Tag Archives: West Hill

Gardening Corner – July 2024

Probably the last thing on all your minds is the question of watering. This spring my window boxes have had a closer resemblance to a window pond, but summer is on it’s way and we must make plans. 

Most of you who read this column already have an established little green oasis but if you are heading to the garden centre, how you pick your plants is an important step to your garden surviving a dry summer. 

Whether your gap in the shrubbery is in the sun or shade, it is important to pick plants that are economical with water, so if you decide to go on a summer holiday for two weeks or a hose pipe ban is enforced, your garden will continue to be green. 

As a rule there is a split between plants that love the sun and those that fare better in the shade or at the foot of a tree. 

For the sun lovers look for plants with silvery leaves, these are the sun worshippers. Go for a purple Sage, not only beautiful but will be a handy herb for your kitchen or continuing the herb theme Rosemary and Thyme thrive on neglect. My personal favourite for a sun bleached terrace is Verbena Bonariensis, bullet proof, whispy and fragrant. 

For the shade, especially that tricky area under the canopy of a tree, go for dark glossy leaves. Acanthus Mollis is the perfect example of almost prehistoric fauna, shooting it’s white and purple spires up in spring to last all the way through to winter when they dry out and provide you with plenty of seeds to sow. A decent Weigela always does surprisingly well in the shade, it will reward you with a stunning display of flowers each spring. But we mustn’t forget the humble rose. A decent fragrant rose spreading at north end of your garden will bring fragrance and blooms over a long season if you dead head and prune sympathetically; you might get two shows in one year if you are lucky. 

For the established garden how you water and when you water are very important. 

Let’s start with the new plants that you purchased during the May bank holidays that haven’t had a chance to delve their roots deep into the soil for deep ground water. My best tip is to find a length of pipe, or an empty plastic bottle with the base snipped away and plant it at the edge of the rootball until almost submerged; this is where you are going to pour the water. Getting the water down to root level, rather than topically onto the soil is how you encourage deep roots that will survive future summers. 

Shallow watering equals shallow roots, and shallow roots will not survive very long during a dry spell. Water very well or not at all. If you have a delicate specimen that regularly wilts come summer time, do try the bottle/pipe option, even if the plant is established; you will be rewarded. 

Pots scattered around also suffer when they dry out. There are always those moisture granules that you can add but the real secret is to make sure all the roots get a decent soaking but are not waterlogged all the time. 

First find a bucket big enough to be able to submerge your pot fully, fill it with water and let your plant soak in the water. At first it will bob around on the 

surface then eventually sink – do not, whatever you do, remove the potted plant at this stage. Be patient and wait until all the air bubbles have stopped appearing on the water’s surface, only then can you be absolutely sure the whole root ball has been watered thoroughly. Using this method of watering sounds long winded, but you will have to water less often and the chances of death by drought is reduced significantly. 

Good luck with the summer and all your watering endeavours, hopefully these tips will help you keep your garden in tip top shape this summer. 

Nancy Kirk is a retired gardener who provides bespoke gardening lessons in your own garden. Packages start at £250.

westhillgardenoracle@gmail.com

Gull About Town – July 2024

The sun has finally arrived in Brighton, and your bird is on the wing, breathing in the smell of summer. The North Laine on a hot afternoon is every gull’s dream; shoppers from out of town just can’t keep their eyes on their ice creams as the delights of Gardner Street distract just long enough for a quick dive at a double scoop of Gelato Gusto. And what joy as they head up to the rooftop bar of Trading Post for a glass of Prosecco with a little nibble on the side. 

For the more discerning bird, it’s over to join the arty types flocking to Voya, a twice monthly pop up popular after a spot of culture at 35 North Gallery next door. Your bird has found a delightfully eclectic mix of wonton and birria, masala and habanero on the menu, with very few pickings after hours, such is the appetite of the cool crowd soaking up the vinyl and negronis. Even the cocktail straws had been sucked clean from the basho margarita, an oolong green tea tequila, lime, banana that your gull had her beady eye on. 

Hopping on a thermal, she breezed over to Blue Man, the Algerian café which has perched in Kemptown for the last 25 years, but has landed in Gloucester Road, replacing Neighbourhood with its delicious lamb sausages, vegan spiced aubergine stew and rosemary fries. With tables on the terrace shared with La Choza, it’s promising to be a summer of rich pickings for the gulls in Brighton’s coolest quarter.

Hovering over Jubilee Square has always been a delight for a bird of taste, with aromas of cardamon and cumin floating up from the Chilli Pickle kitchen into a summer evening sky. But news that the friendly family who’ve got a thing for pets and always save a couple of naans for the young gulls hanging out by the bins after hours, are moving on after 14 years on the MyHotel site, has hit the bird world hard. A flock of seagulls is already scouting for a new location for the beloved 115-seater which has appeared in Restaurant Magazine’s top 100 places to eat in the UK, and only this spring scooped a place yet again in Brighton Best’s Top 30. 

Gliding over to the beach for a spot of evening jazz at Drifter, your gull spots hyperlocal chef, Isaac Bartlett-Copeland setting up at East Street Tap. It seems he has reinvented himself yet again as a hot dog man. The once fine dining genius behind Isaac At who sourced every ingredient, including wines and soft drinks, from within 40 miles, went on to collaborate with fellow chef, Dave Marrow on Embers in The Lanes to much acclaim, not least among the peckish gull gang.   Now, he’s off to the pub to serve hot dogs – but not any old hot dog; keeping his commitment to sourcing locally, his pork will come from the pigs at West Sussex’s Calcot Farm where this bird has witnessed them larking around in open fields, happily playing with their siblings and pals until their time comes. Expect smoked pork dog with chunky ketchup, and even a serving of Ritz crackers and sage with stilton in the soon to be infamous Hugh Grant dog.

The secret diary of a microdoser


Microdosing. You’ve probably heard the word, but what is it? And what does it mean? One of our readers, who we’re going to call Ray, tells his story 

I hold my breath. The blindfold fits comfortably over my eyes. Electronica plays in my ears and flows through my mind. And in the darkness, there’s something there, something’s stirring in the distance, I look more closely. Shapes begin to form, patterns start to morph and travel towards me. And then the colours, oh my god, the colours… And I exhale. 

As I lay down, I remember that gravity is my friend. A wave of relaxation washes over my body and I sink into the mattress. Am I in a different reality? I don’t think so. Am I “astral planning”? Much as I love the poetry of the description, born from the same hippy roots of my youth, unfortunately, I have to say No. Have I achieved a higher state of consciousness? Oh, stop it. (Sorry, but I give short shrift to spiritual narcissism). Very simply, I am stimulating every single Serotonin 5-HT2A receptor in my brain. And, in doing so, this stunning visualisation of geometrically-shaped tunnels and spaces (often called the “Waiting Room” in DMT circles) is the mind’s expression of that neurological activity. 

Did I think that I would ever revisit the psychedelic experiences of my youth? Good god, no. I thought I was done and dusted with that. I have a senior role in an international business. I manage staff. I have a family. A mortgage to pay. If I’m honest, I also feared that I would do the same amount of damage as I did to the teenager in Round 1. And yet, now in my mid-Fifties, and only recently been diagnosed with autism, I’ve stumbled across a psychedelic, Dimethyltryptamine, or DMT as it’s commonly known, a key constituent in potions such as Ayahuasca, used in shamanic ceremonies in South America and Indonesia alike, and found that, for my mental health, and at low dosage levels, it is singularly the most effective medicine I have ever taken to manage the effects of “hyperfocus” (a spectrum condition which has its advantages, but is also utterly exhausting). 

Aside from being visually stunning, it’s the only drug I’ve taken where I feel better afterwards. Sometimes, depending on my work / life stress levels, the level of burnout at the time of the session, the alleviation I experience after the trip, the clarity of thinking can last for hours, days or even weeks. 

With the pressures and responsibility that inevitably mount up as we progress through life, time becomes more precious. The ability to take some time out, and even 15 minutes will do, to meditate in the present, to reset your mind, clean out the complex mechanic of the brain (give the engine some fresh oil, if you like) is a hugely valuable exercise. Being present, truly present, is a rare and precious thing. And trust me, if you wash out your mind with DMT, and release the stale thoughts that are stuck in those receptors, you can be nothing but present.  

I find most people I meet live in the past, often with regret, or live in the future with hopes and ambition at best, or pressure and anxiety at worse. Very few people actually live in the present. It takes bravery to be present. But if you value your existence, whether you choose the same path as me, or you find your own, please just give yourself the permission, the space, the moment, the vulnerability and the belief in yourself, to be present, to love yourself, and do so in a safe physical and mental environment. Because, believe me, your grey matter is not grey. Far from it. 

I

f our recent experience of the aurora borealis demonstrates anything, it shows us that We are the Witness. When, after one session, I realised that simple fact was the meaning of life, or at least my purpose for existence, so much societal pressure (you know, the definitions of success that are often impressed on us, generally from marketeers trying to sell us something) was lifted from my shoulders. We are the Witness. We are the Consciousness of the Universe. Perhaps even the Multiverse. (Well, why on earth should the Big Bang have occurred just the once, that’s crazy thinking, no?)

Astrophysicists across the world are now leaning towards the idea that actually there are billions of other life forms out there. So where are they? The answer may be that we’re looking in the wrong place, or rather, with the wrong telescope. When I realised the irony of trying to see these geometric shapes with my eyes while blindfolded, and used what some cultures called The Third Eye, suddenly the sphere of consciousness that is “Ray” travelled further back in the physical space that is my grey matter, expanded to the size of a field of corn. I could even see behind me. And that begs the question, is DMT the telescope that we’ve been seeking? Or is it just shits and giggles? I don’t know, but as I travel down this road, I’ll keep an open mind. 

While I’m passionate about psychedelics and regard them as a therapeutical medicine rather than a party drug, I’m very aware that the Government does not agree with me and you should be aware of this. 

But there are other downsides of an unregulated black market economy. Good quality DMT is hard to find. If your DMT is dark in colour, is harsh on the throat, or smells “of the countryside”, let alone plastic or rubber, then it is not pure enough for microdosing, or for any dosing for that matter. I have found that the vaping fluid should look like a lager in colour. If it looks like a bitter or, even worse, a stout, then please respect yourself and steer well clear. The good stuff is a blonde, not a brunette. 

Be safe. Ray, Brighton, 2024. 

Editor’s note: The Whistler does not condone Ray’s thoughts and opinions. We chose to publish this article as we know there are many microdosers in the city, probably in our readership. But remember, what works for Ray may not work for anyone else. 

Corinne Sweet – Growing old(er) disgracefully – July 2024

I’ve had my sights set on returning to West Hill since I flew up to London post Sussex Uni. I’d been living in Alexandra Villas back then, doing an MA in Victorian Literature. I loved the area with its white houses, regency porches and artistic vibe.

Thus, I landed in dank December last, like some half-crazed homing pigeon on auto pilot. Six months later, the tsunami of my life’s mess finally subsiding, I’ve shoe-horned myself into a fabulously quirky place – and I’m home. And happy. Now, despite still having to battle up to the London bog once or twice a week for work, I can scuttle happily back to West Hill and enjoy living a more colourful life.

“Oh, you’ve downsized”, London friends coo sympathetically, “Are you retiring?” “Nope”, is the snappy answer. Nowhere near ready to down tools. If anything, I’m ready to start regaining a sense of my wilder, freer, more creative, self and fill my end-of-life bucket full of lots of new experiences, thrills, and people.

My daughter decamped to Bristol from the family home last year saying she was going to ‘Please herself’, so I think I’ve followed her lead, coming to Brighton, to ‘Please myself.’ This entails giving up some redundant over-worthy life patterns:

First off the list: all the shoulds, oughts and musts. In the bin with them. My new guiding light is: “What do I feel like doing?” “What do I fancy?” Tuning into me has included painting my Tardis-like home in hues of deep purple and red, terracotta and gold. It matches my hair, which I have to say, I’ve been sporting in all its trademark purplish glory for about 15 years.

Second: duty before pleasure. This doesn’t mean I don’t care, but it does mean I only go to things if I really want to. Invited to something and I’m not I the mood – I don’t do it. Maybe knitting, reading a good book or watching Bridgerton in bed eating chocolate, is just what I need.

Third: caring what people think. One of the tenets of screenwriting is ‘Nobody knows anything’ (why a film bombs or not), and indeed in social relations it’s impossible to know what really people think, so why bother? We spend so much time caring about this, but frankly – who knows? Also, who cares?

Fourth: equating alone with lonely. I’ve learned to love my own company and seldom feel lonely. However, the genuinely friendly welcome I’ve received from neighbours (thanks Lisa for feeding my cat), (thanks Tracey at Jaglia for my cat cups), trades people, shopkeepers, even bus drivers, has meant West Hill has offered the warmest of welcomes so far. 

Fifth: no time for me. I plunged straight into weekly Pilates with Helen Douglas and Shape Note singing, both at the West Hill Hall. 

There will be more singing, dancing, swimming, sailing, and creating to come.

Growing Old(er) Disgracefully by 

Corinne Sweet

Psychotherapist, writer, broadcaster 

http://www.corinnesweet.com

Editorial – July 2024

Today, as I write, it’s June 12. I know that because tomorrow on June 13, we’re off to France with  Harry and Polly who, you’ll recall, are our Greek rescue pups who came to live with us in December. We’re taking them to France because they’re European dogs and have European passports and because they’re European dogs they have to have their rabies updated in Europe. I don’t really understand it. I asked and back came the familiar exasperated sigh accompanied by the word “Brexit”. Pickle, our other dog, is staying here because we got him from Raystede which is near Lewes and… oh, you know, he’s got a blue passport. British dog. 

Bexit’s been on my mind a bit. And not just because of Harry and Polly. There’s an election coming up and there’s been a lot of rabbit from all the parties about what we’ll do if we win and no one has talked about Brexit. Well, no one apart from the Lib Dems, but that’s a sadly quiet voice. It’s the proverbial elephant dancing away that everyone has silently agreed to ignore. I wonder. Would talking about it really be such an electoral turn-off for The Great British Public? 

So anyway. A few days in France. There are worse things. This morning on the radio I heard that Rishi Sunak didn’t have Sky TV when he was a kid. Can you imagine? Some people really do have it harder than the rest. How he’s made a life for himself after that, I don’t know. 

It’s tempting to say stuff, to use this platform to bang the drum for things we think are important (As if we would do that. As if) and it’s frustrating because so many of the things we here at Whistler Towers think they should be talking about such as Brexit, climate, food production – maybe they’re all the same thing – don’t get much air time and all you hear about is tax cuts and tax cuts and tax cuts like we’re all little children who just want to be given sweets all the time and…   Pah. Let’s not. Even if we wanted to talk more about election stuff, print deadlines mean we‘re at the printers before Labour actually release their manifesto. But keep an eye on our website – westhillwhistler.com – where there’ll be more interviews with the other local candidates. 

Ours is an interesting constituency. The sitting party has a 20,000 majority which, in normal circumstances, would translate as “All bets are off, let’s go to the beach”. But this time round, it feels different. The MP with that majority – Caroline Lucas – you don’t need me to tell you – is off. There’s a new Green Party candidate – Sian Berry, interviewed on the facing page – but did those 20,000 people vote for the Greens or Caroline? The party or the person? We’ll find out soon enough I guess. 

The election’s important, but I tell you what’s also important and is actually much more us, much more what we’re about: The St Nick’s Dog Show. That’s the stuff that’s really important. Community, togetherness, rosettes. Fun, sun and a glass of Pimms. What’s not to like?