zombies marching through halloween misguidedly as schoolgurls

I cannot begin to tell you how much I adore the gorgeous Brighton. From the first time I set foot here, I fell in love with it and decided it was where I was going to stay. It's been slightly more than a month since I left Cambridge and slowly built up my lair, and wander about the place exploring the multifarious delights it has to offer whilst I await my work visa. This year, for the fourth year running, Brighton held its annual Beach of the Dead, where zombies were to march about town. The Best Friend was planning to celebrate Halloween in Brighton, so I googled about for things to do, knowing full well that Brighton wouldn't disappoint me. Indeed, I discovered the event, and rather frantically, we began to plan for it. Being a last-minute thing and because I was tied up with a few other stuff, we didn't have much time to fully execute our costumes. Smugly, we decided we'd go as Zombie Schoolgurls-- the easiest look, right? The night before, she was texting me excitedly how many items she'd bought. At 1pm the next day, I left the soup to simmer on the stove and walked to the station to pick her up. . .

My skin had just recovered from a semi-nasty bout of reaction to a new moisturiser (there was me thinking that I should start anti-aging, first signs treatment and voila, my skin protested by informing me it preferred 'solutions for angsty, adolescent skin') so there was no way I was risking it by slapping on face paint. Spoilsport, I know. But your face is your fortune and I spent a small fortune on lasers a few years back when it erupted full-scale and no medicine could heal it. Happily, I pulled on her skirt, rolled the sleeves up my top to disguise the pirate sleeves and faked a tie with a scarf whilst Denise expertly backcombed our hairs. And then, my piece de resistance. Sneaker socks that I had bought many years back, ripping open the package excitedly when it arrived, only to realise that well, such socks are hard to match with your outfit, no matter how pretty and sparkly the pink is. I found a look for it once, but it is one of those pieces that you know you will use again. And did I! Slapping our faces on with loads of baby powder, I was certain I looked zombie-ish, and she protested saying I did not. So I went downstairs, painted loads of black and dark blue shadow around my eyes and made my lips look like they were bleeding. Shielding my face from D, who was sniggering at us for going for a Zombie Walk, I told him, "Don't look at me, your regular girlfriend will be back tonight, I look freaky". And he laughed out loud saying, "That is sexy zombie, not scary. You are far from scary. More like up to no good." Dang. That was disappointing.

The doorbell rang and the plants he'd ordered earlier filled the living room (which we had arranged painstakingly the day before in about twenty different configurations), morphing it into a jungle. So whilst waiting for the cab, Denise and I had loads of fun photoboothing. 

the victim

Down by the station, cameras starting snapping the moment we stepped out of the cab. It was a visual feast with loads of elaborate details that put us to complete shame. People got up early in the morning to prepare their makeup, all excited about the zombie walk. .

The march proceeded slowly-- we were the undead after all-- and we haunted cars and cabs. .

Whilst rows and rows of people were about town recording the event in any form possible. . and as I looked at our reflection, I told Denise, "Shit we look more like we're off some Chanel runway, not as real zombies". So we got hit on by some pervy people instead. Double shit.

People of all sorts of ages and from everywhere joined in. Some even came to Brighton for the day just for that. There were some wheelchair-bound and even a few pregnant women who got dressed up and splashed with blood. .

As part of Brighton tradition, zombies are encouraged to stop by shops and bars for pints. We stopped for cod and chips to keep warm after walking by the pier-- the winds were howling mercilessly, we were in thin summer clothes (silly of us!), and worried the wind would blow our false eyelashes away. And then Denise said, "Oh God P, you look so sweet in this photo. Why does it take you being a zombie to look sweet for once". Ironical. Whilst she looked like a Fury in hers. Normally I look like a Fury everyday; and she, a sweet girl.

We then went for the Flash Mob Afterparty, where zombies danced to Thriller, and made our way back, because our skins were turning un-white, meaning it was our Cinderella's carriage-turning-into-pumpkin cue. Nevertheless, I brought her to the Brighton Dome-- how can anyone not go there!-- knowing full well that our Zombie March had been her unofficial tour of Brighton. . and she was smitten with the gorgeous architecture there. "It feels like Aladdin!"

Following which we made our way back to the flat-- taking these photos whilst waiting for the bus-- and D had arranged all the plants, transforming the living room entirely. Whilst he was cooking dinner, he was laughing at us going, "What the hell is zombie schoolgirls? No wonder you attracted perverts. You look more like vampires. Who in the world thinks up ideas like these?" and the realisation pelted us sharply at that moment. We had a mighty good laugh before scrambling upstairs to try on clothes for our second costume of the day/night-- something less girlish and whimsical but rather more vintage and alluring. . which will be another post.