Brighton & Hove Comes Out of Lockdown

In May, I wrote the blog post Atget's Paris and Ollie's Brighton, in which I likened photographs of empty streets during Lockdown to photographer Eugène Atget's work in Paris in the late 19th Century.

It feels like an age ago. Since then, we have put up with unimaginable bullshit and somehow managed to keep our sanity.

But I have strived to carry on and record Brighton & Hove, and other parts of Sussex, gradually creeping out of Lockdown, despite the best efforts of the Government and its all-too-willing comrades in local government. Here are a number of those images.

One has to admire the ability of Sussex people to ignore all the brainwashing propaganda, all the crazy, contradictory statements by the Prime Minister and his Cabinet, all the nonsense spouted by so-called experts and all the self-serving actions of local politicians and their apparatchiks - to just get on with their lives.

Gradually, the people have come out of hiding, and started to live again.

A few are wearing masks, despite the confusing Government guidance, others just pretending to.

Many are making full use of the summer sun and the gorgeous beaches of Brighton and Hove, despite the City Council's best efforts to control everybody and everything, with a vanishingly small amount of knowledge and intelligence.
Laura and I have been engaged in a battle to Reopen Madeira Drive - an iconic Brighton destination for Mods, rockers and visitors that the Council is assaying to close permanently under the cloak of Covid-19, to pursue its own bigoted, discriminatory agenda.

To date, more than 10,500 people have signed our Petition - and three successful protests have been staged, attracting local, regional, national and international publicity.

In this situation, you either fight the forces of chaos and evil - or you lie down and die.
Fortunately, most of the people of Brighton and Hove have more spunk and character than their feckless Council, extreme leftists punch-drunk on dosh from a right-wing Government. Oh, the irony! 

Enjoy my pictures of Brighton & Hove and surrounding Sussex proudly saying "No!" to The Bullshit - and coming out of Lockdown:

I am a Mod

Things they do look awful c-c-cold (Talkin' 'bout my generation)

I hope I die before I get old (Talkin' 'bout my generation)

The Who  

A hush fell on my fellow secret addicts and you could have heard a pin drop in the room as I made my ritualistic confession: "I am a Mod!"

I'd said it. There was no going back.

For many years I have harboured a desire to ride a Vespa scooter and wear a Parka jacket.

Early this year I finally succumbed and bought a Vespa PX125, a Mod scooter model that Italian manufacturer Piaggio has been making since 1977.

Since then, metaphorically, it has not been an easy ride.

My father, bless him, has always been an anxious chap, even in his prime.

When my brothers and I were growing up, he relentlessly drummed into us the extreme dangers of motorcycling.

It left a mental block, I guess.

And so it was that at the age of 52 that I first took to two wheels, at first having to negotiate myself through a hellish ordeal known as the CBT - not Cognitive Behavioural Therapy, on this occasion, but Compulsory Basic Training.

I can honestly say that my CBT was the most terrifying day of my life. I will not describe the horror of that experience in detail - I will leave that for another occasion.

Suffice to say, it was a miracle - or at least an extreme combination of diplomacy and spin - that the motorcycling instructor in Eastbourne reluctantly awarded me (and the other candidate that day) our certificates so we could ride.

As we left his workshops, he turned to us and said doubtfully: "You are going to be all right, aren't you?"

Unfortunately, I could only get through my CBT on an automatic machine. I just could not master the gears. I must have stalled a hundred times. (The other guy was better but had no road experience whatsoever.)

And, yet, my PX125 has manual gears.

For the first few months I found it so hard that I never left the conclave of my 'hood: a little circuit of Brunswick Street East, Lower Market Street and Waterloo, almost bereft of traffic.

The regulars at the Bottom's Rest public house were amused and then grew tired of me passing every five minutes at speeds between five and 11 miles per hour.

I never got out of first gear!

My Mod career would have been doomed if it were not for the intervention of Mr Cheeky (who else?)

Mr Cheeky had befriended Django, the local black cat, and it was because of this I met Nick, Django's owner, who was also embarking on life as a biker, albeit on a 125cc motorcycle rather than a scooter.

Nic, an urbane, young VATman and musician from Isle of Man, offered to take me out on a motorcyling trips to build up my confidence. He has been brilliant.

A few months on, I am still a little nervous on the bike, but I get around and was confident enough to join the thousands of other bikers at the Brightona rally last weekend.

I hoped to hook up with brother Mods but, on this occasion, they were in fairly short supply. The August Bank Holiday rally is their big day.

However, I take the view that all motorcyclists are my brethren and confidently nod to Hell's Angels and generally talk to anyone on two wheels.

Everyone is very friendly.

Nick and I met some very pleasant Harley Davidson riders including one gentleman who was almost seven foot tall and showed me his massive bike.

A lot of these guys ride 1,700cc machines - bikes with much larger engines than many motor cars.

Despite my Parka, one biker even let me sit on his new Harley. It was incredibly comfortable and heavy. Like a mobile sofa.

I liked the way that the stages at Brightona alternated between rock music and ska - to please both the rockers and the Mods.

In reality, there is no war between them any more.

They get on like a house on fire when they meet.

There were so many amazing, beautiful machines at Brightona.

Bikers are incredibly creative and hardworking at customising and preening.

You could spend the whole day just admiring other people's motorbikes.

I rode back in the rain, which I hate. It is uncomfortable and you have to keep a constant eye out for manhold covers that can unmount you in an instant.


I loved the day, though. I need to get more experience on the Vespa.

My mentor Nick has driven more than 1,000 miles on his bike in the time I have clocked up 100 on mine.

Scootering is also economical. Much less expensive on fuel that driving a car - very useful at this time of personal austerity.

I also love the sound of the two-stroke engine and the clunk of the gears that the 1970s design still makes - authentic signs of having achieved Mod-dom!

Early Autumn in Brighton and Hove

Winter, spring, summer or fall
All you got to do is call
And I'll be there
Yes I will
You've got a friend

Carole King


Early Autumn is always a favourite time of year for me - the cusp betwixt Summer and Autumn proper when one enjoys the best of both seasons.

This year, it seems to have been particularly wonderful in Brighton and Hove, possibly because I am at home, rather than away 12 hours to 14 hours every working day on a London commute.

Indeed, I have been at home for some five months now and have not missed going into the Smoke one jot. I feel a lot closer to nature.

In the mornings, I try to go for a cycle ride along the seafront before starting my day's endeavour. I never tired of the skyscape and seascape. It is different every day and often spectacular.

I work long hours at my desk at home and, in truth, it is a struggle. When you try to find work, you realise the UK is not out of the woods of recession yet.

However, I am spurred on by the card on my wall - "A winner is just a loser who tried one more time" - and the overall improvement in my lifestyle.

Sadly, though, I have had to give up lunchtime basketball.

My knees have become a real issue and for months have woken me up at night with searing pain. The basketball - a hard contact sport - made it much worse, so now instead I cycle every day, which makes it better, and take some painkillers and sleeping pills. I hope I will not need an operation.

It is funny the things you see while cycling around, such as a little doggy at the steering wheel of a car.

My new life has allowed me to do a lot of thinking.

I want a sustainable way of working which cannot just end at any moment.

I want to be able to do work I am proud of and which I enjoy.

I want to do the sort of work my kids would be proud of.

Life may be a bunch of compromises but there comes a time when you have to put your health and sanity first.

Therefore, I have to be very careful about my next move.

It is always interesting to see people's reactions when your situation and supposed status suddenly changes for the worse.

True friends are solid and there for you; most people, however, are not seen for dust, not wanting to be infected by whatever has felled you. In this parlous and fickle world, I don't suppose one can blame them for putting self-interest first.

My partner, Laura, has been a great comfort as has Mr Cheeky.

He has become a local character in his manor, the four streets near our home.

Mr Cheeky and his dear friend Django spend a good deal of time in the local pub, entertaining the regulars.

He also likes to have a good sleep on the pub mantelpiece.

One of the regulars told me a funny story about Mr Cheeky. He said that his bedroom is on the top floor of his house and that he first made Mr Cheeky's acquaintance when he slept in one morning and awoke to find Mr Cheeky sleeping on his chest.

Mr Cheeky had apparently somehow got onto the roof of his house, jumped down onto his balcony and climbed in through the open window, before settling down for a kip on top of him.

Now he regularly enjoys tuna at his house!

Another local I also did not know came up to me in the street that said that Mr Cheeky often visited her and her small children at their home. "They absolutely adore him," she purred.

Mr Cheeky seems to have an enormous appetite and gallops everywhere, like a tiny racehorse.

He has put on some weight and matured, making more effort to avoid moving cars and generally look after his health better.

Mr Cheeky and I put a certain effort into campaigning (online) for a No vote in Scotland - to keep the Union together.

He took the name, Mr McCheeky Wilson, for the period of the campaign, producing his own manifesto to persuade wavering Scots. I like to think we did our little bit for the United Kingdom.

The McCheekster has developed a desire to go on trips in Laura's car, jumping when the window is open and making himself comfortable, sometimes falling asleep.

I was almost late for an interview the other day because of having difficulty getting him out of the back of the car.

We go to see my dad and mum every fortnight.

To be frank, Dad's condition is not good. His memory is very poor now. Real confusion has set in.

All the same, I enjoy our trips to see him and Mum. They are coping well, despite all.

My brothers also visit regularly so that there is one of us there every weekend.

Nic comes over from Ireland as often as he can and it is always good to see him.

He and his wife have taken on a dog, like their late daughter Emily always wanted.

Life is a strange, hard-to-tame beast.

You can only make the most of the cards you are dealt.

The year will go into free fall: Hallowe'en, Bonfire, Christmas, New Year, the misery of January to March. It could be tough.

I heard from my old friend, Midders, the other day. He says he has a serious health scare (the usual one), so I am hoping and praying he gets through it.

The other day, I saw a very good poster on social media. It read: "Never let the sadness of my past and the fear of your future ruin the happiness of your present". Another one for the wall, methinks. Every moment is precious and sacred.

One piece of great news is that the Battle of Hove Park was won!

The political animal of a head teacher switched sides at the last minute in, my considered view, to save his own skin.

Hove Park School will not become a wretched Academy!

We were invited to a joyous victory celebration at comrades Natasha and Mark Steel's home.

It was great! We oldies chatted outside while the kids danced to Freebird and Let's Dance inside.

I was very impressed that the kids of today know these great classics of my era.

My moderate drinking regime is going very well. It is now 38 weeks since I last drank too much or had a hangover. Now I am in the groove, I am a truly committed moderate drinker.

Well, that's about it for now.

It is almost my bedtime. I will do the dishes, read a bit of my Saint novel (excellent bedtime reading) and get an early night.

I am off to Oxford bright and early tomorrow morning.

I just hope Mr Cheeky does not sneak into the car.