On the pebbly southern coast of the United Kingdom, Brighton has two piers. One of faded glory, the other a wreck. The pier that is still open – scattered with joyrides, video games and fast-food outlets – stretches half-a-kilometre into the Atlantic. What lies beyond is the rest of the world, much of which an expansionary Great Britain once conquered and ruled. The other pier, or what remains of it – just a skeleton of rusting iron – sits forlorn in the sea, a reminder that all things, not only empires but even Industrial Age icons, must pass.
Both piers are easily portrayed as metaphors for the parlous state that once-mighty Britannia finds herself in, and of course one must resist any temptation to portray them as such. They are just piers, after all, hammered by the sea and largely ignored by the modern populace, while the grand dame behind them, Brighton by the sea, survives.
