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Now there's a claim that won't last beyond the first home league match :lol:

Smell was probably drifting up from the medieval subterranean gents bogs just across the way :lol:

Always found Bonapartes a strangely-reassuring Brightonian seedy drinking-hole of last resort before you got on a train. Few passengers dared venture in there, the bar staff were a bit creepy if not downright sinister, as a result you got served straight away. Seem to recall it had the train...