Category Archives: Features

Anything and everything

OBITUARY: Alistair “Jacko” Jackson

LOCAL HERO, charity fundraiser, pillar of the community and all-round good bloke, Alistair Jackson – known to everyone as Jacko – died August 7, aged 77. 

Born in Southport, Lancs, in 1943, Jacko left home at 16 and joined the RAF. He served in Bahrain, the Persian Gulf and Singapore, where he married in 1965. He moved to Brighton in 1970 and joined the Bright News team in 1993. A top sportsman, he raised money through charity runs, but it was as a community friend that he made his mark. If someone needed help, Jacko was there. A delivery, a hand, a word, a smile… being a top man. Jacko was there. 

Back home for one more adventure

What do you do after the jungles of French Guiana and Chicago? Jed Novick finds out

I’m outside the newly revamped Eddy, enjoying an afternoon drink and chat with Mark and Hatt, the new guardians of this particular galaxy. A car comes down the road and stops outside the pub. I don’t even notce, but Mark’s up and over there. Hatt turns, looks, smiles, carries on. Seconds later, a young lad, all muscles and tatts and with a face like a kid who’s been told to clear up his dinner plates, is walking over to the recycling bins carrying a lone bottle. He drops the bottle in the bin and throws us a half-hearted sneer, but Mark’s already back with us and the story is done. “He was just going to leave the bottle on the pavement” says Mark. “This is our community. We live here. We all live here. Have a bit of respect”. 

Hatt – Harriet Eaton – and Mark – Mark Reed – took over The Eddy in January and from there till now, it hasn’t been a straight line. But one look at Hatt and Mark and somehow you know they’re familiar with picaresque journeys. They’ve got stories.

She’s all bangles, tattoos and rings. An artist. Originally from West Sussex, the road to West Hill hasn’t been a straight one. Went to Paris when she was 18, worked in fashion, married a doctor. “He wanted to specialise in the tropical diseases. So we went and lived in South America for three years in French Guiana in a place called Maripasoula, right in the middle of the jungle. It’s like a tiny plane or three days on a boat to get out. So that was interesting. Mostly”. 

As you do when you find yourself in the middle of the jungle days away from anywhere, Hatt set up a textile business “because that’s what I’d done in Paris and that went really well – beach towels and robes” but then life intervened – kids, parents, school, the usual – and the path led back to Brighton working behind the bar in a pub not far from where we’re sitting now. 

Originally from Hastings, Mark also took a few detours before getting the keys to The Eddy. “I had a few pubs and clubs in Hastings, pubs and clubs in Brighton”. Anything I’d know? “Yeah. The old Club Savannah, which is where Club Revenge is now above Harry Ramsden”. How far are we going back here? “This is back in the early to mid-Eighties. Then I moved to America and I worked in the music industry in America, going on tour with bands for a number of years, lived out hotel rooms for about five. I worked for EMI and then I was a writer for a while and then my…  Then the music industry career got parlayed into partnerships in nightclubs and bars and restaurants in Chicago, um, over, uh, over a long period of time. And then alongside that, I also got into the car industry and worked for a major US Volkswagen dealership”. But then Mark’s life intervened…

So Mark came back after 25 years away, and Hatt taught herself how pubs worked and when the landlord of the pub where Hatt worked moved on… Well, opportunity knocks.  

Opportunity knocks and then opportunity pulls the rug away.  In January they got the keys. A couple of months later… the world stopped. Words like “global pandemic” and “lockdown” probably weren’t in the original business plan. What was the conversation like on March 19th, the night before the lights went out?  “We’ve got a lovely little film of the last night before we shut and there was great atmosphere and everybody was wow, this is our last night for a while.

“I think people just thought it was going to be about a month or a couple of weeks, and then we’d be back open again. And I think that we were sort of ignorant of how long it was going to be. But, you know, things happen and it’s just a question of how you look at it. For us, lockdown was fantastic. We just completely embraced it and changed the pub to who we are. Re-painted everything, cleaned everything, changed everything. The cellars, the toilets, everything.  It’s like being in my front room really, you know, we really, really have made it our own.

One sweet thing that came out of lockdown was that the idea of community really kicked in. “When we closed down, John at The Yeoman created a WhatsApp group for the four pubs on the block. We called ourselves The Manor and there’s definitely a sense of care between us, but yeah, it’s very sad that some of these pubs are too small to open. John’s been there for 15 years and his whole business plan has had to change. And it’s really tough”.

What do you want from all this? “The last owner was more…, um, he didn’t really understand the concept of the community, but that’s what we love. We live here. We live above the pub. It’s our home”.

Ready to snap into a new life

“It’s not what you get with Deliveroo”, Red Snapper’s Pam and Philippe tell Gilly Smith

Panwad (Pam) ManeeTapho and her Belgian husband Philippe Ghenet are sitting at a table as the early autumn sunlight pours into the Red Snapper, until lockdown one of the most popular restaurants in Seven Dials. They’re talking about their plans to expand it into a casual lunch stop, a couple of tables outside and three inside. It’s all suitably distanced, which will add to the transformation of the busy buzzy evening eatery. 

The restaurant, which has always been a celebration of the fresh seafood and herb-flavoured dishes from their eastern Thailand home, has been replaced by a shop where customers can browse through the restaurant’s silver starter plates, the stacks of gluten-free fish sauce and Thai ginger shots stacked on the upcycled shelving. An orange 1977 Honda Novio scooter is the centrepiece, a cool, vintage reminder of where Red Snapper comes from. 

“That’s my mum’s” says Pam. The couple plan to use it for deliveries. “Imagine that turning up outside your door”, Philippe smiles. “It’s not what you get with Deliveroo.” 

Red Snapper is a triumph of creativity and lockdown lateral thinking. “We saw it coming” says Philippe who grew up in Italy and heard from relatives there what COVID was already doing to its economy. “It’s the end of the world, right? In a way it was like, come on guys, this is Nostradamus!”

At first, the couple held their heads in their hands, but they quickly realised that lock-down could give them time to think about what they really wanted from their life. “After 16 years of  working in the restaurant, sweeping, cooking, cleaning, it was spinning so fast that sometimes we didn’t have time to stop and think which way we want to channel the business”, says Pam who with her younger sister has worked with her parents in the restaurant since she was 16. “Four months of lockdown made us think, think, think, write down, plan, plan, plan. Which path are we going to take?” For them, it was always about the food. “We know what our customers like and what we can offer,” says Pam.  It’s the quality of the food. The flowery stuff, the service, the music, the smells, the incense, the candles… it all comes after.” 

They decided to offer the best take-away experience they could; while Pam and her father, Turmphan cook downstairs, Philippe chats to their customers upstairs, telling his stories and charming them with his laid-back style. “I like it this way. We’re done by 9pm and I can watch a movie with my son.” 

They first shared a flat when Philippe had just graduated in Media at Brighton University and Pam was studying Art, Design & Fashion at Northbrooke College, and they’ve spent months using their creativity, repurposing items from home for this cool, new look. “That was where we stored our linens,” says Philippe pointing to the beautifully battered vintage suitcase now housing an old set of scales and a pink neon heart light. “We choose to be our own bosses, so we might as well add our identity.”

He sees Red Snapper as a Thai market-style café. “Maybe you’re coming back from town; Churchill Square is closed but you still want to have a coffee”, he says. “We like to be a bit of a community market where you can pop in and get some ginger tea. Or maybe just a take-away.” 

As we sit in the late summer sunshine, nine-year-old Finlay is on his second day back at school and Pam and Philippe are feeling philosophical. As working owners, school is an essential part of the child-care, hence the move to daytime food which will reflect the ethos of the original Snapper; accessible, but made in-house from scratch. 

“We offer passion” says Pam. “This is our career, our life. Before COVID we were too busy, we had too much to lose. We might as well shape the life that we want.” 

Gold – you’re indestructible…

David Foot finds hope among the bitter pills and pessimism

SOMETIMES IT’S EASY to sit down and write a piece for the Whistler. Sometimes, it is difficult. Today is the latter. Generally, I have some sort of handle on what is going on in the financial world. Alas, I really have no idea of what may happen, in the next few months. Events have an unerring ability to shock and surprise, and markets react in peculiar ways to events. 

It feels like we’re stumbling towards the edge of a cliff. We’ve certainly been in situations before where, despite things looking gloomy, everything has turned out fine. Maybe I am suffering from too many months of “lock-down misery”, but I feel increasingly worried about the direction the UK is heading. 

The two massive factors influencing the near future of this country are what the long-term effect of the pandemic will be, and what will our trading relationship with the rest of the world be, after the “transition period” ending our relationship with the EU. What effect it will all have on world markets are complete unknowns. 

My short-term pessimism and long-term optimism, tell me that things will be horrible, but all right in the end. I may be wrong, but I fear that despite a mini-boom in house prices, due to the pent-up purchasing power,, there may well be some “bitter pills” to swallow – once the artificial stimuli are gone and things settle down. 

The long-term economic effects of coronavirus may prove to be much worse than we are currently given to believe. The willingness of our Government to flout international law, fills me with woe. How will those, with whom we wish to make trade agreements, look upon our nation, if our leaders cannot obey their own laws? Our future relationship with our biggest trading partners looks increasingly shaky. What happened to “the easiest trade deal in the history of trade deals”? Enough. If I dwell further on the subject, I’ll be in grave danger of making myself bilious.

One of the (few) investment upsides of this horrid virus, is that the price of gold (historically, a hedge against unstable markets) has increased a little more than somewhat. This probably has little effect on most of us, but one interesting aspect has come to my attention. 

One of my clients lost a gold bracelet and as part of the claim procedure had to get a valuation for a replacement item. It wasn’t expensive and was covered by the “unspecified personal possessions” section of their home insurance. Or so they thought. 

Fear not, this is not a horror story. However, it is something that is worth remembering. The replacement value was more than the “single item limit” on the policy, not by much, but the replacement cost was more than twice the original cost. If you have jewellery, particularly items that you wear away from the home, and you want to ensure that it is adequately covered, check the replacement value every so often. 

The insurer paid the claim in full, but insisted that the replacement was specified on the policy, to make sure there would be no problem, in the future. They’re not all monsters! Until next time.

Belonging and Nature in West Hill

A chance encounter in a shared space. L.O.Hughes meditates on an urban sanctuary

ON THIS JUNE DAY, I attempt to write about the theme of Belonging and Nature. The theme resonates and feels sensitive for me, a British-African. Hoping to unblock my writer self, I take a break in St Ann’s Well and walk over to St Nicholas Quiet Gardens, my sanctuary over 30 years. 

It’s a cool afternoon. As I stroll, I notice light trying to break through the flat, milk sky. Not unlike my own process. Right now, I’m content under this oasis of trees. But a brief encounter stops me in my tracks. 

An unfamiliar pooch, charges while barking loudly. Often I freeze and hold my breath, the ‘owner seeing the situation, swiftly calls on their pet  “He’s harmless” they say,  taking him in tow. We exchange smiles I breathe out. Job done. 

Yet on this June morning the scenario has all the tension and trepidation of a slow-motion film. I’m frozen, the owner, while only an arm’s length away, crawls like a tortoise, towards his barking terrier. More, his hard-shell silence and steely gaze, slice through my pleading eyes. I notice his pursed lip. Is he’s thinking, “Who is this stupid woman, scared of small lovable dog?”. I can’t tell, but as he finally takes control, I hear myself apologising. “I’m just a bit afraid of dogs when…” 

 “Well” he spoke assuredly, “This is a place of many dogs… So not the best place…” He stopped short. The words “for you” hung momentarily unspoken in the air between us, before drifting into the sky. 

My equilibrium quickly returns. “I think this is a place for everyone”.

I promptly dismissed the incident in my head. This was a decent enough guy, perhaps, interpreting my fear as dislike of his pet dog, and whose ill- manner, briefly, threw me off balance. 

Later I reflect on our shared gardens. How over 30 years I’ve seen changes in the ways we use these spaces; from strollers, tai chi practitioners and meditators to couples doing exercise, a place of refuge /sleep, to walkers, their dogs and more. Brightonians, while we not perfect, are generally open and accommodating to such diversity. 

Back home and with my writing. My mind has cleared. I reflect on belonging and inclusion during pandemic, front line workers finally recognised as essential, disabled people again fought for their lives, as others who are overlooked. I think about the incident in the park how it speaks to the theme of belonging in nature.  

I allowed myself feel the momentary blow, the impact of the spoken and unspoken atmosphere. The territorial claim over a green space, meant to be shared.  

I think about my childhood growing up in an institution that kept us separate from ordinary life and from nature itself, about how regularly my presence has been subject to question, often unwittingly, and at times blatantly. The impact on mental health, a collective experience for many struggling with the complexities of belonging re disability, class, ethnicity and more. Here there’s a gap in understanding of who can take belonging and inclusion for granted and those who don’t have that privilege.

I notice how my equilibrium more often returns quickly. How, I have found healing in nature itself. Walking the South Downs Way over 30 years gave me a feeling of belonging to the land as well as friendships here. Our parks are part of nature we long to protect. I experience Brighton as one of most open places in the South. During lock down, we saw some of our best qualities.  And like many cities we have our challenges. 

As we face more lock downs and use our communal spaces more, we are challenged to negotiate how we use, share, take care of them and each other. Many are fighting to enable people, animals and earth to breathe more easily, be protected, respected and enjoy belonging together in our precious green city.

Come here, feast your mince pies, my old china…

Peter Batten goes misty eyed and remembers his real East End 

MY FATHER’S FAMILY came from the Isle of Dogs, home of Millwal football club and the area of London portrayed in the TV soap, “East Enders”, but how true is that to the true East End? 

I grew up in a house which looked out on a very substantial street market. On the other side of the road there were market stalls and behind them a row of shops. Just at the end of the row was a pub called, The Queen Victoria. My grandmother would meet her friends there most evenings. Just before closing time she would toddle home clutching her nightcap, a small jug of brown ale. On our corner, two houses away, was a fish and chip shop, and  I can almost recapture the smell as I write these words. 

Just a few yards away the market became denser, with stalls on both sides of the road and many different shops. Activity began at about 6am, when some stalls had to be brought out and ended after 6pm. 

The street market I’ve described is typical of those inner London suburbs which grew up post 1850. They were active from Monday to Saturday, then on Sunday huge special markets took over, like the amazing Petticoat Lane (pictured) or the one I often visited just off Walworth Road. One of their special attractions was the sale of animals, which took up one or two side streets.

My memories of our market are based on the years 1938-1958. Each of the smaller local markets had a character of its own, but they all offered a diversity of goods and characters. Our market was known as “The Blue Anchor” after the pub which was at the heart of the market. It was older than the Queen Vic, a late Victorian pub, and an even younger pub, the Colleen Bawn. As a nosey child this name always irritated me. What did it mean? Only in the 1970s did I discover it was the title of a successful Victorian play by the Irish playwright Dion Boucicault. 

We had a small fleapit cinema, the Rialto, a small Woolworth’s, a bank, and a Co-op, built on the road which had been destroyed by bombs. The variety was amazing, with all kinds of goods and foodstuffs on sale. Immediately opposite our house was a greengrocer’s, so it was easy to nip across if we needed extra veg for a meal. Right behind was a German bakery called Griesbach. A little further away was a German pork butcher that sadly  closed in 1940. Among the more unusual offerings was Sarsparella, a red cordial sold by the glass from a barrel. 

As in Ben Jonson’s Elizabethan play, “Volpone” there was usually someone offering some miracle cure for all ailments. Sometimes there would be a crockery stall where you were encouraged to make an offer for plates  or a tea service, An allegedly ex-boxer stood with a set of scales offering to tell your weight. Someone called prince Monoloulou might come by offering to sell you betting tips.

Which reminds me. There is no illegal betting in East Enders. In my childhood it was going on all around me. “Runners” as they were called were quietly taking bets in every pub and every factory. Our elderly neighbour, Mr Westcar, found a handy way to add to his pension by running a small “Book”, as it was called. Just in case the police came calling, my mother explained to me, all his betting slips were pinned to the underside of his large kitchen table.

Such memories – and we still haven’t mentioned jellied eels.

(Pic: Andrew Dunn)  

Letter from Australia

We in Australia are watching the UK’s economic reopening with interest as it mirrors the one here, especially as pubs and second waves are concerned.

So while Leicester is once again isolated, Melbourne has locked down nine vertical cruise liners, sorry – tower blocks – to try and staunch yet another community outbreak; but this time to much criticism from opposition politicians and the fury of residents who had two hours notice of their five-day quarantine, regardless of whether they have a job or not…

And soon the border between Victoria and New South Wales will be closed for the first time in a hundred years to try and eradicate this stubborn virusy thing – but we already know that humanity has a short fuse when it comes to personal freedoms (hello Texans!) and corona virus is not going to disappear by magic (hello Donald!), so that many more Bournemouth beach incidents might occur over the next few months while scientists try and create then manufacture a vaccine.

Meantime, so many publicist demagogues (Donald again; Vladimir, Jair, Xi, Boris, Recep for starters) are unashamedly willing our economic resurgence even in the teeth of increasing infections…no matter that this is precisely the time to stay at home and let our governments become socialist missionaries as they subsidise all of us recently unemployed until we get out the other side, ready to restore our capitalist economies.

With the cost of borrowing just a tad over zero percent for governments, our currently vast national debts will be relatively easily paid off from even modest growth, once it resumes.

Albeit in a world significantly different to our pre-Covid version, with social distancing, track n trace, frequent lockdowns n quarantines – not to mention fewer international students and flights, ocean cruises, tourism generally, hugging n kissing and even mass gatherings… except maybe at the local, where the UK police aver social distancing and excess alcohol are mutually exclusive: even I coulda told ‘em that!!!

Justin Simpson 

The Reggae Scribe of West Hill

Tucked away in a terraced house perched on the slopes of the West Hill neighbourhood is housed one of Brighton’s – and possibly the UK’s, most impressive collections of reggae music. From top to bottom its walls bulge and strain with vinyl from every era – from ska and rocksteady in the 1960s, through 1970s roots reggae, right up to contemporary dancehall. It is all lovingly archived by John Masouri, who’s mission for over 30 years as one of the world’s foremost reggae music journalists, been to document the constant stream of creativity and musical innovation coming out of Jamaica.

John has been writing about Jamaican music since 1988 but his love for the music goes back to his upbringing in a working class area of Nottingham during the 1960s where he was introduced to ‘shabeens,’ also known as ‘blues parties’ – all  night house parties playing ska and early reggae on huge, neighbourhood-shaking sound systems.

Blues parties were like entering another universe. ‘You’d go in there, into these very small confined spaces, like in one of these two up two down terraced houses. And the music would be very loud, it would be very dark, just the light of the amplifier valves lighting up in the darkness.  The sweat, the condensation on the walls – and also the music.’

At that stage John had no idea the music would take him on an epic journey of a lifetime, it was just a place where the kids who didn’t fit in anywhere else felt at home. ‘I had no intention of playing the music or being involved with it at that time though, it was just purely to be there to soak in the atmosphere. It felt like a safe space, in essence.’

After a period working at the Tate Gallery in the early 1970s, John came down to live in Brighton in 1976 and helped to kickstart the city’s vibrant reggae scene, which still continues to thrive. ‘I loved Brighton ever since I first came down here on a visit. It just felt like this is where I wanted to be. When I moved down here, very quickly I went looking for reggae music and I went to this place called the Alhambra on the seafront, and people said that downstairs in the basement there was reggae music.’

The venue downstairs was known as The In Place and there he met and befriended Brighton’s now legendary first reggae sound system, King Tafari Love. ‘At the same time punk was happening, so there’d be punk upstairs at the Alhambra and reggae downstairs. There was the Top Rank Suite, the place where Dennis Brown and all these people would play, Black Uhuru, Gregory Isaacs. That was a guy called Colin Matthews who worked at Brighton Art College, he was the promoter, he used to bring down a lot of those acts. Aswad, Misty In Roots, these people were always down here.’

In the early 1980s as a DJ John helped to bring the atmosphere of those early Nottingham shabeens he’d attended to Brighton (well Hove, actually) with support from one of the city’s most feared gangsters. ‘In those days I was playing with a sound system called Field Marshall Hi Fi. There were about five or six of us. But playing out was difficult, you needed places to play. And reggae music was never all that popular with proper venues, because of the crowds, because there were too many ganja smokers in the crowds, so that was always a constant factor. But then to our rescue came Nicholas Hoogstraaten who was Brighton’s notorious landlord.

Hoogstraaten would give us these basement flats. He’d say ‘you can play in here and do whatever you like’ and he’d charge us some money like a hire fee and then he’d come and collect it at about three in the morning and he’d sweep in with his big long coat and his ‘assistants’ and they’d take the money.’ Frequent visitors down from London would be visiting MCs over from Jamaica such as Mikey Dread and Barrington Levy.

Talking about those early Shabeens John remembers, ‘we all had young children, so the children would come to the blues parties so we’d put mattresses down in a room upstairs and they’d all pile in there when they got tired and go to sleep. We’d have ‘ital’ (Jamaican for ‘wholesome’) food, jerk chicken and all of that, of course Red Stripe and Heineken to buy there, it was totally illegal of course. We charged about two pounds on the door or something, some token amount on the door an then was selling food and drinks, they were great social occasions. It went on for several years.’

John’s son Felix grew up in that atmosphere, which eventually led him to take up his father’s mantle. ‘He started at the age of four. We would set up the sound system gear and he absolutely loved it, he would chat on the mic in the warm up. I have a cassette with him aged 4 chatting on a mic, all nonsense. But he loved the experience of being around it. I could trust him putting on records, putting on vinyl from a very early age, he had this respect for the whole process. He loved the music, we used to nurse him to sleep to reggae music when he was a baby.’ Now in his 40s, Felix started his own dancehall reggae night at the Volks when he was just 19, playing the latest fresh sounds from Jamaica every week.

He continues to work as a live music promoter with his company Global Beats, who have brought such acts to Brighton as Mykal Rose, Yellowman, Eek-A-Mouse, Horace Andy, Kobaka Pyramid, Jah 9, Morgan Hertiage, Misty In Roots as well as Public Enemy and Roy Ayers. ‘His contribution to the Brighton reggae scene is very much greater than mine because he’s put on so many club nights and he’s put on so many artists,’ says John.

The pair now work together on a radio show on Brighton’s community station 1BTN FM with an emphasis on new sounds coming out of Jamaica. ‘We decided to do a show called Run The Track for 1BTN that showcases contemporary music. We rarely play anything that’s older than a couple of years and most of what we play is just a few months old. Mainly roots and vocal music. But its nice that father son thing. I enjoy doing the shows with him a lot and I learn a lot from him.’

John continues to write about reggae music. Simmer Down is his book about the about the pre-fame early days of Bob Marley and the Wailers in the 1960s published on his own Jook Joint Press. Steppin’ Razor: The Life Of Peter Tosh (Omnibus Press) is the first full length biography of the former Wailer and revolutionary firebrand. Wailing Blues: The Story of Bob Marley’s Wailers (Ominbus) is about the post-Marley Wailers, brilliantly documenting the legal wranglings of his group after Marley’s death. Look out for Felix and John’s shows on 1BTN FM.

John Masouri is now embarking on a series of anthologies curated from over 30 years of writing about Jamaican music entitled Reggae Chronicles, published via his own independent Jook Joint Press imprint. The first of these is Rebel Frequency: Jamaica’s Reggae Revival, which focuses on writings from the previous decade, up to and including 2019. This will be followed later this year with The Marley Files: One Foundation, a look at Bob Marley’s legacy since his death, featuring in-depth interviews with Damien, Stephen and Ziggy Marley. They can be purchased direct from johnmasouri.com

Adam Reeves 

Go to the pub. It’s your duty…

WHERE WERE YOU when Lockdown eased? It’ll be one of those questions that people will ask for years to come, but unlike the moments that stopped in your tracks when Elvis died, when we crossed into a new millennium, when you got your first mobile phone, you’ll probably remember the end of Lockdown as the night you stayed in. Again. 

We went to the pub, the Ram Inn at Firle, a treat of a country pub, far enough away from the madding crowd but full, we hoped, of cheerful locals raising a glass. But what to wear? Patterned cloth mask or Boots’ whitest? Gloves: blue plastic or a pastichey yellow Marigold perhaps?  

By the time you read this, you’ll gasp at the answer. Reader, we were naked.  Well, our faces were anyway. And we weren’t alone. No-one, not our friends who sat opposite us unaware of the aerosol potential of a leaky laugh, or the staff wore anything to hide our wide smiles at the sheer joy of leaving the house. 

But my vision of a delightful feast in the company of fellow foodies, was less of a warm hug and more of a socially distanced ankle rub. There was more room at the Inn than any needy traveller could have dreamed of that night. The 4th of July went out with less of a bang and more of a whimper.

By the time The Whistler hits the streets, we’ll know more about the impact of that lacklustre welcome back to the locals. The wheat will have been sorted from the chaff and the redundancies will be strewn over the pavements like butt ends after a Friday night in the old days. Or maybe not. 

Across Brighton, the gourmet scene was booked solid. Steven Edwards at etch. in Hove (beautiful plate pictured below) was ready to set off the fireworks on July 4th with not one but two openings. His new restaurant, The Bingham Riverhouse in Richmond had only just launched when Lockdown closed its doors in March, but the 2013 winner of  MasterChef: The Professionals reports both restaurants are back and firing on all cylinders. 

Brighton Restaurants have compiled an up to date list of the Brighton restaurants which are bravely marching on. 

https://restaurantsbrighton.co.uk

Do them a favour and don a mask, wash your hands and head down to your local pub or restaurant, or if you can’t leave home just yet, order a take-away. What would Brighton be without its food scene? What would life be without a pub?

Gilly Smith

www.gillysmith.com

The Way We Were

Undoubtedly, one thing we will always associate with the year 2020 is the frequent use of certain words within our vocabulary: Lockdown, frontline, pandemic, social distancing. All as a result of the emergence of the Coronavirus. However, these are certainly not exclusive to this period.