Brighton Beach Memoir

A long lunch for business purposes in Brighton, then a quick stroll on the beach to gather my thoughts, perchance to blip.

I lived in Brighton for ten years, and loved every minute of it. When I moved here in October '87, The West Pier was derelict but had not yet been razed in what turned out to be a mysterious fire or two under circumstances that even now look to be, ahem, somewhat questionable. (Google it and ye shall find).

One of my strongest memories of that time is the red neon lights spelling out the words "West Pier"; in letters six or ten feet high on the old pier's ballroom, facing back in to the town, glowing in the dark through sea-fog that seemed to engulf Brighton for much of December 1987.

Now all this is left is the rusting iron frame. There must be many people who have taken exactly this picture, but this one is mine.

There are some minor asymmetries in this picture which are not my fault: it turns out that the center-line of the leg-stumps is not perfectly lined up with the centre-line of the main structure. Blame those Victorian engineers. And their rivets.