Gone Shoppin

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.
The Honda's so easy, so comfortable, would I just get bored.  Maybe, but that V-twin is a beauty.  Very, Very tempted ...

Fully Licensed

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 ...."
Y E S
Y E S
Y E S

My head's rushing now like a redbull teenager.  Back on the ER-6 for the best ride yet back to Norton, revving it properly now and giving it some decent speed, shouting into my crash helmet all the way.  Quite simply, the happiest I've been for 21 years, almost to the day in 1987 when I last passed a driving test.  Watch out world, I'm fully licensed and equipped for bike shopping....

In Training

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.
Day 2 and it's off out all day on the full power beasties.  Wow, what a difference.  Going slowly round the residential streets is much the same but out on the open road is where the grinning is beginning.  Our strict instructor despairs of our sluggish progress and shouts his commands to speed up and give it full throttle for the dual carriageway slip road.  I comply and just about hang on as the revs climb past 4000 and the mph goes from 30 to 60 to 70 in the time it takes to realise just how powerful the acceleration is.  Excellent.  No more struggling through the wind and rain now, just a gentle squeeze of the right grip and the world move backwards faster and faster.  Overtake a caravan and get a cheery "that'll be a test fail" in my earpiece.  I've hit 75 without even trying.  Up and down the hills and even the bends on this horrible snowy sleety haily day aren't a problem, the bike goes where I want it to go.  Well mostly anyway.  An armful of power heading sideways off a roundabout isn't ideal but no major dramas.
Day 3 and it's Malcolm's turn to shake his head at his pair of novices.  Top tips though, especially in the area of what gear not to be in at 30 mph.  4th not ideal, 2nd better, even if it does sound awful, the additional control means no more creeping over the limit.  A few emergency stops, no problem, a few U turns, still rubbish but at least I know why now.  Look up, not down and everything else sorts itself out.
Day 4, try and pull it all together.  Simon very not impressed by me turning up 40 minutes late due to my annual forgetting the clocks go forward Sunday.  But somehow managed to redeem myself by an almost good ride.  Avoid shaving those parked cars and I'd have been spot on.  Full of confidence for the test now, can't wait.

MC Diaries : Rest of Feb

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.
Of course the great dilemma surrounds the constant rethinking of what's going to be the next 'proper' bike.  The contenders : First came the KTM 690 but it's a thumping single cylinder so ruled out for not being smooth enough.  Then comes the Yamaha Fazer, a good all-rounder and reckoned to be a good choice for first big bike.  Obviously there has to be a Triumph in there and the speed triple is tickling my fancy although it's way too naked.  There's always the BMW F650GS but is it just too leggy and don't I really just want the 1200 anyway.   Last but not least the Kawasaki ER6 which I'll be coming back to later ...  Whatever the choice, can I have some luxury equipment please.  Cold hands are just not funny at 50 mph, yes I know summer glove time is approaching but right now I want heated grips, big fleecy mitts and hand guards as well.  Looking ahead to better weather though, it might be time to order those draggin jeans, can't wait to be able to go out in good weather wearing vaguely human looking clothing.

A week or so later and there's been a big change.  A sudden rush of confidence.  Two trips out with Mr Trans-Australasia / VFR nutter has changed everything,  A few top tips on cornering (both at high and super low speed), lots of miles following each other over the downs and into the depths of East Sussex and I'm a new biker.  The speed I was missing is there.  The feel for the corners and the ability to hold a good line is there.  Crouched down over the bars on the A23 gets me up to 67mph, after that everything else seems slow and easy.  The test is booked !  In less than 4 weeks I could be going on a super size shopping trip to my nearest Yamaha/Suzuki/Kawasaki/Triumph/BMW dealer to make another sudden rush of blood to the head decision.  After all, that's how it all started.

MC Diaries : Days 2 & 3

Day 2, seafront meet-up

MC Diaries : Day 1

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.
A short pit stop and I'm back on the road and encountering a whole load more firsts.  First hill start, in traffic of course with one of those funny toyota pedal cars right up my back wheel.  Just about pulled that off.  First attempt at the seven dials roundabout, a local fun fair ride of a 7 way intersection.  Somehow manage that even with a trail of cars stopping behind a bus and blocking the exit.  A quick nip up Dyke Road Avenue, straight across the A27 junction and I'm out onto the South Downs, the massive horizon opening up across the weald.  This is what it's all about.  The open road, sweeping bends, roller coaster hills, green fields, and a line of impatient car drivers waiting to overtake me.  Yes it's only taken a couple of hours and I need more power.  My little 125 can get to 40mph on the flat easily but up a hill it's struggling to maintain 25.  Down into 2nd gear and it's still hard work for the poor thing.  My mind flashes instantly to the Suzuki 400 in the showroom, or the BMW 650 next to it.  Maybe one day, well I can dream surely. 
More high speed cornering practice and some quieter country roads and I'm really starting to get used to the controls and the feel of the bike when it's leant over a little.  Even the top tip of counter steering actually works.  It's incredible how the most gentle of nudges on the bars sets up the perfect angle of lean into a bend.  I can't begin to fathom the physics but it feels good so that's alright then.  Heading back just before dark and I'm fairly pleased overall with Day 1.  A lot to learn but a lot learned.  I'm still hopelessly rubbish at every aspect of biking but I know I'll get to some level of competence before too long.  Well, before the summer hopefully.
I'm freezing, out of breath, in need of a shower and generally roughed up but it's been an excellent start.  Can't wait for Day 2 !

Amsterdam in August

Touchdown in Schipol and the super efficient luxury express to central station seems to have been waiting just for us as it glides to the platform.  Moments later we're nervously picking our way across the tram tracks and veering away from Damrak.  Straight into the mix.  Cafes, bars, coffee and head shops, food from half the world, tourists from the other half.  BIKES!!  How could I have forgotten the death defying calm of canal-side cycling.  No need to plan lunch, just sit down when hungry.  Tucking into tapas outside by Singel and forced to leave London anxiety behind by the relaxed pace of the waiters and kitchens.  The canal houses draw the eye upward along their narrow axes.  The wheels whiz by, the boats rock.  We're back in Dam.

A windng wander through the Nine Streets to Prinsengracht for a hotel pitstop then back out into the manic madness.  I aim for some old haunts, miss, stumble upon others, that's the way of the place.  Accidentally finding a church gallery I found by accident a time or two ago.  Hitting the book market by surprise as always.  Turning the wrong way down Kerkestraat of course still finding the Blue Dolphin with a little help.  Tradition kicks in.  One hit of purple haze and I'm instantly stoned as a stick.  As bad as the teenage me on the wrong end of a squidgy black bong.  Would someone else please keep talking so I don't have to, there's no way I can sync my brain with my mouth, there's just a woolly lagging in between.  Experience wins through though so we saunter casually out rather than exit as casualties.  A short walk round the horseshoe and we're miraculously back at Hotel HQ in time for tea.

Another slice of dutch excellence in the restaurant.  Serious fine dining at euro prices.  Scallop and truffle slices on artichoke jelly for fuck's sake and no danger of a pain in the wallet.  Why oh why can't London eating be like this ?  Coffee Sir ?, No Thankyou, back out on the town for an espresso and a pijpe at homegrown fantasy.  The dream's slightly shattered by the new Essex geyser management but everything else is pretty much as I left it.

Oh so carefully making our way back through the night-time revelry and those damn trams, we walk straight into Gay Pride Eve.  That party's only just starting and with a big bang.

Another Amsterdam chapter opens and closes, the locals polish their diamonds and Porsches, the sex, drugs and culture vultures come and go, the neon green sign in a special part of my heart burns as bright as ever.  The old magic's still there.

mono

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.

Round 'em Up

The latest round of restuaritic opinionation is now available on the ressy pages.
Since you last looked there's fascinating insights included into the wonders that await Brighton diners at :
Planet India, the cheapest, nicest vegie curry in Brighton
Murasaki, instantly the best of the Seven Dials international selection

and Londoners at :
Smiths, somehow the top floor is even worse than the lower decks.
Bleeding Heart, a reliable, above average, very French bistro
Kurumaya, if you want to join me for lunch
The White Swan, that excellent hidden gem you've been searching for.

That's about it for January/February 2007. Look out for the upcoming treats of Locanda Locatelli and The Hawksmoor.  Pass me the wafer thin mints.

rock climbing

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 ?

Personally I blame the drugs, and the fashion, and Thatcher.  Not that she's got anything to do with it, I just blame her out of 1980's educated habit.  Allow me to expand.  Back in the early to good days of rock music the kids were just stoned enough to dig the music and be taken in new directions without worrying too much about the clothes they were wearing or the outfits adorning the band on the album cover.  Incidently this is why Jimi Hendrix, even one as gifted as he, had to don the most improbable garb just to get noticed.  If you weren't wearing orange trousers with fringing and a fur lined embroidered waistcoat then no one was even going to notice you through the fog of cheap sticky hash.  In the 80s rock was out, OK, fair enough, give it a rest, sure but at least come up with a credible antidote for our denim addiction.  Instead what did we get, new fekin romantics followed by kylie and jason. fefekssake.  It was so bad that when Oasis came along we didn't look back in anger, we actually felt pathetically grateful.  For about 30 seconds at least.  What were we thinking ?  We weren't.  Ecstacy, speed and cocaine had robbed us of our capacity to discern nice from good.

There is promise though, a fleeting glimpse of a future where things are made right again.  There's a groundswell of appreciation for Black Sabbath and Deep Purple.  Every 14 yr old has a Led Zeppelin T-shirt, although it's worn in an ignorant ironic fashion.  Even the demonic AC/DC logo is once again a symbol of noisy rebellion.  I have to say though I don't hold out much hope for us or our children.  Perhaps their offspring will stand a chance, one day in the misty morning of tomorrow, a future science student will uncover some classic vinyl, decrypt it's grooves and go home with an overlording urge to stitch the name of some rock gods into the back of their jacket.  Well, you never know.

So I continue to take my modern medicine as prescribed by the matron, I dutifully buy the second Datsuns album in the vain hope that it might offer some glimmer of expectation of a brighter future for proper rock.  I am denied of course but the war is not lost even if this battle's not won.  I'm left sitting here back at base camp, immersed blissfully in 70's rock again, and loving every minute of it.  Somehow it seems all the more precious knowing how far we didn't make it along the road from there to here.

Smokin

Smokey Dave, International Promotions

"I'm famous, I am. You're looking at the most famous bloke in this town, you are. You want to take my picture, you do. Go on take my picture."

So, I did. i took a step back to frame the shot, asked him to look straight into the lens. He spread his arms wide, holding the carrier bag of cheap booze just out of the frame and poked out his tongue between his remaining three teeth. The combination of pink tie, green shirt and comedy sun glasses might not be the height of fashion but somehow he gets away with it.

"What's your name son ? Are you a pro, workin' for the papers, you know, magazines like, are you ?"

"Er, Adam, my name's Adam. No, I'm an amateur, I just like taking photos of everything"

"Dave, Smokey Dave, here's my card. Send me a copy of that photo"

He pressed the gold and black printed card into my hand as he shook it vigorously. His bony knuckles straining slightly as he did so.

"See you around, be lucky" was all he said as he turned smartly and walked away. Light on his feet, he made his way down the street half waltzing, half staggering, but maintaining a more or less straight line as he made his way. I turned his card around in my fingers.

Smokey Dave - International Promotions. Music, Film, TV

I tucked it away but it kept coming back to me. Was this guy for real ? Could be. Then again, he could be just another one suffering from cider induced bi-polar delusions. You get a lot of that round here. Something about the city draws them in. or maybe it's more that they're the ones left behind. No way out for them. Just like me. Am I trapped here by my own smug insistence that I've made the right choice and I'm sticking to it. Worse still, am I going to be staggering round these streets in 30 years' time, accosting kids with cameras and giving them my card? I should be so lucky.

I wonder how Dave's story goes. How he lost his teeth, what's the sotry with 'International Promotions'. Is he really da Man or is he just another failed musician like the hoards of others that this town collects like dead butterflies. They flutter around this faded re-painted seaside resort like they need the flame of its former glory to stay being someone. Even if they never really were. Of course, it doesn't really matter does it ? How they see themselves, the Smokey Daves of this world, that's what matters to them. Who they see in the mirror. So, we are them are us are you and me. Dave puts on his comedy specs and lurid tie. I put on my jeans and designer T-shirt, you put on your suit and shoes, you over there, yes you in the slightly spangly top, and you, yes, you advertising a mobile phone company and your football allegiance. We are all Smokey Dave. All posting an image for ourselves to view under the illusion that we're doing it for outward appearances. I think I'm starting to really appreciate Dave's approach. It maintains the invention of your life just how you want it to be. If you belive it enough then it is so.

How far do I follow this philosphy though ? I find myself thinking, when faced with a decision to make, "What would Dave do ?". The short answer is, Dave would have another drink.

Oh, FUCK, I AM SMOKEY DAVE.

Help in the Hood

Brighton For Beginners (North Laine edition)

Intro

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...

Eating

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.
Breakfast in Brighton is another minefield and really a website of its own - the soon to be launched brightonreviewofbreakfasts.  Let's just say Bill's is best, Nia on Trafalgar St is not bad and Inside Out on Gloucester Rd is pretty decent.  As for the rest, you'll have to discover for yourself, that's part of the fun, but they're all in division 2.
The best lunchables are probably in the North Laine.  Go down the hill under the tunnel from the station and on your left you've got the Real Patisserie and Toast, both do what they do very well indeed.  If you want to sit down then Wagamama will of course ply you with noodle or try Red Veg on Gardner St if you like vege burgers, a lot.
Grocers are represented by the usual gang but you'll be aiming for Waitrose at the far end of Western Rd.  This is pretty much where Brighton runs out and becomes the other place so the John Lewis Partnership have carefully sighted there store where it can be reached by both camps (pun intended).  Before you go in though, check out Taj opposite.  This has grown through three evolutions into the Asian megashopolis it is today and is the best place for spices, exotic veg, oils, sauces, breads, dips, crackers and dried food stuffs.  How they've crammed so much into the space I'll never know, it's like a tardis in there.  Closer to home for North Lainers is YumYum on Sydney St.  Chinese supermarket downstairs, noodle bar upstairs doing just what Wagamama does but for a lot longer.  This is where you buy a new wok, some dried noodles and some wonton cases (should you suddenly require some).  There's also okinami for Japanese requisites and you can order online from them too.  Oh, one more essential item I nearly forgot.  M&S food at the station is open really late and sells bread, crisps, and booze (and chocolate).  If that's shut you can always go to B2 over the road, they're open 24 hours.

Drinking

Certainly no shortage of boozers in Brighton which actually causes a problem of its own.  Namely 'where shall we go for a drink'.  Almost every pub in the area has had the clear-window and scrubbed-wood-floor job done which is not necessarily a bad thing as there used to be some right stinkers.  I'm not going to go into detail so I'll be brief and say ..

The Good
Sussex Yeoman, Guildford Rd
3 JBs, North Rd
Caxton, North Gardens
Eddy, Upper Gloucester Rd

The Bad
Great Eastern, Trafalgar St.
Hare and Hounds, Preston Circus
Prince Albert, Trafalgar St.
Good Companions, Dyke Rd

The Ugly
The George, Trafalgar St.
The Office, Sydney St
HaHa, Pavilion Buildings
The whole of West St.

Shopping

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.

Nightlife

Clubs, pubs and comedy are in plentiful supply.  The Seafront is now full of disco divas, Audio and Concorde stretch the action further east.  It's just a case of picking the right night for you.  The big names always draw a good crowd though.  Don't miss out on the Komedia in Gardner St though, standard stand-up is generally high quality and the monthly Treason Show is well worth a try.

Outdoors

Being hemmed in by the Sea and the South Downs makes outdoor, healthy pursuits a bit tricky but not impossible.  The parks are small but secluded, Queens Park and St Anne's Well Gardens are the best two.  The Cycle path along the seafront runs interrupted from Saltdean to Shoreham (and then on past Worthing eventually) but is a dangerous sport in its own right.  If you want to go walking out of town then you really need to use transport of some kind first.  During the summer months, the 77 bus goes to Devil's Dyke which has stunning views and is probably the nearest point of the South Downs Way.  Don't go in the pub though, it's truly terrible, stick to the ice cream van instead.  An alternative is the 5B bus to Patcham and cross the A27 on foot and walk up to the Chattri, an Indian war memorial in the middle of nowhere.  You'll need a good map to find this though.

If you're feeling a little more adventurous, then get the 22 to Woodingdean and cut up and off the falmer road where you can join the drovers trail that goes all the way to Lewes.  It's not as far as you'd think and the whole walk takes about 90 minutes.
An easier afternoon out is by train to Falmer and across Stanmer Park to Stanmer village.  Not incredibly exciting but worth exploring.

Other Areas

There are actually other part of Brighton where people live apart from the North Laine.  No, really, there are.  Centrally speaking, Hannover is probably the most dominant.  Affectionately known as Museli Mountain due to the concentration of m/c mothers, this triangle of ex-rail workers housing between Elm Grove, Southover St and Queens Park Rd can't be ignored.  There's a lot of pubs, some of them quite visitable, a lot of houses and shed loads of cars and children.  You have to have 1.5 cars per housemate if you live there.  There is practically nothing else, one shop and a couple of dodgy chippys and that's yer lot.
Kemptown from St James St and eastward into the village is sometimes treated as if it's painted pink.  It isn't really but it's become more sought after area in the last few years.  Not sure why but go for a wander and see what you think.  There's a couple of almost OK restaurants and a few bars to check out but it's mainly dominated by Amex and the Hospital which are by far the biggest employers in the town.
Going the other way and up from the station there's West Hill which has its charms and this includes Seven Dials which can be a bit of a treat.  There's a couple of good restaurants, the incredibly useful Tinkers hardware store and a handful of delis, offys and a few other shops you didn't know you needed.

Travel

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.
Buses are expensive and slow but sometimes the best way to get around if you're going a reasonable distance (like Hove town hall to the hospital, although why you'd be doing that I don't know)  The 7 goes right across town east-west.  They all go past Churchill Sq, and they're all full of horrid teenagers doing big brother impressions.
For a small town, Brighton has a lot of stations.  There's 4 if you include Hove and loads if you go further west.  The main one is pretty obvious but London Rd is handy of you want to go to the Open House Pub and Preston Park is good, er if you want to go to Preston Park.  All trains go to London of course but you can also head to Lewes, Eastbourne, Ashford (for the french connection), Basingstoke, Reading or Cardiff.  The one most people forget is London Bridge.  It's pretty much just as easy to get to as Victoria, there's direct trains all the time and if you need to be in the City then it's the obvious choice.
The one mode of transport forbidden to you is the car.  Where are you going to put it ?  Unless you're one of the handful of residents lucky enough to have your own off-street parking.  Traffic wardens are mercenary and target driven.  They will slap a ticket on anyone anytime anywhere.  Private clampers are even worse.
If you have a bike, lock it, if you don't you won't have one for long.

Services

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.

Dangers

Brighton is probably the safest, nicest, most innocuous place I have ever lived.  There's only two dangers.  West St at night concentrates all the fighting into one carefully avoided zone.  Seagulls will dive on you and try and bomb you, especially during chick rearing season.  My advice is walk close to the house walls so their wing span prevents direct attack.  If you don't have a front yard with a wheelie bin, use the council provided binvelopes, otherwise the buggers (seagulls, not councillors) will spread the entire contents of your bin along the length of your street.

Maps

There's quite a handy little map on the NLCA site and individual street info on the excellent mybrightonandhove site.  To hold one in your hand, the standard little red streetmap is essential for the first few years of Brighton life.

More Info

There's a few random links on my old old Brighton web page , Flickr covers local photography pretty well, especially on the dedicated group and I've just created a new North Laine group on there too so join in with that if you want to share your local images.  If it's all too much and you need specific local advice, mail me or leave a comment here.  I know you'll be fine though, just watch out for those seagulls ! 

blogtied

Oh this is getting confusing. Time for a liberal application of strictness (can you be liberal and strict, well let's just assume that you can for the moment). The problem we face today is bloggage, otherwise diagnosed as an excess of blogs resulting in a generic lack of identity. The prescribed treatment is a separation of duties between said blogs.

So, from this day forth, let it be known that, this blog here what you is now reading shall remain the container for chillicheese related ramblings and nothing else

The Other blog shall focus entirely on the wonderful world of the web and will become the purest distilate of my Bloglines with a dash of Palimpsest, del.icio.us and Superglu added to taste.

Chilli-Photo-Blog is pretty self explanatory but is specifically a one-a-day caption competition.

right, glad that's cleared up then, good, off you go.

here we go

I got caught up another bloody captain meme-o. I blame the strangely compelling Rockstar Mommy

I AM: here, now.

promises

It's been a long time coming but the chillicheese ressy reviews are no longer confined to BN1. There's a whole world out there just waiting to be eaten and in recognition of this the ressy pages have been expanded to include London, Europe and the rest of the known dining world (well, known to me anyway). Full reviews of each lucky subject will eventually appear but for now, if you want to express additional opinion then the comments section here will serve your needs.

Just makes me want to travel to some new places and uncover some more gems. Also makes me want to go back to some, especially for the Peppered Tuna in the unliley located and named Bar De La Med, and a Baramundi at Ricky's, and while I'm at it some smoked eel, teryaki style at Imperial City or simple style at St John. Then on to Chez Bruce for the cheese and a sherry at The Don. Hop on a plane and head to Codfather for lunch tomorrow, off into wine country for a steak at Reubens. Round the world again to eat Turkish delights in New Zealand at Istanbul, washed down with a Tequila tasting plate up the street at Flying Burrito Brothers. Have I still got time for a curry at Jaipur, no, perhaps I'll save that for next week !

breakages

normal service will be resumed once I escape the delights of leg hospital.

ouch

OUCH

***K ****ER ***K ***K

1000 yards

Squinting at the clock in the corner, my idea of the time it is shifts. Is that five thirty, six thirty, 8 30 ? Must be six, it's light out. The cool blue air of a seaside summers day still to come. I don't want to think about how long I've been sat here, locked in the concentration pose, eyes red and square, only able to focus on the blinding rectangle dead ahead. I torture myself with the loops and twists hypothetical outcomes ; I could be out of here in an hour if it all goes well, it could all be over, wrapped up and dealt with and I could sleep, or I could stay up, might as well, I could stay up and float through one of those blissed out surreal days where nothing can touch you and it's like you barely leave an imprint as you pass along.

The reality of the situation snaps back and hits me like a rake in the face. The set of decisions I made yesterday evening have determined my path, set me up for this night long vigil. And back to the dreaded 'if'. If I hadn't answered the call, if I hadn't even heard it, after all I was in a loud pub, drinking a long cool pint. If I hadn't answered it, what then ? On to the equally awful 'maybe's; maybe someone else would have had to take over, maybe the problem would have just gone away on it's own with no painful intervention required. One thing that aint no maybe is that I wouldn't be here. Don't know where I would be, who cares, I wouldn't be here right now.

Enough, enough of this, I'm not a slave to this thing, what's the worst that can happen ? I take my eyes off the glass for five minutes, I miss the crucial moment in time when it's time for me to act, I have to start all over again. Again. I waste another three hours of this half-life existence. Too tired to think anyway, I'm probably just dangerous in this condition. That was easy. Then again, there's not likely to be much persuasion required to convince me of the total validity of my own argument. Sod it, I'm going outside.

As soon as the crack of the front door lets in the first angle of sky, the sensation hits, more than a smell, more than sight, sound or touch, it's a single overwhelming sense. The totality of freedom. The freedom to look up and keep looking further and further, up and away into the limitless. The freedom to just go, not plan, not check, not ponder, just go in no particular direction and keep going. I hit the pavement, turn round, lock up and that's it, I'm out.

A faint cold breath of mist waves past my face and my arms, I feel alive, positively charged, ready. I know where this energy is coming from as well. By rights I should be a shattered, tattered bag of ill-fitting bits by now but the promise of a July morning transports me to times and places of the simplest pleasures. The past feeds the present. I head up and out of town, I need to escape the low rise shadows of a town just waking.

As I walk, the frequency of passing others increases as the early shift heads on into work, but I'm ahead of the game, even if I choose an easy pace, I'll reach the hills before eight, before the buses get busy. I turn and turn again, up and around, skirting habitation, avoiding the main road, ducking under and over the railway until finally, the housing estates fade away and I cross the last crossing and, instantly, the whole world opens up. Suddenly my horizon is just vast, incalculable. I can see for miles. One field after another after a hill, after a hollow, past a farm, along a ridge to the distant bristle of a line of trees, no more than a thumbnail high from here. Ahead is the informal track of tread making a path across the rich cow pasture. Even the incessant buzz of the overhead power lines and the swish of the rubber on tarmac in the distance behind me can't take away this timelessness. The distractions fade into the background and all that's left are the real things. The hills, the trees, the path. The stuff of life.

After half an hour or so, the bursting sense of exhilaration fades a little, I calm down a bit, get over that city folk in the country bewilderment, but the overall effect is still pretty powerful. Everything seems new, even just walking, one step after another is cause for celebration and wonder. Ultimately of course I'm well aware that at some point I will have to turn my steps back to town, back home, back to work. Still a little room for play though, I can take the long way round this field, avoid the hill and add twenty minutes to my journey. Another decision that was made and sorted before it started. Even now as I climb the hill towards the road, I'm caught by the roar of the silence, the sheer weight of it is almost too much to bear. I need the buildings around me to help hold the sky up.



The 77 is waiting for me as I round the last bend, the driver looks a little twitchy as he winds his destination board, it's still early and he's not settled into his routine yet. He barely acknowledges me sideways as I board, just an eyebrow and half a nod, enough to say, "don't worry bout it mate, I'm not going to bother charging you." I settle down at the back, legs out, chin tucked in and wait to be whisked home by the power of Dennis Plaxton.

When I get in, I see.

[DDDDDDDDDDDDD||||||||||||||||||||||||||||] [......INSTALLATION - 58 % complete.......]

sonnet boom

/--------------------------------------------------\
!! DAYLIGHT !!

Early morning blues lifted
by the light of the sky
All my winter drear shifted
now that spring is nigh.

The dead dark days are over
for another year at least
Now it's safe to dream once more
of summer's baskng heat.

O breathe it in, O soak it up
this luxury is free
heart beats, quick step
Right now it's good to be me.

A treat indeed yet simple pleasure
to travel in daylight for work or leisure.

\--------------------------------------------------/



/--------------------------------------------------\
Noo-Kip

Toss and Turn, the lords of the deep night arena
taunt their subjects while the smiling clock face mocks
the flailing sleeper's failure to break into the house of dreams
Nothing works, not counting sheep, not even counting flocks.

The icy glow of street lamps light the edges of the cell.
Walls close in, ceiling lowers, locking the lid of the chamber.
From this sentence there's no chance of parole,
imprisoned by the inability to slumber.

Snagged on the thorns of indecision,
too bored to stay, too tired to rise,
Another few hours building up tension
to face the next day with raw red eyes.

At last I drift off but what do you reckon ?
The alarm's due to go off in 30 seconds.

\--------------------------------------------------/

New Kids

Bills Produce Store, North Road, Brighton.

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