By the time I left Brighton I was starting to be in need of a cup of tea. There are two things which make travel bearable; the availability of toilets and of tea. Other things like a certain amount of civility, privacy and respect for each other by one's fellow passengers, seem to be optional. So I got off at Balaclava in an effort to find a decent cafe serving more black teas than Earl Grey or English Breakfast. Or failing that a tram to parts West and another train station. No cafes with more than a passing acquaintance with tea, but plenty of attitude and snobbery.
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