It’s a peaceful night in Brighton. If I listen closely I can hear the waves breaking on the stones of the beach not far from me. The strange thing is that I’m here at Lou’s on my own. She’s down the road. I’ll be sleeping here. She’ll be sleeping down the road. It’s about pets and logistics. It’s funny being here without her.
Lou has a friend with two ragdolls – the same breed as Mao – but a little more particular than The Chairman. She is catsitting for a few weeks and there’s no way they’d allow this friendly fluffball to encroach on their territory. My friend Tom is very allergic to things, and he’s staying in my flat. His ladyfriend is even more allergic than he is and will be coming for press night. Rather than risk a double manslaughter by bringing Mao and his fluff back to Chelsea, I’ve come to Brighton so he isn’t alone at nights and he has cuddles and play and his water topped up. I’ll be here a while this time. Longer than the usual three days. I’ve brought my laptop and I probably get more done when I’m not at home than I do when I am at home, so it’ll likely be a productive time. Plus I’ll get to see more of Lou, which can only be a good thing.
Until the industry picks up there really is no need for me to be in London. I’ve got the Audi, so commuting is pretty easy from here if I need to. I might as well be by the sea for a few weeks in the summer time if I can. Not that it’s feeling particularly summery right now, at the corner of the year. The solstice. The longest day. I always feel slightly sad knowing that the light will start to fade now. But we have a long long way to go before the darkness closes in. And being here will bring opportunities for us to frolic in the waves, as well as for me to get more out of the long quest started in Jersey. The energies are good in this flat, I’ve got a little twitchy fluffy companion, and I’ve brought my latest tome, impulse bought off the internet, looking like a more schlocky Golden Bough or a less dense Joseph Campbell.
There are no footnotes but lots of diagrams. It’s full of interesting tasty things to consider. Ancient ways of thought and understanding that can shed light on how we think about things more than some rich kid in LA with hippy parents pontificating on YouTube. Still simplified and Americanised as only the Americans can do with mysticism. But done in the 1920’s before we all vanished quite so far up our own arseholes. I’ll report back.
Right now I’m going to sprawl out in pretty much the first double bed I’ve had to myself in over a month, listen to the sea, and hope that fluffy little monster won’t sniff me awake at dawn as he does with Lou. Happy Solstice.
AlBarclay 