June 30, 2012
June 29, 2012
Notes from a day out in Shoreham and Worthing
handkerchiefs on heads
Digging for bait
Sea bass
Lugworm
crab
industrial coast
dog with stone in mouth
National Coastwatch
Double decker bus runs along shore
Light aircraft
Mainwaring’s men gazing out to sea
Dirty white topped sandbrown waves
Lone kayak
Powereq windsurfers
Masts
Xcite ride
Mr Seafood fresh seafood stall
Istanbul Turkish & Mediterranean restaurant
Tangerine Bar
M&S, Costa, Monsoon, RBS
The Denton Bar & Dining Room
Molloy’s Ice Cream, Rock, Confectionery, Cold Drinks
Straw hats buckets and spades
Portrait of queen
The Spyglass Inn
Modern building
Quality Seafood & Local Produce
Cornish & Sussex Real Ales
Macaris Ice Cream Bar
Tropicana Café Bar
Gold Rush
£1 stake wins £3
Golden Bonanza
2 Penny Falls
Crompton’s
Whittaker’s Roulette
Coins grubby to the touch
2 p decadence – 3rd world
Turn corner & wind hits
Concrete balls
Vintage tea rooms at the Dome
Looks nice but no room and can’t tell if they do fish and chips
Connaught Corner House restaurant
Haddock freshly landed on the beach at Worthing though I didn’t sea any fish being caught
Easy to let imagination be caught by the romance of the sea
Somewhat anaemic looking people sat opposite – Methodists I’d say
Couple sat with them – she had a bit of a downy lip
Widows conversation
I gave him the ring back
June 23, 2012
Life on Worthing pier
We passed each other walking in opposite directions. She was on the phone broadcasting loudly to anyone who wanted to listen.
“I’m homeless, I’ve nowhere to live, I’ve lost all my clothes, I’ve managed to save some of yours.”
She walked on, I walked on. That was it. There is no more to say.
June 16, 2012
Bred for beauty
The flowers were tied to the railing. There were several bunches but they were all fading now. Someone didn’t make it. It made me pause where once a pause could have meant life.
The flowers disguised numbness and despair. Picked for innocence. Bred for beauty, delicate radiance.
I walked on. I played no part in this.
June 3, 2012
rainy downtown days
It’s raining invisible rain. I can’t see it but I can hear it. This is one of those “got things to do but they are mostly outdoor jobs and I’m taking my time to do the few indoor ones” days. The indoor jobs include buying some new light bulbs from Tesco which involves going outdoors but I’m cool about that. I will be wearing a coat, waterproof, Goretex. That last bit is important because it should ensure that I stay dry at all times when moving between indoor bits. As dry as I need to be anyway. Not sure about my specs and I don’t care about the legs because I’m wearing shorts and sandals – the essential British summer gear I’d say. To finish off I’m sorry about the post title because it is a bit deceptive. I’m not actually downtown. It just sounded better than say rainy suburban days. Right I’m off to Tesco.
May 7, 2012
The old man and the handcart – Lincoln municipal tip, Great Northern Terrace
We were driving down to the tip at Great Northern Terrace and passed an old man pushing a handcart. All we had was an old carpet. The handcart was piled high with what looked like bits of an old boiler with its steel chimney. He held a steady pace – looked as if he must have been pretty fit.
He belonged in a Hovis advert really, with his flat cap firmly on his head and a look of determination on a timeworn face. I almost felt guilty driving past him. He must have come a fair old distance as there were no houses nearby and here we were in the car with just a measly bit of carpet. Did I say guilty? I think I probably meant inadequate.
We got to the tip and disposed of the carpet in the appropriate hopper. As we were leaving the dump the old man arrived at the entrance, no letup in his speed. We drove off. I wouldn’t recognise him again, unless perhaps he was pushing a handcart, with that same flat cap.
April 29, 2012
The cafe at Infosec2012, Earls Court, Tuesday 24th April
Two young salesmen smart in shiny suits
Take a short break, expense account cafe,
Corporate linguists, expert jargonistas
Sit now in silence, pondering their day.
April 15, 2012
The Short British Summer
Winter has returned to LN2. The rain is pelting down outside and I have lit the fire in the front room – something we had given up on for the summer. On the wireless the BBC news informs us of a hosepipe ban. The domestic cricket season has kicked off but the week of summer is clearly over and soon the shops will be putting out their Christmas displays. We very much enjoyed the salad we had one day last week but are now glad that the Sunday roast has returned. My pair of shorts can go back in the drawer. The t shirt gets to stay out. It is worn all year round, from October onwards in lieu of a vest. The tan has disappeared already. In fact I don’t think I got one this year. I was in the office that day. The football season is already back, or perhaps it hasn’t yet finished. It’s difficult to tell. Although we lament the passing of the short British summer I am looking forward to the Winter Olympics in London this year. August is one of the few months of the year we can guarantee snow in the UK. I must remember to leave food out for my feathered friends and to break the ice on the bird bath. Fortunately we didn’t get around to taking the thick counterpane off the bed which is where I’ll be headed shortly to save on gas and electricity.
April 14, 2012
Great sea journeys – Part 1, The Isle of Man Ferry.
The pointer, a time served professional, high vis jacket kept jauntily unzipped, playfully left his pointing until the last minute. It had been quite obvious which way to go but reassuring to know that this was in line with expectations. After all we were on a big sea journey and were happy to know that we were in the safe hands of a team that knew its stuff. The Jeep slid in behind a white van near the front, perfect for an early getaway at our destination.
The harbour had met with expectations. A quay, a lighthouse that looked the part, lifeboat station with bright red barn doors and the RNLI flag flying proudly aloft. Behind it the gas tanks suited the scene and up above on the headland a hotel, now defunct, stood next to the offices and transmitter of the local radio station. Slightly lower down, on the path leading towards the lighthouse stood the camera obscura.
Our ship, the Manannan, was moored next to the larger Ben My Chree, a high sided white expanse of a ferry that plied its trade between Douglas and Heysham. Thick grey smoke emitted from the two chimney pots at its rear. These looked implausibly small at the top of the huge black and red funnel.
We were Liverpool bound. (more…)
April 13, 2012
Naked and abandoned in the rain
Today I saw the castle, naked and abandoned in the rain, for the ruin it really is. In the sunshine an impregnable fortress, the entrance fee bolsters its sense of inaccessibility. Now during a torrential downpour, the car park of Fenella Beach peppered with watery explosions and rivers where no rivers should exist, the sandstone walls show the sorry results of centuries of neglect. I sat quietly, listening to the rain thundering on the roof, watching only a very occasional stray bird making its way home. The windscreen misted up. I switched on the engine and drove off.
April 11, 2012
Peel 11th April 2012. 6am
The sea is not quite as rough this morning. Not a soul about in town though I can see a couple of people fishing on the breakwater in the distance.
It’s a funny communal pattern – sleep by night and wake up by day. Most of us adhere to it. I expect there are one or two alarms going off now – radios coming on, bleary eyed people staggering down to the kitchen to put the kettle on.
It’s 6 degrees centigrade. Still what you might call “fresh”. From my spot looking down on Fenella Beach I can see (more…)
The early morning run
The bleary eyed stagger
Fumble for the light
Kettle on autopilot
Oh no – out of tea bags
Scramble around in corner cupboard
Ahah – find new pack
Pour milk into large plastic measuring jug – only one available
Two mugs – my favourite and hers
Rinse out teapot
3 bags
Click whoosh
Tea cosy on and tray upstairs
Back to bed.
The early morning run to the kitchen
April 7, 2012
The Last Paper Round
I dropped him off at the start of the round, same as I did every Sunday. This was the last time. The Newspaper, a free one, had pulled the round. We never found out why but we didn’t ask. We just accepted it.
For me it was the end of an era, more significant in my mind perhaps than in that of the paper boy.
A poignant moment. No more deliveries, no more brown envelopes rattling with pay. Will the householders themselves miss the “Target”? Unlikely.
What if it was the last paper delivery “ever”? Easy to let the imagination take hold. Serious significance. The leaving of an old world for a new one. A change in the order, like the closure of the railways.
The last paper, the last letterbox. Move on, move away, don’t look back.
Cars, unaware of the history, race by.
The paper boy walked home.
The Travelodge Manager
Sits outside on the step,
fag in hand,
talking about “her staff”,
watching the clock,
32 rooms of boredom,
licensed garage,
roadside existence,
traffic thunders by,
local girl with a smoker’s face.