![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
The idea had been to have a grand day out - the weather will turn, clocks will change, and I have a raft of busy Saturdays. Plan A and B were to go to Hastings or Lewes, places I've been already, but which could stand a second visit (and more to the point have secondhand bookshops, albeit Hastings's are better) and Plan C was the super sekrit secondhand bookshop, which is two trains, a tube and a bus ride away, but which I could reach at opening time and get back the same day thanks to HS1. Alas, this weekend I'd need to go via Amersham and two buses, so that went out the window.
Then I thought of Brighton.
I think I've been there twice - once prior to a conference, and once, when visiting a friend (I'm not sure why he didn't come too - especially as memory places it as a Sunday, and it was shut). An eight o'clock train would get me there before 10.30, a good six hours to wander, and then a train back here by eight or nine. Another friend was planning to go there today - but via Rye and Hastings by car, which strikes me as the slow route, and I'd have to make my own route back.
I'd also planned to go to Broadstairs Food Festival on Friday, but decided one day out was enough, and thus pissed away Friday in a different way.
Th alarm went at 6.30 (I was in bed by 2am...), and I got up and out, and walked to the station in plenty of time for the 8.04. There were mist patches but bright sunshine - after a day of rain - as we rattled through to Ashford, and I had my pick of tables on the train there. Nul points to the woman at first station who cut in front of me to get on the train, and then got in the way when I moved to another door to get on. The mist thickened, but the sun was still visible - it looked like low cloud as much as fog (is that what fog is?). The train filled - there are seriously too few coaches on the marsh line - but it mysteriously cleared at Eastbourne so I could move to the other side of the table as the train reversed.
First port of call in Brighton was Caffe Nerd, although I ventured into the Churchill Centre to use the facilities in case Nerd had none (it does, for future reference). I was offered milk with my black coffee, refused it, and was given it. I took it anyway, and drank it separately. A good hour of coffee drinking, reading Jem andlazy stalking people watching. Unfortunately it had clouded over, and was starting to rain.
I cut through the street where Colin Page is (Duke Street), but ignored their basement and left almost immediately, before doing a bit of the Lanes and popping into the gay village where there is a bookshop if you walk the entire length of St James Street. It wasn't really worth it. Then back to find the correct north-pointing road, which brought me to the Pavilion and another pitstop. I considered going in - as Arts Fund lets me in free - but I wasn't in the mood. Nor did I go to the gallery, despite having heard about the photography biennial on Friday night.
There's then three streets which nearly dovetail - Gardner Street, Kensington Gardens and Sydney Street - which have seven or eight shops of interest, including a Books for Amnesty and Oxfam Bookshop. Before I ventured onto Sydney Street, I pondered lunch. It was 3pm by now, and I spotted a fish and chip shop. I shouldn't really, but it would be the main meal of the day. I then noticed a sausage shop - but it seemed precooked, so not any use.
I ordered small huss and cheesy chips. The price was low - and I asked if he'd included the huss. Apparently not, so I then had to wait ten minutes whilst it was cooked. It was clearly a bargain as it clearly wasn't a small piece - two largish pieces, I'd say, but by then I was pissed off and had lost my appetite; I ate the fish and gave a lump to a homeless chap in a park, who had been sorted out some acid for a stoned young couple. The chips I could (and did) eat later. Two food orders in one day: service satisfaction level: nul points.
I did the rest of the bookshops - but missed David's as I assumed it was just comics from first glance, and I'd passed it in search of a seating area. Then it was trying to find Rainbow Books on Trafalgar Street. I'd found a second hand record and bookshop, but that was clearly not it. I had a street number, but a) some streets in Brighton are divided odds and evens, and some aren't, and b) the numbers just want to be free and find their own order.
I have been scared by a few secondhand bookshops in my time. There was the one in Manchester which actually sells mostly secondhand porn (don't think about it), and whose vendor is watching something on a monitor and you can't see his hands.
There's the basement in a shop in Lewes where there are so many books you think one pile will topple over and kill you.
There's most of the shop in Eastbourne where you can't get to the section you want because there are about ten thousand books in piles in the way - which look interesting enough from first glance to take a deeper look, but you know it will take hours.
Then there are the labyrinths where you need to take a length of string with you or drop breadcrumbs.
This was one with books on shelves in bays, which is fair enough, but all the piles are sideways so that you can't see the spines and thus the titles. Enough is visible to give a hint of alphabetical order, but it's a frustrating approximation. The bay is just too narrow to get into, and once you're in it, you've blocked out all the light and can't read the spines. I gave up, although there was stuff of interest there.
By then, half four, it was time to go in search of the Evening Star, home to the Dark Star brewery, although not the brewing itself. I scored a seat in the corner, and had a pint of the American Pale Ale, which is reminiscint of Canterbury Jack, but less limey. I checked the timetable, which gave an unlikely time, then went online to double check, and I had a bit more time than I realised, but not enough for a second pint and breaking that twenty pound note.
At 5.30 I was headed back, realising I've not done any of the biennial. Oops.
But, hold on, the diary shows a few free Saturdays, it was under twelve quid for a return ticket. I can always go back...
Then I thought of Brighton.
I think I've been there twice - once prior to a conference, and once, when visiting a friend (I'm not sure why he didn't come too - especially as memory places it as a Sunday, and it was shut). An eight o'clock train would get me there before 10.30, a good six hours to wander, and then a train back here by eight or nine. Another friend was planning to go there today - but via Rye and Hastings by car, which strikes me as the slow route, and I'd have to make my own route back.
I'd also planned to go to Broadstairs Food Festival on Friday, but decided one day out was enough, and thus pissed away Friday in a different way.
Th alarm went at 6.30 (I was in bed by 2am...), and I got up and out, and walked to the station in plenty of time for the 8.04. There were mist patches but bright sunshine - after a day of rain - as we rattled through to Ashford, and I had my pick of tables on the train there. Nul points to the woman at first station who cut in front of me to get on the train, and then got in the way when I moved to another door to get on. The mist thickened, but the sun was still visible - it looked like low cloud as much as fog (is that what fog is?). The train filled - there are seriously too few coaches on the marsh line - but it mysteriously cleared at Eastbourne so I could move to the other side of the table as the train reversed.
First port of call in Brighton was Caffe Nerd, although I ventured into the Churchill Centre to use the facilities in case Nerd had none (it does, for future reference). I was offered milk with my black coffee, refused it, and was given it. I took it anyway, and drank it separately. A good hour of coffee drinking, reading Jem and
I cut through the street where Colin Page is (Duke Street), but ignored their basement and left almost immediately, before doing a bit of the Lanes and popping into the gay village where there is a bookshop if you walk the entire length of St James Street. It wasn't really worth it. Then back to find the correct north-pointing road, which brought me to the Pavilion and another pitstop. I considered going in - as Arts Fund lets me in free - but I wasn't in the mood. Nor did I go to the gallery, despite having heard about the photography biennial on Friday night.
There's then three streets which nearly dovetail - Gardner Street, Kensington Gardens and Sydney Street - which have seven or eight shops of interest, including a Books for Amnesty and Oxfam Bookshop. Before I ventured onto Sydney Street, I pondered lunch. It was 3pm by now, and I spotted a fish and chip shop. I shouldn't really, but it would be the main meal of the day. I then noticed a sausage shop - but it seemed precooked, so not any use.
I ordered small huss and cheesy chips. The price was low - and I asked if he'd included the huss. Apparently not, so I then had to wait ten minutes whilst it was cooked. It was clearly a bargain as it clearly wasn't a small piece - two largish pieces, I'd say, but by then I was pissed off and had lost my appetite; I ate the fish and gave a lump to a homeless chap in a park, who had been sorted out some acid for a stoned young couple. The chips I could (and did) eat later. Two food orders in one day: service satisfaction level: nul points.
I did the rest of the bookshops - but missed David's as I assumed it was just comics from first glance, and I'd passed it in search of a seating area. Then it was trying to find Rainbow Books on Trafalgar Street. I'd found a second hand record and bookshop, but that was clearly not it. I had a street number, but a) some streets in Brighton are divided odds and evens, and some aren't, and b) the numbers just want to be free and find their own order.
I have been scared by a few secondhand bookshops in my time. There was the one in Manchester which actually sells mostly secondhand porn (don't think about it), and whose vendor is watching something on a monitor and you can't see his hands.
There's the basement in a shop in Lewes where there are so many books you think one pile will topple over and kill you.
There's most of the shop in Eastbourne where you can't get to the section you want because there are about ten thousand books in piles in the way - which look interesting enough from first glance to take a deeper look, but you know it will take hours.
Then there are the labyrinths where you need to take a length of string with you or drop breadcrumbs.
This was one with books on shelves in bays, which is fair enough, but all the piles are sideways so that you can't see the spines and thus the titles. Enough is visible to give a hint of alphabetical order, but it's a frustrating approximation. The bay is just too narrow to get into, and once you're in it, you've blocked out all the light and can't read the spines. I gave up, although there was stuff of interest there.
By then, half four, it was time to go in search of the Evening Star, home to the Dark Star brewery, although not the brewing itself. I scored a seat in the corner, and had a pint of the American Pale Ale, which is reminiscint of Canterbury Jack, but less limey. I checked the timetable, which gave an unlikely time, then went online to double check, and I had a bit more time than I realised, but not enough for a second pint and breaking that twenty pound note.
At 5.30 I was headed back, realising I've not done any of the biennial. Oops.
But, hold on, the diary shows a few free Saturdays, it was under twelve quid for a return ticket. I can always go back...
Tags: