Still cats and dogs but once breakfasted it's out on the well worn Brighton to Guildford route. After 20 minutes of careful filtering past the dog end of Brighton rush hour we're out on the open road. This is take your chance territory. Overtaking possibilities present themselves fleetingly and have to be pounced on or left well alone. LaDy performs faultlessly of course, raising her voice to an operatic crescendo when the peak torque rev line is crossed. The singing slingshot overtake is just fantastic and presents the rider with a clear road ahead and defeated traffic mere dots in the mirror. I'm still a long way off being able to do that round bends though, for the moment, the cars are faster there which is tragic but true.
Looking forward to going on a mini ride but the signs in the sky were not encouraging as I neared Brighton on the after work express. Still, us bikers aren't known for our sanity so I still popped up to the rendezvous. No takers of course, you'd have to be raving to go out in this, and not in a good way. Enjoyed my little trip anyway, just the sound of the 800cc twin ticking over makes me smile even if it is a touch agricultural.
Hardcore filtering in dense traffic was the lesson for today. I'm improving, didn;t stall once and no nearly-dropped-it moments. I make that a good day. Result !
Decide to follow the route of last weekend's breakfast run. Get it a bit wrong through Lewes but pick up the trail on the other side of the tunnel. On to Ringmer and over to Blackboys. Consider heading to Eastbourne but that's too close. Ah, Bexhill is signposted, OK, why not ? It's a long-ish run but after a while I'm glimpsing the sea ahead and soon enough I'm at the De La Warr pavilion and cruising the Bexhill riviera. The Amalfi coast it ain't but English seaside it sure is. Stop for a terrible coffee and sit on the prom watching the sun glint off the greeney channel. Home. Back aboard the autobahn stormer and trundling along the wrong side of the railway tracks thoroughly enjoying the empty roads that don't go nowhere. Eventually ease back into busy land via Pevensey Bay (big bike shop there, must check it out). On to Eastbourne, back over Beachy Head, stop in the car park to admire a 1200GS, hmm, maybe one day. Back home along the super quick A27 again and it's been my longest and possibly best ride yet. Perfect weather, good roads, minimal traffic, no dramas. All good.
Rendez-vous at chez Monsieur B to do a little DIY in the headlamp so I can go and play with the Nortonites. We're early so it's an apprehensive half hour watching the weather and waiting while the convoy collection grows and grows ending up with a highly respectable count of 14 bikes and 15 riders. A lot of fast machines but also the traditional glut of ER-6's and even a brave lad on his XT125X, just like mine but orange and somehow quicker for it. Michael 'Superman' leads us off and it's all good clean fun, well until we get to the Steyning/Ashurst road, then it's full on keep up if you can. I can't. The S bends are deceptive, starting OK but getting progressively tighter, the speed out of one being too much for the entry into the next. After a few of those I have to ease off to stop myself crossing the double white lines protecting me from on-coming traffic. We make it to the Cowfold X roads all still together and it's off from there on a mystery tour through towns and villages, tiny lanes, slippery shitty conditions but all great fun of course. The last section is high speed up hill sweeping bends but I'm as yet unable to make full use of them due to the total unfamiliarity of the road. Will be better next time !
Right, lunch it is, hastily pull on bike gear and race up to Devil's Dyke to meet Monsieur B but we don't hang about to admire the view. Up and over the golf course, down towards Hassocks, sharp right to take in the roller coaster of New Road and on through Ditchling and the Wetmeston bends. Turn off at the Half Moon and we're on the way to Plumpton, then Haywards Heath, Cuckfield and back again. A super fast super twisty ride out and I'm finally feeling at one with the bike. No dramas although I think I dumped the clutch once and canceling the indicator with right thumb is a tricky combination when you're trying to apply gentle throttle at the same time, not one of BMW's finest design desicions. Most of all though I'm still loving the rumble of my transit-van-like 800 but Mr B's GSXR is in a whole different audio world. You can hear that exhaust above 6 lanes of traffic with an 80 mph headwind !
A 9am meetup back at the LF training ground and there's a good gathering already. Skippy leading, 2 up on the GPZ and tigerbri backing up and relaxing on the VN classic, the pace is pretty quick straight out of the car park. Once we hit the open road though it's all quite comfortable and even at speed on the dual carriageway it feels pretty safe being surrounded by bikes and protected from the cars. As we approach Lancing we're covering both lanes and making good progress. Onwards to Lewes and the Cuilfail Tunnel echoes to the resonant frequency of a bunch of aftermarket exhausts but you can still hear nuttbusta's Kwaka 750 above the rest. That lad loves his new rude cans.
Can't sleep. Get up far too early. Quick breakfast, hurried cos I just want to go. And off for maybe the last time struggling along the A27 to Worthing. Get to Mister B's and it's the shortest of van rides round the corner to pick up the new LaDy. Sharon lets me have a quick run round the block before we sort out the paperwork and just that small circuit around Durrington is enough to fix an instant grin. For such a big bike everything operates so light and smoothly. Gentle roll into 2nd gear, clutch engages with no bite, no drama, just smooth, progressive power transfer. Overtake a bus and there's a tiny stretch of open road. 3rd gear, a little twist of right arm and the torque kicks in accelerating us to er, 60 ish instantly (sure that's the speed limit around here !). Rumble back to her old home and complete the final handover. It's a bit emotional for all of us so better to be quick and get on. Luggage all strapped and fastened and it's time to head off for real. Oh so nervous slow start, give way at the end, foot down, stop, start, all ok so far. Roll into the petrol station and hit the first drama. Queue of Saturday traffic building up behind me, temperatures rising and can I find neutral?, no, not until I've given up and heading off out again, then it slots in no problem. Ah, right, got it, need the clutch fully engaged to get that little nudge between 1 and 2 to fall into 'N'. OK, next petrol station it is then. Fortunately I know 'em all round here as it's my DAS training route so no problems finding the Shell next to the test centre. Fill it all the way for 15 quid and the range indicator goes to >132 as the computer can't measure the top of the tank, then it's back to Mr B's for a proper test ride. The weather's getting worse but do we care ?, no, we do not. I'm in front to slow the pace and we're off in generally the wrong direction but we make it out to the Long Furlong and up in to the Sussex wilds, then back over Devil's Dyke before hitting the A27 for high speed manoevures. The Southwick tunnel is a bit busy for proper loudness but Mr B's Gixxer makes its presence felt ! Back to his to swap over bits from the little pony to LaDy and another trip down the A27 for me and back to Brighton. I've done this trip so much on the 125 and on the ER6 in training but this time it's completely different. Outside lane not inside, 80mph to 90, not 30 to 40 to 55 maybe, 6th gear not 5th. Doesn't take long to get home. Quick stop for showing off purposes then it's time to park up. What A Day ! The last 2 months have been all about getting to this point and it's no anti-climax. I'm buzzing, totally hyped, itching to get out again and find some more tarmac to abuse. Won't have to wait long, tomorrow is breakfast ride-out with the Norton biker boys and girls. Watch out Worthing, here I come again.
Blatt over to Worthing to pick up my consultant in all things motoring and we're off in a mini 125 convoy to Littlehampton Honda shop. To look at Yamahas, obviously ! As usual, nothing goes to plan, up pops the Honda CBF 600. Absolutely made for my needs. Looks great, feels great, well spec'd, slightly cheaper than the competition and with the Honda badge of reliablity and no surprises.
Too excited to stay in bed, up by 8am, far too early. A traditional breakfast in an awakening Sydney St. then off to Mister B's to get in the van and navigate (mostly badly) to P&H at Gatwick. The breadth of selection is dizzying, really. We wander round like children in a sweet shop the size of which they never knew existed. To business, and over to the Yamaha section. Somehow the Fazer S2 looks huge parked so close to its even bigger brothers. The MT-01 is just silly size. Over to the KTMs and the fantasy RC8s look like storm troopers deressed in their stealth white armour. A short break for clothing purchases (summer gloves, a little optimistic perhaps but they fit so I'm happy). A quick sit on the Kawasaki Versys but it's a bit of a big girl's shopping bike. Almost missed the Honda showroom as it's separated up the road. Turned back and very glad we did. The new model Transalp is waiting for me outside. Quickly arrange a test drive and off we go. It's my first time on a Faired bike so it's disconcerting that the instruments stay still while the front wheel turns. Get over that and pootle round the industrial estate for a while then find a way out onto the country roads. That's more like it. No idea what gears to use when so try 'em all. 30-70 in 4th is excellent and even with just 60bhp you still have to hang on quite tight. Up and down a few more circuits before returning to the dealer, grinning. I'd buy one straight away but I'm going to make myself try the Fazer, the Kawasaki Z750 and of course the BMW F800ST.
After another sleepless week, the fateful Friday finally arrives. A nervous start at the training centre but a quick refresher with poo-scale Pete gets both me and the bike warmed up nicely. Shakey wait in the test centre watching the clock tick round to 10:24 when Mr Examiner walks calmly in and takes me to his little room. Fits me with the radio kit and we're off back down the stairs, out the back, into the car park for a nice east eye test. Can't believe I've actually been sweating about the eye test, how many of those have I had ?? Equally easy tyre and brake questions done and it's time to show him what I can do. Head out of the entrance, forget to signal, remember to signal, stall the engine !, right, get on with it. Round the houses, stop, start, U-turn, emergency stop, all OK. Pull out a bit too quick on one junction and run a bit wide, just once though, did I get away with it, really don't know - oh well, let's just get this over with. Out on the open road and I'm much happier. Clock all the speed limits, nicely up to each one no problem. Now we're on my favourite road in the aream the Long Furlong, this isn't testing, this is just having fun. Up to 60, no problem, on to the A27 slip road and push it straight to 70 - Arrrrgh !! White van doing 50 in front of me ! do I overtake?, well yes, have to 'make progress'. Of course, as soon as I start to pass, Mr Whitevan decides to accelerate. He's doing 65, I'm doing 67, 68, still 68 and I'm oh so slowly easing past. The examiner is stuck behind anyway so not sure if he could tell what speed I was doing but I know I'm still legal, just. After that mini drama it's back to the test centre. Park up, follow the man in for the slow climb up the stairs. Sneak a peak at the clipboard, no forest of black marks, think I've done OK. Back into the tiny room for the magc words "You'll be pleased to know you've passed ...."
So, the DAS it is then. Preparations
began for the assault on the full test leading to purchasing a proper big
bike and an end to leaning over the bars to squeeze up to 55 mph in a headwind
or up a slight gradient. First step, the theory test. A whole
week of preparation for a 40 minute mixture of scarily easy multiple choice
questions and a few pretty obvious hazard perception videos. Navigating
to the test centre in Worthing was actually more taxing than the test itself.
Then again, it's better then the old method of the examiner flashing
a few road signs before patting you on the back and sending you off clueless
but roadworthy. Now I know when I can't use my horn in a built up
area which will come in useful if I ever remember where the button is without
looking down for it first. So, pass certificate in hand, I'm able
to book some big bike training and the practical test. Now I'm proper
nervous like nothing I've experienced since 1987. Finally the first
day of training arrives and we're out on the road on our little bikes first
just to concentrate on the highly complex set of observations required
at every turn of the wheel. Mirror, Mirror, Blindspot, signal, close
the door, blindspot, go round the corner, mirror, cancel signal, accelerate,
something like that anyway. Even worse when it comes to speed limits,
observations and a touch of the brake lever for slowing down, checks before
speeding up, watch for the signs, don't go over the limit but don't go
too slow ! Not easy. If I fail for anything it will be for
speeding, an instant dismissal. Oh and the small matter of avoiding
pedestrians, not good to wipe any of them out on the test. On to
the afternoon's fun and it's up on to the 600cc machines. Going from
10bhp to over 70 is a big step up and it feels awkward and heavy to
start with. After a few laps of the pad though it's not too bad.
The increased power and weight makes the big bikes handle better
and the brakes and clutch are upgraded to match. Engine braking is
massive of course but there's no need to drop too much of that in. Slow
speed turns are a little more tricky with less steering lock and the weight
transfers suddenly at the tipping point but hopefully I'll get a few successful
U-turns in before the test ! total good turns made so far = 1, complete
failures = lots.
So, the low speed training continues and there's definite improvement to be seen. Well, until the pressure's on of course. On the practice ground it's thumbs to the tank and super slow and tight turns executed pretty perfectly. A sudden requirement to turn round on a busy street after missing the turning and it's a different story, especially on a gradient or steep camber. Still, I'm heading in the right direction, unless I'm U-turning, er, you know what I mean. Out on the open road and as confidence increases, so do distances and speed, even the Sussex border has been crossed now, at one point finding myself fairly lost in South Surrey. Taking unknown corners at high speed is still off the menu but mostly I'm keeping a fairly respectable line and a healthy lean too.Day 2, seafront meet-up
So, revved from the excitement of Day 1, the weekend arrived and
it's up and out as soon as possible. Slight delays due to attempts at
navigating the LCD options again (note to self : leave the blue button
alone) then it's back out on the open road again. A nervous start
around the station area and a few dead ends where of course walking is
fine but it's no through road for motor vehicles, but once the one-way
system is behind me I'm back on the Brighton-Worthing seafront route
again. Mush easier this time now I know the way and no surprises
through Lancing and out the other side. Even the big Worthing
roundabouts are negotiated with ease and before I know it I'm trundling
back to the Yamaha dealer to meet up with the other half of the 125
Biker Gang. MrB is waiting for me and the sight of me wobbling into
view is obviously quite comical cos he's chucklin' away to himself.
A tour round the bike accessories shops and then on to some more road practice. We're following much of my CBT route so some of the roads are familiar, especially the sweeping bend near the station, the site of my first proper lean it over and power round exercise. On to the seafront and we're back to my old cycling territory, just 3 times quicker now ! Some interesting T-junction and minor bends to negotiate and now we're riding in to the sun too. Visor down and try and concentrate on where I want to go, as the advice says, the bike goes where you're looking. Coffee stop at the seafront cafe, sitting there in our armoured jackets with crash helmets on the spare seats, no-one can tell that we've pulled up on a couple of 125 ponies although the unprotected jeans give us away somewhat.
Another trip down the seafront and I'm heading home with the sun setting behind me but there's an orange light on the dash too. Ah, I was wondering how much petrol I'd been gifted by the dealer, not much as it turns out. A quick stop at the next filling station as it doesn't take long to fill the tank. It doesn't take much cash either, £6.72 to fill it up, that's just madness.
Up and over Hove this time, avoiding the Landsdowne narrows and back up to the parking spot. I'm a bit sad to leave it but then again my legs are freezing, my head and hands sweating and a long hot shower is the most attractive idea imaginable. Can't wait for Day 3 though.
Day 3, practice makes...
Still no proper bike trousers bought so today's trip is going to be
a bit shorter I thought. Yeah, right, that's before I'm out on the road
and just don't want to go home, this is far too much fun. First stop,
the practice ground. I've had my researchers out looking for the ideal
combination of quiet seclusion, easy access and level ground and they
turned up the perfect pitch. The far end of a trading / light
industrial estate with a disused unit owning 20 or so parking spaces,
perfectly distanced to allow for optimum U-turn and slow speed
manoeuvres. And don't I need it. The slow turns and sharp stops on my
CBT were abominable "What the fuck was that" was my instructor's actual
phrasing. So, start from the beginning again. Safety position, standing
start, back brake pressure, plenty of revs, slip the clutch. Good,
smoothly away with the engine fighting the brakes and keeping me
upright. Now it's time to commit to the U-turn. I'm really trying to
move my head in the direction I want to go but the bike's leaning too
much and I'm going too slowly. My panic right foot comes off the brake
and my left hand pulls in the clutch resulting in the bike running
forward and lots of unhelpful revving. Right, try again. And so it goes
on until I finally find the right balance of revs, clutch, brake and
speed to make the turn successfully. What a great feeling having the
bike go exactly where I want it in a calm and smooth manner. Let's do
it again. Yes, much better. I do at least another 4 or 5 tries before
stopping for a clutch hand rest. The builders of this little patch of
Hove retail park have conveniently placed 2 drain covers just the right
distance apart for some figure of 8 practice, surely the hardest part
of CBT. With the new confidence though it's not so bad. Going from
right turns straight into lefts is tricky at first and I have lots of
foot down moments but a bit of concentration and back to that perfect
crawling throttle/brake/clutch balance and after a few failures I've
almost got it. A few more tries and I'm nailing it every time.
Brilliant, I celebrate with eight 8's and a couple of U-turns, totally
relieved that I've overcome this first hurdle. Right, school's over,
fun time now. No real plan just drift through the back streets of hove,
back to the relative civilisation of Brighton and find myself at the
end of my own street. Hmm, go home ? I don't think so. Onward it is.
Down into the valley and up the other side, climbing Elm Grove at a
perfectly respectable pace now, not even getting bothered by the
traffic. Well to be fair, the only other traffic is buses and they
keep having to stop. Right up and over the top but now we're in open
country on a high ridge with nothing between me and the February sea.
The wind is a monster, each gust crashes into my right side trying to
take me off the straight and narrow. I persist and keep more or less to
where I want to be on the road but it's a fight every turn of the
wheel.. Relief when I get over the hill and down into the shelter of
the Woodingdean shops. Rolling freely down the road now and recalling
the discussion about the mystery road between here and Ovingdean. Look
out for the right turn and there it is, can't believe I've never
noticed it before. Take the turn and I'm into the hidden valley, round
the twisty bits, oh so carefully, past the 11th century church and back
out towards the unforgiving sea. Now I'm on the 3 lanes of full on
speeding traffic with even more massive air pressure on my left, This
time it's not remotely funny, that wind is having a good try at pushing
me into the next lane which is owned by overtaking tin-box people. Time
to get off this ride, I take the next exit and I'm back on to the
relative safety of the Rodean road. Up and down to the edge of the
Bristol and back up through Whitehawk to take me up to the top of Elm
Grove again. A Sunday enthusiast on his beautifully restored old
Triumph passes me nervously. He's spent years perfecting his pride and
joy and he doesn't want to scratch it now. He's all Aron sweater and
big old biker boots, the outfit carefully matching the era of the bike. Nice.
I'm focused on the home straight now, carefully does it down the hill, try not to stall at all the lights between here an home, gentle manoeuvring into the North Laine and a bit of parking practice to finish off a pretty satisfactory day. Next time, over the hills and far away...
After a long day of CBT yesterday finishing with a 2 hour ride around the suburban sprawl of Worthing, I'm legal. Fully certified to go and pick up my new(ish) Yamaha XT125X. A visit to the accessories shop to get kitted out in some protective clothing, a run through the operating instructions and suddenly I'm sitting on the bike, keys in the ignition and ready to go. Well, ready once I've set the clock on the LCD and fiddled around with it for 20 minutes to achieve just the desired configuration of rpm, mph, time of day, average lap time ?? etc. Eventually there's no choice, the moment has arrived and it can't be put off any longer, I've got to head out on my own to play in the traffic. More importantly of course, I need to pull away cleanly without making a wobbly mess of it in front of the Yamaha dealer showroom. Kick down into first, a few more revs and a tentative release of the clutch and we're off at a blistering 5mph. Around the corner to my first challenge. I'm faced with a right turn on to a busy dual carriageway. No chance, I turn it round and go the long way to find some traffic lights to help me out. So far so good. Next, the big roundabout. Now I'm starting to sweat a bit and my visor is fogging due to the heavy breathing. Wait for the gap, give it lots cos I don't want to stall in front of a queue of traffic, but of course I let the clutch out far to fast and the poor little beastie lurches forward, the front wheel trying to head skywards. Off the power and we're safely away. Things can only get better. A few more junctions, a pelican crossing or two, head out of Worthing and I'm on the seafront road. It's windy. I know this because I'm being regularly shoved in the right shoulder by a mass of air pressure that won't be argued with. Up to 30 mph and at least I'm keeping up with the traffic, maintaining road position and generally doing all right. A few problems getting into 1st gear at the lights and a slight altercation with an Alfa driver but eventually I'm back into familiar territory, the Brighton and Hove borders. Up Holland Road, carefully, round into Landsdowne and on to the scariest bit of all. Montpelier Place is narrowed on both sides by parked cars and populated entirely by taxis who drive on the wrong side of the road. Brilliant. All negotiated safely though and finally I'm pulling in to my local parking bay where I sit for a minute to get my heart rate back to somewhere near normal. I've made it.
Finally got the results I was after with B&W film. All thanks to processing from peak imaging, and a few additional overlay layers from the GIMP.
I'm
struggling, and hard. It should be so easy, just a reach out
and
grab the next handhold but, but there's nowhere to go, nowhere but back
down. Back down the slopes to where I'll be safe again. I
speak of
course about the continued search for the elusive peak that is
'proper' rock. Made it to base camp years ago, a training regime
of
Jimi Hendrix, AC/DC and Led Zeppelin was all there was too it.
Double
dose twice a day and the symptoms of 'no-proper-rock' fade
rapidly.
But from there it's a long and winding road through the valley of the
turdsome before getting to the next Yeah point. It's so easy to
give
up, to just turn back and lock the door on your 1974 cave and refuse to
ever come out again. Come on, there must be more to life than
that
Shirley. So, onwards, on through the 80s desert where guitars
were
made illegal in this country for any use other than strictly prescribed
indie shoe staring. Onwards along the precipitous crest of the
90's
techno house just because at least it had four to the floor which just
about made us feel a bit better, But, starved of the rock we
emerge
wasted, emasculated into the apocalyptic optimism of the 2000s, gasping
for the first breath as we break the surface we look around for a
branch on which to cling, frantically hopeful for a helping hand to the
shore. At first there's hopes raised, some promising Austrlians
take their dubious heritage to heart and form late 70s tribute
bands. England's Northside churns out some rebels with chips to
prove, even the U.S. populace starts taking notice of the Green Day
punky party under their noses. Ozzy Osbourne is a venerated on
both sides of the pond, teenage guitar bands sell out secret last
minute seafront venues. Heads up, we look back to check how far
we've come along the road. Compare where we are to where we
started. Put on an old Deep Purple CD, Highway Star starts.
For a moment I'm ecstatic, caught up in the sheer artistry and energy
of the moment. Then my rock world comes crashing down around me
as the realisation hits me, it's not how much we've lost along the way,
it's more a case of how much we haven't won. We've gone
nowhere. Has no-one been paying attention, er, sorry, yes you,
you at the back, you entire population of rockin kids, record company
execs and pop pundits, what the fuck have you been doing while the
demise of rock music burns at your feet, fiddling ?
Smokey Dave, International Promotions
Welcome
to your new 'hood. You may be alarmed, confused, bewildered or possibly
just stoned but fear not, the good folk at chillicheese are here to help you
adjust to your new environment. Depending on where you've just come from,
Brighton will seem unimaginably big and dazzlingly bright, or tiny, quiet and
dull. Whichever, you're probably not seeing the whole picture yet.
Take a step back and remember to look up once on a while, although obviously not
at the same time or you'll fall over and get picked up by 'Smelly' or 'Smokey
Dave'. The outstanding factor of Brighton life isn't any of the obvious
things you've already heard about. It's nothing to do with gay pride, fish
and chips, seagulls, or dirty weekends. The guiding principle is
anonymity. That's why all those gay seagulls come here to eat chips at the
weekend. Seriously though, whatever you do, however you dress, whatever
colour you hair or how many intimate piercings you expose there will always be
someone just a little more outrageous around than you so in the end nobody's
looking, they've seen it all before. This is good news for shy celebs
seeking refuge from the spotlight and bad news for ego maniacs who want everyone
to point at them and say "isn't that Chris Eubank". Once you've got over
the novelty of being able to walk around in your pants and bunny slippers
without getting arrested, you're probably going to need some basic provisions
so...
Brighton
residents and visitors all like to eat well. There's a transient
population including a whole load of students who can't cook. So, why is
it so difficult to find high quality, reasonably priced food in this town
? I don't know, but I do know where to avoid and where to head for.
Proper restaurants are already covered by the
ressy
pages, but you can't eat out in fine dining style every night can you ? No
you can't. Which leaves takeaways, sandwich shops and grocery outlets as
your main source of sustenance. Takeaways is easy. There's loads but
only three good ones. Spice Nutriment up by the Station (777746) covers
your curry needs (trust me, I know it looks awful but it really is the
best). Brighton Wok (270490) is by far the best Chinese, especially for
chilli loving vegetarians - try the Sechwan Bean Curd and the vegetarian
dumplings. Pizzas are all pretty much the same as anywhere else but Famous
Moes (676867) is just about in the lead. For more exotic deliveries, Yo
sushi can be persuaded to deliver apparently but that's about as cool as it
gets.
There's
all the usual suspects along Western Rd, North St and the dreaded Churchill
Square but if you want to get funky then Kensington Gardens, Gardner St and Bond
St will keep you busy for a while. It might be worth noting though that
North Laine traders do not get out of bed early so no point even trying before
10:30. While weaving through the throng in Kensington Gardens, check out
Snoopers Paradise for a laugh and if it's a Saturday, go one street further up
the hill to the market on Upper Gardner St which is sometimes interesting but
get there early to see the good stuff. Whatever you do, don't bother with
the Marina. Whatever anyone tells you about the place, the only thing you
have to remember is to avoid it. Really, it's bloody awful, completely
soulless and totally pointless. Still curious? Well don't say I didn't
warn you. Hove has shops too now apparently so you could go there too, but
remember to take your passport so you can get back in once you've purchased your
spam fritters, and horse brasses. I suppose I should mention the
Lanes. Start off in the middle at Brighton Square and have a wander
around. It's mostly not that useful but you get to feel like a proper
local once you've got the layout in your head and can duck and dive around the
lost tourists. Escape the rat runs and head for the Hop Poles in Middle St
if you're in need of refreshment after all that.
City
Cabs (205205) is ideal for us NLCA members and their automated service is very
good once you've used them a few times. As they're just round the corner
on Queens Rd, they turn up incredibly quickly so get your coat on as soon as you
put the phone down.
Brighton Council website is surprisingly useful, well, mainly for
finding out which day your bins might get emptied, but there's probably lots of
useful info on there about swimming pools and planning applications etc. if you
like that sort of thing. There's not much in the way of sports and leisure
provision, Prince Regent pool, King Alfred Centre, a few tennis courts in the
parks, I think that's about it. If you find some more, let me know.
The other main providers of information are the local papers. There's more
than you might imagine at first. The Evening Argus is the obvious one and
probably the best for jobs (Thursday) although there really aren't that many to
go round (jobs that is, there's loads of copies of the Argus). The free
alternative it the Leader (which is rubbish) and of course the North Laine
Runner which is, er, local. The secret one is the Friday Ad which is
essential for buying and selling miscellaneous items.I AM: here, now.
I SAID: it would all be fine, nothing to worry about.
I WANT: to make myself clear but I lack the confidence to be concise.
I WISH: I could just keep walking, forever.
I HATE: that feeling you get when you suddenly realise you were hopelessly wrong.
I MISS: the excitement of new discoveries
I FEAR: failure
I HEAR: pineapples are very cheap this time of year
I WONDER: why why why why why, she ran away ... my little runaway, run run run run runaway.
I REGRET: lack of foresight, lack of eyesight, not looking, not seeing. When I should have.
I AM NOT: sure if I'm right, but I am sure I might be.
I DANCE: like a disco guru in my head, and like your drunk uncle on the floor.
I SING: along to only two songs
I AM NOT ALWAYS: so indecissive, er, or am I ?
I MADE: it all up, everything, the world around me and my perception of it is no more than a dream I'm yet to wake from.
I WRITE: long hand with a pen when I'm out and full speed on the hot dark keys when I'm back. I'm not sure it matters what I write sometimes, it's the clatter and tap as the words form themselves in the space between my mind and my hands that calms me as it closes the shutters outside and opens all the doors inside.
I CONFUSE: easy, use small words and keep it simple, stupid.
I NEED: to find some peace. But I also hate it when it's quiet, the silence is deafening.
I SHOULD: get away with it.
I START: the day with coffee strong enough to melt the cup.
I FINISH: every book I start, even if it takes me forever to struggle through a turgid dissapointment of a bad book choice.
I BELIEVE: in miracles, since you came along, you sexy thing.
I KNOW: that if anyone reads this they won't get this far down so I can say whatever I like from here on in.
I CAN: make a menu selection in the time it takes to say "pan fried catfish".
I CAN’T: sleep deep. I either doze or dream.
I SEE: someone else in the mirror.
I BLOG: therefore I am, avoiding doing proper writing.
I READ: every word that passes; packets, paper, post. Possibly for posterity.
I AM AROUSED BY: Injustice, wonder, perfection.
IT PISSES ME OFF: when my network connection slows inexplicably.
I FIND: my way better without a map.
I LIKE: big skies but also high rise, hot summers but also cold winters, going away but also coming home.
I LOVE: the journey as much as the destination.
and yes, I am expecting you to complete all of this yourself, all of it, no sneakily missing bits out, right.
Served
Straight Up.
Having read the other reviews of this little gem, it's become apparent that it is in fact impossible to write about it without using the word "cornucopia". In this matter, I am, of course, no exception. Maybe they would have named the shop thus if it wasn't the second incarnation of the existing business in Lewes and if there wasn't already a shop on Queens road with that name.
Anyway, onwards to the meat of the matter. A combined cornucopia of organic veg, packed produce incorporating a cool café greats you as you peer round the front door of the old bus depot turned dodgy car park on North Road. A very cool café at this time of year, in fact bloody freezing, so much so that the staff are even handing out hot water botles to the shivering punters. The excellent strong coffee helps here though as does the everso slightly off beat breakfast menu and the tempting specials on the hanging boards overhead. This well tuned concept
is already a proven success with the original Lewes outlet and it's ideal for Brighton's North Laine. This buying the products to take away will likely come back to sit down in the café. Those sampling the breakfast specials and larger lunches are surrounded by tempting arrays of bright fresh fruit and veg and are quite likely to stock up on their way out.
The overall theme here is honesty ; scrubbed wood furniture, concrete floor, exposed ducting and a fully open professional kitchen add to the friendly staff and quirky payment system ; they take your name, you go and pay, there's no bill at Bills.
A
veritable mezedopolis
Ignore the 80's white-out effect inside and just concentrate on the
menu. Estia is very much the home of the mezze so the idea is to
eat an array of Greek Cypriot dishes as they emerge from the kitchen
one by one.
A bit like a serialised Tapas adventure. there's also some
conventional size dishes, so if you're not quite up for the main event,
it's still perectly possible to sample some simple, classic Greek
dishes.
Fish features strongly of course with prawns, shellfish and
swordfish all making an appearance.
The standard beef stifado also gets a mention though.
There's a Bargain drinks list and friendly family service completes the
picture making Estia an interesting choice for a big eating night out.
The Half
Brazillian.
Ten out of ten for effort with this new venture in a newly developed street along side the new Library. Las Iguanas really wants us to love it but unfortunately the best rating they're going to get is "quite nice". That may be a bit harsh, there's nothing actually wrong with the menu or the cooking, and the atmosphere is certainly helped by the 2-for-1 BOGOF drinks offers. It's just all a bit of a fake and that's proving difficult to hide.
The bar though is an instant hit, cool, quite cosy and with a decent cocktail list (including a 10 year old cachaça). It's already become a top local drinking den. So, go for a brazillian themed tex-mex if you fancy it but make sure you hit the bar after.
It's well known amoung those who know me that one of my favourite ressys in the work is Terre a Terre in Brighton. It's entirely vegetarian and has the longest menu descriptions to be found, each dish being landed with 15 adjectives and 20 obscure ingredients. St John is diametrically opposed. Each menu item consists of no more words than are absolutely necessary for the decision making process and most of them relate to part of an animal. So, I started with Smoked Eel Fillet, followed it with Mallard and Lentils and ended with Lancashire cheese and Eccles cake. For lubrication we demolished a truly superior MOULIS EN MEDOC (2000) Chateau Poujeaux Cru Exceptionnel and a perfectly decent CAHORS (2000) Chateau du Cedre. Oh, and a couple of Taylor's 10 yr old Tawnys while we were desserting.
Dublin 2005 :
The Don was very good, if very expensive. We did of course go banana on the booze front so managed to rack up a bill of £250 between the 3 of us.
What's to be said about this that hasn't been already. Well, as with most of Orwell's work, the veneer over the biting satire is transparently thin but at least this time we get some of a story to follow and a short cast of characters to hang on to. Winston Smith is his standard representation of the small man swamped and suffocated by the machine of society. Julia is the love interest and embodies the opposite approach to Winston by assuming they're already lost rather than fighting their situation. O'Brien is the duplicitous bigwig, untrustworthy to the last. There are other less definite characters provided by the mystic Big Brother, the mass of the Proles, the enemy states and most importantly the perversion of language that is doublespeak. This last is probably the most interesting as it makes a point that increases in value with time rather than dating and receding into history. Continual abbreviation and concentration of our vocabulary reduces our ability to innovate and to express new ideas. There are already multiple agencies both in government and commerce who gain power as we loose the ability to articulate our opposition to them. Some use this in a legal context to deter challenge (like fast food companies re-defining the terms "healthy", "100%" and "beef"), some use it simply to gain a political following with no policy present (like "Four More Years" and "Time For Change", or even "Back To Basics"). Whichever example you choose, we can't say we weren't warned. Aldous Huxley raised the alarm concerning eugenics and the corruption of science for economics and here we have George Orwell making his portents crystal clear.
There are other disturbingly familiar aspects of the Orwellian vision which are as pertinent today as at any other time since publication. Most obvious is the continual state of war in use as a lever against public opinion to insert draconian laws in the name of national security. It's only our lack of comprehensive historical education that prevents the repetition of this thoroughly detestable device from being wholly rejected by the populace. Julius Caeser did it, Adolf Hitler did it, Thatcher did it, even our contemporary christo-centre-right are at it, let's do it, let's start a war.
As with Huxley, and Wells, Orwell uses the logical projection of current society into the future as an extremely effective vehicle for social comment. The setting may be fifty or five hundred years forward in time but it's really all about now.
Some authors ache to impress with feats of fancy plot combos and multiple voice and style transformations. Others achieve more with less.Crumey's effortless style hides most of the intellectual swan's paddling while giving us just enough of a glimpse at the mechanism to make us appreciate his brilliance.
I've known about and been interested in the South Downs Way for many years now, for almost as long as I've lived this side of the rolling ridges that protect my little bubble from the rest of the country and in fact most of the rest of the county. But, until recently I'd only travelled along tiny stretches of it and mostly by accident. Not no more though, I've now trod every step of half of it. I chose Eastbourne and the Seven Sisters route as my starting point, arriving at the station on a seriously hot and cloudless tuesday morning. Took the half hour trot along the promenade and arrived at the starting point by the kiosk/cafe and tackled the first of many serious Ups to get on to the track leading to Beachy Head. Fantastic views all the way along the coast in both directions.
Walked on to Birling Gap before joining the roller coaster ride following the cliffs of the Seven Sisters Country Park. Seriously steep, and seemingly never-ending but finally after loosing count of the sisters, I made it to the end where you turn in land up the Cuckmere valley to the site of the now submerged Exceat.
Pause for breath after that 12 mile stint then on up the hill towards Alfriston, passing through the tiny villages of Westdean and Littlington. Lunch was late but most welcome after all that and provided the essential energy required for the last 6 or 7 miles along the firle ridgetop and down to the river Ouse at Southease.
Made it to Southease station with 10 minutes to spare before the once-an-hour train to Brighton - Result !
This is fast becomming the number one commuter read. As usual, us train people are oddly conservative and sheep-like folk simply because we are forced to follow each other into our transport pens every day and night. Shortlisted for last year's booker, it does stand above the general chatter simply for its' range and wit. There's much more intelligent debate about it on Palimspest but I'll stick my thoughts here, because, I, can.
There's an extraordinary light emanating from the basement darkness of the National Gallery's "Caravaggio: The Final Years". The massed ranks of art punters create a dense thicket through which these masterful pieces can just about be viewed. The light or, more accurately, the light gradient in all of the paintings here serves a dual purpose. First and most simply, the changing intensity highlight's prominent characters in the story and demotes the supporting cast to the shadow. Almost instantly second and more stunning is the depth of focus which makes objects appear to edge out into the world of the viewer. The table in "Supper at Emmaus", Salome's silver platter holding the severed head of John the Baptist, the plaintiff fingers of Peter's denial saying "Who me Sir ?, No Sir." This drawing of the eye through the combination of composition and colour / light balance is brilliantly executed and far more subtle and powerful than the similar stunts pulled by Rembrandt to illuminate and flatter his Dutch Berger paymasters. In fact you could even say Caravaggio occupies an altogether higher realm of complexity.
Just as complex is the treatment of the subjects of each painting which are all famous tales from Christian myth and legend but told decidedly from the artist's point of view. By promoting certain characters' place in the composition, the emphasis of the story shifts. A glance or an expression or just the angle of a flexed digit transform a basic representation of a well known text into his individual narration with as much personal and political bias as he can get away with.
The unique aspect to this specific collection is the display of contrast in Caravaggio's work during the last few years of his life. So, we get to see couplets of the same picture with a five or six year gap between them and this gives a fascinating insight into his turbulent situation and shifting inner consciousness. As he tires of life on the run after being banished from Rome for his crimes, his work starts to loose tone and colour. The expressions are notably more down-turned. Even then, the passion behind the work remains overwhelmingly naked and all-consuming.
The artist's passion is also expressed through the sheer level of detail he includes. From behind the crowds of hyped up visitors and standing ten feet away, you see the painting and you read the story. Squeeze through the throng to get up close and personal and a whole new set of objects come into focus. My personal favourites are the table, it's cloth and victuals in "Supper at Emmaus" and the sparks flying up from the accusing fingers in "The Denial of St Peter". Minor players in the big picture they maybe but they are perfectly executed additions which make these paintings deserving of their place in art history and a long queue in a crowded gallery.
Reading these stories gives a sense of
witnessing the birth of the Russian novel. This is
especially
exemplified by "The Overcoat" in which the downtrodden Bashmachkin
struggles to maintain both his lowly position as perpetual titular
councillor and his ever more threadbare overcoat. His name and
rank
alone are enough to provide a snapshot of his plight since
"Bashmachkin" is roughly derived from "shoe-er", or more literally
"stuffer", and the "titular councillor" is nine grades down the civil
service ladder. His humble position in society is merely the
background to the misfortunes that befall this most pathetic of
characters. "The Overcoat" charts the temporary, slightest rise
in
prosperity followed by the almost inevitable fall into ruin and
ultimate demise of Akaky Akakievich Bashmachkin. As we follow the
trail of disaster his life leaves, it becomes impossible not to feel
for the character and to wish that he could drag himself out of the pit
of despair he inhabits. The payback finally comes at the end of
the
story as Bashmachkin's ghost haunts his persecutors and so justice is
finally done. This ending speaks volumes about the Russian soul
and
its' fondness for the underdog. Some cultures would view this sad
character as no more than a miserable wretch but Gogol shows us that,
in Russia, he can be as much loved as the greatest hero and the
injustices he suffers must be avenged.
I'll
have to admit to the most shallow of reasons for buying this book,
namely it's position at number 1 in the sci-fi masterworks series. I'd
never heard of Haldeman, his work, or his Vietnam veteran
credentials, I was curious, that's all. This curiosity was not
immediately quenched as the first two chapters, while written in an
engaging style, didn't offer any specific reason for the primary list
position. Half way through, however, and it becomes quite obvious. This
book ticks almost all the classic sci-fi boxes : Superluminal travel
and the personal problems created by relativity, check.
Mysterious invading aliens who want to conquer our corner of the
galaxy, present. A military "Star Fleet" made up of marines in
space, yes sir. One of my favourite aspects is the multiple
future societies which Haldeman shows us by taking advantage of
Einstein's event horizon phenomenon where high velocity travel causes
the speeding spacemen to age much less than their earth-bound
cousins. The soldiers come back to a different Earth each time
and we can trace the changes in society over a few thousand years.
The author's own military experience gives this story an extra
dimension. This is a soldiers tale, written to show the futility
of war and the sacrifices made by the combatants. The futuristic
setting frees him from having to write about specifics and concentrate
on the issues and even though the narrative is delivered in a gruff
bluff voice, there's an overwhelming sense of sensitivity throughout.
For Whom The Bell
Tolls - Ernest Hemingway.
Two
for the price of one review time now as I'm back from the long awaited
Januray escape to warmer climes. But, these two works of fine
fiction share some surprising commonalities, over and above the fact
that I read them both on the same holiday. 
Let's
start with the reasons for this title's place in our list of renowned
fiction and also its merging into English idiom. We intuitively
know this future is wrong, dystopian, disturbing and generally bad
news, but, at the same time we kind think it's actually quite a good
idea. This in turn is due to AH being a keen proponent of
eugenics although, like most of its' fans, I guess the events of 1940s
Europe probably dented his convictions somewhat. In this way we
are faced with the same dilemma which must have plagued Controller
Mustapha Mond when he had to choose between conforming to the state or
persuing his intellect. | "Today it seems quite possible that the horror may be upon us in a single century. That is, if we refrain from blowing ourselves to smithereens in the interval." |
It's time to award this year's Homer's Golden Doughnut to the best restaurant in Brighton taken from the short selection defined by the ones wot we've been to. After slightly overdoing it in over 50 ressys across Australia and New Zealand at the start of the year, the judges had to take a short break before returning to some old favourites. We did the canteen of course (Terre a Terre), and we re-tried the Strand. We've even gone back to Hotel du Vin and were impressed by the improvements to both the menu and the execution of some mighty fine dishes. However, there is one single shining light shooting heavenward and looking down upon the rest of the Brighton fine dining wannabes. The name of this luminary lunchery, this fine fair of feasting, this debutante of beachfront dining is... Due South.
Mr Mee by Andrew Crumey. Ignore the pretensions contained within most reviews. Yes, the subjects of the stories are involved in separate yet intertwined quests for the truth surrounding the stars of 18th century philosophy. But think of it more like Scottish academics get a few surprises in the style of pulp fiction.
First
there was "Paddy
Clark Ha Ha Ha" telling us the tale of an Irish family viewed
entirely from the eldest boy who delights in making his little brother
drink lighter fuel. Then we were treated to a truly excellent and
beautifully subtle insight into the world of someone living with
Asperger's syndrome in "The
Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time" which was one of the
most intriguing and uplifting stories of this year as it dealt with the
subject with so much compassion and reality that it made the world seem
to contain greater understanding that perhaps it does. Now we
follow the dog theme to it's ultimate conclusion with "The
Last Family in England" which is an acomplished translation of our
world into that of Labradors, Spaniels, Rottweilers, cats and even
squirrels. The additional layer of Henry IV part 1 with most of
the characters' names being Shakesperian is possibly unnecessary but
it's a clever enough device which makes the dogs more personable.
My favourite theme running through this though is the dog related idiom
which peppers the pages; puppy dog eyes, in the dog house, a dog's
life. These cross-overs add a dash of humour to a dark and
intense plot which flashes past like a greyhound chasing a
rabbit.
The residents of Museli Mountain have alot of pubs to choose from.
There's also some stunning scenes to be seen, especially if you live on
the west side of the streets. If you don't, then just go to The Setting Sun which is a
proper nice boozer on the end of Windmill St and towards the top of the
steepest street in the world. The climb is worth it though for a cold
pint of Guinness
with views across the valley to the North
Laine and up the other side past The Pond,
up the road to West
Hill and then round, down and along the sea front.
The view at night is an
instant stunning sparkling realisation of the energy emanating from the
247820
inhabitants of this slip of silver stretched over the feet of the South
Downs between the Adur and the Ouse.
You could go down West Street
but I wouldn't recommend it. Instead, why not take a walk in the
park or up
a hill on your way to the station.
Attention All Shipping: A Journey Round the Shipping Forecast by Charlie Connelly is an essential read for radio 4 enthusiasts, especially if you read it at around 00:45 with the shipping forecast on. The background to the forecast itself and Charlie's personal motivations constitute the interesting, if not scintillating, opening chapters. From here on in, we switch to travelog mode in the style of Tony Hawks goes round the shipping regions with a Bill Bryson and a Dave Gorman. The balance of local history and personal travel diary is well struck although the humor seems forced at times. Overall though, this is a complete tale in itself, not just a list of lighthouses. Excellent ending as well with a cunning finish that wraps up everything nicely giving a warm feeling of completion to the whole project.
Greetings: Day 15 has arrived. It's short and to the point (hopefully) cos the idea is just to point the story some way towards its' inevitable conclusion, which is of course also it's inception. More of that later, on Day 20, or maybe 31 but at this rate it's going to be 2007 by the time we reach the end of the month. To quote Betazed's most famous child : "Time, Time, this is no time to be talking about Time, we don't have the time."
The Demolished Man by Alfred Bester is one of the seeds of modern sci-fi. His ideas resonate around every distopian, near-future novel written since it's first publication in 1953. Telepathic police chief searches for inter-planetery business leader turned power crazed murderer. Sounds familiar but this is the real deal. Bester's books are always deeply psychological but this one goes further, deeper and the use of typography to indicate mind-to-mind communication is a rare treat for this section of the bookshop.
This is not just a grim tale of professional alcoholics barely maintaining employment. Well, it is, mainly, but the humour comes from the childish petulance of the lowest levels of corporate management who can't stand the sight of the shambling Henry Chinaski. Their attempts to remove him from their hallowed halls of government are shredded by the simple fact that he doesn't care about the job or himself. He gets the worst postal rounds, he takes continual abuse from his 'superiors', he bins their 'write-ups' without reading them. Worst of all, he takes the intellectual high ground, which coming from a hopeless drunk, is a little hard to bear for the ironed shirt crew.
As a Tribute to diamond geezer's detailed description of the best way to get from Bow Road to Green Park in the morning - Here's my journey home :
London Commuter Handbook: no 33614:
(17:32) London Bridge to Brighton
1) 17:21 - Enter London Bridge station from
the main front entrance, make sure you take one of the central section of slightly
narrower doors to avoid getting caught up in the gaggle of amateurs looking
at the "information" boards or using the payphones. Once through the
doors, head straight for Platform 9. The most direct route is down the narrow
gap between the Lifts and the Underground escalators - aim for the right hand
side of the Lift but breathe in before you get to it to avoid a lung full of
Millies Cookie odour. Negotiate the cross flow of your fellow travellers which
is a combination of those alighting from the escalators and some unfortunate
souls queing for the ticket machine or even worse a La Croissant. A quick glance
up at the Platform 9 "Information" screen will show you that the 17:19
Tattenham Corner train is due to depart "on time" even though it's
17:23 by now- Iognore this and retrieve your ticket from your pocket and go
through the Platform9 arch keeping to the left aiming for the left-most ticket
barrier which will be almost free of congestion.
2) 17:24 Pass left along the platform, look up as you apporach
the midway Platform "Information" monitor which will be either blank
or showing a tiny unreadable security alert announcement. Keep walking. Keep
walking until you're almost to the end of the covered section of the platform,
when you get nearer, aim to stand squarely opposite the middle of the last filled
in brick arch on the wall on the other side of the tracks. Do not be alarmed
that all the other pro's are standing further up or further down the platform
- there's a reason for this. Look back towards the midway "Info" display
which should by now be showing some text that is unreadable from this distance
but the yellow font destination is fairly long and one word - hopefully "Littlehampton".
If there is still no sign of a train arriving, check one of the station's clocks
- you have until 17:28 to make your final route choice. If it gets to 17:28
and there's still no sign of a train - advertised or in reality, then quickly
head for the stairs in the middle of the platform and cross to Platform 8 to
pick up the 17:30 Esat Grinstead service which will deposit you at East Croydon
in plenty of time to catch the 17:54 Brighton service which started out being
the 17:36 from Victoria (providing the staff have managed to coax the electronic
doors into closing).
3) When the train arrives, stand your ground, close to the edge
but keep an eye out for open train doors or psychopathic suicidals. Ideally
the correct door will present itself to your outstretched hand and you can simply
board the carriage and head directly for the end seat at the far end of the
long bench, by the door, opposite the fire extinguisher. The reasons for this
seat choice are too numerous for this forum - just trust me, a great deal of
research has gone into this specific seat selection, encompassing : seasonal
sunlight; likelyhood of being squashed by over large punters; amount of disturbance
by exiting passengers and so on.... Sit and wait fro the train to leave - if
everything's going to plan, this should be about 5 minutes, during which time
the carriage will fill with all your favourite people with whom you share your
daily rail travel joy.
4) The good news is that once the train arrives at East Croydon
Platform 3, about one third of the inhabitants will exit, leaving the conditions
slightly cramped rather than completely cattle trucking sardinian. This is no
time to loose concentration though. Try and gather as many tiny peices of information
as you can regarding the general south-bound train situation. Remember you are
trying to select the first train to make it to Brighton 40 minutes into the
future, all of which have started from different destinations at different times,
at some point in your journey you will have to change trains onto one of these
other "services" - unless you want to end up in Hove (or worse). Check
the Platform 2 "Information" indicator for the lateness of the 17:54,
listen to the squawking of the train dispatch crew's radio equipment - even
consider the views of other passengers. Ignore all in-cariage announcements
- these are only made to mislead you.
5) If you're feeling very experienced, you may now permit yourself
20 minutes sleep. Alternatively you should now have enough elbow room to read
your book/newspaper/evening-standard while your journey continues in a vaguely
southward direction. Don't panic when the train slows to a crawl just after
the M25 crossing, this is just the approach to Horley where a surprising number
of individuals will leave your congregation. After Horley it's should be straight
through Gatwick, 3 Bridges and Balcombe and no stops till Haywards Heath. WAKE
UP ! If you're sitting too long here, it's possible that you're being held waiting
for a fast Brighton train behind you which will LEAVE BEFORE YOUR TRAIN. If
you suspect this to be the case, leap up from your semi-slumber and cross to
Platform 1 (remembering that Haywards Heath numbers it's platforms opposite
to all other stations so P1 is the furthest left when your'e facing south
(away from London, rather than toward).
6) In the unlikely event of all being well at this point, you
should be on your way through Sussex stopping only at Buggers Hole and Has-Socks
before diving into the mile long darkness of the Clayton Tunnel. On exiting
the tunnel remain passive, those around you may start getting up and gathering
their belongings - sit tight, it's still a fair way to go yet. Look to your right
and after a short distance you'll be running parallel with the Brighton end
of the A23, but not for long. Pass under a double road bridge and then quickly
into a surprisingly long tunnel which will spit you out somewhere near Withdean
Stadium on your left. Wait, Wait, Wait for it, wait for the train to pass under
a small, low brick bridge before you start to get your shed together. Once you
have your book/bag/jacket/rucksack all in order you should be passing the newly
built sidings outside Preston Park station on your left. By the time you get
to the end of these, it's almost time to get off (unless the information you
gathered at point 4 above leads you to believe that all the Brighton trains behind
you are irrevocably stuffed, in which case you need to decide NOW between going
to sHove-l or walking home from Preston Park (30 mins)
7) Hopefully it's OK to get off at PP so go for it and head along
the platform, diverting left away from the crowd and behind the little box that
covers the stairway and on down toward the last "Preston Park" sign.
At this point you can check the Public Information System (PIS) to get a rough
idea of how long you're going to be stuck at "this godforsaken place"
as I once heard it desciribed by an unfortunate who wanted to stop at Hassocks
on a day when the driver didn't. Your train should now be leaving on it's way
along the coast to Littlehampton via Lancing and Durrington (Front 4 coaches
only due to short platforms at these stations). Check the signals at the end
of the platform and the points a bit further on. After about 30 seconds proceeding
the train's departure, the signal should change and the points swing right.
This is your confirmation that the next train along the track is heading in
your direction and not going to branch off towards the scary and pub-less region
of hove.
8) Wait at the last station sign so you can still hear the next
announcement - this is not to determine the lateness or destination of the next
train (you've already done that), you are listening for the end of the automated
voice where she says "this train is formed of ..... coaches". If she
says 12 then head further down the platform and stand 6 feet before the big
yellow blob with your feet either side of a wider-than-normal line of black
sealant which is filling the gap between 2 of the nearby platform edge sections.
If she says "8" then head back the way you came and don't stop till
you get to the far end of the aforementioned stairway cover box thing.
9) Ideally it should now be 18:37 and a number 14 train should
be approaching PP, stopping with the front most doors right by your hand so
you can get on and stand in a peacful vestibule for the final 3 minutes of your
train journey. N.B. this actually never happens, it's just a Nirvana thing.
Instead, fight your way on to a train packed with hot angry Victoria commuters
who have spent the last hour getting thouroughly sick of the rail operator,
their jobs in the West End and each other (in that precise order). If possible
stay on the East side of the train, else stand near the door on the far side.
You can switch sides as you make your final approach to Brighton. You'll know
which side's right by looking at the track - if you look west and can only see
gravel in the immediate vacinity then you're coming into P5 so should be standing
on the East side. If you can see tracks then you're heading for P6 so should
be standing on the West side.
10) When the train stops at Brighton, listen for the piercing
squeek-beep then hit the door-open button, evacuate the carriage and head for
one of the left-most 2 ticket barriers. Once through, walk straight ahead keeping
WHSmith close on your left but at the same time swerving to avoid those waiting
for others and the Evening Argus man shouting bizarre local headlines. Head
directly for the hidden left corner exit, and kink even more left round the
cake shop towards the Taxi rank. Keep going straight on and round the left end
of the pointless glass taxi/punter divider and carefully cross the taxi marshalling
yard diagonally right to the pedestrian gate (the furthest left exit). You're now
on Queens Rd Brighton and what you do from here on is entirely up to you.
So, after all it does prove possible to walk from Lewes to Brighton along this route but it takes about 2 hours from Lewes station to Brighton Racecourse.
If you're a fan of JMH then you need Astro Man - a collection of studio out-takes and live concert recordings. It will blow your mind into like 13 dimensions man. Hearing your old favourites being practised in the studio well before their final polished appearance on any album makes you appreciate the artistry and professionalism shown by Jimi, Mitch, Noel and Chas Chandler. They get it wrong, start again, make the same mistake, change it around, and still manage to create the works of genius we know and love even after they've been round the development cycle a hundred times. Some unusual levels also expose deeper layers of some tracks which you always kind of knew were there but couldn't pin down - especailly the high notes on Hey Joe, the background mumbling on purple haze and the female backing vocals on ?cross town traffic?.
In order to maintain the veracity of my Brighton restaurant reviews, I was forced to re-visit Terre a Terre to make sure my current posting on Homer's Best is up to date and keeping pace with the latest changes to the menu. I'm pleased to report that the exceedingly high standards are being maintained and perhaps even surpassed. 
After almost 6 months of dipping in and out of cities in flight I'm finally in to the last section of far future history and only about 100 pages to go. This book is quite long but I admit I've been averaging under 5 pages a week recently so it's actually amazing that I've got this far this quick. Despite it's obvious page weight, the action runs at such a pace that every page turned revelas at least one new plot twist, one major incident, and several layers of character development. It's a super spin cycle of character/conflict/resolution several times over, every chapter.
Everything's still good, atmosphere is relaxed, staff are experienced, friendly and professional, menu's interesting and the tastes are , are, well taseteful. So, why is the Strand still in the 2nd tier of Brighton ressys ? Perhaps the cooking doesn't quite match the promise of the menu, maybe the kitchen is just too small to produce the necessary quality at the required quantities. Alternatively, it may be our scoring system that's wrong and we're doing them a major injustice. Decide for yourself, let me know if you disagree but for now, the Strand must continue to languish in Marge's 2nds.
Last night's visit to mei ped ped ped confirms that it is still the king of Thai. The menu's got poshed up a bit and the pad thai's grown but apart from that, all is as was (including the rushed off their feet staff who can't help forgetting you occasionallly).
The Binvelopes are slowly starving the seagulls and they are NOT happy. Last night, a gathering was convened and it sounded like the entire gull population of Brighton&Hove were trying to shout over one another. They have now begun trying to dismantle our houses top down by pecking chunks out of the roofs.
"The thing is, I can never tell if you're dressed" said the honey cake horse to the penguin.
this is what happens when you listen to 'just a minute' while drinking tequila
Perhaps the finest tequilas known to the drinking population of the western and of course the eastern world are those produced by the herradura company of Mexico,central America whose fine products include the ordinary yet delectable reposado, the rich, smooth and tantalisingly moreish anejo, and last but my no-ones' means the least achievement of this outsdanding distillery, the especial which tops the scale of the price list in addition to the quality awards of which it surely deserves more than any other since there can be no comparison when considering the relative virtues represented by intoxicating fluids of this nature now, in the history of embibing time and that of future drinkers from here to the end of knowable space and time, not including those moments of extrmeme lucidity which don't count anyway cos you can never quite retrieve them from the confines of your hazey recollections which are the direct result of the initial consumption of said spiritus liquers.
...you know I've smoked alot of grass...Oh lord I've popped alot of pills....But I never touched nothing that my spirit it could kill...
Ferari cheat their way to victory yet again ! Maybe that's a bit extreme, but with all implementations of Formula racing being designed to create close sporting competition, every infringement of the rules counts. This week we have the Ferari pit crew still on the race track after the 15 second warning has sounded before the drivers leave on their formation lap. 2 races ago, another (non-red) team received a disqualification for the same transgression. OK, so it may not have given Schumacher and Co. an advantage on the day but it certainly gives their competitors a major disadvantage when the conveniently blind officials suddenly regain their sight. Perhaps the unbelievable performance of Jean Todt's gang is just that - not credible. 
Although
the citypubs site is no-where near completion, it's about time we
voted for the 2004 winner. There's surprisingly few contenders
considering the vast number of potential entries. Many venues are
unfortunately let down by their clientele, but if they'd just get rid
of the TV then we wouldn't have to put up with the hollering of
rugger buggers . Anyway, at the finer end of booze provisioning the
competition is very close and it might just come down to a single
degree in guinness temperature difference that swings it. Front
runners are (in no particular order) : The John Keats at Moorgate,
The Arbitrager, The Toucan and Three Crowns and The Golden Fleece.
The results will be announced shortly but I have to say that my
money's on the Arbitrager at the moment.
