On the up
Celebrated a great morning's work, by taking a two hour walk this afternoon, heading east across the city and clambered uphill till I reached the top of it. It is surprisingly high in the Hanover area, especially near the racecourse. Then ended up at Whitehawk, which I'd never walked through and probably won't bother again.
Sort of reminded me a little of the Chalkhill estate in Wembley, where my old pal Carl lived, which is now mostly pulled down. Lots of the kids that went to my school lived there and it was quite a rough place. I wrote an unsuccessful SF novel in Carl's parents garage in Chalkhill, being bitten by fleas from the rug, and watching the odd flood of dog urine come down the wall, supplied by one of the several puppies from upstairs. Nobody can say I haven't paid my dues.
Whitehawk has an edgy atmosphere about it, although in the sun it looked pleasant enough and there were few people about, apart from a man with a unpleasant dog. I walked past them twice, trying to decide where to walk next. Clearly this was some kind of provocation as he muttered "queer" to his dog. Or it could have been a talking dog, but this is less likely.
Late in the evening went for a drink with Anton in the Eddy, he'd been on an unspeakable teleconference till 10, but we had an enjoyable chat for a couple of hours. Naturally, among many subjects, he was keen to talk about football since Chelsea lost at the weekend.
Below lots of roads drop away like this in the east part of Brighton. Some shoes. The so-called Pepperpot, which was once a water tower, but is currently unused. A skeleton picture in the underpass below the racecourse to Whitehawk. Obviously I am obsessed by skeletons these days but they are a few about if you look. This one has had its eyes gouged out. Some homes in Whitehawk.
Celebrated a great morning's work, by taking a two hour walk this afternoon, heading east across the city and clambered uphill till I reached the top of it. It is surprisingly high in the Hanover area, especially near the racecourse. Then ended up at Whitehawk, which I'd never walked through and probably won't bother again.
Sort of reminded me a little of the Chalkhill estate in Wembley, where my old pal Carl lived, which is now mostly pulled down. Lots of the kids that went to my school lived there and it was quite a rough place. I wrote an unsuccessful SF novel in Carl's parents garage in Chalkhill, being bitten by fleas from the rug, and watching the odd flood of dog urine come down the wall, supplied by one of the several puppies from upstairs. Nobody can say I haven't paid my dues.
Whitehawk has an edgy atmosphere about it, although in the sun it looked pleasant enough and there were few people about, apart from a man with a unpleasant dog. I walked past them twice, trying to decide where to walk next. Clearly this was some kind of provocation as he muttered "queer" to his dog. Or it could have been a talking dog, but this is less likely.
Late in the evening went for a drink with Anton in the Eddy, he'd been on an unspeakable teleconference till 10, but we had an enjoyable chat for a couple of hours. Naturally, among many subjects, he was keen to talk about football since Chelsea lost at the weekend.
Below lots of roads drop away like this in the east part of Brighton. Some shoes. The so-called Pepperpot, which was once a water tower, but is currently unused. A skeleton picture in the underpass below the racecourse to Whitehawk. Obviously I am obsessed by skeletons these days but they are a few about if you look. This one has had its eyes gouged out. Some homes in Whitehawk.
Comments
The story goes that the Pepperpot was a lookout tower for a retired admiral who had a big house built at the top of Queen's Park -later a Xaverian college,later demolished after a mysterious fire -and discovering that he couldn't see the sea from his house,built the Pepperpot.So it goes.........