flooring and to coordinate with the ongoing maintenance of the nearby A259 arches.

Councillor Alan Robins said the council understood how much families value this facility, calling it ‘a fantastic resource’ that provides ‘somewhere free where families can spend the day, make lifelong memories and, hopefully, enjoy the good weather this summer’. Councillor Trevor Muten added that the city had worked closely with Freedom Leisure, the operator responsible for the pool, to get the site ready in time for the school holidays. Longer term, the council plans to consult local residents on the paddling pool’s future once the arches project is complete.

There has been a seafront paddling pool more or less at this spot for generations. A larger, rectangular paddling pool was built here in the 1950s, just west of the West Pier’s landward remains, roughly opposite Regency Square - this photograph of it was published in The Argus some five years ago without any source or accreditation). When it was demolished either in the late 1970s or early 1980s, the site was repurposed first as tarmac and later partially used for skateboarding. In the early 2000s, as part of wider seafront improvements tied to the new seafront cycle lanes and landscaping, the new circular Kings Road paddling pool was constructed on approximately the same footprint, just slightly adjusted to fit the redesigned seafront layout.

The old paddling pool is fondly remembered, as recorded on the My Brighton and Hove website. Residents have shared stories of learning to swim there as toddlers, recalling sun-warmed concrete, splashes under clear skies, and the happy crush of families seeking relief from the heat. Here is Chris, for example, remembering the late 1960s: ‘’I used to go to the paddling pool with my mum and dad in the mid- to late 60s, before I was ready to “progress” to the sea or the King Alfred. I have vivid memories of the place to this day. I used to put my hands on the bottom and lay forward to “walk” along on my hands, pretending to swim. I also recall the paving around the pool where we’d lay out our towels/blankets and have the drinks and sandwiches we’d brought. Most of all, I remember the water as being wonderfully blue and clean – though with all those toddlers, I imagine it wasn’t quite that pure!’

The modern pool was briefly closed in 2023 after a dead seagull was found floating in the water, prompting a deep clean. Just last year, a spell of very hot weather caused minor surface damage that forced another temporary shutdown. Sporadic vandalism has also led to closures in the past, with glass or debris sometimes thrown into the pool. But now it’s open again, so happy splashing!

Mid-air fighter pilot thrills!

Ever experienced mid-air fighter pilot thrills? Ever been on the Palace Pier’s Air Race ride? This attraction has become a staple of the pier’s amusement offerings since its installation around 2016. Manufactured by Italian ride designers Zamperla, the award-winning Air Race is known for its compact design and intense looping motion, simulating the feeling of a high-speed aerobatic display.

The ride consists of plane-shaped pods mounted on rotating arms. As the central hub spins, the arms swing outward, causing the pods to loop vertically and invert. The result is a disorienting two-minute experience delivering forces said to be up to 3G. Riders are secured in over-the-shoulder restraints, and the ride is accompanied by engine sound effects and commentary mimicking an air show.

Brighton’s Air Race replaced or supplemented older children’s rides as part of the Brighton Pier Group’s post-2010 modernisation strategy. It operates as part of the pier’s token- or wristband-based amusement park at the far end of the structure. Its height and movement make it visible from the promenade, contributing to the pier’s profile as a destination for thrill-seekers as well as traditional day-trippers.

The ride has been in the news. On 8 April 2019, a component came loose during operation and struck a teenage boy in the leg, causing minor injury. Emergency services responded, and the Health and Safety Executive launched an investigation. The ride was temporarily closed and inspected by the manufacturer. The incident, reported by multiple national outlets including BBC News and ITV News, was one of the few recent mechanical accidents on Brighton Palace Pier. No serious injuries were recorded.

The Air Race is not unique to Brighton. The same Zamperla ride model is installed in several locations around the world. Notable examples include Luna Park in Coney Island, New York (opened 2010), and Drayton Manor in Staffordshire (opened 2014). Other installations exist in Australia, Canada and at travelling fairs in Germany. According to Zamperla’s website, the Air Race won a Menalac Best New Products award in the FECS category (European fairs and traveling attractions) within the 2011-2020 timeframe.