Brighton Missed Connections: From The Lanes to the Seafront

I once saw a man in a full tuxedo eating a bag of vinegar-soaked chips while sitting on a damp bollard near the Fortune of War.

The problem with the Laines

Finding someone in the North Laine is a nightmare because everyone looks like they are trying to be found. You probably saw them outside Snoopers Paradise. They were wearing a mustard yellow beanie and looking at a box of chipped Victorian saucers. You didn't say anything because the pavement was too narrow and a group of teenagers on e-scooters almost took your ankles off. By the time you turned around, they were gone.

Brighton is built for disappearing. The streets are a warren of jewellery shops and overpriced vintage clothes. If you lose sight of someone for ten seconds, they have vanished into a vegetarian cafe or a shop that only sells succulents. This is why you have to be fast. Waiting until you get home to post on Just Once is a risk. You need to remember what they were holding. Was it a brown paper bag from the bakery or a specific vinyl record? Small details save these posts from being ignored by everyone except the bored.

Pebbles and proximity

The beach is where most people give up. It is hard to look cool while stumbling over large, uncomfortable stones. You might have sat near someone by the West Pier ruins. Maybe you shared a look when a seagull successfully mugged a tourist for a steak bake. That shared trauma is a solid foundation for a post. If you are looking for them, mention the exact spot. Don't just say "the beach". Say "three groynes down from the Shelter Hall".

I find that people on the seafront are usually looking at the horizon or their phones, rarely at each other. If someone actually made eye contact while navigating the sludge at the water's edge, they meant it. The wind down there makes conversation impossible anyway. Your hair was in your mouth and they were squinting against the salt spray. If you want to find them, describe their coat. Everyone in Brighton has a "distinctive" coat, which usually means it is loud enough to be seen from space.

Night buses and cheap chips

The N7 bus is a graveyard for potential romance. It is full of people who have spent too much money on craft beer and now just want a kebab. If you shared a moment on the top deck, it was probably because the bus driver took a corner at forty miles per hour and you both hit your heads on the window. It counts.

"To the girl in the glittery Doc Martens on the 1:15 AM bus towards Hove: you told me my nose was bleeding and gave me a strawberry-scented tissue. I was too embarrassed to ask your name because I had a face full of blood, but I'd like to buy you a drink that isn't on a moving vehicle."

That is a real post I saw recently. It works because it is gruesome and honest. Nobody wants a poem about your soul. They want to know if they are the one who handed over the tissue. If you are writing a post for the Just Once Brighton board, keep it brief.

• Mention the specific pub, not just "the town centre".
• State the time as accurately as your phone battery allowed.
• Describe the dog if they had one. People remember dogs better than faces.

The Shelter Hall shuffle

Food halls are the new hunting grounds for missed connections. You spend forty minutes hovering over a table like a vulture, and then you catch the eye of someone doing the exact same thing. There is a specific grimace you share when you both realise the tacos are sold out. That is your hook. If you saw them at the Brighton Dome or waiting for a show at Komedia, you already have a head start. You know what they like.

Don't be creepy about it. If you followed them for six blocks before losing them at the clock tower, maybe don't lead with that. Focus on the first moment you saw them. If they were carrying a surfboard on a Tuesday morning in November, that is a personality trait worth mentioning. Brighton attracts people who are slightly off-centre. The man I saw in the tuxedo wasn't going to a ball. He was just having lunch.

Crossing the road at the Aquarium

The crossing by the Sea Life Centre is the longest wait in the city. You stand there for three minutes while the coastal road traffic thunders past. It is the perfect place to stare at a stranger. If you were both waiting for the green man and they were humming a song you recognised, write it down. The noise of the traffic is a great excuse for why you stayed silent.

You probably won't find them if you just say they had "kind eyes". Half the people in East Sussex claim to have kind eyes. Tell us they were wearing a jumper with a hole in the left elbow and were struggling with a leaking umbrella. That is how you get a reply. The wind is picking up again and the tide is coming in. You should probably just post the sighting before you forget what colour their bag was.