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Chrissie

Now It Can Be Told

I’m moving tomorrow. To Fulham.

It’s been an interesting past month or so. I got a cold which didn’t go away and it became apparent it was glandular fever. I’m still not 100%—the weakness and lethargy can last a couple of months—but I’m not too bad. (Having said that, I do feel a bit rough at the moment, but I hope it’s just the fact that I got a bit drunk last night, against medical advice…)

It is really, REALLY unpleasant to be actually quite ill in a town where you don’t really know anyone. I’d have really appreciated someone being able to do a bit of shopping for me, or walk the dog once or twice, just to allow me a couple or three days of complete rest. But it wasn’t possible here in Brighton. I had to drag myself out at least once a day to walk the dog and get food. It was, on the whole, a hellish period for me.
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In Search of Steve Ditko

Well, I needed cheering up. I’ve been suffering from the most abysmal cold/flu bug all week. I still feel rough, and my neck bumps are still a bit swollen, but it seems the worst is finally over.

And to make my diminished mood even better, my DVD of Jonathan Ross’s new show, In Search of Steve Ditko, popped through the letterbox. Yeah, that show I worked on, brag brag, egotism, etc.
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Lotsa Weather

Now, look: it’s the middle of May and it’s the middle of the afternoon. You take the dog for a walk. What do you expect? Well, a la Brighton, what you get is you and the dog repeatedly being almost blown off your feet. Literally.

If this was an isolated incident, fine. Hm, okay, today is particularly bad, and you normally get this of a night. But still. I didn’t get anything like this in the depths of Winter in London (or Brum, very often).
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In Search of…

Hmmm, okay, as the stories about this have spread across the Internet like a rash since Blake Bell posted about it, I might as well confirm that the Jonathan Ross show I was working on back in Feb/March (and which I have continued to help with where I can, as needed) is entitled “In Search of Steve Ditko”. It’s a profile of the less-famous half of the original Spider-Man creative team, to be aired on BBC4 sometime in the near future.

My March 1st entry was related to this, of course.

Otherwise, I don’t want to discuss too many details, or nuts and bolts, except to say, I hope it’ll be a really cool show, and it’s nice to have been able to contribute.
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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.
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Brighton

Right, so I went to Brighton yesterday (meaning Wednesday). That’s the moving situation. I’ve decided that, as Brighton is just 40 minutes away from London (the city centre) on the train, the air is a hell of a lot cleaner, and most importantly, you can rent quite nice places for about the same as you can get squalid dumps in most of London… that’s where I’m gonna relocate to.

The irony is that this is where mom and I planned to move to. We were still talking about this a year ago. It was roughly a year ago that mom started to show symptoms that led to a grim diagnosis and the end of her life. That’s been on my mind a fair bit, for obvious reasons, but I’m trying to not let it get me too down.

I do like Brighton, anyway. The seafront’s a major attraction, and as it’s not all that large, you’re never too far away from anything. I have to go into the city from here if, say, I want to browse a large music store… the only local option is a tiny HMV in Wimbledon. Yeah, Wimbledon turned out to be much smaller and less impressive than initial impressions suggested. :-/
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