Wednesday, 19 September 2012

2 Years in Brighton

At half nine this evening, I realised it's my two year anniversary of moving to Brighton today.

Not sure why the date sticks in my mind, but I'm pretty sure 19 has something to do with it.

So how am I celebrating? Well, I washed my hair. Which is happening less frequently, so is a more noteworthy event as it transpires. "Oooh, she's become a typically Brighton-esque crustie hippie sort". No: I realised, finally, that seeing as my hair's much thicker than that belonging to other women I chat to I don't need to worry that I'm not washing it as frequently as they say they do. Also it helps the dye last much longer. And If I lay off the heating equipment and stop fiddling with it, le cleanliness lasts longer. To be honest I've not noticed much difference. Shampoo is probably just another big old beauty industry myth. I was going to draw a comparison to the study I was reading about where some people brushed their teeth with just water and others with toothpaste and fuck all difference was noted. Can't find that article now. Probably been deeply buried.

Just like that US flag was deeply buried in moon-sand!

It's also lazy Googling on my part because I want to get back to reading my magazine.

So yep. Reading. Waiting for my hair to dry - watching paint dry, if you like. Thinking about men. Worrying about my waistline. Listening to music.

Perhaps the most remarkable thing about this scenario is the lack of booze.

[Oh god where is the booze give me the booze]

Most of the time I'll catch myself thinking, "I wish I'd done this sooner". Moving here I mean. I have a lot of happy memories of Kent, but I'd outstayed my welcome.

[Here come the waterworks. NURSE! MORE BOOZE!!!]

My job was going nowhere. The jobs I wanted you only got if a mate of a mate or your relative or could get you in. To my everlasting shame, I was the only person I knew to try out for a job at the University of Kent and not get it. And I envied those people so hard, still do, because they seemed happy in their jobs. I wanted training. The best, and most affordable, was a long commute away. My friends group was disintegrating. I acknowledge my own blame in this, and I'm sorry and always will be.

There was one bar if you were in the alt scene.

Although they started up another one shortly before I was due to leave. I wrote a review of it, the first of my writing I'd ever published, other than my complaints to the local paper writing about complaint letter writers. I'm talking of course, about Clive Wilkins-Oppler, who was so persistent about the 'way he saw it' that they eventually gave him his own column!

I was very happily dating someone. But we didn't see eye-to-eye on work.

Me: "We'll be able to afford to do more fun things together if you get a job!" Or, like, get a bus from time to time instead of walking everywhere.

Him: "But that leaves me less time to listen to music and play video games!"

Me: "I'm going to harbour resentment against you because of this for years instead of telling you every day how much I loved you like I should've done!"

[Ok Nurse you can just hook it up to a vein now]

And do you know the funny thing about this, constant reader? One of these lifestyles lends itself much more to a future career in journalism. Instead of working 9-5 because it's what my parents wanted, nodding off in mind-numbing meetings, in uncomfortable clothes, with the satisfaction that at the end of the month I'll be able to spunk my money on getting pished to try to forget about the gaping miserable chasm of the week that exists between Monday to Friday, I should've made the most of robbing this country of benefits while they were still in the habit of handing them out like the TV Licensing people hand out threatening letters to the innocent, and immersed myself in media. Or, at least worked part-time.

Like I do now. Which nobody gives me hassle for.

I've got it so much better here and I take it for granted all the fucking time. It just takes you the teeniest of treks out of it once you've been in to see what I mean. And yes, I'm talking about you, Hollingbury.

I can do the hours I want. Meet a whole bunch of people with the right kinds of contacts. The number of courses, classes, workshops, groups, people out there with similar interests to you should you wish to seek them out is right fucking there on your doorstep. You want a rock night, you say? Certainly. Punk, classic, acoustic, doom, metal, thrash, soft, nu, or rockakoke? The choice is staggering. I am still reeling from it. You got the countryside, the sea and all that high street clone shit too if you want it. (And if you fall into the latter camp - hoho! 'Camp'! I am just drowning in puns - then what the fuck are you doing here. Get out).


Replace with 'peen' if ya like. Mmm, hairy peen.

You can walk about covered in bees if you like and no-one bats an eye.

And if it all gets a bit much at times it's easy enough to get away from.

This was brought to you by 'Midge' - look I even have my own nickname now - 2 today.

I'm not going to lie I'm feeling kind of shy

Cannot force a smile no matter how hard I try

Instead I sit and worry how I look and what I say

I worry that I worry every minute of every day

What concerns me are wars and the environment

And when pay day arrives how much I've already spent

Fashion makes me dizzy it changes so fast

I thought leggings were a thing of the past

I joined a gym once but then it burnt down

So my legs are getting wobbly and my belly's getting round

I can't cook but one day I'll learn

I wish I were more confident I wish I were firm

I don't like change but I do like surprises

I'm jealous of all those early risers

I sleep far too long but still feel tired

I'm always running late which once got me fired

When I get nervous my face turns red

I worry my mates wish they knew someone else

I do not like the internet and rarely use the phone

But I hate my own company, I hate to be alone

I can't help thinking that life ain't easy

It's a rollercoaster which can make us queasy

But I have my health and Brighton's my home

I shouldn't feel sad shouldn't feel alone

Trafalgar Street Graffiti snapped by Niall Basquille

So I'm on the hunt for a little madness

To forget my worries and stop my sadness

I head for the beach deck chairs line by the sea

Pretty to look at but sitting's not for free

Money money money a constant daily drag

I scan the crowds in search of a fag

I walk through the lanes which as usual are bustling

Performers are singing traders are hustling

Children shouting parents scalding

A man feeding birds shows signs of balding

Tourist attractions around every corner

A plethora of parks flora and fauna

The Royal Pavilion The Town Hall

What more could you want we've got it all

There's a buzz in the air the roads are heaving

Cars are crawling bikes are weaving

A broken face selling the latest Big Issue

Cold runs from his nose in search of a tissue

Am reminded of those elsewhere

Whose life is hard dangerous, unfair

I will be fine I know I'll cope

Stay positive and not lose hope

Thank you Brighton for being my potion

The only blue left is that of your ocean.

...Who also took one of the few photographs of me I like which wasn't taken by Simon Price or Photoshopped by Yours Truly



  1. Yay! In 3 weeks I will have been in Brighton 3 years. PARTY?