A Farce, You Say?

Hmmm… haven’t felt much like writing on here for a while. Real life gets in the way sometimes, have had a really, really weird three weeks, sometimes very depressed and generally disorientated.

Well, the move to Brighton happened. And about five seconds after, I realised it was a total, fucking mistake. You can’t begin to imagine what an amazing mind-fuck that is. This is what happens if you’re stuck in a too-expensive place on your own—you don’t think things through properly.

How can I detail my problems with Brighton? *sigh* Let’s try a bulleted list…

* I actually have friends in London.
* I miss them.
* It’s not as quick/easy to get to London as I deluded myself.
* It’s even harder to get to anywhere else in the country. Travel from here is just a total pisser.
* I got shit on by a bird for the first time since I was about seven years old within a couple of days of coming here.
* The coastal winds are utterly vicious, especially at night.
* And the nights are cooooooooold.
* Spiders and woodlice and bugs generally… lots of them. Everywhere.
* Nothing resembling a ‘proper’ city locally.
* Most of the buildings are ancient and in a shockingly awful state of decay. Even the really expensive ones. Double-glazing hasn’t been invented here yet.
* Living in an ancient, conversion-job building with a shared entrance and paper-thin walls really sucks. I don’t want to know when someone in the floor above farts, but I pretty much do.
* This Hobbit-hole won’t even allow a single divan through its doors. I still have neither a proper sofa to sit on or a bed to sleep on.
* Fresh coastal air, yes, but tons of earthy dirt and grime and dust nonetheless. Everywhere. Poor pooch Fred had a totally black belly within a week of being here.

And on and on and on. Think you get the idea. Brighton’s a beautiful place to visit, but man, living here is another matter entirely.

Ahem. So, though it embarrasses me deeply to make such an utter cock-up, and even more to admit to it, well… I’m looking for a flat-share back in London. In other words, I’m not renting a place on my own again—it has to be a share from the outset. Soon as I find someone with a spare room, I’m packing up again! With not a tiny amount of annoyance, I can tell you.

Now, to make matters worse (?!), I actually got myself locked out the other night. All night. (The early hours of Tuesday morning if you want to be exact.) I took the dog out late, around 2am, so it was about 2.20 when I got back, and the lovely front door key snapped in half like a piece of cheap plastic. I didn’t feel I could wake neighbours up that hour, though as it turned out I probably wouldn’t have done. So I found myself wandering slowly into town, eventually getting to the train station at 4am. Sat there for an hour or so, listening to Morrissey on the iPod while freezing to death.

Then I went back into town. A Number 7 to the Marina came along so I jumped on and went straight through, bought a couple of things from Asda, waited 20 minutes for a bus again while freezing, and finally got back here at 6.30.

That wasn’t the end of my problems. I managed to pick the broken end of key out of the lock, then tried wiggling it to open the door, to no avail. So I tried buzzing other flats—no response. Wiggled some more, tried another buzz. Sat on front steps freezing for a while. More wiggling and buzzing. Then Fred had a major barking fit at a woman & dog that went past. I was freezing and exhausted and did little to stop him… so some fat old bastard a few doors down comes out slagging me off. ‘Can’t you control him? We don’t all want to be up at this time.’ (About 7.30.) ‘Neither do I, I’m locked out.’ ‘That’s not my problem. Shut the dog up or I’ll get the old bill to take him off you.’ ‘Oh, go ahead!’ Nice, friendly people round here, y’know…

A bit more wiggling and buzzing. Fuck all. Kick and bang front door a bit in despair. I think you’d get more response from a crack-house. I finally slumped on front steps in defeat, freezing, tired-out… I think I started to nod off in between crying a lot. FINALLY, I became aware that someone was behind me and Fred was blocking their way. I moved him aside. It was a couple. The guy just says, ‘Thanks.’ Yeah, really: nothing like, ‘What on earth are you doing there?!’ Go figure. Half-asleep, I almost didn’t realise, but then I got lucid and called them back to open the door, showing them the broken key. I tried to stand up and it was a great struggle, back killing me, feet numb, but I hobbled into the building and uttered a hoarse thanks. It was just gone 8am.

A totally fun night, right up there with when I slept rough on Manchester train station about eight years ago.

Since then, I have been quite under the weather, some back-ache, general aching, a bit of a chill, etc. Could’ve been worse, but it just pissed me off with this place even more, really.

Today (Thursday), I took Fred in to have a bath and trim. He is due for his yearly booster jabs, and as there is a vet very nearby, I decided I’d get him tidied-up first. Will take him in for his M.O.T. next week, I think. Maybe I’ll take a photo of him later. He doesn’t look properly white all that often. 😉

I’m sure there’s other stuff to ramble about, but this has gone on long enough. More later.