Hot but not hottest

As a wave of hot weather sweeps across the UK, Brighton Beach finds itself once again at the frontline of a summer heatwave. Crowds have surged to the seafront, swimmers dot the water, and sunbathers are making the most of the unusually high temperatures. With temperatures nearing - and in some parts exceeding - 30°C this week, Brighton is experiencing its hottest spell of the year so far, mirroring a national trend that has prompted heat health alerts and coastal safety warnings.

According to the Met Office, Brighton recorded its hottest day of the week earlier this month, part of a broader trend of increasing summer extremes. The warmest day ever logged in Brighton remains 19 July 2022, when temperatures spiked to 35.7°C. That same day also marked a historic national milestone: the UK’s all-time record high of 40.3°C was reached in Coningsby, Lincolnshire.

The photograph above was taken yesterday afternoon (while the sun was taking a break from scorching); and the photos below were taken in July 2022 (the one on the left sourced from The Argus, the one on the right from Sussex Live).

In contrast, this June’s heat is not yet record-breaking for Brighton, but it is consistent with the increasing frequency and intensity of heat events in southern England. Coastal towns like Brighton are experiencing earlier and more sustained summer heat spells, driven by both global climate shifts and regional atmospheric patterns. The BBC reported a few days ago that temperatures were well into the high twenties, triggering yellow health alerts and packed beaches from Bournemouth to Blackpool. 

But while the sunshine may tempt thousands to flock to Brighton Beach’s iconic pebbles and cool waters, safety experts have been urging caution. The RNLI issued renewed warnings, especially in light of the growing crowds and warmer air temperatures. Despite the heat, the sea around Brighton remains relatively cold - a dangerous contrast that can lead to cold water shock. ‘Air temperatures may feel warm, but UK sea temperatures are cold enough year-round to trigger cold-water shock,’ warns Chris Cousens, RNLI Water Safety Lead. ‘Big waves and strong rip currents can overpower even the most confident swimmers.’

The RNLI’s Float to Live campaign is being widely promoted across coastal communities. The advice is simple but proven to be life-saving: if caught in trouble, tilt your head back, submerge your ears, stay calm and float - don’t try to swim immediately. So far, the technique is credited with saving at least 50 lives.

Statistically, the risk of accidental drowning increases fivefold when air temperatures rise above 25°C, according to research from the National Water Safety Forum and the Royal Life Saving Society (see Swimming.org). With that threshold breached in Brighton this week, the RNLI warning is especially timely - particularly for teenagers finishing their exams and heading to the beach to cool off, sometimes without awareness of the dangers.

However, as I write, the forecast is for temperatures to fall, to around 20°C for the next week.

London to Brighton for £2!

The fifth annual London to Brighton Electric Vehicle Rally rolled out from Westminster this morning, as more than sixty quiet yet determined electric vehicles - ranging from sleek city cars to robust SUVs - set off on the scenic 60-mile journey to Brighton Beach. Two Teslas pulled in first.

Launched in 2021 as a grassroots initiative to inspire confidence in EVs, the rally has grown exponentially - beginning with just 23 participants at its inception, climbing to over 120 competitors and drawing an estimated 35,000 spectators this year. Today, the first to arrive was a grey Tesla, closely followed by a father and son in a second grey Tesla - competition number 37. The driver of the second Tesla told the MC that the trip had only cost him £2 on ‘fuel’.

According to the promoters: ‘Whether you’re a participant or a visitor, Madeira Drive in Brighton is the place to be on rally day. With over 35,000 expected visitors, it transforms into a hub of electric vehicle innovation and entertainment. At the centre of it all is our EVillage, featuring partners like BYD and Hankook Tyres. Here, attendees can test drive a wide variety of electric vehicles with zero obligation, engage with manufacturers, and learn about the latest advancements in electric mobility.’ Tonight, an award ceremony is due to take place at the Brighton i360 - a celebration of the year’s most efficient vehicles.

The organisers are keen to demonstrate the advance of EVs. In 2021, they made up only 11.6% of new car registrations. In 2025, that figure has passed 27%, and the government predicts it could hit 50% by 2028. Charging infrastructure has improved too, with over 60,000 public charge points available across the UK - up from just 9,000 in 2018. Ultra-rapid chargers are appearing on motorways, in supermarkets, and even in remote villages - see more at Fully Charged Show.

Celebrating Eugenius Birch

Eugenius Birch - born this day in 1818 - was the preeminent engineer of the Victorian seaside, the man who shaped the silhouette of England’s pleasure piers - and few places reflect his legacy more vividly than Brighton. Though best remembered for designing the West Pier, his original involvement with the Palace Pier also left a mark on the seafront that endures to this day. It is worth noting that Brighton is the only location where TWO Eugenius Birch built/inspired piers can be captured in a single ground-level photograph.

Brighton in the mid-19th century was already a flourishing resort town, a fashionable destination for sea air and spectacle. But its early piers were practical structures - wooden jetties for landing boats, not leisure. The transformation of the pier into a promenade of popular entertainment was largely Birch’s doing.

The West Pier, opened in October 1866, was his masterpiece. Commissioned by the West Pier Company and built at a cost of over £27,000, it was the first pier in Britain designed specifically for pleasure rather than docking. Birch employed his trademark screw-pile technique - iron piles twisted deep into the seabed - which made the structure both elegant and resilient. The West Pier featured cast-iron columns, graceful arches, gas lighting, and a central pavilion where orchestras performed to strolling visitors. It soon became a jewel of the Brighton shoreline, admired for its engineering and its social atmosphere.

The success of the West Pier inspired calls for a second pier, further east, to replace the ageing and storm-battered Chain Pier. In 1881, the newly formed Brighton Marine Palace and Pier Company invited Birch to draw up plans for a grander structure: what would eventually become the Palace Pier. His design envisioned a wide, iron-framed promenade extending over 1,000 feet into the Channel, crowned with entertainment pavilions and theatre space - a palace of amusement on the sea.

Construction began in November 1881, but progress was plagued by bad weather and delays. Birch, now in his sixties and nearing the end of his life, did not live to see it through. He died in January 1884, and the project stalled for several years after. When work resumed in earnest, the Palace Pier’s design was significantly revised under new engineers, though it retained Birch’s iron-pile foundations and the core idea of a leisure pier rather than a landing stage.

The Palace Pier was finally opened in May 1899, fifteen years after Birch’s death. Though much of the decorative design and superstructure was reimagined, the engineering principles remained his. Its immense popularity through the 20th century - with its theatres, arcades, and fairground rides - owed much to the model first tested on the West Pier. Today, the West Pier, now skeletal after fires and storms, stands as a haunting but beautiful ruin, a tribute to Birch’s original vision; and The Palace Pier  continues to thrive as one of Britain’s most visited free attractions.

Happy Birthday Eugenius Birch. Further information is readily available online, for example at Wikipedia, the National Piers Society and The Victorian Web. The modern photograph above was taken in 2020. The two Victorian-era photographs of the piers were published in my book Brighton & Hove Then & Now (The History Press, 2013) but originally sourced from the James Gray Collection with thanks to the Regency Society.

Cosmo Sarson, wasn’t it?

[Scene: Brighton Palace Pier. Two seagulls, Eric (taller, dafter) and Ernie (shorter, primmer), are sitting comfortably on large deckchairs near the funfair. With apologies again to Morecambe and Wise. See also Bring me . . . a sausage roll!]

Eric: You ever notice how humans scream before the rollercoaster even drops?

Ernie: [Laughs] Pre-emptive panic. Like you when someone sneezes near a pasty.

Eric: Hey - better startled than snatched. I’ve seen what toddlers do to feathers.

Ernie: [Laughing again] True. One of them tried to share their sausage roll with me once. By throwing it at me.

Eric: Ah, the Brighton welcome.

Ernie: Still, better than the ghost train. That thing rattles like a pigeon in a crisp tin.

Eric: And yet, it’s us who got painted, Ernie. Deckchairs, dignity… and just a hint of smug.

Ernie: Cosmo Sarson, wasn’t it?

Eric: Yep. Bold colours, big brushstrokes - a proper seaside tribute. They call it Laughing Seagulls.

Ernie: Well, we are hilarious. Especially you during bin collection.

Eric: It’s performance art. I’ve told you.

Ernie: Cosmo got the vibe, though. Two old birds watching the world flap by. Captured our best side - both of them.

Eric: He said it was about friendship, joy, resilience.

Ernie: And snacks, surely? 

Eric: Snacks are implied.

Ernie: You know, I’ve never actually sat in a deckchair before.

Eric: You are now. In glorious, fifteen-foot seaside Technicolor.

Ernie: Not bad for a couple of ferals, eh?

Eric: Not bad at all. Now - watch that one on the helter-skelter. He’s gonna lose his hat and his lunch.

[Both laugh]

The seafront, the seafront

Found yesterday on the seafront: the seafront! This Brighton Fibre van livery - by Chloe Studios - is surely the funnest in the city, and an eye-catching advertisement for a company that says it is ‘Doing Things Differently’. Broadband shouldn’t be complicated, it states: ‘We got rid of everything that nobody needed - no call centres, no datacentres, no contracts. Just fast, fair, and sustainable fibre.’

Brighton Fibre can be considered as a grassroots success story. During the first Covid lockdown, Mark Mason, a local AV/IT professional - began sharing a leased-line connection and a rooftop radio link with neighbours struggling to work from home. He teamed up with Leo Brown, a lifelong telecoms enthusiast who had built networks as a child. Together, they launched the company as a stealth‑mode ISP: a self-funded, locally grown initiative focused on sustainability, technical ingenuity, and community-first broadband.

From the outset, Brighton Fibre distinguished itself by building its own full-fibre network using existing infrastructure - repurposing old ducts, telegraph poles and even 1930s Rediffusion radio-relay channels. The network was designed to be energy efficient and environmentally conscious: nodes are powered by renewable energy and run on single-board computers like Raspberry Pis, consuming less power than boiling a kettle. The company explains that it rejected venture capital, choosing instead to build strategic, community-led partnerships and reinvest revenue back into network development and service quality.

Their rollout began in underserved neighbourhoods such as North Laine, Gardner Street, Moulsecoomb and Bevendean, and from just a few experimental connections, the network expanded rapidly and by early 2024 was servicing over 30,000 premises. Their main network hub sits in the Brighton Digital Exchange at New England House, a cooperative, carrier-neutral data centre established in 2015. While some connections still rely on Openreach duct access, the long-term plan is to shift all links to Brighton Fibre’s own infrastructure.

The brilliant livery on Brighton Fibre’s vans was designed by local illustrator Chloe Batchelor of Chloe Studios. The final wrap was printed and applied by Brighton-based signwriter Mister Phil.

By way of a summary, I asked ChatGPT what makes Brighton Fibre different. ‘It’s more than just technology. It’s the combination of self-built, eco-conscious infrastructure; a deep-rooted local ethos; and an engineering-led culture that prioritises quality over scale. In a world of national monopolies and corporate ISPs, Brighton Fibre is quietly proving that an independent network - powered by recycled cables, renewable energy and community trust - can thrive on the edge of the sea.’

Pining for Sabrina Zembra

‘He began to think that if he passed away from this laughing and murmuring crowd, and went out to the end of the pier, and quietly slipped down into the placid waters, the world would be none the worse for the want of him, and a good deal of heart-sickness would come to an end.’ This is from Sabina Zembra, a lesser known novel set in Brighton by Victorian author William Black.

Black was born in Glasgow in 1841. He initially studied art, but became a reporter for Scottish newspapers. Later, in London, he worked for the Morning Star and Daily News, serving as a war correspondent during Garibaldi’s campaign and the Franco-Prussian War. His breakthrough novel, A Daughter of Heth (1871), marked the start of a prolific literary career. Known for his lyrical prose, romantic plots, and vividly rendered landscapes, he became one of the most widely read novelists of the 1870s and 1880s - see Wikipedia.

Black’s work often balanced sentiment with moral seriousness and featured strong, emotionally intelligent female characters. His best-known novels include The Strange Adventures of a Phaeton (1872), A Princess of Thule (1873), and MacLeod of Dare (1879). Though his popularity waned after his death, in his lifetime he was widely admired, with some critics likening his descriptive power to that of Thomas Hardy or even early Tennyson.

While primarily associated with Scotland and London, Black and his second wife, Eva Simpson, moved to Brighton in 1878 - see The Victorian Web. And Brighton then featured in his 1881 novel, The Beautiful Wretch, and subsequently in Sabina Zembra. In this latter novel, the reflective opening scenes unfold along the town’s seafront and Chain Pier, capturing its blend of gaiety and melancholy. Black actually died in Brighton in 1898 and was buried near the church door of St Margaret's, Rottingdean, close to the grave of Edward Burne-Jones.

Sabina Zembra was first published in 1887 by Macmillan - the full work is freely available to read online at Internet Archive. It explores themes of love, melancholy, and social expectation against the contrasting backdrops of London and the English seaside. The story centres on Walter Lindsay, a sensitive, somewhat disillusioned man who escapes the pressures of life in London by retreating to Brighton. Though surrounded by crowds, he is inwardly solitary, his thoughts haunted by a woman named Sabina Zembra. Sabina is not just a love interest but a symbol of a purer, nobler affection in a world that feels increasingly hollow. As Lindsay wanders through Brighton’s piers and promenades, he contemplates life, despair, and romantic ideals. Here is a passage that opens chapter 15 entitled The Wedding.

‘It was a summer night at Brighton. The tall house-fronts were gray and wan against the crimson and yellow still lingering in the north-western heavens; but far away over the sea, to the south-east, there dwelt a golden moon in a sky of pale rose-purple; and the moonlight that fell on the wide waters was soft and shimmering, until it gleamed sharp and vivid where the ripples broke on the beach. Here and there the stars of the gas lamps began to tell in the twilight. There was a faint murmur of talking; young girls in their summer costumes went by, with laughter and jest; there was an open window, and somebody within a brilliantly lit drawing-room was singing - in a voice not very loud but still audible to such of the passers-by as happened to pause and listen - an old Silesian air. It was about a lover, and a broken ring, and the sound of a mill-wheel.

Walter Lindsay was among these casual listeners - for a minute or two; and then he went on, with some curious fancies in his head. Not that any young maiden had deceived him, or that he was particularly anxious to find rest in the grave; for this is the latter half of the nineteenth century, and he, as well as others, knew that Wertherism [morbid sentimentality, regarded as characteristic of Werther, the hero of Goethe’s romance] was now considered ridiculous. But somehow London had become intolerable to him; and he could not work; and - well, Brighton was the nearest place to get away to, while one was considering further plans. It was a little lonely, it is true; especially on these summer evenings, when all the world seemed, as it were, to be murmuring in happiness.

Over there was the Chain Pier. A few golden points - gas lamps - glimmered on it; and beyond it there was a small boat, the sail of which caught the last dusky-red light from the sunset, and looked ghostly on the darkening plain. In that direction peace seemed to lie. He began to think that if he passed away from this laughing and murmuring crowd, and went out to the end of the pier, and quietly slipped down into the placid waters, the world would be none the worse for the want of him, and a good deal of heart-sickness would come to an end. He did not really contemplate suicide; it was a mere fancy. Killing oneself for love is not known nowadays, except among clerks and shop-lads; and then it is generally prefaced by cutting a young woman’s throat, which is unpleasant. No, it was a mere fancy that haunted him, and not in a too mournful fashion.’

Beyond the Boundary

Here is the tenth 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. This image features, in close-up, a batsman’s arms and legs positioned next to a set of cricket stumps and bails. A bright red cricket ball, about to be hit, is shown close to the bat. The background includes a green field and blue sky, with an additional white section, probably a sight screen.

A limerick starter

A batsman once played by the sea,

With stumps by the pier and great glee.

He swung at a ball,

Gave Brighton his all

And bowled out a deckchair for three.

Beyond the Boundary (with apologies to the greatest cricket writer of all, C.L.R. James)

Brighton, summer, when the sea air is thick with sugar and salt, and the pier groans beneath the weight of tourists and time. It was here, just beyond the promenade, that the boy made his wicket from driftwood, balanced on a patch of shingle that passed for turf, and dreamed the game into being.

They called him Clem - short for Clement, though he bore little resemblance to that noble prime minister. Dark-skinned and limber, Clem bowled with a whipcord wrist and batted with the elegance of the ancients, though his audience was mostly seagulls and the occasional retiree resting on the bench with a copy of The Argus folded on their lap.

But this day was different. This day, a man in white trousers and a Panama hat approached from the pier, sipping tea from a paper cup like it was silver. He stood for a moment, watching Clem drive a cracked red ball through an upturned deckchair.

‘You ever played proper?’ the man asked, voice smooth like varnished mahogany.

Clem shook his head. ‘Just here.’

The man nodded slowly. ‘Then you’re overdue.’

That’s how it began. Brighton CC had lost two of their colts to summer jobs and one to sulking after being benched. They needed a number seven with sharp reflexes. Clem had never stood on grass so green or worn pads so stiff. But when the new ball swung like a gull in crosswind, he held his ground. And when the slow left-armer dropped one short, Clem pulled it into memory.

Yet it wasn’t only about cricket. Not on this coast. Not for Clem, who knew his grandfather had first disembarked here in ’48, wearing his Sunday best and carrying his bat like a suitcase. Not for Brighton, whose seafront had once denied men like him entry to clubs even as they cheered Caribbean tourists for ‘spicing up the season’. Not for England, where the empire was gone but not forgotten, not even under the shadow of the Pavilion.

That summer, Clem became more than a boy with a bat. He became a conversation. Old men leaned in to discuss his footwork. A local paper ran a headline - New Hope on the Boundary. And down by the pier, tourists took pictures of the match like it was theatre.

In the final game, as dusk rolled off the sea like steam from a kettle, Clem stood with his back to the setting sun. The bowler ran in - tall, wiry, South African. Clem stepped out. The ball pitched short, rose up, and Clem hooked. The ball soared, high over square leg, higher than the Pavilion roof, and for a moment it seemed to pause mid-air, suspended between sea and sky, past and present.

Then it landed - with a kerplunk - into the Channel.

That ball, they said, was still floating somewhere off the coast of Newhaven.

But Clem, barefoot in the shallows that evening, didn’t look for it. He knew it was not the ball that mattered, but the boundary it had crossed.