Brighton's Feast of Stephen...

Brighton Beach looked wonderful as I walked home along the seafront on 22 December. The sea was rough, waves dashing onto the pebbles. The birds battled with the wind. The sun was a huge white globe of light looming in the sky. Crisp, cold and even - like the Feast of Stephen from the Christmas Carol.

Every seafront walk is different.

Copyright: Janet Cameron

Copyright: Janet Cameron

Mingle Hell (Never mind Jingle Bell!) when I Meet the Table Policewoman

Brighton's Thistle Hotel

http://www.thistle.com/virtual_tour/thistle/brighton/flash/pano9.htm

Located on the seafront.  Brighton & Hove University of the Third Age held its Christmas Lunch at this gorgeous hotel on 12 December.  Fabulous!  We were treated like royalty, lovely two-course roast turkey lunch and pud, plus mince pie, plus glass of wine, plus great table service AND, if that wasn't enough, live music - and all for £15 each.

I know this hotel, as occasionally I have used the restaurant (the seafront one with the picture windows) for Sunday roast - two delicious courses for £9.95.  Took my friend from Israel there, and more recently, my sister when she came to stay for the weekend.

Anyhow, back to the lunch. Our chairman, Alan, suggested we should "mingle" after the main course so that we could get to know new people and enlarge our social circle. Well meant suggestion. I duly mingled, exchanging places with another lady so she could talk to people from her classes, while I wanted to have a chat with a student from my writing class.

It should have been okay.

But - the lady next to me became very agitated because I was "sitting in someone else's seat."  I explained I'd get up as soon as "the someone else" returned.  This wasn't a good enough reason.  I promised that I would be back with my friends immediately the owner of the seat returned.  But - insisted this woman - the lady had left half her pudding behind.

HORRORS! 

"We have stopped the waiter from taking it away," she said, as though it was a matter of life and death.

OMG. Why do I always attract these people. Because I do.  Everyone else is happily mingling and I'm having a confrontation. 

I sighed, picked up the pudding belonging to the person sitting in my seat on the original table, and - no, I didn't empty it over the woman's newly permed hairdo - instead I trotted over with it, plonked it in front of the lady I'd changed places with, and explained briefly that I was being given a hard time on her table.

I returned once more and carefully avoided looking at the Table Policewoman. But she was determined.

"Don't worry about it. We know each other," I snapped finally, in desperation, but secretly thinking "**XX!!!xx** busybody!"

But - in spite of P.C. Permabarnet - everyone else was fantastic!  U3A is booking the same hotel again next year.  I will take better care who I mingle with.

Circle of Experienced Elders - Guardians of the Nation

 

 

These lovely people are members of Brighton's Circle of Experienced Elders, who meet at an address in Hove to discuss matters of great importance to the nation :) 

This event occurs once a month without fail, and a fine lunch, created by the members themselves, is enjoyed by all in a large airy room.  In the afternoon more matters of weight and content are dissected and mulled over with great deliberation.

A gong is passed around, so that only the person holding it can talk.  If anyone disobeys, the guardian dingles a bell and they are immediately shamed.

The December event will, of course, be a Christmas party, so the nation will have to manage without them.

The photo above shows some members off to a fine carvery in Peacehaven to enjoy a well-deserved lunch.  The carvery in questions serves bottomless ice cream, and you can have it with all sort of bits, like marshmallows and bits of chocolate or smarties.  Almost as good as a McDonald's Mississippi Mud Pie.

What's not to like?

Thoughts on Public Speaking from an Expert

The Thinker, Image by Daniel Stockman

Why do I do it? 

I'm fine chatting on any subject to around 10-15 people but as soon as there are 50 or 60 plus pairs of eyes focusing on me, my throat just closes. It's not difficult, really, I could just avoid such a situation. But no! Something in me wants to crack this fear of public speaking.

Last week I proposed the motion for the Brighton and Hove Debating Society on the subject, "We need time to think."  I leaned a little bit on John Locke's thoughts on thinking, just to impress everyone with my erudition (hee hee) and then I mentioned some specific instances where people not thinking things through led to doom and disaster and then I put on my posh English teacher's voice and discussed the fact that we all rely on binary oppositions far too much.  

Then I got all sentimental and talked about the quality of our thinking making us into fully realised human beings with sound hearts and minds.

Before anyone threw up, I sat down, but felt quite pleased with myself.

Well, the motion was passed and some kind people complimented me on my delivery.  Phew!!! 

I might even do it again sometime.

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Brighton & Hove's Tango Bootcamp

The shoes didn't work too well. The soles weren't
slippy and I couldn't pivot.

It was fun, for the most part, with sympathetic, professional guidance.

But...


What - exactly - is all this preoccupation with hugging people en masse, especially when you don't know them from Adam?

Don't get me wrong. I'm as huggy and loving and warm as the next person. But, there's hugging - and then there's hugging.
Last evening I went with a friend to learn to tango. Nice hall, friendly people, and we all stood in a circle and grinned rather warily at each other. The couple running the class were clearly experts. All was fine, until I suddenly realised that, yes, this guy was telling me to move around the circle, anti-clockwise, and give each man an enormous hug. And I mean a real, bosom-bashing hug. In effect, this was to prepare us for changing partners while learning to dance the tango.

I panicked. I hyperventilated. My palms were getting hot and sweaty and I contemplated diving for the door and vanishing from this embarrassing ordeal. But I looked at my friend and he seemed pretty threatened too. We hugged. That was okay. We've known each other about five years and have hugged before.

"I don't want to do this," I groaned as I moved to the first male stranger in the circle.

Am I repressed or something? I don't really think so, as dancing with any of those men would have been okay, they were all nice, presentable guys.

But being told you HAD to hug everyone, one after the other, well, it's just so darned contrived. I don't do contrived.

I got through it - somehow - and as I've signed for the course, I suppose I'll have to do it again. I think I'll just turn up a bit late when all the jolly-hockey-sticks hugging is over and done with.

What's wrong with shaking hands?

The Bootcamp

The bootcamp takes place at the Ralli Hall opposite Hove Station on Mondays and at the Latest Bar in Brighton on Wednesdays. Google it if you want details. I'm not posting them as I can't guarantee how long they will be accurate.

The Best Fish and Chips in Brighton

Heaven is eating chips on the beach! Image: Janet Cameron

Everyone should go there.

The best fish and chips shop is actually in Hove, and it's called Chippy Chips.  If coming from Brighton, then you go past Hove Lawns, and along the little parade of shops.  It's on the same side of the road as the King Alfred, more or less opposite the Sussex Inn. 

The best chips ever. Crisp and crunchy and consistently good. These people used to run the fish and chip shop in Church Road not far from George Street. It was great then and everyone missed them when they moved towards the sea front.

But now we have found them again.

They're not expensive either.  You can get cut price fish and chips on Tuesdays and Thursday, £4 for your meal, not bad.

They also do home made fishcakes, vegetarian burgers, chinese rolls and loads more.

YUMMY!

A Grim Search of Brighton's Coastline by Lifeboat and Helicopter

Last evening, just after dusk, I went for a walk along Hove seafront, in the direction of Brighton. 

The West Pier, copyright Gareth Cameron

There was a boat with searchlights drifting along the near the shoreline and soon I came to a coastguard's van. As I walked on, a man hurried up to me and asked if I had spoken to the coastguard. I hadn't. When something is clearly under control, I don't bother anyone, as I feel those involved have enough to do without having inane questions fired at them from outsiders.

But the man who approached me knew what had happened. He  told me that someone from the flats opposite had seen a man, who was very agitated, running up the beach. He walked into the sea just as dusk was falling. He was fully clothed. No one would go swimming in a cold sea with dusk falling, least of all fully dressed, so it was clearly a suicide. A bereavement, a divorce, being dumped by a partner. Who knows what was going through his mind?

The trouble is, the man explained, it's hard to find someone in the sea, because not only does the tide here go in and out, there is also a strong drift to the east.  Then there are the two piers, the wrecked west pier, and the Palace Pier with its fairground and arcades. Bodies can get caught up in all the debris beneath the piers.

Later, besides the boat  (all I could see of this were lights and a searchlight back in front)  a helicopter scoured the coastline, travelling east, then west, slowly looking for any sign of a body. It was, I think, too late to expect to find the person alive, although I suppose, you never know.

How sad that he felt the need to do it, and also that he couldn't bring himself to find solace in a friend or family member.  Of course, a few miles to the east, close to Eastbourne, there is Beachy Head and there have been two suicides there just recently, where desperate people have thrown themselves off the clifftop.

As the man said goodbye, he mentioned that probably the body would be found by a dogwalker in the morning. "It's usually the dogwalkers who find them," he told me.  I feel sorry for anyone who finds something like that, and can only admire those whose job it is to do the searching.

I will be very careful in future of my friends. It's so important to watch out for signs of despair, and maybe a sympathetic chat and a little bit of kindness, can help someone pull through the darkest of days.

Royal Albion, Brighton - the Hotel with a Self-Operating Lift

Sir Harry Preston (1860-1938) bought the Royal Albion Hotel in 1913 after it had been closed for around thirteen years and he entertained many famous people there, including the Prince of Wales. He was knighted for his support of charities and sports in 1933.

Now some people believe that the ghost spotted in the Royal Albion Hotel might be Sir Harry Preston, businessman and philanthropist, who was born in 1860. Sir Harry's ghost prefers to hang out near the Sir Harry Preston Function Room. Doors mysteriously open and close, apparently by themselves, and there are sometimes chilly, unexplained draughts. It's also claimed the lift has been known to ascend and descent when there's no one around to operate it. The ghost of Sir Harry makes itself visible mostly on Sunday evenings, and he's easy to identify because he wears his smart bowler hat.

The Marlborough Hotel, Kemp Town, Brighton - Poltergeist of the Butcher's Daughter

Ghostly activity at the Marlborough Hotel in Princes Street is so intense that it received a visit from the Paranormal Society. One of the visitors, a psychic, said she could see the apparition of a woman in a black dress and wearing jet-black beads. This was thought to be the ghost of Lucy Packham, according to a report in the Argus dated Monday 30 October 2000, which described the brutal murder of a young woman by her husband in a fit of rage.

Thomas Packham, the publican at the Marlborough Hotel, was a thug and was violent to his wife and children. On 2 March 1900, a Dr. Ross was called to the Marlborough Hotel to find Lucy Packham dead. Lucy, the daughter of a butcher, had married Packham in 1888 and the couple had three children. The cause of death was found to be serious bruising to the head and body, and, as confirmed by the post mortem, cerebral haemorrhage.

Thomas Packham was charged with murder, and witnesses gave evidence of his brutality and verbal abuse towards his wife, for example, he had once even hit her with a heavy stewpot. It was reported how he had flung her into a seven-foot-deep grave-like pit before he ended her life. The jury was composed entirely of men and, after Thomas Packham reported how "dirty and idle" his dead wife was, he was found guilty of manslaughter instead of mruder. He received four years' imprisonment and reportedly served only three, a paltry punishment for his crime. 

Lucy was just thirty-two (or thirty-six in some reports) and it is no wonder the poor woman still cannot rest. Many customers claim to have felt Lucy's presence, and witnessed the activity of the poltergeist she has left behind her. The manager, Sue Kerslake, detailed these activities as playing around with lights and switching off the gas on the beer taps.

The poltergeist of Lucy also sweeps bottles off a shelf behind the bar and twirls lampshades. The landlady often has a strong feeling of being watched. "I've never seen her properly," she said, "just fleeting glimpses when I've been on my own. When I thought about it, as she was beaten to death by her husband, she probably didn't like men too much. She's more comfortable with female company. It's not scary because she isn't nasty and she's been here a lot longer than me anyway."

Sue always warns new members of staff about the hautning and, although no one has yet declined employment, most are too terrified to enter the cellar. One employee, Paula, of St. James's Street, didn't believe in ghosts until she began working at the Marlborough Hotel in 1998. "I've known Sue for a long time," she said, "and she's not the sort of person to make things up. Sometimes you do feel there's someone in the bar with you, even if you can't see anyone else in there."

Originally, the Marlborough Hotel was known as The Golden Cross Inn and was formerly a coach house. It was renamed the Marlborough Hotel and Theatre in 1850 and was once owned by someone called Henry Witch, who died in 1906

Why I'm Reading The Sun in the Sunshine

Sunday 8 September and this was the view from where I was sitting in the lounge of the Royal Albion Hotel. There's Brighton Pier to the left. The hotel is past its sell-by date yet still has its special atmosphere of faded glory.  It's a nice place to go if you're on your own. 

Just before my first Brighton Christmas, I helped one of the staff put up the Christmas decorations and it was great fun. We never stopped laughing. Also used to meet friends here, although they are all doing different things now. (Something I said?)

So, happy memories.

A nice glass of white wine in front of me and a free copy of The Sun to read as the real thing streams through the window, what's not to like?  

The Sun is the only newspaper left, which is why I'm reading it.  Most people in a semi posh venue like the Royal Albion wouldn't be seen dead with The Sun. I got used to buying it when I was working in Adult Ed. helping people with learning difficulties. I used to have to buy easy-read newspapers so I could make learning materials out of the articles. 

Actually, I quite enjoyed reading it again, even though I wouldn't have gone out and bought a copy.

I still prefer the Guardian, the Independent or the lovely concise little i newspaper.  Especially since the latter is only 20p and 30p on Sundays. (Unless you can pick up a free copy at The Royal A.)

The thing with the Royal Albion is when you're fed up of the paper, you've still got the view.

Brunswick Square, Brighton ~ Another Great Festival

Copyright: Janet Cameron

On the weekend of August 17th, 2013, there was a festival in one of our local squares, Brunswick Square. Everybody likes festivals in Hove, so it was packed in spite of a grey day. Included in the celebrations was some fine belly dancing from local young ladies, while bunting festooned exciting pitches selling gorgeous gear and fabulous food. 

Copyright: Janet Cameron

Disco Pete, who is eighty-plus, is always in the paper and turns up at any event of note to strut his stuff. Everyone loves him to bits.  The youngsters have trouble keeping up with him!  

Rottingdean Terraces Stage

The Rottingdean Terraces Stage is a great outdoor venue for concerts, as proved today by the Lambeth Wind Orchestra who travelled up from London to give a special show from 2.30 to 4.30pm. It was a beautiful, sunny day, so what better than a glass of wine from the White Horse pub just north of the venue, and sitting on the perimeter wall of the Terraces and enjoying the sea view, while the orchestra prepared for their performance. Plenty of people tucking into fish and chips from the local supplier and still more demolishing ice creams from Enrique's.  And to top it all, finally, a medley of beautiful music, both popular and classical.  A great day for everyone.

Brighton Supports London Demonstration Against Privatisation

A National Health Service Demonstration was held on 18 May, 2013.  A coachload of Brighton protesters left the Old Steine for London to support the cause.

Hang Out Your Washing on Brighton's Historical Clock Tower

“I am horrified by the vandalism that’s been allowed to be perpetrated on the Victorian Clock Tower in Brighton,” say Cynthia Kingston in this weekend’s The Argus newspaper’s “Saturday Soapbox”.  Ms. Kingston is shocked by the draping of various garments all over Brighton’s much-loved clock, all in the name of art.

This festooning of many colourful garments will remain in place for the duration of the Brighton Festival which began on Saturday 4 May, 2013, but Ms. Kingston believes those responsible should be horse-whipped. Read more...