The Whistler’s food editor is bringing her award-winning podcast Cooking The Books with Gilly Smith to Rockwater on Hove beach. We sent our podcast correspondent Ceri Barnes Thompson to find out more
“What podcasts are you listening to?” Have you noticed we seem to be saying this more and more. It’s the new box set conversation. I love the excellent journalism and shared stories I hear on my dog walks and right now the top of my ‘Spotify’s most listened to’ list is “Cooking the Books with Gilly Smith”. It’s been my companion every Thursday morning for the past two years and not only has it changed the way I shop, cook, eat and understand the world of food production, it’s ignited my connection to the taste memories that have been part of my life. No other podcast has had such a profound effect on me as this.
This summer “Cooking The Books” comes to Rockwater in Hove as Gilly will be hosting Yasmin Fahr, Rachel Roddy and Melissa Hemsley, three of the most exciting food writers around throughout July who’ll all talk about life, food and their latest books.
Gilly is a Sussex based writer and journalist, but her reputation in the food world is international. Immersed in a lifetime of food journalism she started podcasting at Delicious magazine before striking out on her own.
“Podcasting is the ultimate in democratising women, people of colour, gender, sexuality and age. We take our subjects and we prise them open to find so much more than the traditional media would ever commission. It’s powered by passion rather than sales meetings. We do what we love and it’s catching!” So powerful is her belief in the format that she has also written a book “How To Start And Grow A Successful Podcast” and has made online courses on the subject too.
“Cooking the Books” won The Guild of Food Writers Award for best pod last year and this year only missed out to the BBC production team at the Food Programme at The Fortum and Mason Awards. Not bad for someone who’s the consummate solo producer – every episode of “Cooking The Books” she researches, books, records and edits herself. There are no adverts, no sponsors.
Melissa Hemsley describes Gilly as “hugely respected by the old guard of the food world, but also massively loved by the up-and-coming due to her boundless energy for encouragement, mentoring and change-bringing”. Hemsley says that “Cooking the Books” is the podcast she’d choose first out of any list to appear on. She calls it “genius” because it honours the author by taking the listener on a deep dive into the stories, recipes and writing often reading segments back the authors they’d almost forgotten, the refreshing excitement of hearing your own words being read out loud for listeners to enjoy.
Along with Hemsley on the roster will be the Guardian food journalist and author Rachel Roddy and New York Times food writer Yasmin Fahr, who recently relocated from New York to Menorca, attracted by the slower pace of life.
Yasmin thinks it’s Gilly’s authenticity and insight that make the podcast is so enjoyable. “These conversations can give people a ‘head start’, bringing people into their confidence around food and cooking. Gilly uses stories of personal experience because she knows that the most effective way to get people to change is through stories.”
And that’s very much Gilly’s mission – to change the world. She’s concerned about climate change, the food industry’s broken industrial systems, child food poverty and our lack of connection to the soil and to each other. A good cook book will always be the antidote to ultra processed food. A good recipe will always have you handling the ingredients rather than popping a silver processed tray in the oven. And that’s what she wants us to do as a result of listening to the podcast. Shop locally, think about how the animals have been treated, share a meal and a story with family and friends as often as possible.
Away from “Cooking The Books” Gilly works with the Food Foundation to help bring awareness of food poverty especially of our children living in scarcity. Melissa Hemsley is one of the voices that Gilly’s encouraged to come on board and Melissa credits Gilly with encouraging her to flex her energy in the more important parts of the food world like being part of this kind of campaigning work.
I asked Yasmin what she is hoping for from the live shows. “Food people tend to be good-hearted people and I’m really looking forward to hearing what questions come up. If there’s a chance of one thing landing that gives someone the ability to try something new, it’s all worthwhile”.
“I hope there’ll be a real hobby club atmosphere” says Gilly, “people coming with all kinds of different takes on a subject, it always surprises and delights me”.
l Rockwater, Western Esplanade, BN3 4FA 01273 091166
Tuesday July 2 6.30-8pm Yasmin Fahr
Tuesday July 16 6.30-8pm: Rachel Roddy
Tuesday July 23 6.30-8pm: Melissa Hemsley
Tickets £15 from CookBookBake, Hove’s indie specialist cookbook shop and include £5 off the author’s book.
The Charleston Festival was packed with food book fans last week as the current culinary kings and queens teamed up with the world of art and literature to discuss all of life through the prism of food. Composer/musician Nitin Sawhney chewed over the symbiotic relationship between art, politics and society with food writer, chef and restaurateur Ravinder Bhogal, while food royalty Bee Wilson and Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall explored the moral, ethical and health choices we’re forced to make about food every day.
There was even a surprise visit from Queen Camilla who opened the event with poet laureate Joseph Coelho, presenter and comedian Lenny Henry, children’s authors Jacqueline Wilson and Francesca Simon, and actor Jenny Agutter. Shame she didn’t hang on for the Bee and Hugh session; I think she’d have had a lot to chat about with Charles had she stayed on to learn how to eat 30 plants a week
But it was why we need to eat 30 plants a week that was the subject of the afternoon. The impact of factory farmed animals on climate change and the immorality of eating industrially fast-grown caged birds who can barely move, let alone exhibit their natural behaviour was high on the list for Hugh. And as host, the Food Programme presenter, Leyla Kazim asked how the average shopper can choose between the many and various ethical signposting, thank the Lord that Hugh put paid to any suggestion that Red Tractor has anything to do with compassion in farming.
Deliberately confusing the messaging is what retailers do best, and Hugh and Bee suggested that we simply side step the ultra-processed aisles in the supermarket. ‘It’s a mind bomb that sets you free,’ said Bee, as she urged us to think about real ingredients – vegetables, fruit, meat and fish – instead of the ultra processed foods that have cast a spell over an increasingly robotic shopper.
For Hugh, eating more vegetables to improve the health of the nation and the planet is about storytelling. ‘It’s about elevating the way we eat, rather than being banging on about being virtuous’, he said. And he reminded us that our ancestors were obsessed with storytelling about food. They would spend the whole day hunting and gathering, he told us, and as the community gathered to cook and eat together at the end of the day, they’d chat about what they’d been up to. And that was food. Instagram’s obsession with food has nothing on the Hunter Gatherers.
Be more hunter gatherer, was the take out of the afternoon. Forage for nettles with the kids, pick blackberries with the grandchildren, taste and tell in schools, and a whole new generation will grow up not in the shadow of their food wasting, UPF addicted, climate changing community, but of their deer stalking, herb picking ancestors.
RECEIVED WISDOM, seldom the most reliable or durable of guides, has it that Paths of Glory kicked off Stanley Kubrick’s freakish streak of groundbreaking movies. Fortunately, we here at Cinerama know better.
That honour, we insist, belongs to The Killing, arguably the greatest of all heist movies and certainly the most intricate and imaginative. Spoilers R Not Us, as you know, so let’s just say the climax is as profoundly unexpected and shocking as the end of the first half of Full Metal Jacket.
Yet while Kubrick’s own “My way or the highway” story is as celebrated as any in Hollywood history, his determination to march to the beat of his own drum had nothing on the actor around whom The Killing revolves, Sterling Hayden, a name all-but erased from widespread awareness. Such was the price one had to pay in paranoid post-WW2 America for being outed as a pinko Commie traitor. Not that Hayden gave a damn. Never has Tinseltown harboured a more radical or reluctant star.
The Library of Congress testifies to Hayden’s talent. The US National Film Registry housed there lists no fewer than five of his films as “culturally, historically or aesthetically” significant: The Asphalt Jungle, Johnny Guitar, Dr Strangelove (Or How I Stopped Worrying And Learned To Love The Bomb), The Godfather and The Long Goodbye.
Yet Hayden was disdainful of his craft, which he pursued primarily to finance whichever new boat took his fancy. “Bastards,” was how he described most of his celluloid appearances, “conceived in contempt of life and spewn out onto screens across the world with noxious ballyhoo; saying nothing, contemptuous of the truth, sullen and lecherous.”
Born Sterling Relyea Walter and poor, Hayden was adopted by his stepfather, James Hayden, and, after a nomadic childhood, ran away to sea at 17, rising rapidly to renowned ship’s captain. Encouraged by friends, he approached producer Edward Griffith and came away clutching a Paramount contract. Needless to add, his looks didn’t hurt his reinvention.
Towering over co-stars at an intimidating 6ft 5in, unsmiling, granite-jawed and Nordic-featured, he was dubbed “The Most Beautiful Man in the Movies” and “The Beautiful Blond Viking God” (as well as the somewhat less macho “Shirley”). “Incredible, really, how I got away with it,” he would reflect, “parlaying nine years at sea into two decades of posturing.”
But beneath the beauty lay plenty of beastly. Francis Coppola knew what he was doing when he lured Hayden from the wilderness to play the corrupt cop in The Godfather. Nobody else could have punched Al Pacino’s clean-cut face with such convincingly vicious power and ferocity that he transformed Michael Corleone from a clean-cut war hero into a savage mobster. One who, the next time they met, would blow his brains out.
Imperishable as those scenes were, Hayden only had a cameo in The Godfather, but that stubborn minimalism was centre stage in the other four of his movies preserved by the Library of Congress. He was Dix Handley, a loyal henchman, in The Asphalt Jungle (1950), another hypnotic heist movie as well as one of the most gripping of noirs, In the title role of Johnny Guitar (1954) he’s a reformed gunslinger neck-deep in a love-hate tryst with Joan Crawford’s titanium-tough bar-owner Vienna.
In The Long Goodbye (1973), he steals the show as Roger Wade, a spouse-beating alcoholic author castrated by writer’s block. Most unforgettably of all, in Dr. Strangelove (1964) he’s General Jack D. Ripper, the blackly comic gung-ho part that bore closest resemblance to his public persona while subverting it: General Ripper blames his sexual impotence on “the Russkis” and issues irreversible orders to bomb Moscow.
Hayden’s journey from blond bombshell to Red renegade was as typical of a man allergic to standing still as the fact that he wed one of his four wives three times. If the title of Woody Allen’s memoir, Apropos of Nothing, represents one extreme of the aptness spectrum, Hayden’s choice, The Wanderer, marks the opposite.
Quitting Paramount before the Japanese blitzed Pearl Harbour (and just after the studio bought him the boat used in Captains Courageous), he shrewdly signed up for the Marines as “John Hamilton” to eliminate the prospect of being teased as a Hollywood pretty boy, and soon joined the Office of Strategy Services, the forerunner of the CIA. The OSS had been founded by his chum “Wild Bill” Donovan, the barely-disguised model for Robert De Niro’s character Bill Sullivan in his grossly underrated self-directed epic The Good Shepherd.
Hayden thus had a busier war than most. The only American selected to receive commando training in Scotland, he parachuted into Croatia and ran guns and supplies to Yugoslav partisans behind German lines. He also befriended Yugoslavia’s growing band of Communists; the partisans’ leader, the future President Tito, pinned a medal on his chest.
Hayden was not only a vocal anti-capitalist; he supported the Hollywood Ten, the writers and directors banished by the studios after refusing to testify to the House UnAmerican Activities Committee over their Communist links. In stark contrast to Elia Kazan, he was ashamed for “ratting” to HUAC, with whom he co-operated in naming names during Joe McCarthy’s communist witch-hunts. No regret haunted him more.
IF HAYDEN WAS a “posturer”, he fooled an awful lot of clever people, including the stellar directors of that quintessential quintet of movies: Robert Altman, Francis Coppola, John Huston, Stanley Kubrick and Nicholas Ray. In fact, Jack D. Ripper was Hayden’s second plum role for Kubrick; the first was Johnny Clay in The Killing.
Released six years after The Asphalt Jungle and another masterly exercise in sunless noir, The Killing, according to Kubrick, was his first “mature” feature. Like all his best screenplays, this one was adapted from a novel, in this instance Lionel White’s Clean Break. Clay is the stick-up man and conductor of a meticulously orchestrated racetrack robbery that we see unfold in episodic, overlapping and, most daringly for the era, non-linear fashion.
“Seeing it without his credit, would you guess it was by Kubrick?” wondered Roger Ebert rhetorically. As the esteemed critic asserted, every Kubrick movie stands alone, a gem of unique hue and gleam even when the subject is war, as it was on three occasions. Narrated by Art Gilmore, a well-known if uncredited radio announcer, The Killing is less about guns and hitmen than precise timings, chess and the domino effect.
Revelling in pulp novelist Jim Thompson’s quickfire contributions to the diamond-hard dialogue, Hayden moulds Clay into a canny cookie with a keen eye for the tiniest details. He enlists specialist “pros” while refusing to reveal the identities of their accomplices, let alone any broader elements of his audacious plan to plunder $2m – the killing in question – from the Lansdowne racetrack in San Francisco. The horses are shot thrillingly by Sam Peckinpah’s favourite cinematographer, Lucien Ballard, though the actual venue was Bay Meadows, then the most venerable track in California.
Art steals more blatantly from life in an early scene where Clay hires Maurice, a pro wrestler, to create a distraction by instigating a bar brawl. Not only do they meet at the same chess club Hayden frequented as a boy; Kubrick himself was a chess junkie who played zealously between scenes.
Not that the chess connection is solely worth pointing out as tasty trivia. Clay plots the heist as Kubrick plotted a chess game. Every rook, bishop and pawn has their job to do and place to be at a synchronised juncture. Everything depends on making the right move at the right time and in the right order. Even the slightest mis-step could cause the dominos to fall. Even in the dying moments, when he has every excuse to rip off that mask of stoical cool, Hayden, like any experienced chess player, remains poker-faced. It is impossible to imagine anyone else as Clay. Perhaps all that posturing was simply Sterling playing Sterling.
The Killing is about as romantic as The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, but the heart still weeps and snaps, especially as we spy on Sherry and George, a cruelly ill-wed couple. Marie Windsor, who made Marlene Dietrich look innocent, is at her ruthless best as the faithless femme fatale, every contemptuous quip a dagger in the chest of the mousey husband she looks down on literally as well as figuratively. As the sexless cashier desperate to win back her unblind faith, Elisha Cook regales us with the most vividly pathetic of all the fall guys he’d portrayed in noir classics such as The Big Sleep and The Maltese Falcon. All Clay has to do to make Sherry behave is threaten to beat her duplicitous face into “hamburger meat”.
Cook is such a brilliant sap, in fact, that it’s hard to stifle a guilty giggle upon re-glimpsing that grim, hope-drained face. And yes, given the extensive pleasures we derive from the tragedies that fuel noir, we viewers, of course, are sadistically complicit.
The last line is right up there with “Nobody’s perfect” and “Shut up and deal”: urged to run from the law by his childhood sweetheart, Clay replies, “What’s the point?”. That could so easily have been the sign-off to every noir.
To reveal any more truly would be an unforgiveable crime.
THERE ARE FEW THINGS in life truly worth loathing, but received wisdom is undeniably this column’s noirest bête noir. Take “The Best Concert Movies of All Time” (Rolling Stone and Rotten Tomatoes) or variations such as “20 Greatest Concert Films” (The Guardian).
For one thing, the words “Pop” and/or “Rock” so implicit in those titles are missing, never mind “Soul”, “Jazz” and “Reggae”, much less any other musical genre. To these eyes and sensibilities, the two most uplifting concert scenes on screen could hardly offer a starker sonic or visual contrast: Bruce Springsteen and The E St Band’s 20-minute re-bonding on Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out from their 2000 NYC reunion (a gift from HBO that never stops giving) and, in Maestro, Bradley Cooper’s imperious impersonation of Lenny Bernstein electrifying Ely Cathedral in 1973, wringing out every ounce of his vast if not always pious passions conducting Mahler’s 2nd.
It feels safe to presume, nonetheless, that a classical music gig will never be a) called a gig, or b) qualify for one of the aforementioned Guardian or Rotten Tomatoes charts. The sticking-point, box-office-wise, is that orchestras are essentially dress-alike covers acts whose idea of stagecraft is leaning forward. So why not clarify matters? Why not bill the ones that do dominate said charts as “Gig Movies”? If nothing else, Mahler fans won’t get miffed.
For another thing, even now, in what may turn out to be their heyday, gig movies are far from 10 a penny. As a genre, unlike musicals, westerns, horror and noir, they’ve barely reached middle-age. Commemorating the inaugural pop/rock festival, Monterey Pop (1968) was the first member of the litter, though aside from Jimi Hendrix setting his guitar alight and Pete Townshend bashing his to bits, its impact was but a pinprick next to Woodstock (1970), the three-hour, multiscreen epic on which Martin Scorsese cut his teeth.
And because gig movies were only ever intended to be a secondhand experience, at best, and thus lacked box-office appeal, it has taken this century’s documentary boom, and the recent advent of simultaneous live Odeon transmissions, to thicken the best-of-breed contenders to any significant degree.
The latest nauseating spot of consensus has it that the best gig movie is Stop Making Sense. David Byrne’s baggy suit, an irresistible electro-funk stew and Jonathan Demme’s imaginative staging are all tremendous fun, granted, but ambition was limited. As Geoffrey Cheshire’s stirring essay for The Criterion Collection put it, this column’s choice, Gimme Shelter (1970), gave the Rolling Stones “what no one had bargained for: a terrifying snapshot of the sudden collapse of the sixties”.
Having only just seen the latter on a big screen for the first time, as part of a European re-release (you can stream it on Amazon), I can only concur wholesouledly with the view that, when it comes to cinema verité, the Maysles brothers’ sickening documentary of the anti-Woodstock, held on the West Coast at Altamont, struck the motherlode.
Sure, the cameras miss Marty Balin, the Jefferson Airplane vocalist, being knocked out by Hell’s Angels, foolishly hired as security (in exchange for a barrel of beer) and brandishing pool cues in a way even Ronnie O’Sullivan might never have countenanced. As it is, we get more than enough of the prelude (Balin mouthing off at the abusive leatherjackets) and the aftermath (Balin’s battered face). And those peace and love vibes at Hyde Park just a few months earlier, where Mick Jagger bid farewell to Brian Jones by releasing a fleet of doves and reading a poem by Shelley? Gone for good.
No scene in the annals of gig movies, nevertheless, is more chilling than when those beer-pumped Angels seize the mile-high, gun-toting Meredith Hunter as he advances towards the stage, then knife and bludgeon him to death.
There had been good reason to fear such a grisly outcome. Not only had Jagger been subjected to death threats, hence the insistence that no audience member be allowed to invade the stage; as he stepped off the helicopter on arrival, he was punched by someone he might reasonably have assumed to be a fan.
Watching him watch Hunter’s murder unfold on a monitor backstage is like surfing an emotional pendulum. No matter how you feel about rock’s first and foremost frontman, it would take an act of astonishing anatomic control not to gulp or shudder at the way his face slides from preening pride – in a terrific band performance, in the way the filming was going – to grim, guilty stupefaction. And the song he happened to be singing as Hunter was savaged? Sympathy for the Devil, what else?
In The New Yorker, Pauline Kael, by no means a rock chick, derided it all as wish-fulfilment and a sham, alleging – wrongly, according to the Mayleses – that the show was designed and lit for the cameras. The ingredients, though, were all in place: a free festival headlined by their satanic majesties for 300,000 drugged-up if not loved-up fans at a San Francisco speedway track in the final month of the most radical yet delusional of decades.
“I think it affected all of us very profoundly,” guitarist Mick Taylor reflected on recordings released only last year. “The only thing we were very upset about was being accused and held responsible for what happened. You can’t really blame anybody in that kind of mass hysteria.”
Nonetheless, Don McLean’s dream that drums and wires could “save your mortal soul” was in tatters. On American Pie, there was nothing ambivalent about his allusions to Jagger (“Jack Flash”): “I saw Satan dancing with delight the day the music died.”
Well, it didn’t die, did it? And Jagger, who has done more than most to keep it alive and rocking, certainly didn’t deserve crucifixion. Understandably, forgivably, he still shies clear of the topic with religious fervour. Even so, one can only imagine how many times his nights have been ruptured by those visual scars.
On the infinitely brighter side, the Stones were in marvellous nick for the Maylses, majestic as well as satanic. MC Mick struts like a coked-up peacock, the consummate rabble-rouser; Bill Wyman cuddles his bass and plucks it with infinitely more dexterity than you ever remembered; from the opening chords of Jumpin’ Jack Flash, Richards and Taylor’s complementary twin guitars – so much more diverse and fascinating than the riff-heavy Keef-Ronnie combo – lock into a funky fusion of flying fingers. Needless to add, Charlie was bloody good that night too.
And, as you watch them, you can’t help but be reminded why the other act you’ve known for all these years has now been going more than half a century longer than Sgt Pepper’s squabbling slackers. Love ’em or merely tolerate them (how can you possibly loathe an octogenarian-led band that can still persuade tens of thousands of Brazilians to stump up a week’s wages to see them?), the Stones remain England’s hardiest Sixties tribute act.
Within five years of Altamont, they would be in freefall recording-wise, yet even now, the sellouts (literal, never spiritual) persist. Mick and Keef have pretty much always known that sticking to the same seat in the same carriage on the same track could pay considerable dividends. Happily, Gimme Shelter, which showcases the chemistry responsible, works as celebration as well as damnation.
Top 10 Gig Movies
Gimme Shelter (Rolling Stones)
Live In New York City (Bruce Springsteen & The E St Band)
The Last Waltz (The Band, Joni Mitchell, Bob Dylan, Muddy Waters et al)
Summer of Soul (Stevie Wonder, Sly & The Family Stone, Nina Simone, Staple Singers et al)
Stop Making Sense (Talking Heads)
Get Back (The Beatles)
Sign O’ The Times (Prince)
Monterey Pop (Jimi Hendrix, Mamas & Papas, Otis Redding, Ravi Shankar et al)
Live At Pompeii (Pink Floyd)
Woodstock (Janis Joplin, The Who, Santana, Crosby, Stills & Nash, Joan Baez et al)
The satanic majesty of Gimme Shelter
By Ruby Ephstein
THERE ARE FEW THINGS in life truly worth loathing, but received wisdom is undeniably this column’s noirest bête noir. Take “The Best Concert Movies of All Time” (Rolling Stone and Rotten Tomatoes) or variations such as “20 Greatest Concert Films” (The Guardian).
For one thing, the words “Pop” and/or “Rock” so implicit in those titles are missing, never mind “Soul”, “Jazz” and “Reggae”, much less any other musical genre. To these eyes and sensibilities, the two most uplifting concert scenes on screen could hardly offer a starker sonic or visual contrast: Bruce Springsteen and The E St Band’s 20-minute re-bonding on Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out from their 2000 NYC reunion (a gift from HBO that never stops giving) and, in Maestro, Bradley Cooper’s imperious impersonation of Lenny Bernstein electrifying Ely Cathedral in 1973, wringing out every ounce of his vast if not always pious passions conducting Mahler’s 2nd.
It feels safe to presume, nonetheless, that a classical music gig will never be a) called a gig, or b) qualify for one of the aforementioned Guardian or Rotten Tomatoes charts. The sticking-point, box-office-wise, is that orchestras are essentially dress-alike covers acts whose idea of stagecraft is leaning forward. So why not clarify matters? Why not bill the ones that do dominate said charts as “Gig Movies”? If nothing else, Mahler fans won’t get miffed.
For another thing, even now, in what may turn out to be their heyday, gig movies are far from 10 a penny. As a genre, unlike musicals, westerns, horror and noir, they’ve barely reached middle-age. Commemorating the inaugural pop/rock festival, Monterey Pop (1968) was the first member of the litter, though aside from Jimi Hendrix setting his guitar alight and Pete Townshend bashing his to bits, its impact was but a pinprick next to Woodstock (1970), the three-hour, multiscreen epic on which Martin Scorsese cut his teeth.
And because gig movies were only ever intended to be a secondhand experience, at best, and thus lacked box-office appeal, it has taken this century’s documentary boom, and the recent advent of simultaneous live Odeon transmissions, to thicken the best-of-breed contenders to any significant degree.
The latest nauseating spot of consensus has it that the best gig movie is Stop Making Sense. David Byrne’s baggy suit, an irresistible electro-funk stew and Jonathan Demme’s imaginative staging are all tremendous fun, granted, but ambition was limited. As Geoffrey Cheshire’s stirring essay for The Criterion Collection put it, this column’s choice, Gimme Shelter (1970), gave the Rolling Stones “what no one had bargained for: a terrifying snapshot of the sudden collapse of the sixties”.
Having only just seen the latter on a big screen for the first time, as part of a European re-release (you can stream it on Amazon), I can only concur wholesouledly with the view that, when it comes to cinema verité, the Maysles brothers’ sickening documentary of the anti-Woodstock, held on the West Coast at Altamont, struck the motherlode.
Sure, the cameras miss Marty Balin, the Jefferson Airplane vocalist, being knocked out by Hell’s Angels, foolishly hired as security (in exchange for a barrel of beer) and brandishing pool cues in a way even Ronnie O’Sullivan might never have countenanced. As it is, we get more than enough of the prelude (Balin mouthing off at the abusive leatherjackets) and the aftermath (Balin’s battered face). And those peace and love vibes at Hyde Park just a few months earlier, where Mick Jagger bid farewell to Brian Jones by releasing a fleet of doves and reading a poem by Shelley? Gone for good.
No scene in the annals of gig movies, nevertheless, is more chilling than when those beer-pumped Angels seize the mile-high, gun-toting Meredith Hunter as he advances towards the stage, then knife and bludgeon him to death.
There had been good reason to fear such a grisly outcome. Not only had Jagger been subjected to death threats, hence the insistence that no audience member be allowed to invade the stage; as he stepped off the helicopter on arrival, he was punched by someone he might reasonably have assumed to be a fan.
Watching him watch Hunter’s murder unfold on a monitor backstage is like surfing an emotional pendulum. No matter how you feel about rock’s first and foremost frontman, it would take an act of astonishing anatomic control not to gulp or shudder at the way his face slides from preening pride – in a terrific band performance, in the way the filming was going – to grim, guilty stupefaction. And the song he happened to be singing as Hunter was savaged? Sympathy for the Devil, what else?
In The New Yorker, Pauline Kael, by no means a rock chick, derided it all as wish-fulfilment and a sham, alleging – wrongly, according to the Mayleses – that the show was designed and lit for the cameras. The ingredients, though, were all in place: a free festival headlined by their satanic majesties for 300,000 drugged-up if not loved-up fans at a San Francisco speedway track in the final month of the most radical yet delusional of decades.
“I think it affected all of us very profoundly,” guitarist Mick Taylor reflected on recordings released only last year. “The only thing we were very upset about was being accused and held responsible for what happened. You can’t really blame anybody in that kind of mass hysteria.”
Nonetheless, Don McLean’s dream that drums and wires could “save your mortal soul” was in tatters. On American Pie, there was nothing ambivalent about his allusions to Jagger (“Jack Flash”): “I saw Satan dancing with delight the day the music died.”
Well, it didn’t die, did it? And Jagger, who has done more than most to keep it alive and rocking, certainly didn’t deserve crucifixion. Understandably, forgivably, he still shies clear of the topic with religious fervour. Even so, one can only imagine how many times his nights have been ruptured by those visual scars.
On the infinitely brighter side, the Stones were in marvellous nick for the Maylses, majestic as well as satanic. MC Mick struts like a coked-up peacock, the consummate rabble-rouser; Bill Wyman cuddles his bass and plucks it with infinitely more dexterity than you ever remembered; from the opening chords of Jumpin’ Jack Flash, Richards and Taylor’s complementary twin guitars – so much more diverse and fascinating than the riff-heavy Keef-Ronnie combo – lock into a funky fusion of flying fingers. Needless to add, Charlie was bloody good that night too.
And, as you watch them, you can’t help but be reminded why the other act you’ve known for all these years has now been going more than half a century longer than Sgt Pepper’s squabbling slackers. Love ’em or merely tolerate them (how can you possibly loathe an octogenarian-led band that can still persuade tens of thousands of Brazilians to stump up a week’s wages to see them?), the Stones remain England’s hardiest Sixties tribute act.
Within five years of Altamont, they would be in freefall recording-wise, yet even now, the sellouts (literal, never spiritual) persist. Mick and Keef have pretty much always known that sticking to the same seat in the same carriage on the same track could pay considerable dividends. Happily, Gimme Shelter, which showcases the chemistry responsible, works as celebration as well as damnation.
Top 10 Gig Movies
Gimme Shelter (Rolling Stones)
Live In New York City (Bruce Springsteen & The E St Band)
The Last Waltz (The Band, Joni Mitchell, Bob Dylan, Muddy Waters et al)
Summer of Soul (Stevie Wonder, Sly & The Family Stone, Nina Simone, Staple Singers et al)
Stop Making Sense (Talking Heads)
Get Back (The Beatles)
Sign O’ The Times (Prince)
Monterey Pop (Jimi Hendrix, Mamas & Papas, Otis Redding, Ravi Shankar et al)
Live At Pompeii (Pink Floyd)
Woodstock (Janis Joplin, The Who, Santana, Crosby, Stills & Nash, Joan Baez et al)
After a wildly successful 2022/23 season which saw the seagulls land a place in a European competition for the first time in the club’s history by finishing 6th in the league table, there was a huge expectation for the team to push on even further and thrive in this year’s premier league season. However, despite a great first half of the season, the south-coast outfit finished a respectable but disappointing 11th. Here is how the season panned out:
The pre-season summer transfer window was a promising one for Brighton, yet at the same time disappointing. One of the key players in last year’s success, Ecuadorian midfielder Moises Caicedo, had attracted huge interest from the top clubs as a result of his heroics the previous season. Therefore, unsurprisingly, Chealsea came swooping in and netted Brighton a £115million payout for the midfielder, with Chelsea also forking out another £25million to grab the seagulls’ goalkeeper, Robert Sanchez. Argentine midfielder Alexis Macallister also left the club, going to Liverpool for £35million. This influx of money allowed Roberto De Zerbi and the board to splash the cash on what effectively would need to be a rebuild of part of the core of the team. De Zerbi brough in exciting young forward Joao Pedro from Watford for £30million, brought in superstar youngster Ansu Fati on loan from Barcelona, and filled the goalkeeper void with Bart Verbruggen from Anderlecht for £16.3million. Among other comings and goings, the squad looked ready to play brilliant football ahead of the coming season.
The team hit the ground running at the start of the premier league season, winning five of the first six games, including 3-1 victories against Newcastle and Manchester United. After the first six games, Brighton sat in third place in the premier league, their best start ever to a premier league season, and ultimately stirred up excitement among the fans. Although the form didn’t continue quite as exceptionally after the first six games, Brighton certainly impressed as the first few months of the season flew by, with the attack firing on all cylinders courtesy of new signing Joao Pedro and promising Irish youngster Evan Ferguson, who impressed premier league fans everywhere by scoring a hat-trick against Newcastle at the beginning of the campaign. Despite the firepower in attack, the defence was leaky. It took until the 20th match week for the defence to keep a clean sheet, something that is not ideal even when your attack is delivering the goals. To show the contrast in form between the attack and defence, until Arsenal defeated the seagulls 2-0 at the Emirates in December, Brighton had conceded at least one and scored at least one in each of the first 16 games of the season.
The first half of the season also saw Brighton undertake their first ever European football campaign, as they were drawn in a Europa League group with Ajax (Netherlands), Marseille (France), and AEK Athens (Greece). The campaign started shakily, with the seagulls losing the first game 3-2 at home to Athens, before a 2-2 draw in Marseille. They had it all to do in the final four games of the group, and boy did they deliver. Brighton won all four of the remaining games with a flawless record, scoring six and conceding zero across the four fixtures, including a magnificent 2-0 win in Amsterdam against the Dutch giants Ajax.
At the halfway point of the season, Brighton were comfortably through to the knockout stages of the Europa League, sat in a respectable 8th place in the premier league, and were ready to begin their FA cup run, although the seagulls were knocked out of the league cup with a 1-0 defeat to Chelsea in the 3rd round in September. The season was looking promising and Roberto De Zerbis’s side were playing great football.
As we moved into the second half of the season, the January transfer window was a quiet one for Brighton. Five players were brought in, however it seems the board were looking to the future in this window, as not a single player over the age of 20 was brought in. The club brought in five youngsters, one of which being Argentinian wonderkid Valentin Barco from Boca Juniors for £7.8million. Although building for the future is a key part of long-term success, you can’t help but think De Zerbi would have wished for some first team ready players to be scooped up during the January window, especially as an injury crisis began to hit the club. Brighton failed to score in three successive matches in the premier league in January, mostly down to the team playing without any natural wingers during this time, with Kaoru Mitoma, Solly March, Ansu Fati, and Simon Adingra all out injured. The season seemed to be coming to a disastrous halt as not only was the attack running out of steam, but the defence was leaking goals badly during this period. It seems that due to the departure of defensive-midfielder Moises Caicedo in the summer, Brighton were seriously lacking a ball winning midfielder in the team to solidify the centre backs behind, and as a result Brighton conceded 4 goals to newly promoted Luton Town. The lack of first team recruitment in the January transfer window meant that the squad was to be bare for at least a few weeks, and the rest of the season relied on the important players making quick recoveries back to the first team.
Despite the less-than-ideal January in the premier league, Brighton smashed their way past Stoke City and Sheffield United in the Fa cup 3rd and 4th rounds respectively, to set themselves up with a 5th round tie at the end of February away to Wolves.
As the weeks carried on, Brighton slowly saw themselves dropping out of contention for another year in European football. The goals were not flying in like they did in the first half of the season, and the team was still conceding too many goals. They travelled away to Wolves for the FA cup 5th round tie and were beaten 1-0 by an early Mario Lemina goal after just two minutes. Then, in early march, Brighton were to face Roma (Italy) in the round of 16 for the Europa league, with the first leg being a daunting fixture away in Rome. It then proved to be daunting and more, as Roma put four past a struggling Brighton to win the first leg tie 4-0 and leave Brighton a mountain to climb back at the Amex for the second leg. Then, a week later, Brighton played well and won the return fixture 1-0, however with just the one goal scored, it was not enough to overcome the aggregate difference Roma had built for themselves and ultimately Brighton crashed out of the Europa league in the first knockout round. Despite the elimination, the seagulls should be proud of themselves by making it to the knockout rounds of their debut campaign in European football and can only use it to spur them on for future ventures into the rest of the continent.
The seagulls now found themselves in just one competition after being knocked out of the remaining cups, and could attempt to focus their energy on reviving this premier league campaign. However, it just was not meant to be as they experienced their worst second half to a season since the 2018/19 campaign and really struggled to reach the heights they had soared to at the end of last season. By the time the end of may arrived, Brighton found themselves in 11th position and some distance away from a European place next year. Disappointing yes, but by no means was this a terrible season for Brighton. The team were riddled with injuries for most of the year, with the seagulls having the fifth-most days lost to injury in the entire league, something that will inevitably hamper the ability to play the football that the manager intends to play. In addition to this, Brighton’s team is young compared to the rest of the league, with even more youngsters being brought in in January to carve a bright future for the South-coast club.
We are yet to see which players come and go from the club in the upcoming transfer window, a window I am sure will be used to both bring in future talent, and reinforce the current first team players to avoid a crisis from happening quite like the one we saw this year. With the announcement of the departure of manager Roberto De Zerbi this summer also, the club will have to look for a suitable replacement that can work with the team De Zerbi has built. Whether or not we will be seeing Brighton and Hover Albion playing a different brand of football is to be seen in August when we kick off the next season, one that Brighton will be eager to attack just as well as they did this year.
Picking your way through the Brighton Fringe programme isn’t easy – so0 many titles, so many venues, so much choice.
Sometimes you need a bit of guidance – what youi might call a critical friend. As chance would have it… Listen up
Music For Cats is the latest work by Katy Matthews (Un-titled), satirist for the award-winning ‘The Treason Show’. A quirky comic satire on our ability to monetise anything, it’s a new play about the nature of time, the future of our planet, and a Siamese called Dennis. Starring Eleanor Stourton (Doubt), Matt Vickery (Lucy’s Pharmakon) and Andrew Crouch (NewsRevue). Directed by Cerys Evans (Before the World Ends).
Pryor has come to make a claim on their time travel insurance policy. They believe their child has been substituted with another as a result of a time alteration. This would be fine if this wasn’t already considered a like for like replacement…
The Whistler kicks off its new Arts section – coming soon to a website near you – with a new film column. To start, our new columnist Ruby Ephstein looks forward to Francis Ford Coppola’s new opus Megalopolis and looks back at his greatest hits.
YOU WOULD THINK he’d had enough masochism for one lifetime, but no. Nearly half a century after shooting began on Apocalypse Now, a brutal three-year marathon during which he almost blew up his career and killed himself (never mind several others, including his long-suffering wife Eleanor), the godfather of modern American filmmaking is still hellbound on the trail of his holy grail.
That I feel compelled to identify Francis Ford Coppola as Papa Coppola – in deference to Sofia, herself an extraordinary director, and Roman, Wes Anderson’s favourite co-scripter – confirms how long it’s been since the chef behind the juiciest slices of prime Hollywood beef and dripping devoured by multiple generations concocted something meaty or beaty, or even merely big and/or bouncy.
Happily, Megalopolis, a dish nearly half a century in the prepping and blending and revising and reheating, will finally be served this year, quite possibly as the main course for the Cannes opening gala on May 14.
Has there ever been a more quotable screenwriter? Not unless you don’t have the foggiest what napalm smells like in the morning, don’t consider making offers that can’t be refused or don’t prefer cannolis to guns. Like Van Morrison, Papa deposited enough, early enough and in enough memory banks, not to have to fret overmuch when muse deserted and magic fizzled.
Yet still that soul-naked ambition burns inside Papa like no filmmaker since Orson Welles, the fellow rebel colossus he resembles in too many ways for his own comfort, not least a Jupiternian ego and an obsession with Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, the legendarily unfilmable novella that thwarted Welles and confined Nic Roeg to a TV movie adaptation yet sired Apocalypse Now, perhaps the most audacious and purely cinematic of all Oscar winners (for sound and camerawork).
The vast cast for Megalopolis, oft-characterised as “a Utopian parable”, ranges from the tried and trusted (Talia “Connie” Shire, Laurence “Mr Clean” Fishburne) to old masters (Dustin Hoffman and Jon Voight, Ratso and Joe Buck reunited) and new (Adam Driver, Jason Schwartzman, Shia LaBeouf). The woman around whom that hefty pack of chaps revolves, Nathalie “Missandei” Emmanuel, is Julia, a sow in the middle tugged between father pig and lover pig, the latter an idealistic architect designing a post-disaster NYC, played by the ever-noble Forrest Whitaker. Then, inconveniently, came 9/11.
For rather more enlightening insights, dig into Sam Wasson’s terrific The Path To Paradise: A Francis Ford Coppola Story (2023). Note that disarmingly honest and indefinite “A”. This is but one Papa story.
It spins around Zoetrope, Papa’s utopian dream factory, which collapsed under the weight of hubris and what most punters saw, wrongly, as a gossamer-thin romantic musical: One From The Heart, a lavish, adventurous project that suffered most from one of the few times Eleanor wasn’t so tolerant of the philanderer whose agonies birthing Apocalypse Now in the Philippines she chronicled so brilliantly and compassionately in Hearts of Darkness: A Filmmaker’s Apocalypse.
By May 2021, Papa had plunged $120m of his own money into Megalopolis, plus a fair chunk of that Napa Valley wine empire. Even this February’s release of the title card was an event. So tightly have the wraps been kept, I can’t whet your appetite any further, although the principals’ names (Caesar, Cicero) might just indicate the script’s origins. Instead, let’s consult Papa himself.
“I am vicino-morte,” Wasson relates him saying while poring over one recent “final” draft, the sense of déjà vu presumably acute. In the vicinity of death. Just as it was in the days of Kilgore and Kurtz.
How can you not love the smell of impending triumphant resurrections in the morning?
The very word Gail’s got the armchair grumpies and keyboard warriors out in force, but slow down. Put away your prejudices. Just because somewhere has more than one branch doesn’t meant they’re the bad guys. Gilly Smith reports
Once upon a time in Brighton, you could gauge the feel of a neighbourhood by whether or not it had a Tin Drum. The family-run chain of bars and eateries, latterly serving charcuterie boards from the owners’ home-raised pigs, first opened on Dyke Road, home now to The Cow, and became a badge of gentrification. These days, it’s a Wolfox. Or maybe a Gail’s.
The number of Gail’s opening across the south east has long exceeded a bakers’ dozen. Our new one in the Dials will be the 130th to opens its doors since the first bakery over 30 years ago in Hampstead High Street. The new Gail’s set up shop in Night Shift, formerly the collaboration between Flour Pot, Curing Rebels, Curio Wines, and local artist, She Paints, which has camped out there since the demise of Brighton-born Small Batch. And it’s already had a pasting. It was daubed with graffiti declaring it ‘boring’ before it had even opened, a spray-painted penis summing up the outpouring of anti-establishment feelings all over social media.
Which is odd really, as Gail herself was a bit of a radical.
Gail’s began with a mission to do things differently. Back in the early 1990s, it created a bit of a rise in the restaurant industry by taking the values of sour dough – slow, crafted, natural, like bread used to be, as bread should be.
At its helm was artisanal baker, Gail Mejia, whose ironically named Bread Factory had been a wholesale retailer in Hampstead. She and her tiny team of bakers quickly realised that what they were making for top notch restaurants just wasn’t available in most neighbourhoods. They decided to fix that, and Gail’s Bakery was born.
Thirty years later, Gail is a biodynamic farmer in Portugal, as Tom Molnar (pictured), Gail’s CEO tells me as we chat about the new opening in The Dials. “She spent 10 really hard years before I met her, putting together the bakers, working with some top chefs, and building the thing that I fell in love with.” A disruptor, a visionary, she was part of the Slow Food movement that has been so influential in making us rethink our relationship with food.
“She represents a whole bunch of hippies in food who changed so much,” says Tom. He means chefs like Rose Gray, Alistair Little and Sally Clarke who came back to London from America in the 80s and 90s with a dream of a simpler way of eating fresh, organic food, as championed by restaurateur and food legend, Alice Waters. Fermented sour dough was just part of the mix. ‘When everything was becoming mass (market), they just stuck to their guns and said, ‘Look, that doesn’t make sense’. It wasn’t the engineers and the business people that got it right” says Tom, a former management consultant who recognised the potential for Gail’s back in 2005, “it was the hippies and the food pioneers.”
Now 130 Gail’s bakeries are quietly changing the food industry, not least by working with Natoora, a distribution hub on a mission to fix the food system by building direct relationships with small-scale growers and independent producers. Gail’s distributes its surplus food through Neighbourly, a network of over 29,000 charities and community groups and an award-winning giving platform “that connects company funds, surplus and volunteer time with local causes to make a positive impact.” But does any of that matter to the customers?
Presumably it doesn’t to Juliet who wonders on Instagram how they justify £5 for a pain au chocolat in a cost-of-living crisis. Or Laura on Seven Dials Facebook group who’s boycotted Gail’s since they stopped taking cash. “Maybe not all of them”, concedes Tom. “Maybe there’s 10-20% that do care.” So who tells them about the spirit of Gail that’s still stirred into every loaf of bread so long after she left the building to sow her own seeds. “Yeah, it’s tricky”, admits Tom. There’s no messaging in the shops, and you’d have to read the website to get any real sense of what Gail’s is all about. Tom says he struggles with how loud the revolution should be. “You don’t want to be the person at the party who talks all the time, and you don’t want to be that person who doesn’t say anything. You’ve got to be somewhere in between to be heard. And I don’t know if we found the right balance yet.”
I think he’s missing a trick; give me some blackboards in a café telling the back stories of growers and carbon reducing mission statements, and I’m in. Tom doesn’t think it would have been Gail’s style. “She’s still one of my teachers’, he says. “I’m just trying to do my best to keep her view on food alive. I didn’t want to destroy what she had built. My job was to just let it flourish, I guess.”
In the first in a new series, Andrew says “Yes” to volunteering at The Real Junk Food Cafe. But first, table tennis was calling
As a boy, I was obsessed with table-tennis. I dreamed of competing at high levels but a career stopped in its tracks at the Shropshire Under-13 tournaments, where I was dumped out 11-0, by the eventual champion. A once promising career never recovered, and like so many other once promising careers, I hadn’t really thought about it since. But then, out of the blue, The Whistler called.
“Do you want to come to a night of table-tennis at The Fitzherbert Cafe?”
“Yes.”
I was in a bit of a swamp after the failure of a dramatically difficult project, dithering about the right way out, so this was perfect timing.
The Fitz Café is in Bristol Road in the St George’s Rd bit of Kemptown, right beside The Brighton Table-Tennis Club. Inside, I was warmly greeted by Tim, the club’s inspirational Head Coach, who proudly introduced me to Harry, who’s apparently the UK’s top ranked player with Downs Syndrome. He was smacking down backhand drives to Bly, who he assured me, would soon be a World Paralympic Number One.
I just knew he’d ask me to play, and I knew I would – I can’t refuse to do anything!] – but for now I felt shy, and ducked into the café.
The Real Junk Food Project was set up in 2014 by Adam Buckingham, who would visit supermarkets, and allotments, picking up surplus, or almost-off food, which would be cooked to cater for a Pay As You Feel Café, where the richer diners – who want to eat delicious food, while doing some good – help to fund a community of people who might be rough sleepers, or just hungry.
Café Manager Kathy loves this element. “I used to help run a soup kitchen in Florida, and we’d turn hungry people away, since they couldn’t prove their credentials. The mix of people makes everyone feel good. You should come and volunteer!” I said I would, and came back the next day, when…
I started with Front of House, which basically means chatting to people. I sat with DJ and Rob discussing addiction. DJ’s been five weeks sober; Rob has gone 12 months without crack or smack.
“Wow,” I said, “I hear they’re quite more-ish!”
“That’s why I’m here!” he said. “It distracts me. Most days I volunteer somewhere, but here I just come for the chat!”
“It’s same for me,” said DJ, “I love that you meet rich people, poor people, sober people, street people, famous people, but also it’s incredibly good food.”
“Who’s famous?” I asked. “You’ll have to work that out, yourself!” he said.
In the kitchen, I met Jimmy, who was making Dauphinoise. “I worked in the music business, which can be all about ego and solo glory. I love that here, you turn up, you’re part of a team, and you feel you’ve done something. Plus the food’s amazing!”
I met Elodie, Head Chef, who’s worked in Michelin-starred restaurants. ‘But I prefer it here. You work with the ingredients that turn up, so it’s creative. Try!”
I sat down with Anna, who was beaming the room’s warmest smile. An Arabic woman, recently moved from Italy, she was with Voices In Exile – an organisation that helps refugees with food or toiletries or legal help. “I love to come so I can practice my English.” I smiled at her friends.
“You need to play table-tennis,” commanded Wadie, a Syrian refugee.
There was no putting it off, and, when you haven’t played ping-pong in 38 years, your game’s rusty. But four minutes in, he hit a ball high, and I thwacked back a backhand topspin. “Good shot!” said Tim, and I could see why his club’s so successful. It’s not just that the guy’s got skill: he takes an interest.
And suddenly there I was, playing doubles with Tim (former UK Number 8), against Wadie and Harry. I barely hit a good shot, but it was as Jimmy said: success is not about solo glory; it’s about being in a team; and sometimes you’ve just got to step up, and stay in the point. We won two games to one, and I left feeling connected and content and proud.
I went outside where I’d been invited to help plant a new tree, but it was on a slope, so the water was draining away. But this is the thing about volunteering: you find you can offer something.
“I know what to do here,” I said, and dug a moat around the tree. That’s how they taught me in Haiti.
“So what was your dramatically difficult project?” asked Deb, Head of Gardening. “I sailed the Atlantic, and I persuaded 1000 Caribbean kids, to plant 1000 trees.”
“So what was a failure about that?”
“Well,” I said, “I haven’t told anyone about it!”
“Well, you have now!,” said Tim.
God, I felt good about the whole day, and would urge anyone out there who’s vaguely thinking about it, to volunteer. Or just to get down to the Fitz Café, where if you pay for lunch, you’re paying it forward.
I’m now looking to volunteer for something else. So if you know of a community project, and wonder if I can join, you know what I’ll say.
Mrcloverthefamoussnail@gmail.com
l The Real Junk Food Project Brighton’s Community Cafe is now open at St John the Baptist parish hall, 2 Bristol Road BN2 1AP
We wanted to revamp our kitchen. New surfaces, new worktops, new doors. We wanted something stylish, individual, sustainable and didn’t cost a fortune, something a little more “us” than going into a kitchen store and buying something off the shelf. How hard could that be?
Actually, we tried that, went to the usual places and saw the usual stuff. Things with names like Nordic Noir and made of granite or Corian. Nice enough, but a bit uninspiring. It started to become a little bit of an obsession. Eventually, we decided on a radical, if familiar, course of action. “Let’s go for a drink and something to eat”.
We went to Fumi, the new Japanese in Circus Street. The food’s great there and it’s been designed beautifully, a very stylish clean aesthetic. Sitting there, we couldn’t help notice the furniture. The tables looked like marble, but clearly weren’t.
“We had them made for us. They’re really interesting, they’re made from used coffee”.
What?
Two days later I was talking to Jani Lemut in, obviously, a coffee shop.
“It was just an obvious thing to do. I was working with an interior design company who were importing all their furniture from India, but wanted to be more local and sustainable and so on, so they contacted me. We started talking about new designs and what we can do and what different materials to use, local materials. I started thinking ‘What else can I use?’ And coffee was very obvious, because it was just on the table. It was just there”.
How many cups of coffee get thrown away?
“Probably a lot”, said Jani. “I heard a statistic, I don’t know whether it’s right or not, but the average person in UK spends £25 pounds a year on coffee. In Brighton, it’s £75”.
Apparently there are more coffee shops here per head than anywhere else in the UK. And in Seven Dials…
“Yes. Most probably. Yeah, and it’s still gaining popularity. It’s quite incredible”.
Jani is a “classically trained furniture maker” from Slovenia who came here after the war in Yugoslavia started in 1990. “I made wooden children’s toys and we had quite a nice steady business, but then after three or four months, the war started and that was it. Lost everything. The country came to a standstill and basically that’s what brought me here. “I came to see a friend of mine in Gloucestershire and I just loved it. Absolutely loved it. I love the freedom of expression here. When I got to London, I just loved it so much. I said to my friends, ‘Look you go back. I’m staying here’. And that was pretty much it.”
He moved to St Ives and “had a really good time, doing mainly designing and building furniture, cottages. I was doing lots of artwork as well, art exhibitions and so on. Everything was always based in recycled materials. I was always fascinated by what gets thrown away. What can one do with the challenge? I still feel excited by the idea we can turn objects into a different life. So that’s my main motivation”.
Had you seen coffee used before?
“People have tried using coffee in all sorts of products, but only as an additive. People have tried make composites are made of coffee and thermoplastics…” At this point Jani started talking about binding processes and chemistry. I ordered another coffee and waited for him to start speaking English again.
How long did it take you to work all this out?
“Two years”.
And you kept going with it? Because you were certain that it would work?
“Well, I wasn’t certain certain, but there was a promising sign. The problem with it was stabilising the coffee because it’s organic it moves, it does all the the things that any organic stuff does. So to bind it in organic way, it’s quite difficult, but this is exactly what we were trying to do, to make a plastic free component”.
And you have now?
“Yes, we have. Yes.”
The results are really lovely, but it doesn’t only look lovely, it looks real. Organic.
“Of course, because all the ingredients that we use are purely by-products of different materials. marble dust, copper, dust, metal. Then you’ve got spices, natural pigments and so on and so forth, all sorts of stuff like charcoal”.
You could make something beetroot colour?
“Yeah, we do that”.
Could you make something that blue?
“Yes. Turquoise oxidize copper dust, a very intense turquoise”.
There are other uses for the materials but “I’m a bit wary of mixing too much either plastic or any chemicals with our product, because then it’s difficult to recycle further. So wherever we create, we try to create in such a way that is easy to dispose of or reuse later on. This is the main point of doing this. At the moment, our product, if you leave it out in a field for a couple of years, it will just disintegrate and it will go back to where it came from. That’s pretty much it”.
Everything here is about sustainability. On their website (below) they say “We are carbon neutral. We plant a tree for every sale we make. Our materials are sourced locally and much of it from waste”. They are “a circular business. Everything gets recycled, everything gets re-used”.
We had the worktops done, the kitchen island and the dining table, and went for a copper sheen finish that looks great and always gets comments. It’s hard-wearing, waterproof, almost completely heatproof and can be made to any size or shape. It also cost about a third of what we were quoted in the high street.
“Why make something that will be extortionate? Why make something nobody can afford? If you can make something that’s beautiful and accessible and sustainable, then what’s not to like?”
“I’m not going very far away, I’m absolutely still going to be supporting the party. I’m still not sure what I want to be doing, but rather than being the front bench spokesperson on everything, which I am at the minute, I want to find ways to focus on climate and nature. So really being able to focus on the natural world: That’s what I want to do, but I haven’t decided exactly how yet.”
I’m sitting in the back room of a pub in Preston Park, and Caroline Lucas MP – we can still say that – is doing one of her constituency surgeries. “Usually we do surgeries in the office, but from time to time we do them out in the community so people can drop by and raise issues with us rather than having to come into the office.”
I’ve started volunteering at Raystede rescue centre, I tell her. You could do that. I could have a word.
“Oh, have you? That’s very good. We’ve got a rescue dog. We got him from RSPCA in Patcham. But we did go out to Raystede, it’s a lovely place.” And that was me, sold.
She’s got solid credentials coming out of her ears. She’s – still – our only Green MP and for the last 14 years has stood up and tried to hold the government to account, but more than that, she’s got a rescue dog from the RSPCA. Sold.
At the risk of sounding old and cynical and jaded – as if – it’s fair to say that public perception of our politicians has never been lower. In the last two by-elections, the turnout was 37% and 38%. And they were probably people out walking their dogs who’d gone into the polling station to take shelter from the rain before realising what was going on. This year there’s going to be a general election and up and down the land there’ll be a collective cheer as hope flows we’ll be able to make a positive change. We can let them know what we think. We can send them back to their expenses paid duck houses. Flags will be waved. Bunting… all that. Except maybe down here in Brighton Pavilion because down here, it’s a bit of a double-edged sword.
While almost certainly the nation will kick the Tories out as the party of government, the alternative is offering precious little to get excited or inspired by. But, much more to the point, we’ll also lose Caroline Lucas as our MP because, as you’ll know, she’s standing down.
“It has been an extraordinary privilege to represent this place. And, it’s been really lovely to have conversations with people who followed what I’ve been doing and feel proud to have a Green voice in Parliament. It has been quite emotional.”
Sian Berry is going to take her place as Green candidate, and Sian is lovely and very impressive in her own way, but she’s not Caroline Lucas. Not yet, anyway.
Caroline’s been our MP since 2010, during which time she’s increased her majority from just over 1,000 to almost 20,000.
You’ve had a kind of weird position. You were an MP, the Green MP, but the Green Party, bless, is never going to get power. Were you ever tempted to join Labour because while you had a platform and got invited on Question Time a lot, but you weren’t ever going to be in the position to make policy. I can’t think of anyone else in British politics, who had that kind of position, except maybe for…
“Who are you thinking of?”
I can barely say it. Farage.
“Well look at the impact that Farage has had on the political system without ever being elected. I mean, it might be terrible, but it is significant. And he didn’t need to be elected to do it. So I think that that reminds us that you don’t necessarily need to have loads of MPs in order to make a difference. Obviously, I would love to have loads of MPs. “I regularly asked myself, How do I make the biggest impact? What’s the best thing to do? And of course you wonder if it would be better to be working inside another political party. But then I remember that if I were, then I would be whipped by the leader of that party to follow that party line.
“I think one of the things we need more than ever right now are MPs who are independently minded, who will stand up and do what’s best, in this case, for Brighton. Another Labour MP isn’t going to be able to do that here. They’re going to be whipped by Keir Starmer.
“But we’ve got a fantastic candidate who’s standing in my place. She’s wonderful. And she might seem sweet, as you say, but she’s also fearless and formidable, in the sense that she will hold Sadiq Khan, or Rishi Sunak or Keir Starmer, whoever it is, to account. She is really good at doing that and she’s very determined and if you bring a problem – to her it’s like a dog with a bone, she will sort it out.”
And now you’re going to do something else. Presumably, you’re talking about something a bit more focused and high-powered and pressure groupy than volunteering at Raystede.
“I’m not sure yet. But I’m going to take a bit of a break, and then look around and work out how best I can use whatever
experience that I have, to work on more urgent action on the natural world.”
You must have had some nice offers. You’re high profile, popular, as near a celebrity as politicians get.
“There have been some nice offers, but I’m really anxious not to rush into something. I really do want to take a bit of time out just to think about it because right now, honestly, the job is 70 hours a week easily, if not more, and I just want to have the time to really sit with it and work things out.”
Was there a straw that broke the camel’s back?
“No, there wasn’t. There was a growing sense since the last general election, and it’s just exhausting covering everything. I think there comes a point when you think, I’ve been doing this since 2010 and, of course, I did 10 years in the European Parliament before that. So it’s just about that sense that now’s a good time to take stock”.
Is it that sense that it’s too early for retirement, that there’s still energy for another big adventure, the idea that life is a series of chapters.
“I do feel that. Exactly that, and actually, one of the things that I’ve been doing in recent months is working with a wonderful organisation called Living Well Dying Well, based in Lewes. They train you to be somebody who accompanies people at the end of life, an end of life doula, and in a way, some of that work, I suppose it’s slightly fed into the decision as well. In the sense of thinking that life’s short and one wants to make the most of it.”
When you look back, what’s the thing you’re most proud of?
“One of the things I’m really proud of is introducing a new GCSE in natural history. That might sound a bit obscure but I am passionate about our young people having as much access to nature that they can. I’m very influenced by something that an American writer, Richard Louv, said ‘We won’t protect what we don’t love. And we won’t love what we don’t know. And we won’t know what we don’t have access to and smell and touch and feel’.
“So it’s about making sure our young people have access to nature and understand it and learn to love it. It happens in many primary schools that have fantastic eco clubs and their own allotments and more – then you get to secondary school, and suddenly there’s no time left for that, everything closes down.”
Do you retain optimism?
“There’s another American writer, Rebecca Solnit, who makes a wonderful distinction between hope and optimism. She says unlike optimism, which can sometimes mean that you’re blindly optimistic and can mean you might feel like you’re just sitting there holding your lottery ticket – hope is different. Hope is like an axe that breaks down doors in an emergency. Hope is what gets you out of bed, knowing that you have to do something, even if you don’t know what the outcome is going to be. Hope gives you the vision and the commitment to go and break down those doors for a better future. So I have that.
I have that hope. I don’t have optimism in the sense that I think that if we just hang on tight, it’ll all come right. I mean, I think anyone who thinks that given the situation we’re in right now…” Her voice trails off, probably hoping we can talk about something else.
Outside of politics , what makes your heart sing?
“Walking the dog on the downs.”
Who’s your dog?
“He’s called Harry and he’s mostly Labrador, but he has something in him that makes him jump very high. And when you take him off the lead and the way he shoots, you can just feel his glee and joy – and that makes me feel full of joy as well”.
“Can I have a black Americano, a couple of slices of sourdough and the smoked salmon”.
“Of course,” said the mildly distracted student working the till. “And would that be interest only or repayment?”
Café culture. I love café culture. I grew up on tales of Parisian cafés and Satre, Soho and films like Expresso Bongo. I got married in a café. The rise in café culture is one of the biggest changes in our world in the last 30 years, so much so that one of the best loved jokes in our neighbourhood goes like this.
“Look, there’s an empty shop. What it’s going to be?”
“A café!”
It’s a cracking joke, never fails. But it’s easy to forget that life wasn’t always like this. Once upon a time, when I was a young buck about town, getting a decent cup of coffee was a bit of a mission. Back then, I lived in London, and there were maybe half a dozen places you could go to get a decent cup. There were the famous names like Bar Italia, the Portuguese on Goldhawk Rd, Café Delancey in Camden (where I got married) and precious few others. There was a place upstairs on Portobello and one opposite the Donmar in Seven Dials.
Now we’re in a different Seven Dials, and the reason I’m thinking about coffee and cafés is that there’s been a fair storm brewing in our ‘hood about a new coffee shop opening. I was thinking about trying to shoehorn something about ‘blowing a gale’, but… already the gag’s having to work too hard.
Gail’s Bakery is opening a new branch on the corner where there was recently Night Shift and before that Small Batch, and it’s all gone a bit net curtain twitcher. Some wag with a spray can has had his funny half-hour. A grafitti penis? Really. A grafitti penis and the word “Boring”. Move over Banksy, there’s a new kid in town.
The Community Facebook page went full of “We don’t need another café. What we need is a shoe shop” type posts, and in fairness, who doesn’t like shoe shops? But anyway, as I said, I kinda like cafés and if there’s another café, that’s OK. And if it’s good, that’s also OK.
Because we’re professionals, the esteemed Food Editor and I decided to try Gail’s and as the Dials branch isn’t open yet – it’s “opening soon” – we went to the North Road branch for breakfast. And very nice it was too. She had a latte and avocado with salsa verde on toast. I had a black Americano, and a couple of slices of toast – sourdough, obvs – and butter. I was going to have the smoked salmon, but there were tax implications. Toast is fine. £17.
Café culture is like this now. It’s gone kinda posh – we’re a long way from the world of Bongo Herbert (the Cliff Richard character from Expresso Bongo). This morning, like most mornings, I went to the Flour Pot. I love the Flour Pot, but it’s one of the main reasons why I haven’t taken early retirement. Two loaves, a dozen eggs and two croissants. £19.80.
Maybe it’s best to look at it like this. We bang on here quite a lot about climate and the environment and all that – hopefully you’ve noticed – and if it costs a bit more to have food that’s properly produced, made from animals that are properly kept, well that’s what happens. You can’t have your climate conscience and your environment conscience and treat animals well and still have a chicken that costs £2. Bogoff. Can’t happen. It costs a bit more, so you pay your – OK, considerable – money and you make your choice. If the price of a cheap bacon sarnie is a pig in a cage it can’t move in, then I don’t want that bacon sarnie. If your flat white is made with milk from a cow whose kid has been ripped from her and who’s never seen daylight, then I don’t want that flat white. It’s straightforward.
Actually, I’m not entirely sure the negative chat is because it’s a café. I’m not even sure it’s because of the prices. I kinda suspect it’s because there’s an idea that it’s corporate. “There’s a Gail’s in Hove! And in the North Laine!! It’s a chain! It’s a chain!!” It’s a bit knee-jerk, this idea that if it’s a chain it must be corporate and if it’s corporate it must be bad. Well, I’m not sure life’s that simple, and as our esteemed Food Editor finds out on page 8, Gail’s is actually on the side of the angels. To mis-quote Al Gore – and doesn’t he seem a long time ago now – it’s an inconvenient truth.
There’s a bit of a coffee theme in this issue. On page 6, there’s a feature on how a couple of fantastically clever people are using used coffee to create beautiful kitchen worktops and furniture. They’re lovely people, they make really beautiful stuff, it’s all recycled. It’s a really cool story. There’s not a lot not to like. And we’ve got an exclusive – well, it’s not really exclusive, but it’s what journalists say – interview with our outgoing MP, Caroline Lucas.
In other news, the new puppies – I know that’s what you’re really interested in – have settled in perfectly. Can’t imagine life without them.
In the pouring rain at 5pm on Thursday fans queued to see the out of this world super group Fizz live at Chalk, and were taken on a journey to the absurd land of Fizzville where our spaceship had broken down and we had to sing music to get it working again.
Made up of four best friends Dodie, Orla Gartland, Martin Luke Brown and Greta Issac, Fizz is a fun, fruity and weirdly wonderful musical experience that brought out the inner silly in the whole crowd, but also broke our hearts with gut-wrenching and emotional themes.
“This is a full circle moment for us,” said Martin Luke Brown. Brighton’s a special place for Fizz – their first single was “High in Brighton”, and their first gig was in Brighton.
The band came on in a flourish, hit the ground running with High in Brighton. They all looked amazing, with Dodie sporting a green dress and corset, Martin Luke Brown with his incredible red boots, Orla Gartland with heart eye make-up and Greta Issac in frilly shorts and top combo. With Fizz, you come for the music and stay for the outfits. The crowd reflected this, as rows of coloured hair and wacky outfits jumped in unison.
They know how to work a crowd work and were perfect and entertaining but clearly professional. I had tears in my eyes l as they sang the ending of “Hell of a Ride” reflecting on life, death and friends. A personal highlight was “You, Me, Lonely”, and there was something beautiful about the flashlights on people’s phones coming on and the gentle sways as I was entranced by Dodie’s voice and the harmonies that followed. The song then transformed into a solo song by Dodie titled “Lonely Bones”.
They danced with each other, performed some bangers which had the whole crowd head bopping and came back on for an encore of “The Secret to Life”. And, since we are Brighton, we were treated to another rendition of our town anthem before they ran off stage – as quickly as it started, it ended, and the post show blues kicked in.
Fizz has set the bar super high. Gigs are going to have to work hard to be as good as this.
As the line up for this year’s Festival is unveiled, our Arts Correspondent picks her hot tickets
“The whole city is like a thought experiment” said Frank Cottrell-Boyce, this year’s Guest Director at the launch event for the Brighton Festival, as he explained why he loves Brighton. He spoke about rebellion, and that “people tend to run away to Brighton’, and gave a glimpse of the Festival to come when he claimed that “we need some hope” and that Brighton is one of the few places that “Looks to the future”.
The Festival launch began with a performance from the Carnival Collective – “30 years and still banging” as they say – who appeared onstage with drums and blue and pink sparkling outfits. As the familiar rhythmic sounds began, I was transported to a high energy vision of the event itself. The Collective director was pointing towards the crowd, with people laughing and cheering as the second song began and it was hard not to move along with him, swaying backwards and forwards in my seat in time with the beat.
After, there are a few speeches however the most notable was Brighton Councils leader, Bella Sankey who talked about visiting Brighton Festival as a child and words were being thrown around such as “Eclectic Celebration” and “Great Showcase”.
Cottrell-Boyce and Nadia Shireen, fellow children’s author and co-presenter of their hit podcast “The Island of Brilliance” took to the stage and introduced three of their favorite acts that will feature in the Festival: “The Perfect Show for Rachel”, “Carnesky’s Showwomxn Sideshow Spectacular” and “The Brighton Table Tennis Club”.
“The Perfect Show for Rachel” is a show controlled fully by Rachel who is a theatre loving, 33-year-old, disabled care home resident and sister to Flo who is the artistic director for Zoo Co & Improbable. The show was developed with Rachel to create a show on her own terms. As explained by Flo on stage, Rachel has her own custom built tech booth which she uses to control what happens on stage at certain times. This show, which received a five-star rating from The Guardian, is definitely a must-see.
“Carnesky’s Showwomxn Sideshow Spectacular” Is an outdoor circus, theatre event that comes from the imagination of award-winning performance maker Marisa Carnesky. The show is made-up of a queer, non-binary and female cast who will perform stunts, tell stories and wow us with their skills. The show’s inspiration comes from the heritage of British working-class female circus performers and is, they say, a perfect representation of colorful and weird and wonderful Brighton.
“The Brighton Table Tennis Club” – that is, the real Brighton Table Tennis Club based at the Fitz in Kemptown – explained how they plan to break the world record for the most consecutive different players in one game of table tennis. This free event seems to be jam packed with several activities including a mega table built up of several normal sized tables and an opportunity to watch paralympic gold medalist Will Bayley.
I am particularly looking forward to:
THE CHILDREN’S PARADE: For all ages, The Children’s Parade is a must see. Packed with colour and wonder, it will be hard to miss parading through the street on the 4th of May to officially kick the festival off in all its glory! https://brightonfestival.org/whats-on/Kot-the-childrens-parade/
KAE TEMPEST: A modern day emotional spoken word artist, who beckons listeners with words of personal experience and depth all while being accompanied by “through the body” music that is bound to give you goose bumps. https://brightonfestival.org/whats-on/XKX-kae-tempest/
Fri 10 May, Brighton Dome Concert Hall
FAYE WEBSTER: An indie artist sensation who brings love songs such as “Right Side of My Neck” and the TikTok sensation “Kingston”, will melt your heart live from the Brighton Dome Concert Hall. Part of “The Great Escape” https://brightonfestival.org/whats-on/XOx-faye-webster/
Fri 17 – Sat 18 May, Brighton Dome Concert Hall
THE MAKING OF BERLIN: This film, theater and live music hybrid comes from Yves Degryse to display a portrait of the city of Berlin. The show made it to de Standard top ten productions of the year and was described as “Overwhelming from start to finish”. https://brightonfestival.org/whats-on/XK3-the-making-of-berlin/
Fri 10 – Sat 11 May, Brighton Dome Corn Exchange
THE WONDER PANEL: The wonder panel is hosted by guest director Frank Cottrell-Boyce and features childhood hero’s Joseph Coelho, Cressida Cowell and my personal favorite, Author of the much love Ottoline series, Chris Riddle. https://brightonfestival.org/whats-on/XXB-the-wonder-panel/
Sat 11 May, 11am, Brighton Dome Concert Hall
TEENAGE MEN: Brought to you by hit comedy duo, “Shelf” inspired by when the two were mistaken for teenage boys, features anecdotes, songs and the all-important, Instagram algorithm. https://brightonfestival.org/whats-on/XKQ-shelf-teenage-men/
Sun 19 May, Brighton Dome Studio Theatre
THE NIGHT ALPHABET: Performed by the award-winning poet Joelle Taylor and directed by acclaimed theatre director Neil Bartlett, The Night Alphabet is an investigation into violence, resilience and women’s stories. https://brightonfestival.org/whats-on/XKL-the-night-alphabet/
Fri 24 – Sat 25 May, Brighton Dome Studio Theatre
OOZE MACHINES: As far as the free events go, this is the one to see. The exhibition has been created by Physicist Dr Libby Heaney and focuses on the seductive and repulsive world of all things goopy. https://brightonfestival.org/whats-on/XOd-ooze-machines/
Sat 4 May – Sun 30 June, Phoenix Art Space
100 MILES OF STRING: Created by artists Lucy Cran and Bill Leslie, 100 Miles of String is an interactive, outdoor exhibition where audiences can wound string around large objects, creating complex shapes and patterns. https://brightonfestival.org/whats-on/KoC-100-miles-of-string/
Sat 4 – Sun 26 May 2024, Royal Pavilion Gardens (North Lawn)
GROUND: Production company “Trigger” have put together a three-course meal designed to explore the tangled histories of patenting plants. The experience is led by the voices of Indigenous and traditional knowledge holders and is locally sourced. https://brightonfestival.org/whats-on/Ko7-ground/
Nadia Abbas reports on a new production of Elf at the Brighton Centre
Every Christmas, people around the world rewatch the beloved Hollywood hit Elf. Buddy’s lovable and energetic character, the picturesque New York setting, and the sense of family and nostalgia make this film a festive favourite. This timeless tale will be brought to life on stage for Brighton residents to witness as Elf the Musical will be performed at the Brighton Centre in January. This musical promises to capture the magic of the Elf story whilst also including new and exciting features such as aerial cirque stars, an indoor snowstorm, and much more! It will be the perfect New Year treat.
Jon Conway Productions is bringing Elf the Musical to the Brighton Centre from the 5th-6th of January 2024. It will feature a star-studded cast, including West End actor Steven Serlin, who will play Buddy the Elf. ‘Birds Of A Feather’ actor Charlie Quirke will play Buddy’s New York pal, Charlotte Hall will play Buddy’s love interest Jovie, and Barry Bloxham stars as Buddy’s dad. This musical is suitable for all ages, and it will have hilarious comedy, terrific costumes, and lively original songs by Matt Sklar and Chad Beguelin. Charlie Quirke, actor, said: “Our dance routines have loads of people, they are really big, really in your face, it’s quite eye-catching. There’s a fair bit of everything in this musical.”
This musical will follow the Elf film storyline, but there will also be some thrilling interactive elements to make it a spectacular stage production. This includes arming the audience with two hundred inflatable snowballs during the famous snowball fight scene from the film that they can throw at each other and the actors. Jon Conway, Elf the Musical producer, said: “We never quite know how the snowball fight is going to go; sometimes you get kids who get really carried away, and they jump out of their seats, and they run up and throw the snowballs all over the place!” There will also be a flying sleigh with Santa inside that flies over the cast. Jon Conway, said: “Every few minutes something happens that you don’t quite expect.”
This musical is working with the charity Laughter is the Best Medicine by raising money for underprivileged children and giving them free tickets to the show. Three hundred of these children are coming to watch the Brighton performance. Jon Conway, said: “If you can’t do good at Christmas, when can you?” Jon Conway Productions is also an ambassador for the charity KidsOut and regularly works with them.
This musical is being performed in other locations throughout December, including Bournemouth, Manchester, and Newcastle. Brighton is the last performance. Charlie Quirke said: “In that first week of January, people are still trying to hold onto that festive season and spirit. Elf is based around Christmas, but it’s also a really nice family show.”
Tickets cost between £26.50 and £55.50 and can be purchased from the Brighton Centre’s website.
Recently at a game that had all been decided but for the final whistle, I was keen to share the knowledge I had acquired about the opposition and pointed to one of the players and revealed they had played in an FA Cup quarter-final. Hoping that this would give our team some solace in being on the receiving end of a team with some well-established pedigree, I was instead stunned into silence when one of our substitutes responded. “So what? so have I.”
This same person was responsible for ruining Christmas a few years ago when, as the opposition manager as well as their goalkeeper, they masterminded a 1-0 win over Montpelier Villa. It wasn’t a great day. I wasn’t happy. That all changed when we needed a goalkeeper. I put all that in the past, forged a new relationship and since then I’m pleased to say we’ve had some more Hope in our lives.
“I feel special,” said Hope Hawkins when I said I wanted to interview her. Hope belongs to the generation of female footballers who’ve thrived and played at the highest level despite all the barriers and obstacles.
“I remember playing football with my cousin who was football mad. There wasn’t a fence between his and the neighbour’s back garden so we used to use all of it as a big football pitch and breaking all my aunt’s plant pots and we also had to make sure we didn’t disturb my uncle’s pigeons. He was a couple of years older than me and he never went easy on me so he taught me a lot.”
Hope does humilty well. When I point out that she played at the Withdean Stadium in an FA Cup Quarter-Final against Arsenal, managed AFC Varndeanians there as well as hosting ourt recent FA Cup exit, she said “it’s also where I fractured my ankle,”
Despite winning multiple leagues and cups with Brighton and sharing the pitch with a star-studded Arsenal side that included former England captain Faye White, Hope said she doesn’t get excited by winning trophies.
“Winning leagues and cups is nice but when I think of my best memories it’s the friendships I have made that have lasted years although I remember the first team I joined was an all-boys team with my cousin, I wasn’t allowed play any matches because I was a girl even though I was one of the best players there,” she said, allowing the humility to slip for a second. “They let me play a friendly at the end of the season and I took a free-kick. It hit the crossbar. I was devastated it didn’t go in.”
Hope played for Hollingbury Hawks, Brighton, Rottingdean, and was player-coach
at AFC Varndeanians before reverting to a player once more at Montpelier Villa where she recently announced her retirement but as she points out, this will be the third time she attempts to retire. On this occasion it has come on the back of doctor’s advice but as always Hope has not taken too well to being told what she can’t do and has arguably defied expectations for longer than she should have for the benefit of her team.
Hope made a brief cameo in the game I mentioned at the beginning of the article. The injuries sustained over a long career of always putting the team first finally catching up with her and although it wasn’t known at the time, this was the last time Hope would play football.
Despite all, the enthusiasm and love for the game shines through. Hope struggles to contain her delight in describing the makeshift football pitch she shared with her cousin surrounded by pigeons and plant pots. For Hope, it’s never been about the trophies, the stadiums, famous players she’s played with and against. It’s been the lifelong friendships that will outlast all football careers but more importantly than that, it’s been about proving people wrong.
A long time ago in a faraway land – well, in these pages last April – we ran a story about how the Co-op – yes, the caring, sharing Co-op, the place we all used to bank so we could avoid the rapacious capitalists like Barclays and NatWest… that very same Co-op – was looking to take over Seven Cellars and Latina and create a very big Co-op on the Dials. Sorry, that should have read “another very big Co-op on the Dials”. These shops are an integral part of our community and while we all occasionally go to the Co-op – go on admit it. Maybe when you book Red Snapper and forgot to take a bottle – how many Co-ops do you need? The Dials vibe is of independence, of the personal – let’s keep it that way.
You have to search for good things to find in stories like these, but one maybe is how it pulls the community together. Local resident, lovely Emma Thomas (quick round of applause) has been pivotal in this and has written this letter. Please read and circulate. And sign.
Dear neighbours,
I am writing this letter to you because our neighbourhood needs you. We are asking for your kind help to support local shops and restaurants in our community.
Independent shops are the lifeblood of Seven Dials – they give our neighbourhood its distinct character and a lovely feel. They are also vital to living a more sustainable and environmentally-friendly future and one that reflects the dreams and hard work of ordinary people living and working in local communities – rather than large corporations cashing in.
As you may have heard two local small businesses are at risk as the Co-op supermarket chain has bought the lease to their buildings and has threatened them with eviction.
We already have a huge co-op down the road. This means historic shopfronts dating from as early as 1841 could be destroyed. Unless we act it means that we will lose two much-loved local businesses – the Latina Café, which serves delicious Portugese food and The Seven Cellars wine and beer shop. A lot of love, care, sweat and tears have gone into these businesses, and they are popular with residents and tourists – it is devastating for their owners to invest so much hardwork and money and be forced out by big business in this way.
WHAT WE CAN DO AS A COMMUNITY?
Some residents have already been showing they care by boycotting the small grey co-op on the Seven Dials roundabout and also by putting up this notice in their AirBnbs and guest rooms – so tourists who visit the area can also decide if they want to help to make a difference.
There’s a petition you can sign here (put your phone camera over the QR code…
Please also write to the CEO of the Co-op and tell him to get his hands off our lovely Seven Dials.
In late October, Brighton & Hove City Council announced plans to cut and relocate Bright Start Nursery in North Laine, a much-loved nursery known for its experienced, caring staff. It’s been in the Old Slipper Baths building at Barrack Yard since 1989 and is used by several families in West Hill. My own daughter may lose her place if the move goes ahead.
The Council tried to close the nursery last year, but it was saved for the 2023/24 year by a community campaign. This time, the Council are trying to close the nursery by the back door, and have come up with plans to move the nursery into the Tarner Family Hub.
The proposals would decimate the nursery, scrapping provision for under 2s, reducing the number of spaces by about 70%, and reducing the hours and weeks the nursery operates.
“It seems bizarre that the Council is cutting one of the few affordable childcare services in the city centre at a time when many parents are struggling to find affordable childcare,” another parent commented to me.
The Council plans to move the nursery by September 2024, which means the plans are being rushed through. There will be no consultation with the community, and parents are only being offered the opportunity to shape the “operating model” at the new location.
It’s also unclear if there has been a proper examination of alternative options. One possibility might be to relocate the nursery into St Bartholomew’s School, which would help keep both children and schools in the area.
A group of parents at the nursery have launched a campaign – “Save Bright Start” – to try to save this important service. We are calling on the wider community to support us by writing to the leader of Brighton & Hove City Council, Bella Sankey, and the Chair of Children, Families and Schools Committee Cllr Jacob Taylor expressing their opposition to the plans. We have also launched a petition to call on the council to save these services. This can be accessed through the QR code.
Style correspondent Ceri Barnes Thompson finds out how to dress to kill while having a “nothing new” pact
When Vanessa Wright was a little girl, she played shops when her peers played teachers and doctors. You’d be more likely to find her rummaging through a jumble sale than a rumbling round the playground, and for little Vanessa easily the best sweet shop was a haberdasher. A career in social work and a family followed alongside a move to Brighton, and as she walked the streets of her new home she would wonder every time a new shop came up for rent why someone didn’t open an old-school dress agency like the ones she grew up around. Until one day….
‘Preloved of Brighton’ opened its doors 10 years ago – with its stylish owner ever present to hear how you are, what gigs you’ve been to, what exhibitions have impressed you as well as what you are looking for clothes-wise. Never pushy, always happy for you just to check out any new additions (her stock updates daily with new contributions) Vanessa’s edge is curating her store like a boutique. The jeans are all in one place, the sizes separated up, the sparkly clothes for events and Christmas presented together. Shoes, bags, belts dotted around, there’s even a £10 rail – very worth a rummage for a bargain. And crucially she knows her customers and the fashion zeitgeist so well. There’s no point trying to get her to sell your skinny jeans if wide and cropped is what’s happening at the moment.. she knows what will sell and it’s what makes people happy. Her lovely shop has gone from strength to strength with so many following suit – the market for vintage having massively expanded, and apps like Depop and Vinted giving new life to old clothes. I see my younger son in someone’s old French-blue Ralph Lauren hoody he’s found on line and snagged for a steal and know that for him it delivers that spark – it’s new to him.
When Preloved started it was the only place of its kind here – chic and thoughtfully stocked with people’s preloved clothing – splitting the proceeds 50/50 with the people who bring her their treasures. And so often for Vanessa the real treasure is in the stories of the clothes, the connection to her customers and the lives that they have lived.
Initially her clientele was probably between 30 and 60 years old, but now Vanessa reckons it’s more like 15 to 80, and this is so much down to the atmosphere that she’s created. She believes clothes aren’t ‘just’ clothes; they are key to how you feel. Her warmth and interest in the people who come in and their stories wraps you up like a friendly hug. I can’t think of a time I’ve visited when there hasn’t been a lovely chat or a serendipitous exchange of information. I’ve even found a physiotherapist who knows about knees whilst in the shop with Vanessa literally getting on the floor and showing me the best joint exercises to do.
What gets her up in the morning is a real mission to change people’s minds about buying all their clothes new – it truly makes her day if even one person makes a decision to buy vintage and feels great in it.
And it’s because of pioneers like Vanessa that I’ve started asking those questions I’d never asked myself – what really do I wear that makes me feel properly myself? The answer is a very limited list, truly.
This year my husband and I have had a pact to buy no new clothes and it’s been HARD.
The biggest test of our ‘nothing new’ pact came in the form of a wedding and our oldest son’s graduation. Could I ever feel ‘dressed up’ wearing something ‘old’ to events like that?. Hovering over the ‘add to basket’ on the Cos website too many times, I headed up to Preloved. There was Vanessa, the shop lit up by the early summer sunshine and her smile, a lovely scent filling the air from an aromatic little steamer on her desk. Behind her, hanging up waiting to go on the rails, was a bright orange and pink summer dress, long length, short sleeves, two layers of cotton. ‘I’d never wear that it’s just not my thing’, I thought and dismissed it immediately. Vanessa held it up. “Why don’t you try it, Ceri? it’s a good length for you”. So I did. And when I opened the curtain Vanessa said “Look at that smile!”. I felt fantastic. Worried that my idea of pairing it with my dark blue clutch bag would ‘kill the dress’ (she has a very, very good fashion eye) Vanessa found a gold and orange one and that was that. For £40 I had an outfit that made me feel a million dollars.
People like Vanessa and their passion for design, designers, textiles and stories really do make the world go round. She’s recently launched a ‘what are you looking for?’ service and she also uses her Instagram presence to promote other local business generously. It’s from her that I really do understand that new doesn’t have to be ‘brand’-new. It can be new to ME. And that not only has to be good enough it’s just plain great.
Seven and a half years after moving down from London – I know, someone had to do it – to East Sussex, well Hove, actually, I’ve moved up the hill to the Dials. This is my third home here, and I’ve never looked back. I never get bored with the people and vibe of our city, I not sure I could live anywhere else.
A hobby of mine is renovating my homes, being a 41-year-old batchelor certainly gives me the opportunity to live in dusty dwellings from time to time. When I recently sold my last home in Hove, I effectively made myself homeless. I wasn’t sure what my next move was, so on the day of completion, I did the sensible thing and headed to Thailand for a few weeks. Well, what choice did I have? When I returned, I decided to look for my next renovation project. Nothing really caught my eye but then an agent friend of mine called and said I must come and see this flat on Albert Road. West Hill, I thought. Really? Little did I know, but now I feel very happy and fortunate with my move and look forward to meeting more neighbours and making new friends as I settle in. The only thing I still slightly miss is living next door to the sea but however, the village and community feel of where I am now more than makes up for it. It’s such a friendly neighbourhood and I love the Dials itself with the shops, pubs and places to eat not forgetting how unbelievably close we are to Brighton town centre and the station.
OK, it’s time to say it. I’m an estate agent. No, no. Please don’t stop reading. It’s OK. I understand, but really I’m nice. Anyway, I like Victorian and Edwardian style buildings. I’ve always lived in pre 1910 homes and all the properties I’ve sold over my 20-year career in London and Sussex have always been period properties. However, one thing I don’t enjoy as much is the drafts and leaks they offer, especially when living on the coast. My top floor flat has a built-in indoor water feature which really comes alive when it rains, as much as I’d love to keep it, I’ve been trying to get a roofer round this week but funnily enough, they’ve all been rather busy.
Once the roof is fixed, I shall paint the ceiling and then live in the flat for a few months before deciding on which wall to knock down first. I’ve made that mistake before, you move into a new place, refurb it straight away and then wished you’d waited for a while before making any changes. You need to give yourself the chance to really get to know your new home and its quirks, first. It can be a costly mistake if you don’t.
With my business I run a Personal Estate Agency in Brighton & Hove where you only work with me from start to finish. I really enjoy helping people move while often suggesting and pointing out ideas that people may not have spotted. If you want to work with someone who’s proactive, helpful, and knowledgeable be sure to drop me a line.
In the meantime, I am teaming up with The Whistler to start a property surgery where every month I shall be answering any property related questions you may have so please drop us an email and I will do my very best to answer them for you.
Have a wonderful Christmas and a happy and positive 2024.
Russell’s new column starts next time out. If you have any questions about buildings, renovation, indoor water features… send them to The Whistler at jedski@mac.com
Changing the Game: How Brighton’s companies are leading the way to a greener future. Gilly Smith reports
I’m waiting for Ella Byass from Marketing at the new Red Roaster restaurant in New Road on a warm afternoon in November. The nice young waiter asks me where I’d like to sit, and I choose the quieter terrace outside as I’m about to record Ella’s interview. He fiddles with a remote and pops off to get my coffee. He’s turned the heating on. Outside.
It’s not a great start to an interview about Red Roaster’s hard-won battle for B Corp, the global accreditation that aims to shift the behaviour, structure and very culture of capitalism by exacting excellence in every inch of a business. As Ella tells me that they’re one of just 7000 companies in the world to be given its stamp of approval after its rigorous three-year assessment process, I’m still trying to square the heater issue.
Red Roaster has been one of Brighton’s most sustainable companies for years; its coffee roastery in Kemp Town is the only organic coffee roastery in the South East, and its beachfront café, Lucky Beach which won the Food Made Good People’s Favourite Restaurant award in partnership with delicious. Magazine in 2017, has been collecting gongs ever since.
Membership of the Sustainable Restaurant Association keeps the company focussed on sourcing responsibly, which includes supporting farmers who employ good animal husbandry and contribute positively to carbon capture with regenerative farming techniques to keep the soil healthy. The SRA keeps its members up to date on how best to trade, use energy and keep its carbon footprint low, but also how to interact with the community and treat its teams.
In Brighton, they’ve switched all of their delivery vehicles to electric or bikes, and are the largest employer of learning-disabled adults in Brighton. Ella tells me that 75% of their produce for their Brighton cafes are sourced locally; its cider comes from Whistler favourite, Trenchmore Farm which operates its own micro circular economy. Its organic eggs are from Rookery Farm in West Sussex and most of its seasonal produce are from Shrub Provisions, one of the increasing numbers of sustainable food hubs working with regenerative or organic local farms for next day delivery to restaurants. And where it can’t buy local, it supports the farmers’ own communities; Red Roaster’s coffee beans come from Brazil, Honduras and most notably from Rwanda where they run most of their social projects, including building schools and medical centres.
Led by early sustainability adopters, Diana and Mike Palmer, Red Roaster’s B Corp badge is only the beginning. “With B Corp, you have to constantly show how you’re improving” Ella tells me. “They’ll come back in three years’ time and say, ‘Right, this is was great three years ago, but what have you done since?’ We can’t just be like, great, we’ve got the B Corp. They’ll want to know how we’ve reduced our carbon footprint even further. They don’t allow you to use it as a green washing technique.”
As businesses try to attract and retain late millennials and Gen Z into a post Lockdown workplace where all the rules have been thrown out of the pram, sustainability is one of the most popular keywords in the search for employment. According to the Institute for Advertising Ethics, 64% of millennials will no longer work for a company that fails to show a strong corporate social responsibility. The data also shows that Gen Z are so concerned about what their peers think of their employers, that their choices are increasingly those that can prove they’re doing the right thing.
It’s an amazing story, but how will anyone know while the only connection the customer has is with a waiter who turns an outdoor heater on without even asking? Ok, so it turns out that the heaters are solar powered, but the point is how would we know? A brunch with a mate a couple of days after our interview revealed the waitresses weren’t acquainted with the company line either, and the bacon was from Ireland.
“Our sustainability story is on the menu”, Ella tells me. Now, come on; who salivates over the food options, ponders over the cocktails and then scrolls through to the last page to read the diversity pledge? We’re Whistling big time for Red Roaster, but maybe by the time the B Corp team come back to check, their waiters will be wearing the t-shirt.
Of the tiny clutch of B Corp companies in the world, we’ve got quite a handful in Brighton. And if you’re thinking about booking your next holiday, you might like to know that one of them is a sustainable travel company which says that it’s not really very cool to fly at all. “There is no denying the fact that if you fly long haul, it will make up a very, very significant proportion of your year’s carbon footprint,” says Nick Pulley, founder of Selective Asia. You’re not even going to get a virtue signalling offset plan as part of the cost of your flight at Selective Asia. “With an increasing number of reports casting doubt on the benefits of carbon mitigation, we don’t have the necessary clarity and confidence on this approach that we would ideally like,” proclaims the website.
Instead, the travel agency works with Brighton-based carbon calculating company, C-Level which works directly with environmental scientists and communities on the front line of climate change to develop conservation projects that can provide locals with an income. This is not so much about mitigating the impact of travel, but actively supporting local economies to thrive. Call it distribution of wealth.
“Travelling with a tour operator like us means introducing clients properly to the cultures and steering them away from the heavy footfall area”, says Nick. Encouraging them to eat on the streets and in family-run restaurants rather than in the larger hotels means shaking the hands that feeds, while keeping the tourist spend local. Travelling in-country by train not only avoids the carbon heavy short hop flights, but gives the traveller a chance to see the landscape and feel the distance.
Eco-tourism is about understanding impact, and we’ve got to stop flying if we’re to save the planet. But if you’ve just got to make that trip of a lifetime, make sure it helps to secure the D’ering-Dibru Saikhowa Elephant Corridor in the northeast Indian states of Assam and Arunachal Pradesh or support Lone Buffalo, the Laos community project giving free English tuition, sport and creative skills tutoring to local kids.
Who knew there were so many dog-friendly restaurants in our city? Well, Maya the Romanian rescue for one. As we tucked into our dinner one wet and windy evening at Murmur, we were surprised to find a beautiful but rather anxious dog on the next table. “Don’t look her in the eye and she’ll be fine”, smiled Mum.
Look, we’re dog people and a nervous dog on a couchette in one of our favourite restaurants is always going to be fine with us. But while we would normally have focussed by now on the delicious fish caught only this morning by Brighton’s own day boat fishermen, we found ourselves in a curiously unBritish chat about dogs. Maya, our new friends told us, was already able to use a word board to tell her new parents how she was feeling.
“OMG,” squeaked our Gen Z daughter, ‘Do you follow Bunny on Tik Tok?” Of course they did. Bunny, it seems, is the talking dog who presses audio buttons to formulate whole sentences in order to communicate to her owners. “Maya kept us up all night last week”, said her Dad weakly, only slightly failing to follow the party line. “She was pressing ‘tummy’ ‘hurt’ ‘outside’ ‘medicine’ until I had to put a pillow over my head.” Why he didn’t just let her out, he didn’t say.
It wasn’t like this in France. For three whole weeks this summer, we feasted on dog friendly vibes. From bites in bars in balmy squares to Michelin starred 12 coursers, Pickle, our 13-year-old Collie Cross was more than welcome. Even in the brasserie at the hypermarche where we sheltered from the rain while charging the electric car (again), Pickle was invited in. “C’est normale” said the waiter, giving him a bowl of water before we could ask. Dogs in France sit under tables and are mostly seen and not heard, although the waiters Pickle met generally stopped for a little ear rub and a chat. Only once did we find a giant poodle sitting on his Dad’s lap. But they were Dutch.
And, as it turns out, it’s pretty normal in Brighton too. Maybe dogs are welcome all over the country and we’ve just never dared to ask. So, we’ve decided to send Pickle out as chief reporter for a brand-new column for the Whistler, The Ruff Guide to Brighton and Hove (see opposite page). He’ll be marking Brighton restaurants on the quality of the welcome, the offer of a water bowl and the quality of the meat. Of vegan and vegetarian fare, it’s all about the meat taste. I did tell him that that’s not always the point, but, well, you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. First up, Kusaki in Preston Circus…
Refugees often get a bad press here. You might have noticed. Like most people, we find it really dispiriting, but there are always good people doing good things. And if good things involve hummus… what’s not to like?
We’re lucky here in this part of the world – there are fantastic organisations such as The Launchpad Collective who are doing real things to help refugees with real tools such as work and language. And here at the West Hill Hall, the every Wednesday morning The Jollof Cafe takes over and… What’s the Jollof Cafe?
“It’s a project of the Sussex and refugee migrant self support group. It’s run for and by migrants, refugees, asylum seekers. It’s free for those who can’t afford it and £5 or whatever they feel like for those who can which enables people who can’t afford to eat there to do so. Each week we’ve got different chefs and it’s a lovely atmosphere and great food.”
I’m talking with Catherine Brown, and Catherine’s long been on the side of the good guys. “I used to work with Voices in Exile and now volunteer with Sussex refugee and migrant Self Support Group which Jollof is part of”.
“We started in 2017. We used to be at The Cowley Club in London Road, and then after Lockdown we opened up at the West Hill Hall. It’s a little treasure, a bit hard to find, but a treasure.
“The food is always vegetarian, and often vegan. It’s a welcoming, safe space where the migrant community can invite the local community in rather than the other way around. They’re always recipients of charity. Here, it’s the other way around.
And who are the biggest communities? “We used to do a lot of work with the Syrian community, and I was surprised at how many Syrian people that were here. Yes, so still Syrians but a lot less coming than about six or seven years ago. We’ve got some brilliant members of the group who cook for us when they when they’ve got time off from their English lessons. There are Kurds from Iran and Iraq. Where else? We got people from Sudan, Ethiopia, Eritrea…”
And what’s Jollof? “Jollof rice is a West African dish. When we first started, we had a lot of West Africans cooking for us and we had Jollof all the time. It’s a peanutty spicy sauce and the rice is cooked in the sauce. It’s usually with meat, but because I’ve only had it at the Hall I’ve never had it with meat”.
I’m guessing the food at your place is pretty good then. “It’s pretty damn good. Yeah, I get to eat very well. I think Syrian is probably my favorite.”
Syrian food is… I know about Syrian food. I pride myself on my hummus making abilities and, maybe foolishly once said to a Syrian guy I knew that I made good hummus. So we had a “Hummus Battle”. I told Catherine and as I told her, I heard her laugh.
Regular readers of this fine organ may remember me grumbling about the arrival of autumn a couple of months ago. I’ve got past this now and have surrendered to the inevitable onslaught of rain and wind. So it was with some surprise that the other day I found myself (mildly) enthusiastic for Christmas.
As someone from a large family which has shrunk in recent years, due to more despatch than hatch, I’ve become increasingly ambivalent about the C word. I feel like I ought to like it, but actually Christmas can be fraught with expectation, overwhelm, and strife. I’ve never been a huge fan. I’m not keen on turkey, small talk, or the wearing of paper hats. And don’t get me started on the torture that is charades.
Having said that, I have spent Christmas Day on my own before, having developed some kind of ghastly strep throat affair. In martyrous fashion I elected to stay home alone, like Kevin, imagining the freedom from ritual and heartiness and stuffed fowl to be a blessing. But it backfired. I didn’t think I’d mind, but I did, and spent half the day howling with loneliness. As Will Self once poncily wrote in the Independent, “deliberately being alone on Christmas Day was a bad move… it was tempting fate to toy with isolation, when life, with all its impulsive alacrity, may at any time capriciously thrust you out in the cold.”
In later years as an adult hosting my own Christmases, I’ve aimed for some kind of halfway house – a nice roast, no big dramatic thing, no hustling my daughter (who dislikes Christmas even more than I do) to be jolly. Possibly a tree. But this year I admit to feeling a frisson of excitement. Not much, but a tiny fizz. Could this be… Christmas spirit?
Perhaps the news that IKEA has bought Churchill Square has cheered me up. Nothing like a bit of IKEA shopping and a bucket of meatballs and jam to cheer the spirits. Although lord knows when it’ll be open. Perhaps it’s the sight of a 70cl bottle of Baileys on sale in Tesco for £6 that’s done it. “Six quid!” I squawked loudly in the shop to no-one in particular. Whatever it is, I’m feeling it. And so I have decided to Get On Board with Christmas this year, instead of trying to pretend it’s not happening.
My Christmas resolutions, if you like, will be positive and upbeat. I will join in with things. I will say yes to nights out with friends. I will get pressies early and lovingly, instead of late on Christmas Eve when I’m half cut from a liquid lunch and crying in the crowds of other bewildered, desperate shoppers.
I will send Christmas cards – in time, not ones that arrive in January. And I will wear a Christmas jumper. I will not hate Slade. I will put up some decorations.
But more than anything, I will make time to spend with the people I love the most. Because if the other C word has taught us anything it’s that life is short, and people are precious. Make the most of both.
Have a wonderful Christmas everyone. See you on the other side.
l Sam is founder and Editor-in-Chief of Silver Magazine – for the mature maverick
Air Conditioning Unit: harming the appearance of Guildford Road
The owners of number 18 did not seek permission when they installed the air conditioning unit on the front of this corner property. They were held to account by the Council’s Planning Enforcement Team but then made a “retrospective planning application” in an effort to retain it.
This application was inevitably refused with officers saying the unit is contrary to the character of the building and harmful to the appearance of the conservation area.
The neighbouring properties have attractive shop fronts, especially that of “Adrian Robins Interiors” two doors down and this ugly metal box is undoubtedly an eyesore and besides surely unnecessary. It’s therefore surprising that the owners of number 18 have lodged an appeal against the Council’s decision.
Battle of Trafalgar Pub: preserving the appearance of Guildford Road
Whilst residents have expressed some concern about the increase in lighting levels, the application to display a newly designed pub sign (see picture) and install lanterns and uplighters to the front elevation has been approved by officers. The current fashion of painting pubs in dark colours is being followed, in this case a “Mallard” (dark) green which is a radical change from the existing white. The current sign simply carries the name of the pub and the date 1805 but the proposed sign again depicts a scene from the famous sea battle although not the same as the one which disappeared in about 2015. The proposed traditional signwriting is to be welcomed. This is to be in a colour described as “Indian White”. The paint manufacturer describes this as “an extremely flexible, pale, warm white that captures the purity and optimism of a bright spring morning”. After 15 pints on a Saturday night punters might well want to capture that purity and optimism!
The Prince Albert, you know, the one by the station, a downhill stumble from the peak of West Hill, is one of the greatest pubs in a town with a greater abundance and favourable ratio to bad pubs than in any town I have ever seen, and I’ve seen a few. Both towns and pubs. I really know what I’m talking about. And such is the way of the world, or the way of this country, pubs are being closed down and this is terrible.
The Prince Albert – and I am open to the suggestion that the lewd piercing referred to by this name originated if not in this very pub but at least in this very town, for reasons I do not need to elaborate – is one of those places where the traditional and the counterculture meet as one.
My first proper evening there was when I finally, some years ago, moved to Brighton for good with the last items of my scant luggage. There wasn’t much: it was mostly my grandfather’s overcoat, which I was wearing, and a plastic bag containing, mostly, a teapot. I was tired, and it was late, and my new lodgings were up a steep hill – you know the one I mean – but the Albert was a brief step downhill and I could hear the noise of a band thudding through the walls and the mist, the kind of band I used to stay up late to tape off John Peel in the 70s. A truly horrendous noise, designed to both offend and charm – there were tunes behind it – with what I could tell even at a distance was a very angry female singer. This, I have to say, is one of my favourite genres.
So I went in the pub and went upstairs to listen to the band and even though I was wearing an ancient overcoat and carrying a teapot and was, by some decades, the oldest person in the room, I was utterly charmed. The band were called something that I cannot repeat even here; let’s just say a four-letter word was involved. They were clearly not aiming for chart success. But I stayed for the whole set and even chatted with the lead singer (her traumatised backing band, mostly men, had disappeared) for a while afterwards, and of course she turned out to be as sweet and modest and considerate as her on-stage persona had been confrontational and furious. This is so often the way.
And yet downstairs it’s all fireplaces and wallpaper from the 1920s as far as I can tell and, well you get the idea. The problem is that the pub has been under threat from developers. The latest recent plans have rejected by councillors but we need to make sure new plans don’t rear their ugly heads again. The best way to do that is to pop down there for a pint some time, just to let you know you love them. You don’t have to see Bleeding Ohyouknow upstairs but if they are playing, give them a listen.
It’s dark and cold and I’ve been wondering if it was ever going to stop raining. I’ve never been sure about winter – whose idea was that? I mean really. It’s not as good an idea as summer. Or spring. Or anything else that’s ever been ever. But even in winter exciting things happen.
As I write, there’s a woman I’ve never met called Sarah driving a van across the vast landscape of Europe, across countries and rivers, across seas and boundaries. In the van are lots of cages, each containing a puppy dog leaving the remarkable Sue Deeth and her Healing Paws rescue centre in Zante, Greece and heading to a new world, a new life. Their furever home, as the dog rescue fraternity has it. They’re sedated and hopefully oblivious, probably scared, probably nervous, almost certainly cold. How can they know what’s in store?
They might not know what’s in store, but for two of those pups, The Whistler knows. In one small cage there’s a black and white smiley thing called Freckle who is apparently a Labrador/Collie cross (that’s what she said anyway and I’m pretty sure she must have heard somewhere people like labradors and collies), and in another there’s a shy little Spaniel called Domino and by the time Your Friendly Neighbourhood Whistler glides effortlessly through your letter box, Freckle and Domino will be part of our family.
According to the Healing Paws website, Domino was found in an abandoned olive grove, and Freckle… who knows? Already I don’t believe her. But another similar tale no doubt.
If you’re a dog person and you go walking in St Nick’s Rest Garden with the rest of the Pooch Pals, you’ll probably already know them. They’ll be ones trying to keep up with Pickle, their 13-year-old new dad/mentor as he races around, woofing and smiling and woofing (the St Nick’s guys know).
Three dogs. I know. In a small flat in West Hill. I know. With a regular car. Really, I know. Right now I feel like spending every waking minute sitting on the sofa, because I’m not sure I’ll ever see it again. Stretching out in bed. That’s probably another distant memory. Staying in that bed longer than the sun stays down? Not a chance. They’ll team up, take turns, sort it out, and as the chorus of “Dad, I need a wee” breaks out… You’re going to get up, aren’t you?” But as much as they need us, we need them. What’s life without a bit of unconditional canine love? But three dogs. That’s us, outnumbered.
Quite what Pickle will make of his new family, who knows? His life has changed a fair bit since we got him last September. He’d just been aband… Oh, let’s not talk about that. A bit of TLC, a raw egg every morning, some of our homeopath Foxey’s magic and he makes Steve Austin look like one of the flowerpot men. He’ll be fine. If Mum and Dad say it’s fine, it’ll be fine. Anyway, he’s only recently found a new calling. Mum and Dad are both journalists, and so… Turn a couple of pages and you’ll find out. There’ll be no stopping him now. He’ll be insufferable.
“It’s funny, we did Come Dine With Me. And I feel like I’m auditioning again.”
You were on it?
“No, we were bloody runners up, which is really annoying.”
I’m in Royston Horry and Eric Simpson’s kitchen and they’re telling me about their Lockdown project which has become their post-Lockdown work. Candles, diffusers, workshops…
So why candles? If you wanted to do something different, why not, I don’t know, pick up a bass guitar or something? “Because I like candles”. You really can’t say fairer than that.
“I like candles. I like diffusers. And that was the main thing. I wanted to do it. Because we spoke about it ages ago, like years and years before that Lockdown stuff. But Lockdown gave us the time and it was just like, if we don’t do it now, I don’t think we’ll ever do it.
Did you know anything about how to make candles? “YouTube”. YouTube? “Yeah, YouTube and Google. I mean, so much has changed since we started, we’ve got black glass, the design’s all different and then it was all about picking the scents and trying to work out what would sell”. And they do look beautiful and they do smell very nice and they are doing very well.
All Royston and Eric’s scents are named after their favourite areas of Brighton “and so you’ve got Clifton; Rose Cottage is where we live; you’ve got Bookshop because there’s so many book shops in Brighton and we love book shops; you’ve got Palmeira; Kemp Town; Montefiore; Beach; Brunswick; Hanover; Naked Beach…”
It’s a proper cottage industry – in a cottage. At one stage Eric disappears down to the basement. Is that where the magic happens? I ask when he comes back. “No, that’s just downstairs, We make all the candles here” he says pointing at the cooker. You make all the candles on the cooker? “Yes, that’s why we called one of the scents Rose Cottage”.
What’s your best seller? “Now it’s probably Bookshops. It’s a new one out and it’s a masculine powerful scent for men and women.” When you say masculine powerful one, what do you mean? “Because it’s black and the scent is stronger. It’s got tobacco and leather and biases (a rose scent) which is quite lovely. You wouldn’t have put leather and tobacco in there but it does smell quite lovely.”
Skip Kelly, coach of Montpelier Villa Women, explains why women’s football has transcended nationalism
It’s hard to predict the future, and what I’m about to write could come back to haunt me. For a man with a name like mine and a background like mine and a cultural upbringing like mine… Are these the words I’m commiting to print in the finest local magazine to be read by millions? The words that will finally see me charged and convicted?
I like the English football team. No, not that one. Let’s not get carried away. The English football team that puts a smile on your face. It’s been another incredible summer for The Lionesses and many of you will wonder if I am referring to the Lionesses of Singapore or the indomitable Lionesses of Cameroon or the humble, but local English Lionesses.
This summer was spent reacquainting ourselves with women’s football teams from around the world such as the Super Falcons (Nigeria), The Reggae Girlz (Jamaica) and, of course, The Girls in Green (Ireland).
Nationalism is one of those concepts like organised religion or low emission zones that emits a guttural reaction ignoring the sometime possible benefits. Such as laughing at your neighbours when they are knocked out of international football tournaments.
Like all those concepts, it’s often the subtlety that provokes shock – and Irish nationalism is no different. After sitting through a school curriculum that had the Gaelic language as a compulsory subject until the age of 18, a history syllabus that taught the wrongs of imperial nations in far flung places like India and Congo, the litany of English football failures serves as a small serving of revenge every couple of years. International football doesn’t allow for nuance and it was always a joy to watch England lose at anything.
It was suggested that the Australian team – the Matildas – success in the World Cup was the culmination of a co-ordinated online media campaign that itself was a response to the traditional media that supposedly reflects what middle Australia think and espouse good old-fashioned traditional Australian values had for a long time taken a dim view of women’s football. The Matildas were successful because they weren’t seen as representing good old-fashioned Australian values and good old-fashioned Australian morality – they were just seen as Australians.
I heard this argument and thought it reflected precisely why I found the Lionesses easy to like. The Lionesses had names like Niamh and Mary. Surnames like Daly, Walsh and even Kelly. My initial resentment was at their refusal to declare for Ireland but that has slowly but surely subsided when I realised that these surnames are no longer considered de facto Irish names.
The Lionesses and The Matildas have somehow transcended nationalism in favour of a more inclusive world for all of us. One that seeks to include rather than exclude. And it’s really hard to root against that, especially when you see first-hand the impact it has on people who’ve previously felt uncomfortable in their own sexuality. Those who felt they had to be in a metaphorical closet now get to see openly gay athletes being celebrated for their athleticism.
I’m fortunate enough to have a front row seat to this at Montpelier Villa. Our players have always been footballers first, and yet I see how much it means to players when they wear rainbow laces or put up Pride flags at our matches. Our little football team is one of many that has subverted what’s expected of a ‘traditional’ football team.
The only court I will be convicted in for liking another football team is the one of public opinion. In the most extraordinary act of self-sabotage ever seen before this court, I would like to present the footage captured by the BBC immediately after Chloe Kelly’s winning goal last summer. Although it’s not clear initially, I am featured in the crowd shot, and I can be seen celebrating wildly with 90,000 others . . . And, yes. I’m wearing my emerald green cap.
The developer of the land previously used for car parking (see picture) is making what seems to be a pig-headed attempt to remove important conditions placed on the planning permission finally granted on appeal in March this year. Despite the planning inspector making it clear that, in order to preserve the character of the conservation area, conditions are needed in respect of external materials such as roof slates, rainwater goods, render finishes and window frames. A further planning application BH2023/01843 has been submitted in the hope that cheap and no doubt nasty materials can be used to maximise the developer’s profit. The Council’s Heritage Team has inevitably recommended refusal.
Red Pillar Box Blues
The MP for Pavilion has been in correspondence with Royal Mail over its decommissioning of the pillar box (see picture) outside the T@the Dials café in Dyke Road. During the Covid pandemic this was designated a “priority post box” but has been decommissioned for more than a year. According to Royal Mail, the café owners claim ownership of the land on which the pillar box is situated and will not allow the box to be removed (and perhaps re-positioned) during the working day. This would seem to be an unreasonable stance; the café has, after all, been allowed to use the pavement, which it clearly does not own, to place its tables, chairs, and planters. The loss of what was probably the most convenient pillar box for many West Hill residents is further depressing news about a postal service which fails to deliver (and now fails to collect).
Reasons to be cheerful
Homes in Clifton Street and Compton Avenue have been restored and are now enhancing the character of the West Hill conservation area.
The pictures below of 2, Clifton Street show the front elevations before and after the works were carried out. The disfiguring of the original façade probably occurred in the latter part of the last century. The balcony in particular is now an attractive feature.
At no 18 Compton Avenue the flint and brick front wall has been repaired, and new cast iron railings set in particularly good stone coping. The balcony has been reinstated, the steps refurbished and the garden replanted.
Artist Dotty found himself interviewing me after hearing about my mission to run up and down every street in Brighton and accidentally join the London to Brighton marathon for the British Heart Foundation. But after I stopped prattling on about myself for 10 days and whinging that BBC comedy had relocated to Manchester, normal interviewing procedures resumed play with Artist Dotty.
Creased coffee stained journo pad on table, with naff pencil and dried up pen, I asked: So Artist Dotty what have you being doing recently? “Listening to you banging on” came the reply. Artist Dotty seemed disgruntled and proceeded, in a confessional way, to spew out his recent new direction at embracing AI digital art.
AD2023 was on the one hand singing the praises on new AI art and its fantastic capabilities and on the other hand looking facially perplexed, as if his face was saying, “Have I sold out as an art purist to the power of technology?”
He proceeded to tell me that pitching art concepts is now far easier, but was a touch upset when he discussed a digital piece that was generated on the strength of a prompt description. The description read as follows:
“An architect-style Dotty art gallery, with a space age Dotty band, jamming music”. Within seconds the piece auto generated, through the multiplex dottyverse algorithm and produced a fantastic piece of digital art.
Dotty explained how he racked his brain to try to multiprocess the digital art in order to put his own artistic stamp on the composition. Then he came to a resigned conclusion, that the piece held its own as a visually great piece of art and narrative.
Dotty began breaking up his wooden coffee stirrer and dropped each piece in his drink, as if to demonstrate an act of defiance and disdain at a robot creating a robot band and kicking the artist out of his arty processes. AD2023 was also concerned about the future of media and journalism; any number of fake scenarios could go out with photorealistic AI dark web wizardry. “Is there not a board of ethics by now?”
The other side of the AD2023 coin is that his responses for his new strand of art, is causing quite a stir.
The other day AD2023, while musing in Powis Square, it recreated the Royal Pavillion as a piece of digital art, with colourful Dotty designs on the side. This caused a class war debate on the Facebook page, Keep Brighton Weird, proving if nothing else, that there’s still life in the old prankster.
The last time I cooked for Lee Marvin, we ate snake. I was sceptical. He was adamant. As ever he was right, the reptile was excellent. But then it would have to be, if it were to be cooked for one of the greatest men of the 20th century. Actor, lover, fighter. Man of action. Man of few words.
Every man alive, without exception, secretly wishes he were Lee Marvin.
The day I cooked for him, we were riding the sierra that ran through his ranch. He was an incomparable caballero. He could do anything on a horse. He taught me to ride and whilst I can handle myself, I will never come close to his horsemanship.
We had started at dawn, after a breakfast of beans and coffee and stopped every so often, dropping from our horses, fully clothed, into the cool, clear water that pooled in the bends of the creeks we passed. It helped wash away the sweat of the long riding and nights of heavy drinking under stars that were engaged in celestial shootouts.
The sun was getting low in the sky and I watched as he leaned down out of his saddle, fully extended his arm and picked up a stone the size of a wolf’s testicle. He hoisted himself back up and twisted round and threw the stone straight at me.
Luckily, he wasn’t actually aiming at me. He was aiming at a snake in a tree we were passing. A diamondback, he told me later.
Nasty snake, bad bite – was how he put it.
He hit the snake fully on the head and killed it outright.
He drew to a halt and dismounted, walked over and toed the inert, defunct mother of all sin. As soon as the boot made contact with the snake, it sprang back into action. Not to back life, just action. It was writhing and convulsing but he simply pinned the snake to the ground just behind its head with his boot. He slowly withdrew a knife from within his clothes, crouched down and cut the snake’s head off.
He lifted his boot but it still jumped and writhed. It reminded me of the way chickens run around when decapitated, seemingly trying to escape the end that they had already met. He picked it up, put it into a sack.
‘Sorry kid, you’re cooking,’ he said, handing me the sack.
An hour later, we made camp next to the creek and I began to get ready for the night – a night with Lee Marvin was never predictable and was often quite hard work. Particularly the next day.
I waded into the water and removed the snake from its sack. I was fairly appalled to see that it was still moving. Not so vigorously, but writhing nonetheless. I took out my knife and made a small cut in its skin, enough to be able to peel it back. I bit down on the fleshy, bony stump where the head used to be and pulled the skin off its body. Still the creature writhed, but slowly now, like a dancer using his arms to pretend to be a snake.
I washed the skin before turning it back, right side out. When I had finished I hung it to dry from the limb of a tree that was overhanging the river. I still have the snakeskin. I keep it on the dashboard of my car. I then washed the snake in the cold water. Finally it was inert, a good couple of hours after its death.
I walked back up to the fire wondering how I was going to grill it, when I saw him coming towards me with the branch of a tree, cutting away its limbs. What now? I thought and took a step back. But all he did was to take the snake from me and lay the two things alongside each other, near the fire.
‘Wait,’ he said, and disappeared into the woods.
So I waited. It started a couple of minutes after he reappeared carrying a bundle of leafy oak cuttings. “It” was the unaided union of the snake and stick. Right there on the ground by the fire, the snake began to move once again. It twisted its rattle around the end of the stick and curled and rolled until it was completely corkscrewed around the stick’s length.
‘Shit,’ I said.
‘Yep,’ he said, and threw the cuttings on to the fire.
He sat with his arm out straight, holding the weird snakestick in the smoke just above the heat, whilst he went into a monologue at full volume about a night’s drinking with Bob Mitchum and some French sex workers, only he didn’t call them that, in a town he claimed had been liberated by the two them at the end of the war.
He talked for half an hour without pausing, without even seeming to draw breath, all the while feeding the smoke and holding the snakestick in it. He finished up by saying ‘Okay, now you,’ and he handed it to me.
I poked about in the embers until I had them nice and white with a red glow beneath. I put two rocks about a foot apart in the fire and laid the snake across them, turning it every minute or so. Juices dripped on to the embers and hissed.
Its flesh, a pinkish white to begin with, had now turned a beautiful, golden brown. It smelled good.
I pulled the stick out of the long coil and cut it into two halves and we ate.
Snake is just one long spine and ribs so it can be tricky to eat if it’s thin. But this was a diamondback and about four foot long and weighing five pounds or so. We could pull off whole hunks with our teeth. It was young so its flesh was reasonably tender for a creature that is all muscle.
I sat chewing, thinking about its flavour. It tasted like mackerel. And we were about 400 miles from the sea.
Mr Marvin liked it. He didn’t say as much. In fact he didn’t say anything. I could just tell he was enjoying it. Every now and then he would shake a few drops of Tabasco onto his next mouthful and chew it slowly.
He wiped his mouth with his sleeve as the last mouthful went down. ‘Right, I’m ready.’
The sun had gone down.
And the drinking began.
You can find Matthew Marke’s killings every Tuesday at matthewmarke.substack.com
We love The Lanes with all its nooks and crannies and jewelery shops and maybe the odd tourist, but it’s easy to get Lost In The Lanes. And that’s a terrible line about a very nice place. Food editor Gilly Smith found out more
LOST in the Lanes has been a bit of a tranquil refuge in the middle of tourist Brighton, a place for a coffee and a sit down away from the buzz since it opened in 2017. But who knew that its owners were all about local produce, that it had sustainability at its core?
Since August, its launch of LOST Nights has been showcasing an evening menu, plucked from Brighton’s natural pantry, with meat from the South Downs, fish from the day boats, dairy from our neighbours at Downsview and wines from Wiston, Stopham and Hallgarten.
Owner Natalie Demetriou and chef Sophie Taverner are keeping it simple and slow, evolving it gently to keep its values at its heart. One day, all restaurants will be like this. I asked chef, Sophie Taverner why local sourcing is so important to her.
“The reasoning behind keeping a short and changing menu in the evenings at LOST is that it really allows us to work closely with local suppliers and make the most of produce when it is at its peak.
“Sourcing locally isn’t just an ethical choice but also means getting the best produce at the peak of its flavour. Part of the ethos we have built is grounded in excellent relationships with suppliers who will tell us what the best catch is coming in off the fishing boats, or they’ll send us a message when new crops are being harvested. It means being able to put food on a plate that has been harvested that same day which then allows us to create menus that really showcase those ingredients”.
Tell me about your favourite local product right now and what you love to make with it.
“Right now we are coming to the end of the season for the most wonderful Culver corn from Culver Farm in Sussex. It is exactly what corn should be, so sweet and fresh with a perfect crisp to it. We have been serving it as fritters with a chilli vinaigrette, keeping it simple to allow the flavour of the corn to really shine through. It is also the most amazing time of year for fruit and we have strawberries, raspberries, redgages and damsons dotted around the menu and plans for preserving so we can also enjoy these later in the year. Part of really working with the seasons is thinking ahead to what we can make into jams or ferments so that in those months where less is growing, we have stores of things that can add some interest to our menus”.
How do you let your customers know how much care you put into sourcing well?
“We keep telling our story and reflecting our ethos in the menus we are creating as well as constantly highlighting our suppliers and the work they are doing. Shrub, who are our produce supplier for LOST Nights, work with small organic farms to get their produce to restaurants like LOST and that means we know exactly where our produce is coming from and who is growing it. That kind of transparency we hope will translate in what we are doing and is something that customers increasingly value.
What’s the stand out dessert on the menu right now?
“Like the rest of our menu, our desserts change regularly to reflect the seasons and what´s coming from the farms. This week’s standout favourite was fresh Sussex poached quince, baked cream and almonds. The quince right now is perfect and sits so well to balance out the tart sweetness of the lemon. It was so good we might keep it on for another week”.
At 6am on a bright sunny morning in late May this year, I joined a gathering of excited Brightonians in the line to try out the water at the new Sea Lanes for the first time. I left an hour later slightly astonished. Looking around like Alice in Wonderland at the setting I had to pinch myself.
When we first moved ‘down from London’ seven years ago, I insisted that I had to be able to see the sea from the house. I thought that I would buy a wet suit and a dry robe and immediately morph into a near-fish-person at one with the ocean I’d made my neighbour. I would be one of Brighton’s swimmers. That didn’t happen. Instead as a freelancer trying to work, commute, settle our family in, sort out our damp and crumbling house, the years passed… I never did get that dry robe (Ed: quite right too)
Bubbling along since we arrived has been this talk of a beach pool down at Black Rock – a regeneration project around the old Peter Pan Park on Madeira Drive. It wasn’t an area of Brighton we often went to. For us, it was a case of turning right at the sea, walking to Hove Lawns or further along, with our dog and our kids and friends.
Planning issues seemed to dog the project. Every so often there’d be word that there were plans. There would be the odd mention in the paper. Then… nothing. Would it ever happen? Nay-sayers galore doubted it. And then in 2021 after vast negotiations with the council and local heritage and resident groups, the plan got its permission. It turns out that surely and steadily the main players with the vision for the pool were working away to make this dream come true.
Immense challenges to the building process itself were an ongoing battle none of us knew about.
While we all were grumbling because well you know, it’ll never happen, it’s pie in the sky, good things like this never come off – the project team dealt quietly with the delicate removal of huge concrete slabs, ever so gently so as not to de-stablise the terraces, issues with materials for the carbon-neutral structures (pandemic legacy too) and terrible weather conditions – all huge hurdles to the build. The changing rooms are made of materials that come from unrecyclable plastics like toys, make up, flip flops, bottle tops… and they have tried to ensure the place is future proofed too – when hydrogen power arrives, the Sea Lanes can switch, everything is in place. And it’s a triumph.
The National Open Water Centre – aka, The Sea Lanes – conceived as “a stepping stone into the sea” has for the past three months never failed to deliver pure joy. The water sparkles and welcomes you in from 6am to 9.30pm during the week, a little earlier closing time on weekends. . And when it’s stormy, the water whips up little choppy waves to remind you where you are and make you work a little harder.
When you stand in those changing rooms the stickers telling you about the fact that they’ve used stuff generally headed for land-fill to make the doors and benches is somehow incredibly reassuring. Big smiles are exchanged, little chats about the water temperature (it’s been matching the sea all summer and will be between 15 and 19 degrees in the winter) and where someone got their wet suit… “What will you wear in the Winter?” “Do you have a spare hat I can borrow?” “Have you seen my new heads-up-display goggles?” “The wind’s up today, it’s a real work out in there!” “The water’s crisp this morning!” “This place makes me happy”.
I think we recognise each other now by our tattoos or our hats – these became mandatory (hats not tattoos but I’m considering a fish one since you ask) in August and after a few furrowed brows I think really no-one cares. It’s kind of nice. I put on my swimming hat and I feel even more in character as the Brighton swimmer of my dreams.
-Hat-Guy said “Hello” this morning. “Not seen you for a while, I always know you by your tattoos! Everything OK?” “Yes”, I said, “just been in Cornwall for the weekend”. And off we swim.
There are lockers and showers beach side that are free for sea swimmers to use and there’s a smooth pathway to the sea to walk down without suffering Brighton’s pebble agony. You can always buy some water shoes at the lovely Paddle People shop and a coffee from Fika afterwards. Pop up to Photomatic for a picture to take home or investigate the myriad gym, yoga, sports massage, fitness outfits that have set up shop inside the 27 carbon neutral units. There’s even a little ice-cream parlour. It’s the home of swim-adventurers “Swim Trek” who offer an ‘endless pool’ approach to swim technique training, where you swim, resistance style, on the spot while an instructor shows you to adjust your technique and breathing til you able in the big pool.
I did those very same lessons when I realised that in order to be that swimmer I’d always hoped to be I HAD to learn to crawl because… The other thing about the pool is you quickly realise 50 meters is BIG. Now I can swim a daily kilometer freestyle easiy. It’s really ALL about the breathing. Isn’t everything?
What had been imagined as a bright and colourfully decorated complex initially has been realised – post public consultations – with a more muted colour-palette to better compliment its setting against the terraces of Madeira Drive. A good decision, I think, when you stand and look at it. And that’s often what I do. I stand on Madeira drive and marvel at this lively, vibrant, positive, hope-filled place. The colour is brought to the place by the busy-ness of the businesses, the happy people waiting for coffee, breakfast, lunches or a beer in the evening sunshine. Dogs, stand up paddleboards, runners, walkers, kids, kites, bikes and yes, brightly colour swimming robes. Possibly also dogs-in-swim-robes.
“Yellow Wave” started it with their lovely beach volleyball set up and fab café but Sea Lanes pool and it’s village are the cherry on the cake. It’s a world class undertaking, you feel like Brighton is really showing off. Loving its beach, loving its seaside setting, loving its people actually and delivering aspiration that’s achievable. Grumblers say it’s just another members club – it really isn’t though! You can swim as a non-member but it just makes sense to join – like I did at my local pool. It’s just a few pounds more and a million miles away in terms of spiritually delivering just what I need. They even run a monthly beach-clean with a free coffee at the end of it. People are starting to gather here and we all need this as a community of human beings, places to gather that make us feeling hopeful.
The water ALWAYS lifts my spirits – get into the blue to shake off the blues I always say to myself – it connects me to not only myself, my ability in the water, my sense of strength and presence but to the other smiling people I share the pool with. And that is more important now than ever it was.
There’s now a reason to turn left at the pier.
I think we recognise each other now by our tattoos or our hats – these became mandatory (hats not tattoos but I’m considering a fish one since you ask) in August and after a few furrowed brows I think really no-one cares. It’s kind of nice. I put on my swimming hat and I feel even more in character as the Brighton swimmer of my dreams.
Yellow-Hat-Guy said “Hello” this morning. “Not seen you for a while, I always know you by your tattoos! Everything OK?” “Yes”, I said, “just been in Cornwall for the weekend”. And off we swim.
There are lockers and showers beach side that are free for sea swimmers to use and there’s a smooth pathway to the sea to walk down without suffering Brighton’s pebble agony. You can always buy some water shoes at the lovely Paddle People shop and a coffee from Fika afterwards. Pop up to Photomatic for a picture to take home or investigate the myriad gym, yoga, sports massage, fitness outfits that have set up shop inside the 27 carbon neutral units. There’s even a little ice-cream parlour. It’s the home of swim-adventurers “Swim Trek” who offer an ‘endless pool’ approach to swim technique training, where you swim, resistance style, on the spot while an instructor shows you to adjust your technique and breathing til you able in the big pool.
I did those very same lessons when I realised that in order to be that swimmer I’d always hoped to be I HAD to learn to crawl because… The other thing about the pool is you quickly realise 50 meters is BIG. Now I can swim a daily kilometer freestyle easiy. It’s really ALL about the breathing. Isn’t everything?
What had been imagined as a bright and colourfully decorated complex initially has been realised – post public consultations – with a more muted colour-palette to better compliment its setting against the terraces of Madeira Drive. A good decision, I think, when you stand and look at it. And that’s often what I do. I stand on Madeira drive and marvel at this lively, vibrant, positive, hope-filled place. The colour is brought to the place by the busy-ness of the businesses, the happy people waiting for coffee, breakfast, lunches or a beer in the evening sunshine. Dogs, stand up paddleboards, runners, walkers, kids, kites, bikes and yes, brightly colour swimming robes. Possibly also dogs-in-swim-robes.
“Yellow Wave” started it with their lovely beach volleyball set up and fab café but Sea Lanes pool and it’s village are the cherry on the cake. It’s a world class undertaking, you feel like Brighton is really showing off. Loving its beach, loving its seaside setting, loving its people actually and delivering aspiration that’s achievable. Grumblers say it’s just another members club – it really isn’t though! You can swim as a non-member but it just makes sense to join – like I did at my local pool. It’s just a few pounds more and a million miles away in terms of spiritually delivering just what I need. They even run a monthly beach-clean with a free coffee at the end of it. People are starting to gather here and we all need this as a community of human beings, places to gather that make us feeling hopeful.
The water ALWAYS lifts my spirits – get into the blue to shake off the blues I always say to myself – it connects me to not only myself, my ability in the water, my sense of strength and presence but to the other smiling people I share the pool with. And that is more important now than ever it was.
It’s been up a bit and it’s been down a bit, but it’s not been out, and now a fresh breath of air is flowing through the Duke of Wellington
“Well, my ex-husband died in April, not this year, last year. Six months later, I collapsed beyond the bar, had a heart attack, which scared my children. I’ve got son and a daughter who are grown up. They lost their dad, and six months later, I thought they were losing me. So this is my compromise.
I’m sitting in the Welly and Cheryl West, the new-ish landlord – landlady? landperson?? – is telling me her story. It’s a bit of a story.
“I’ve been running pubs for over 20 years, pubs and nightclubs. Pulled my first pint when I was 17 which is, I was working it out this morning, is… a long time ago.”
A long time and a lot of bars ago. We go into Cheryl’s story, a story that takes us from Islington in London to Northampton to Chingford to Luton to London again, taking on pubs, clubs and a Caribbean restaurant. “Then after 12 years, I decided I wanted to get out of London, so I joined a pub management company as a holder…”
What’s a holder?
“You go around, holding pubs, covering pubs until a full-time manager moves in.” Fair to say, Cheryl knows hospitality. And since April, she’s been holding The Welly.
“I didn’t really know Brighton much but I’d only heard good things. I’d seen this place and it was a smaller place, which I needed after the heart attack, and it’s by the coast which I love and… ”. A lot of boxes ticked. “Yes, there were a lot of signs pointing in this direction. Also, there’s no food involved. Doing food in a pub is really hard work and since Covid, it’s much harder. Since Covid, everything is much harder”.
Did it matter, I wondered, that there were so many good pubs within a stone’s throw?
“No, not really. We all support each other and we’ve all got different strengths, we’re all known for different things. And we’ve always been known as a sports pub and we’ve got the pool table which is very popular and the pool team’s doing very well, but we all get on very well. I talk to Hatt from The Eddy a lot and when I first came here, Mark (Reed, from The Eddy) was one of the first people to come in and say “Hello”. If one of us is short of something, gas for example, we’ll just pop into our neighbours and borrow it”.
Talking of neighbours… not everyone has been so happy. “I’m struggling with music here to be honest. I love live music. But since I’ve been here, I’ve put on three events on a DJ night. I had to do karaoke nights, the last one being Saturday. Every time we’ve put on music events, there have been complaints.”
I’ve never really understood why anyone would move next to a pub and then complain about the noise. But then maybe some people just like complaining.
I grew up around music, reggae mainly, that’s my genre. Old school reggae.”
Old school reggae? We’re going to get on just fine. Who are we talking? John Holt?
“John Holt, yes. Carol Thompson’s a friend. Janet Kay’s a friend, too”.
Janet Kay? Oh, get Janet Kay down. We can all come and sing along to “Silly Games”. That would get the upset neighbours properly, a gaggle of happy punters trying to reach those high notes. Cheryl’s not so sure. “I don’t understand it. The music stops really early…”
So a few grumpy neighbours aside… “It’s going really well. I thought coming down here would be like semi-retirement, and it was supposed to be my compromise with my children. My son wants me to retire. But I’m not ready yet”.
The season of mists and all that jazz firmly divides opinion, I have found…
There are those that welcome its gentle cooling, its falling leaves, its lazy sun. The snuggly appeal of fires and warmer clothes. Halloween parties, hot chocolate, and the rich colourful tapestry of nature. You know these people. They’re on social media a lot.
And then there are people like me. I’m not awfully keen, shall we say? It feels like death looming. I hate woollen clothes. They make me itch. The days are shorter, the bleakness is around the corner. Everyone talks about stupid bloody Hygge until my eyes glaze over with IKEA fatigue. Even hot chocolate makes me feel gaggy.
I can’t be the only one? There must be other people out there for whom autumn feels like the beginning of the end? Here are some of my (least) favourite things about the season.
Is it a turd or a leaf? Ah, the seasonal guessing game. For a dog owner like me this is a double-edged sword. Not only might I tread in a turd, thinking it to be a leaf, which is never a good thing. But I also find myself searching blindly – in leaves – in the general area that Alice has visited, desperately trying to find… well, you know. Add wind and rain to this search or squelch, and I’m pretty much ready to murder someone.
I also hate the darkness. By all that is holy I hate the short days. Not so long ago I was waking at 4-something to see the warm pink of dawn. I slid from my bed bathed in the happy glow.
Now I’m up at 6am or thereabouts, full of hate, and it’s as dark as midnight. It might as well BE bloody midnight. And then more darkness at the other end of the day, coming increasingly closer. BRING ME THE LIGHT, dammit. Not the SAD light though. That’s just weird. I’d rather be depressed.
Hearty behaviour. Oo look, another thing that could drive me to murder. People being hearty and cheerful. Getting all togged up in stupid hot clothing and doing bonfires and ghastly marshmallows. Capering around having a nice time, dressing up in fancy dress like toddlers. Or getting excited about a soup they made. Actually I do that, to be fair, I love soup. The rest of this heartiness though? Stop it. You’re not five.
And as for the ’Russian Roulette’ pedestrian. I see you, standing there at the kerb at the end of a long day, ready to die in front of my car as you dash out to cross the road in mad traffic, far from the safety of pedestrian crossings, traffic lights or Belisha beacons. Or rather I DON’T see you, because you’re an idiot dressed head to toe in dark clothing in the pouring rain. Darwin Awards at its very best. Do you have any idea how invisible you are? No? Idiot.
As far as I’m concerned, autumn also heralds Christmas on the horizon, which I’m also not terribly keen on either (more heartiness. And charades! Argh).
As soon as the first leaves start to fall, it feels like a countdown to the darkness, and a long stretch to springtime. I live for the winter solstice and the turning point as the days get longer again. I pray for snowdrops, and daffodils. And right now they seem a long way off.
Best I go and have a nice hot bowl of soup to warm up. Bah.
Sam is founder and Editor-in-Chief of Silver Magazine – for the mature maverick
Life used to be so much simpler than it is today. For example, the first job I ever had was in a shop called Stamford Hill Stationers and it was called Stamford Hill Stationers because it was a shop selling stationery in a place called Stamford Hill. It was a curious shop, not very big and full of… just magic.
It was a while ago, long before all this new fangled tech stuff we surround ourselves with now had even been dreamt about, and I loved stationery – which sounds an odd thing to say, but it’s true. Basildon Bond note pads with a sheet of carbon paper at the back. Blue note pads. Parker fountain pens that had little pipettes inside that sucked up the ink from the little pots of ink. But we sold all sorts of stuff. There was much excitement one week when we took delivery of the then new Bic disposable lighters. Terrible to admit, but I tea-leafed a handful and swapped them with Russell Roberts, who was working at Lord John where there was this pair of trousers… Kids, huh.
Anyway, I was thinking about Stamford Hill Stationers because, well, in the back there was a “staff room” where you could put your coat and if you were a bit more grown up, make a cup of tea or something.(Why you’d do anything like that when there’s a Wimpey bar round the corner…). In the staff room there was a poster that said “The customer is always right”. And then underneath that, it said “Even when the customer is wrong, the customer is always right”. Life used to be so much simpler than it is today.
Nice look” said the bloke at the entrance to Dick’s Bar at the Amex. “I always like to see what you’re wearing”. Since you asked, – double breasted brown corduroy suit, black beret, tan and white co-respondents. I like suits. I like wearing suits. I like wearing nice suits. I could never get my head round “casual” clothes or “streetwear” or whatever. Why would you wear a tracksuit if you’re nowhere near a track? No one is going to call you “Dapper” if you’re wearing a hoodie from Gap. No. You wear a suit. A good, well cut suit.
There aren’t many downsides to wearing good clothes, but you do need to look after them. You’re not going to put double breasted brown corduroy suit in the washing machine, are you? You’ve to go to the dry cleaners. And so it was that in the summer I took a fine cream linen whistle to my local dry cleaner – I live very close to Powis Square. Handed it in. Had a chat and, yes, Thursday for pick up is fine.
I went in Thursday for pick up and… It was odd. The jacket was still a cream colour but the trousers had been completely discoloured. They were now white. What had been a very nice cream linen suit was now… not a suit at all. I pointed it out to the very nice woman working there who was sympathetic and gave me the email of the owner and…
I’m guessing she never worked at Stamford Hill Stationers. She refused to talk, she would just email, and she proceeded to give me a lecture on the processes of dry cleaning (which, as a friend said, was ironic; if she knew so much about dry cleaning how come she ruined the suit?). It wasn’t a great conversation. After a series of emails, I contacted the Citizens Advice Bureau (nice people and sympathetic but ultimately couldn’t do anything) and she ended up threatening legal action if I wrote about it. Customer service aside, threatening a journalist is a bit silly, but… hey ho.
I tried to explain that I’ll no longer take anything to her shop, not because they made a mistake with my suit – they’ve been really good until now and, look, it’s not the end of the world. We all make mistakes, we all do things that don’t turn out how we want and besides, now I’ve got an excuse to buy a new suit – but because she was so lacking in grace and courtesy. I just don’t want people like that in my world. If you make a mistake you say “That’s really terrible. I’m really sorry”. And that’s it. Maybe they could offer a free something. It shouldn’t be a drama.
Maybe if you went to Stamford Hill Stationers now there’d be a sign in the back room “The customer is a bit of a nuisance and if they ever complain, threaten them with legal action”. Maybe. But I doubt it. Life used to be so much simpler.
Nadia Abbas reports on a new comedy show coming to Brighton
Being a new parent is an exciting and magical time, as you finally get to meet your bundle of joy after waiting for what feels like forever. You become immersed in a world of toys, milk bottles, and baby clothes, and your house is filled with adorable baby laughs, screeching cries, and melodious nursery rhymes. As wonderful as this time is, sometimes parents need a break. But gone are the days of partying and no responsibilities, so where can new parents go for some fun and laughter? The Bring Your Own Baby Comedy show in Brighton allows new parents to enjoy a hilarious afternoon of adult comedy and delicious drinks alongside their baby this December.
The Bring Your Own Baby Comedy show will take place on the 5th of December 2023, from 12-1:30 pm at Komedia in Brighton. It is suitable for parents and babies aged up to 15 months. It will feature hysterical comedy stars Mark Cram, MC Robyn Perkins, and Joe Bor, and there will be a fully stocked bar. Carly Smallman, Bring Your Own Baby Comedy director, said: “The purpose of the comedy shows is to give parents a great night out during the day so they can have a laugh during those tricky first months.” Parents can also bring friends and family along to this event who don’t have children. Carly Smallman, said: “We try and keep it as friendly as possible; if someone’s baby screams, we don’t mind at all. We’ve had worse heckles than a baby crying!”.
This event is suitable for babies because the venue will have soft flooring, toys, baby changing, and buggy parking areas. The Bring Your Own Baby Comedy and Komedia team will also be available to help parents with anything they may need. Carly Smallman, said: “We are breastfeeding friendly, so if people need to whip a boob out or get a bottle out and feed their baby, they can. If they want to walk around at the back with the baby to shush them, the guests are welcome to do that.”
This event has won several awards, including a UK Enterprise Award for Best Mental Health Boost for Parents and a HOOP Award for Best Bring-along Baby Activity. Carly Smallman, said: “I’ve had parents come up to me and hug me and thank me, and say that’s the most fun I’ve had since my baby was born.” This event has also won a Prestige Award for Best Family Friendly Comedy Service. Carly Smallman, said: “There was one woman who said that during the show, her son kept staring at her, and she was like, ‘Why is my baby staring at me?’ And then she realised it was the first time she had laughed since he was born.”
Tickets for this event cost £13, and babies can attend for free. They are available to purchase from Bring Your Own Baby Comedy’s website.
Sorry – you have to write things like that. Nadia Abbas reports on the Christmas panto at the Metropole
The fantastical tale of Cinderella, with its shimmering glass slippers, magical fairy godmothers, and wicked stepsisters, has been a family favourite for decades. Brighton residents now have the chance to experience this classic story on stage as the Cinderella pantomime is being performed at the Hilton Brighton Metropole this December. Adults, children, and Disney fans will be able to watch Cinderella’s delightful adventure as she transforms from a mistreated maid into a beautiful princess fit for a prince.
Cinderella will be performed at the Double Tree by Hilton Brighton Metropole on the 20th-30th of December 2023, and features a stellar cast, including BBC Sussex presenter Allison Ferns, who will play Cinderella’s evil stepmother, Baroness Hardup. drag icon Miss Jason (Jason Sutton) will be playing villainous stepsister Sindy, Kane Matthews will play Prince Charming and Ellie Earl takes the lead role.
David Hill, the producer of this pantomime and the founder of Brighton-based event company E3 Events, said: “The audience can expect big song and dance numbers, lots of slapstick, lots of fun, lots of booing when the villains are on, and obviously dazzling costumes”.
This pantomime will follow the traditional story of Cinderella, but there will be some exciting, modern twists to this iconic fairy tale. This includes the addition of Dandini’s character, who is Prince Charming’s trusty sidekick, who was not in the Disney film. There will also be an adults-only performance of this pantomime on the 28th of December at 8 p.m. David Hill, said: “The brief to the cast will be to deliver the same show, but we will give them license to be a little bit more creative and rude in their language. It will be a lot of fun.”
Ellie Earl said: “We’ll rehearse pretty much full-time for about a week and a half. It doesn’t sound like much, but when it’s all day every day, it’s going to be quite intense.”
The panto also plans to support local charities with its performances, including the Focus Foundation and The Sussex Beacon. “It’s an opportunity for us to give a little back”, said David Hill.
Ticket prices for this pantomime range from £8.50-£35 and can be purchased from Brighton Family Panto’s website.
We’d just finished another year at Manchester Polytechnic and summer was staring at us. Before heading to our respective homes, a few of us went up to Newcastle for the weekend to visit a friend. We saw a sign “BBC Radio One Roadshow with Dexys Midnight Runners”. What to do? We were very cool, I mean very cool, and a Radio One Roadshow? Seriously not cool. It was probably introduced by Richard Skinner or, I don’t know, Peter Powell or something. And it was in a tent. I know. A Radio One gig in a tent. You’d think we were going to see Nik Kershaw or maybe Howard Jones. But it was Dexys and we loved Dexys. So we went. And it was extraordinary. It was so extraordinary it was released as a CD in 1995. The shock of the power of the horn section, the passion and emotion of the songs, the everything of Kevin Rowland. Back then, pop music was about synths, about artifice, about dressing up as a pirate or a Pierott clown. Dexys were about horns, about soul, about passion.
That was June 1982 and Kevin’s outfits have changed a few times since then, but the fashion for passion has never wavered. Time’s passed but they – he – are still extraordinary. And last night at The Dome was just as extraordinary as ever.
A homecoming gig – Kevin lives down here, don’t you know – this was as much a celebration as anything – celebrating the history of the band and the audience, celebrating the songs, celebrating survival. The night was split in two halves: the first given over to the new album, “The Feminine Divine”, the second a run through of the old. Playing your new album which probably no one’s heard for the first hour of a gig, it’s asking a lot and is at the same time fantastically ambitious and arrogant. So far, so Dexys.
“The Feminine Divine” is as ever a step away from the expected which is, I guess, the expected. A treatise on Kevin’s relationship with women and how it’s changed, played live it’s stripped back, theatrical (between each song there was a ‘dramatic scene’ between band members Rowland, Jim Patterson, Sean Read and Michael Timothy), less horn more synth. Dressed in a dark blue pantalon suit, white beret and striped t-shirt (you know these things are important), Rowland held the stage, his voice at 70 still really strong and still carrying that familiar plaintive soulful plea.
While the new songs held up, the place really came alive during the second half when the lights came up, the horns came out to play and, standing on the balcony, he started up
“I won’t need to think of nice things to say, I don’t want to want this way anymore, Shh now and hear comes silence, from this comes strength I promise”
which led, naturally, to
“You’ve always been searching for something…” from 1982’s “Plan B”. And on it went. “Geno”, “Jackie Wilson Said” (complete with backdrop of Jocky Wilson), “Until I Believe In My Soul” through to the much loved but rarely played “Tell Me When My Light Turns Green”. As the lights came up, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house.
If there’s a finer sight in Brighton than seeing Kevin Rowland, resplendent in his dapper finery, out and about, it’s seeing Kevin on stage – equally resplendent in much the same finery.
Around this time last year, we were robbed of seeing Dexys on stage after Kevin had a motorbike accident, but – it never rains but it pours – now we’ve not only got a new Dexys album, “The Feminine Divine”, but we’ve also got a tour – dates are available but the relevant one for us is next Tuesday (Sept 19th) at The Dome.
“The Feminine Divine” is as ever a step away from the expected. Written with original Dexys trombonist Big Jim Patterson (a non touring member), the first half is all music hall swagger. Lovely but not a million miles from what you might figure. The second half though… Co-written with Sean Read and Mike Timothy, it’s a synth heavy cabaret, described as “steamy, fizzy and sultry”. Keep moving, keep running, keep changing. Can’t wait.
I may be the first sports writer who’s willing to admit that I am not that good at the sport I write about. This possibly isn’t news to anyone who has seen me play football, but recent advancements in modern technology such as the video camera have enabled yours truly to watch games I’ve played in and finally understanding why I quite often didn’t play the closing stages of games. Or the opening stages either.
It raises interesting questions around perspectives in grassroots sport because before the advent of video evidence, I was convinced I was playing exceptionally well and was harshly substituted and although I rarely challenged the coach understanding they had decisions to make. (The few times I have been recorded serve a similar purpose to Colonel Nathan Jessup in A Few Good Men by screaming “You can’t handle the truth.”)
Similarly, I’m not the first sports writer to have outlandish opinions about a sport I know very little about. I have never once picked up a cricket bat, but it is my steadfast belief that if I did and could be bothered I would be one of the finest batsmen the world has ever seen. People often say they would love to see me deal with a ball traveling towards me at up to 80 miles an hour and my response is I would simply just whack it as hard as I could. This was often met with uproarious laughter like every single one of my anecdotes. Those of you that have played cricket may scoff and spit out your tea and scones having read that but I have played hurling – Ireland’s bat and ball game in which everyone carries a stick at all times and striking the ball unopposed like you do in cricket is a pipe dream.
Some may question if I claim to be so good at cricket then why don’t I make a lucrative career out of it. The main reason being I am not motivated by money, I am motivated purely by Montpelier Women’s Football Club. The other thing is I don’t want to travel as much as any top class athlete has to and although there is travel involved with MVWFC it never takes up any more than a day of traveling.
You never truly know what someone thinks of you until you die and all those lovely things are said about you at your funeral but I have found a shortcut with cricket fans. I simply offer my opinion on how good I am at cricket and what I get in return is a summation of my personality. Recently someone agreed with this and pointed out that I would take great pleasure in winding up bowlers by staying in for as long as possible. Which takes us to the current Ashes series – or, by the time you read this, the last Ashes series – which has been incredibly entertaining and equally vindicating. Although as a coach I understand a defensive style and the importance of staying in for an extended period of time, where’s the fun in that? I’ve always enjoyed coaches whose modus operandi is to win in the most entertaining way possible and Brendon McCullum certainly falls into that category because, although there is a thinking that all sport is a results based business, I couldn’t disagree more. The verb used to describe sport at all levels is play and with that there are connotations of being child-like and free from the realities and responsibilities of the big bad world. We play sports to exercise, to socialise and to entertain ourselves and others. There is something incredibly beautiful about athletes at the pinnacle of their career being reminded of this and being told to just whack it as hard as you can.
They’re a smart lot over at the Flour Pot bakery in Seven Dials. Marching steadily but sassily across the city, from Sydney Street in 2014 to Elm Grove to Fiveways, zigzagging back to First Avenue, they sashayed in to Seven Dials in 2017. Bringing us unbeatable bread and a coffee culture that spread onto the pavements and into a reclaimed secret garden, wherever the Flour Pot went, we followed.
They were even among the leaders in the hospitality revolution during Lockdown, swivelling their business plan when all doors were closed to scoop up the smallest but greatest local suppliers – Gunn’s the Florist, Smors hummus, cheese from the Cheeseman and Curing Rebels charcuterie – in a genius home delivery service.
And so when Small Batch was suddenly gone, leaving landlord Pembertons a vacant space until October when they can issue a new lease, Flour Pot boss, Oli Hyde spotted an opportunity. “I decided that if we could put together a crack team of local businesses, The Flour Pot, Curing Rebels, Curio Wines, a local artist called She Paints, we could create a collaborative space here.” In partnership with Pembertons, Night Shift was born. “We asked ourselves; ‘what would the Flour Pot be if it was open at night?’” he said. “I don’t know what the future holds, but it seemed an absolute crying shame having such a site like this empty for that period of time.”
When we met, Night Shift had been open just three days, but already the locals were pouring in. Oli, who started his hospitality days at Terre a Terre in the 90s, moving to Sam’s in the heydays of the Dials, through clubs like Audio and Excape and on to the Mesmerist, knows how a thing or two about the night shift. “I think this is a lovely idea’ he says. “ It’s just early evening Wednesday to Saturday, closing at 10 or 11, depending on the numbers, and offers a local British charcuterie, a terrific wine list and local art on the walls.”
In June our newly elected Mayor Cllr. Jackie O’Quinn unveiled this memorial at no. 7 Buckingham Place to a painter who was born and educated in Sussex and who distinguished himself as a marine painter but who was also an accomplished musician who played for many years in the orchestra of the Theatre Royal in New Road. His painting of “HMS Vengeance at Spithead” hangs in the Royal Pavilion whilst his painting “Queen Victoria Landing at Brighton” is in the collection of the Brighton and Hove Museum. Among the guests at the unveiling were relatives of the artists including Captain Brian Nibbs, a distinguished master mariner whose long service in the Royal Naval Reserve earned him the Reserve Decoration (and bar). No. 7 Buckingham Place is part of a group of terraced properties (no. 5 to no.19) which are listed Grade II and which date from about 1845.
Multinational advertising giant wants more of the pavement.
The world’s biggest outdoor advertising company JC Decaux has launched an appeal against our Council’s refusal to grant planning permission for a “Telecommunications Hub” on the pavement in Queen’s Road. The site is adjacent to the West Hill and North Laine conservation areas. The City Council have given two reasons for its refusal. Firstly, the inclusion of a large digital screen to one side and functional appearance on the reverse side featuring telephone, communication hub and defibrillator, would create additional street clutter and be an incongruous addition causing adverse harm to the visual amenity of the area. Secondly the proposal would be contrary to Brighton and Hove City Council’s Local Cycling and Walking Infrastructure Plan and highways policies by reducing the footway width and reducing the unobstructed/clear available footway capacity in an area that is considered very congested.
Some local residents have also objected to yet more digital advertising being thrust into our faces. I have considerable sympathy with this view having recently travelled on the top deck of a Brighton bus where I hoped to enjoy a view through the front window; only to be confronted by a digital screen flashing adverts at me instead!
Funny how you can think that because you’re good at one thing, that you might be good at another, only to find that you’re crashingly hopeless. I’m a good pool player, for example, but my golf game is dire, despite me assuming that balls in holes is balls in holes. With golf I have the odd amazing shot, but generally I’m slicing balls into forests and throwing my clubs in the water. But with pool, I’ve actually been warned off a winner-stays-on pub marathon in Scotland. “Ye better no win the next one,” cautioned an auld fella. I hadn’t even realised there were disgruntled Scottish heavies lined up scowling at the English bird who was making them all look silly. Anyway, I digress, sort of.
I’m a crack shot at clays – genuinely, I hardly miss a single one – and I love shooting. So I just assumed I’d be really good at axe throwing. Yeah, I said axe throwing, and yeah, I was absolutely dreadful. I took the Silver team there for our summer do. Thankfully we had cocktails afterwards, not before. And some of us were terrible, and some were just brilliant. I would say I was just below ‘Astoundingly awful.’ (Don’t even think about it, Lezard. A “Team outing” here is half a shandy and a bag of cheese’n’onions at The Eddy).
Despite the best efforts of the lovely Viking (Ben from Newcastle, resplendent with red beard and long hair and huge muscles who was coaching us), I was, on the whole, really a bit rubbish at axe throwing. A bit like golf, actually, I got the odd one in. And it’s very satisfying when the blade THUNKS into the wood. But mostly I watched, helpless, as the axe went rogue, splintering things and smashing into everything except the target. I tried not to get annoyed.
Ellie the intern, who is as slim as an actual blade and frankly looks like a good gust of wind would take her out, was thudding the axes into the board every single time. And burying them deep, further supporting the assumption that it’s all in the wrist. I watched her, wondering what she was doing and trying to emulate her relaxed flick, but to no avail.
The only moment of actual glory I had during the whole escapade was when I landed two axes at once in the same board (on purpose). There is video footage of me capering about and yelling in disbelief. But apart from that, axes were largely not doing what I wanted. It was, however, enormous fun and I would recommend it to anyone. Hatchet Harry’s is at the bottom of Dyke Road, and well worth a visit.
Sam is founder and Editor-in-Chief of Silver Magazine – for the mature maverick. www.silvermagazine.co.uk
It’s 10 o’ clock on a summer Friday morning at the Gardener Café. Mick is carrying a box of red peppers down to the kitchen where vats of black beans and quinoa are bubbling. Sarah is making pastry for scones, sweet and savoury, cartons of yellow label strawberries, just on the turn, piled behind her ready for Karen Lloyd to reduce them into an accompanying jam. Elodie is chopping pretty pink radishes, and the air is fresh with camaraderie.
This is the Real Junk Food Project’s central Brighton kitchen, bang in Gardener Street in the middle of the North Laine’s most vibrant shopping and café area. Mick and Sarah are volunteers, Karen and Elodie just two of the few paid staff, and the red peppers, black beans, quinoa, flour and strawberries just part of a massive haul from the overnight supermarket waste run.
The Real Junk Food Project, whose mantra is “feed bellies not bins” was created by Adam Smith in Leeds in 2013, and has since grown into a national and international movement of cafes, projects and pop-ups with one core objective: To intercept food waste destined for land fill and use it to feed people who need it, on a ‘pay as you feel’ basis. With afterschool clubs at its sister café, The Fitzherbert Community Hub in Kemptown, and pay as you feel cafes at St Lukes Church, Hollingdean Community Centre and Bevendean Hub, it’s a busy operation.
“We have volunteers driving electric vans to supermarkets across the city picking up amazing food that would otherwise go to waste,” Karen told me. “We get cakes and breads, flour, dairy, all sorts of vegetables. A lot of it hasn’t even got the stickers on it. It’s just surplus. There’s literally nothing wrong with the food at all. But if it’s not collected that will just go into the bins and into landfill. It’s absolutely disgusting.”
Disgusting is the right word. “A quarter to a third of food produced globally, is wasted” says the RJFP website, “and yet, there’s estimated to be 795 million people who do not get enough to eat. In the UK, two million people are estimated to be malnourished, while the UK as a whole creates an estimated 15 million tonnes of food waste every year.” If waste was a country, according to the UN, it would be the third largest in the world.
But there’s not much time to chat about the politics this morning. Karen and her team are on a deadline. “Once it comes to our cafes, we chefs look at the food, decide on the menu, and get on with it”, says Karen. ‘We have three hours to get on with service.”
The black beans, which have been soaked overnight, are going to go into a chilli and the Buddha bowls. The quinoa will become a tabouleh, while the pumpkin seeds have been roasted with a little bit of tamari. The mung beans have also been soaking to encourage them to sprout and will be added to the Buddha bowls.
In the walk-in fridge, massive Kilner jars of fermented celeriac, sauerkraut, kimchis and jams line the shelves. Herbs, tomatoes, lettuces, courgettes and cucumbers – often organic and donated from personal allotments, local farmers and Infinity Foods, but most of which have come in on the supermarket run in the last 24 hours, are piled high in boxes, ready to be cooked up over the weekend.
By lunchtime, the tables outside are packed with students, families and homeless people, often sharing a long table. “It’s all pay-as-you-feel” says Karen, “so it gives everyone the chance to get a really good meal.” This is a place to have lunch with a friend, or strike up a conversation with someone with a whole new life view. You choose. “It does get people talking” says Karen, “and hopefully they talk about how good the food is. I think that’s what food does, doesn’t it?”
If people can afford it though, they try to encourage them to pay it forward. And with funding a perpetual problem on top of the cost of living crisis driving people to find food more cheaply, it’s hitting the tills at the Gardener Café hard. “We have a suggested donation of £6.50”, but most people are
giving £1 or £2 for a full meal.”
The daily lunch on Monday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday is just one part of what Karen and her team of volunteers cook up over the course of the week. “This Saturday, we’re doing a 60th birthday party for 100 people. We’re making canapes and Buddha bowls for them. When the clients come to see us, we’ll go through a basic menu and make them aware it can change. We did a canape event on Wednesday for Wired Sussex. They wanted to know what the menu was going to be, but I couldn’t give it to them until three hours before the event because the ingredients can change. But when we got there and they saw the food, they were amazed by it.”
It’s clear that this is much more than a cheffing job for Karen, whose signature red lipstick and bleach blonde quiff suggests an interesting back story. “I moved to Brighton five years ago after living in Spain for 15 years. My partner had died and I was trying to find work and get back into the catering. I did some voluntary work for Junk Food, and I found my family, basically. That’s what it felt like. So, it really helped me to find my feet again after a very sad time in my life.”
If you want to get involved with the Real Junk Food Project, go to its website for more information. Donate if you can, but the real fun is lunch in the sunshine with whoever sits next to you. Just remember to pay it forward.
Since writing this article we’ve learned that the Gardener Street cafe is to close. The Real Junk Food Project put out this statement:
“It is with great regret that the directors of @realjunkfoodbrighton have decided to discontinue their lease for the cafe on Gardner Street and, as a consequence, the Gardener will close on 25th September 2023. When we first signed up to take on a city-centre cafe using the pay-as-you-feel model, we knew there were going to be many challenges. We could not have foreseen the imminent Covid-19 pandemic, but we managed to weather the associated lockdowns and have continued to provide much needed meals to thousands in our community over the three years since.
Sadly, the current economic crisis is putting extra strain on the food industry and this, combined with soaring energy bills and ongoing building maintenance works, mean that the costs are just too heavy for us to keep the Gardener open. The latter is also taking its toll on our staff and volunteers in a way that is simply not sustainable. Whilst the doors of the Gardener are closing, the mission of The Real Junk Food Project continues and we are optimistic for the future. Our customers in Hollingdean Community Centre, St Luke’s Prestonville and the Fitzherbert Hub in Kemptown will still be able to benefit from pay-as-you-feel lunches created by our wonderful teams.
We hope that by unburdening ourselves from the financial liabilities of the Gardener, we will be able to focus precious resources and energy into our existing venues and commitments.
A massive thank you to all staff, volunteers and everyone who has been involved in our lovely cafe. And thank you Infinity Foods Co-operative for being a supportive landlord.
Flower pot? Flower? Get it? Oh, suit yourself. Gilly Smith talks to Jasmine, the new florist on the Dials
There’s a new florist on the Dials. After 27 years, local legend, Ian Graham hung up his pinking shears at Christmas and handed his business over to Shereen.
Locals will recognise Shereen Druose from her occasional stints at Jasmine Healthfood, Shop which her husband, Phooad, has been running for 17 years since the family moved to the UK from Syria. But it was the occasional stints at Ian’s that has led to something of an epiphany for this mother of three. “I’d been volunteering for Ian, helping him out, you know?” she tells me as she stores the end of Friday flowers at the back of her husband’s shop as Ian had done for so many years. “And then I started to become interested in the flowers, the colours, learning the Latin names and things like that.” So it seemed a no-brainer for Ian to ask Shereen if she’d like to buy his business when he decided after his cancer diagnosis to retire.
“I didn’t want to,” Shereen laughs. “I’m a mum of 17, 13 and 10-year-old kids and I didn’t want a big responsibility of running a business. And then there’s my language…” It was Phooad who spotted the opportunity, not just to build her confidence, but also to expand the Jasmine empire. He looked for help online and quickly found The Sussex Flower School, just half an hour down the road in East Hoathly, enrolled Shereen, and life quickly took a more fragrant turn.
Shereen is rapturous about Georgia Miles, director of the flower school, and who, in full disclosure, happens to be a close friend of The Whistler. We know how persuasive she can be, but for Shereen, her eight-week career course in floristry was a game-changer. “I was so worried because my English is not so good,” she says. “But Georgia was just so nice. She was so motivating and inspiring. She was practical but also warm, and I made so many friends. I kept apologising for my language, and she just …” She whisks her hand in the smiley dismissive way I recognise. “She’d say ‘oh you’ll be fine!’”
And she was. Over the eight weeks, she learned all that she needed to know to run a floristry business, from tax to waste to where to buy the best flowers. And there was tea and cake. Plenty of tea and cake. “I still ask her now for advice, and she’s so lovely.”
Six months in at Jasmine Florist, which she now runs with Nikki Vincent, and Shereen has got through Valentine’s Day and Mother’s Day and is still standing. She’s even managing the kids after-school clubs.
Her family are all still in Syria, most in Damascus and some in Latakia in the North. She says that although they’re safe now, the war has left a miserable economic situation.
Her story fills them with joy; “They follow me on Instagram!”, she says, beaming. And as she tells me how she’s able to send them money herself now, she wells up. “Even when I send them £100, it makes a lot of difference to them. So that’s really wonderful. Yeah.”
It’s good to be writing to you again with an update on our work across Brighton & Hove.
We’re proud to call this city home. Known for its warmth, diversity, and resilience, Brighton & Hove has always stood strong in the face of adversity. In 2024, our community came together to reject anti-immigration riots and continues to stand firmly against division and hate. Now more than ever, we must uphold these values and work to strengthen social cohesion.
Community Action in St George’s Mews
There’s nothing better than seeing our community come together. Recently, we supported a community action day on St George’s Mews – residents joined forces with us (Sue and Ellen), and the team at St Mungo’s to weed, litter pick, and paint over tagging. St Mungo’s lead on important work for our community, managing supported accommodation and a housing programme for people with complex needs.
This area, along with Gloucester Street, is one of seven identified hotspots in the city where Sussex Police are focusing efforts due to rising antisocial behaviour (ASB). While a tidy-up day won’t solve everything, it supports the Broken Windows Theory – the idea that visible signs of disorder can lead to more serious crime. There’s still much more to be done in this area, but this was a positive step forward.
A big thanks to everyone who helped us that day. We’d especially like to thank Molly Baskar, who stopped by on her final day as a Police Community Support Officer (PCSO). Molly has been an outstanding presence in our area, consistently going above and beyond to support residents and build trust in the community.
We’re delighted to hear she’s being promoted within the Police ranks, a well-deserved recognition of her dedication and impact. We wish her every success in this exciting next chapter.
New Road Improvements
You may have noticed the removal of benches on New Road. This is part of a broader plan to improve safety, accessibility, and the overall feel of the area. Originally designed in 2007 as England’s first shared space street, New Road is now in need of renewal. The council is working with partners – police, businesses, community groups, and health services – to reimagine the space. Seating will return, but with designs that help reduce ASB and make the area more welcoming for everyone.
Supporting Brighton’s Independent Businesses
Ellen has been working to represent independent businesses across the North Laine and in Seven Dials. As the festive season approaches, we encourage you to shop local. Supporting independent businesses means reinvesting in our community. Local traders are the heartbeat of Brighton.
Our city is lucky to have a vibrant independent shopping scene. While many high streets across the UK are dominated by the same chains, Brighton stands out as a hub of creativity and uniqueness.
We know it’s tempting to do your weekly shop in one supermarket – especially as we lead increasingly busy lives – but it’s worth bearing in mind the benefits to our local economy when you shop local. The theory goes, when you spend £10 at an independent café, over £5 stays in the local economy. Spend it at a chain, and just £1.40 remains. That difference matters to the community you live in.
So, consider gifting from Brighton’s many independent traders this Christmas. Many have deep roots in the city, with generations of family-run businesses.
The Brighton Gift Card is a great way to support local. Business leaders are urging residents to “Make your Christmas rewards count” by choosing the Brighton Gift Card.
Christmas Events in North Laine – On Small Business Saturday, 6 December, the BID team are hosting a festive event including roaming choirs, brass bands, and the launch of a themed window dressing competition. There’s also talk of late-night shopping opportunities on Bond Street this year.
Brighton Youth Centre Reopening
Young people need safe spaces to connect, get support, and explore their interests. The refurbished Brighton Youth Centre on Edward Street is nearly ready to open, with facilities including a skate park and band rehearsal rooms.
Sue, a trustee of the centre, has been closely involved in the refurbishment. The official opening is at the end of October, when the centre will move from its temporary home on Gloucester Road.
Protecting Our Libraries
We’re opposing council proposals to close three community libraries – Hollingdean, Westdene, and Rottingdean – and reduce hours at Hove and Jubilee. Libraries, like youth centres, are vital community spaces. We believe the council can find the necessary funding elsewhere.
Food Waste Collections Begin
15 September, Brighton & Hove City Council started food waste collections, for the first time in the city. This is limited to in Saltdean, Rottingdean, Ovingdean, Woodingdean and Brighton Marina to begin with but will be rolled out to other areas over three stages. In the current proposed timeline, Central Brighton and Seven Dials can expect to see this service from March 2026.
New Blood Donation Centre
A new blood donation centre has opened at 1 Gloucester Place. Sue, a long-time donor, donated blood at the official opening on 16 October. If you’re over 17, we encourage you to book an appointment and donate. It is a selfless act that can save lives, and one donation can help up to three people.
Reporting Antisocial Behaviour
Remember if you’re noticing an increase in ASB, please report it to the police so they can take action. For emergencies, call 999; for non-emergencies, call 101, or report online at sussex.police.uk/report-online.
If the problem is persistent and escalating, contact us, your councillors, and we’ll help connect you with the right support.
Corinne Sweet, The Whistler’s Interesting Person correspondent, talks to Amy Newman, Queen of Pearson Keehan the new estate agent on the block
If your idea of an estate agent is something out of Stath Lets Flats or Dubai: Buying the Dream. Then think again. There’s a new gal on the block and she’s breaking the mould.
Amy Newman is a rare breed: a woman Director of a relatively new estate agent, Pearson Keehan, in Seven Dials. Born and bred in Hove, Amy spent her formative years in the midst of a football-loving household. Her father, Paul, set up and coaches the West Hove Dynamos, a grassroots football club. Her mother, Jayne, does the admin. Amy helps with the social media and advertising. And her brothers, Lee, Ross and Adam, played football and now coach the Dynamos themselves.
“My footballing family gave me a great background training for working as an estate agent”, grins Amy. “I was a bit of a tomboy and being the youngest of four I had to learn to stand my own ground.” Loving the outdoors, she played football, like her three bros, but also did netball and ballet. Amy went to schools in Hove and Brighton (St Andrew’s Primary and Blatchington Mill), and being sports and animal-mad decided she’d train as an animal care assistant.
Leaving school at 16 she went to Plumpton College to learn her trade helping abused, abandoned and sick animals. “I grew up with dogs and cats and really wanted to work with them”, she says. She ended up with a rescue dog, Poppy, who had a heart-wrenching history, plus a mature cat, Edward.
While finishing her Diploma at Plumpton, Amy worked in Pet’s Corner, in Hove, rising to Manager. On graduation she was offered work by a friend in the, now defunct, Brighton Accommodation Agency . It was here Amy began to cut her teeth on the house-purchasing business.
She realised that helping people find a home, buy or sell their properties, was an important skill to have. “In many ways you meet people when they are having a difficult time: divorcing, moving cities or jobs, or after a death”, explains Amy, “You almost are a therapist and you have to understand how to help people”.
Amy’s experience growing up in a robust, but supportive home, and her work with animals, meant she has stacks of common sense mixed with compassion. Like her mother, she is a great organiser and is good at strategic thinking.
Meanwhile, Amy worked for well-known local agencies for 13 years, saved hard and lived at home. She eventually bought her own home near Mile Oak Farm where she lives with partner, Billy, who is an up-and-coming DJ.
However, working in estate agencies has not all been plain sailing. Amy has found the glass ceiling has sometimes been reinforced with heavy-duty concrete by particular types of male colleagues. “It’s sometimes felt like being in a frustrating boys’ club”, she says wryly, “But my experience working with animals had shaped my compassionate approach to people.”
Amy decided to rise above any challenging situations thrown at her at work. “I’ve learned to manage complex and sensitive situations with empathy and understanding”. And certainly, it’s helped Amy succeed in a male-dominated industry.
Now working with Chris Pearson and Kevin Keehan, who happen to be old friends from childhood, their attitudes to work inspired Amy to join them in their new enterprise. Together they set up Pearson Keehan together after the trials of lockdown.
Amy joined on a self-employed basis in October 2024. Tragedy struck in January 2025 and Amy ruptured her Achilles heel playing netball. While injured, Amy used the time to develop new branding, a website and designed the new office at Seven Dials. Ironically, it was the same building she worked in (Mishon Mackay) at the beginning of her career – but it was now getting an Amy makeover. She had gone full circle. Having worked closely with Chris and Kevin for the launch of Pearson Keehan, Amy became a Director when the Seven Dials branch opened in August 2025.
“I have always been really focused on selling and buying houses, which I think is important.” Amy says it’s important for sellers to have a clear strategy and approach to selling in the current uncertain market, which is why it’s important to work with the right agent. She believes it’s important to do your homework and stay positive. Meanwhile, in the office, Amy says she likes to lead from “under the radar” as she has no need to stoke her ego.
Amy is chic, calm and straight-talking. Exuding quiet confidence she believes women are generally more empathic and treat customers well. Plus, she has words of wisdom for any woman wanting to rise to the top in the estate agency business: “Back yourself, know you’ll succeed, but do it your way”.
You know how sometimes you look at someone and think “You look kinda familiar” but you can’t place the face and move on, think nothing more of it. But sometimes you think “You, I know”. Well…
I was in the Helm Gallery to meet The Whistler’s food editor who was there to discuss a show she was recording and I was having a look around and… “You look kinda familiar. What’s going on here?”
“What’s going on is I’m taking over the Helm Gallery for six weeks” Norman Cook tells me. “It’s half art exhibition and it’s half art sale. There’s lots of prints by artists that are associated with me or who I’ve collaborated with, and it’s all based around the book “It Ain’t Over… ‘Til The Fat Boy Sings”.
“I realised at the beginning of this year that I am entering my 40th year since I quit my day job at Rounder Records and ran off to join the circus, and I was thinking about how to mark or celebrate that anniversary.
“I’ve always shied away from doing an autobiography. I’ve been asked a few times and I just, I can’t remember the really good bits. And the bits I can remember I can’t tell while my children and my parents are still alive, so when this idea of a visual documentary came about it seemed a good idea. It’s a coffee table book, so mainly pictures. There’s no warts and all stories, nothing about celebrity drug taking, I’m afraid…”
Could we do an after hours version?
“Yeah, talk to me about that later”.
Are you one of these characters who’ve always squirreled stuff away? “Yes, I’ve got every single backstage pass I’ve ever have. The first year, I tried to keep tickets every gig I played, that was just untenable, but I’ve kept the backstage passes from every single one, and I’ve kept photos of all sorts, the boxer shorts that inspired the album title “You Come A Long Way, Baby”. I’ve also got the dubious honor of having a dildo named after me and we’ve got a photo of that in the book…
Moving swiftly past the inevitable line about it being a pop-up book… When you were a kid and you went to gigs when you’re 13 or whatever, have you still still got the stubs?
“Yeah, the stubs are in the book, there’s the fanzine I used to write for…”
It’s a fantastic memorabilia collection, and while it’s obviously Norman’s book, a little bit This is Your Life, it’s also a lovely ride through the pop cultural landscape of the last 40 years.
40 years. That’s a long time. Are you going to continue doing it?
“Doing what?”
You know the thing you do, where you stand there and play records.
“Oh, that thing. Yeah, that’s what I do. I’ve done that thing twice this week already. I’ve got this weekend up the next weekend. I mean, Amsterdam, Stockholm and somewhere else, and then do some British dates in December. This year, I’ll do 109 shows, which is my personal all time record for shows in a year”.
That’s extraordinary. 109 shows. That’s… almost every other day. It’s not far off.
“It’s two a week or one every three days. I mean, it has been quite relentless, but I love my job. It never feels like work. I just love it”.
The Chilli Pickle’s Alun and Dawn Sperring are two of Brighton’s most intrepid restaurateurs and have been travelling through South Asia on a quest for adventure and the best food they can find. They tell Gilly Smith what treasures they brought home.
With kids, Fletcher, now 12, and Stanley, 18 in tow, Alun and Dawn Sperring have spent most of their lives exploring India, from the crazy bazaars of Old Delhi to the hill stations in the western ghats to the tropics in the south and the deserts of Rajasthan.
Much of what they’ve found over the years has made its way onto the menu of their restaurant, the award winning, OctoberBest favourite, Chilli Pickle, now back in its original home in the Lanes. The Laal Maas, a fiery mutton curry comes from an early trip to Jaipur, its deep red chilli colour and a robust taste of whole garam masala served with hot red pickled onions and naan. The lassi, a traditional yoghurt drink seasoned with cardamom and signature tasty milk skin on top, they found served in a clay pot which, once finished, is smashed.
Now they’re back from their latest trips through Kerala, Varanasi, Chennai in India and Lahore in Pakistan with new flavours and stories to tell.
“When we visited Lahore this time, it was all about the nose to tail eating and meat cooked over fire on the streets”, Alun tells me. “We’d go for an early breakfast meal of paya which is goat’s trotter soup, which they’ve cooked overnight for the locals who start work at around 5am. It’s a wonderful way to start the day, a big dose of collagen and protein in one go. They finish the vat and then they start cooking all over again through the night.”
Paya, Chilli Pickle-style isn’t quite the whole trotter, but its broth, cooked down into a sticky consommé, is going down a storm in Brighton. Alun and Dawn pride themselves on offering the real South Asian taste that they’ve found on their countless adventures. Their spicing is honest and unapologetic, and they’re happy to replicate some of the more challenging dishes; even the brain curry has been on the menu. But will the Katakat make it to the specials? “Ooh that was good”, he sighs. “It’s street food that’s a bit like the Japanese Tepanyaki but made with goat testicles chopped up with mixed spice, green chilli and butter.”
I asked him how he can recreate the rich eating experiences of India and Pakistan, the throngs of local workers in the vegetarian canteens, or messes, of industrial Madras, or the unruly crowds at Kebab Corner in Chennai, and the calm of the house boats of Kerala where flat fish is a must. Answer: they don’t. The taste is enough to transport anyone who dreams of India. “We loved the kebabs in Chennai,” says Alun. “We now do the Malai chicken kebab which is topped with a spicy rich cream drizzled with butter and spiked with cardamom and kewra. It’s another level. We accompany all our kebabs with razor thin onion salad with a loose spicy green chutney, so we’re accompanying all our kebabs on the menu that way now.”
The indigenous Keralan pomfret is simply replaced with local plaice in our Kettuvallam Whole Plaice Fry”, he tells me. “It’s just rubbed with a really spicy marinade, ginger, chilli powder, awain seeds, rice flour, fresh lime curry leaf and fried dry and served with a lovely punchy ginger chutney and tempered coconut rice. And it makes a lovely side lunch or dinner special.”
Look out for the Nihari keema kulcha from Lahore with marrow bone gravy, a flatbread stuffed with beef Koobidah and served with a deliciously unctuous sticky spiced marrow bone gravy mopped up with stuffed flat bread.
l The Chilli Pickle – 6-8 Meeting House Lane, BN1 1HB
I ripped open my shirt and bared my chest. My body immersed fully in dance. No holds barred. Loose. Wild. Free. Without any care as to what I looked like to the rest of the crowd who stopped and stared at this bearded old freak. Somehow, I knew in my heart that my father was dying at that very moment. His masculine energy rode the sound waves of a psychedelic guitar riff and penetrated my body. This was his parting gift to me, filling my mind and lifting my soul, as he journeyed through the ether on his final adventure.
Psychedelics have been used throughout history to honour, remember and indeed communicate directly with our ancestors. Here I found myself vaping DMT in the moment of my father’s passing. Interacting with his spirit, perhaps by chance, perhaps by destiny, as he travelled through a psychedelic maelstrom, gifting me the energy that he no longer needed. One last selfless act, so characteristic of the man, or maybe his worldly energy was simply superfluous to his needs as a new type of wind now filled his sails.
It was the last night of Shambala music festival 2024 and I was watching the mighty Ozric Tentacles, a band that I hadn’t seen since the Manchester Megadog in 1998. But I never could have predicted, never could have imagined that this would have been my experience of my father’s death. That I would meet my father’s spirit in a realm that I happened to be visiting at the same moment in time, unlocked by the DMT key.
As I walked away from the gig, I received the call that confirmed what I already knew. I went with the flow of friends but hung back from the crowd. Let it land. I processed the power of the experience that he had been through and I had witnessed and acknowledged the gratitude, love and peace that formed my memory of him.
A short while later, we arrived at our destination, an art installation called The Dancing Fountain, where it took me a few minutes to fathom that this rhythmic flow of water was the personification of my father’s spirit after he had survived inter-dimensional travel. The realisation dawned on me that he was using this medium to announce his arrival in a state of pure freedom.
With the DMT pen never far from my lips, I stood amazed, stunned with wonder. I witnessed his joy in the explosion of droplets, pulsing and springing from the Fountain as he span, jumped and danced one last time.
But how was all this possible? The answer is quite logical. Our consciousness is the fruit of the universe in the same way as a mushroom is the fruiting body of a mycelium. Our modern western culture tends to view the universe as brutal and unthinking, a product of chaos and the random interaction of forces, elements and energy. As religious structures lose credence, undermined as much by their own institutional fallibility as by our increasing intelligence and captured knowledge base, we’ve fallen into a habit of viewing our species as separate from the universe, an accident of evolution. Freud has a lot to answer for in that respect. But it is not the case. Life is the flower. Education is the pollination. Conscious thought is the fruit. If we follow the same pattern we see in nature and delve deeper, we see that the neurological pathways of the brain form the fibre of that fruiting body. Compounds such as tryptamines (which include neurotransmitters like serotonin, dopamine and melatonin alongside related agents such as dimethyltryptamine, psilocin and bufotenin) are the fructose, the sugars, the energy of our consciousness.
By increasing those levels for brief moments in time, I’ve learned many lessons from psychedelics over the years. But Dimethyltryptamine has been the greatest teacher of them all. Through using it in meditational practice, I’ve realised what is the thing behind all the different thoughts we have on a daily basis. The answer? A Thought. I, like you, am a Thought. And, if you follow the same logic, it is those Thoughts, themselves from a Thought, that danced together in the spirit realm on the night when my father passed from this world to the next.
Harnessing the medicinal power of DMT has allowed me to remotely view “Ray”, discuss with other Thoughts his attributes, his faults, his reasoning and his motivations. Those drivers have been distilled over the years, purified by psychedelics. I have aimed ridiculously high in the past and fallen way short as a result. Painfully short. In younger years, I was never happy to have reached the moon when aiming for the stars. And yet when it came to my spiritual goal, I could feel myself making the same mistake all over again, the writing was on the wall. But, for the record, here it is: I aspire to be an angel. I don’t mean this in the Christian sense of the word. Nor the financial. My definition of an angel is an “Agent of Positive Change”. I thought, once again, my name was on the dressing room to the stage of disappointment. However, what continually surprises me is that, strangely, I achieve this most days, and perhaps there’s a chance that I’ve just achieved this with you.
Thanks for reading.
With Love,
Ray, Brighton, 2025
For back issues visit Instagram.com/SDOAM.TheRayman or substack.com/@sdoamtherayman
Everything you ever wanted to know about life in Brighton (OK, and Hove)
The Whistler 