Archive for the ‘cafe culture’ Category


School Run

Tiny lady with your Pilates mat,
Size 0 the prize to strive for,

Dietry fad, energy superfood.

You pay your personal trainer,
‘Keep me young and desirable.’

Live long, live young, I’ll be happy.

Can’t stop too long too busy to stay,
Must drive like the wind to get coffee,

And pain au chocolat, Danish.

School run again, 500 yards,
MY kids can’t walk it’s not safe,

A pervert behind every tree.

My Hummer is bright yellow,
It’s just my colour,

It roars like a beast on heat.

Kids legs don’t work, too heavy by half,
Control paddle hands muscle bound.

Too bright, no practical skills.

There’s ‘little’ Jimmy,
‘McDonalds Ma, supersize me’

Full fat cowgrease ‘milkshake’

Drop off the kids, ‘don’t I look great’ speak into my iPhone,
Open the door Jim heave yourself out

Granny knocked flying by your metal

‘She shouldn’t be there,
It’s my bit of road,

Paid for by hubby, a banker.’

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Following our meal The One and I walked to the seafront and along the promenade. The sky was stunning, warm breezes caressing us as we wandered toward the setting sun.

The poor old pier is still hanging on. No longer linked to the land, the original entry booth is to be incorporated into Brightons new attraction, the name escapes me but it will be a metal column with a platform that goes up and down so a view of the city can be obtained. That assume’s money can be found. They couldn’t fund the pier restoration so what hope? Silly me, I forgot, it’s new and will make loads a dosh for someone.

The One thinks I am obsessed with the pier, it is true I will often take a picture of the pier when I go to Brighton,

but last night I loved the light sky blue pink, behind the pier.

This shows the now destroyed deck supports. We walked West toward Hove the setting sun was in our face, the promenade, not busy yet with summer crowds, a pleasant place to be. Normal people having an evening stroll / cycle. Even the hoody homeless squatting skating boarding sub culturite’s were out taking the sun and air. The world, at that time, in that place, exuding peace and love. Beach barbecue’s in swing (ugh burning animal fat) but good humour abounding. A street drinker wandered toward me, I recognise him. I have seen him being angrily aggressive at the sky for being there, cold and damp. Not today, drunk as a skunk, can in hand ‘Good evening’. I respond ‘Hi how’s it going’ (the English Que Pasa? perhaps). We move on.

A little further and we turn back to the station, but not before I see the rotunda has a sign beneath, “Open”, I had never seen this before, a cafe bar, open and inviting, a destination for another day.

As we walk back along the road side, motorcycles scream, cars dump their valves. The Grand still stands despite, Patrick Magee, the mayhem veiled behind the blue lighting of the facade. Will Brighton ever really forget that day and will PIRA really change its spots?

The lights, like strings of twin pearls hark back to an older age where smart ladies with their gentlemen escorts would promenade after supper, parasols idly carried for fashion. Long gone the fashion for pearls and parasols, but the evening walkers, joggers continue the tradition of post supper perambulation nonetheless.

A final look back to the Pier, with moon above and lights below;

before plunging into the little streets and backwaters of The Laines. Full of life, but not too much so tonight. The whole of Brighton seems to be dozing after the exertions of the day in full sun. Even the pubs seem quite and relaxed, no frenetic energy, rushing to the next thing, it might be better. The Seven Stars, a Jazz band warming up, alas no time to stop and listen.

back to the station and homeward bound. A stunning evening in this jewel of the south coast. Not the sort of thing I would usually say as I consider Brighton, generally, a bit of a carbuncle on the rump of the planet. Just shows how wrong you can be.

The photo’s are courtesy of my Google Nexus One.


Stopping off in a local cafe at the weekend, I noticed the customers were either single parents seeing their children for the day, people who appeared to have some mental heallth problems ( lets face it, who doesn’t) or the very elderley, eating alone. I used to think cafes were fun lively places but this doesn’t seem to be so anymore.

as the wealthy become more so, and the rest of us less so, is the cafe once again the refuge of the working person?