gentle quiet low dirty drone - I had no idea what I was doing when I did it, when I'd done it I didn't much like it, but uploaded it all the same, it's hung around for a few days, I heard it again this morning before breakfast and like it enough now, it might even turn out to be quite good, only I will ever know, so I decided to click on "publish"
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Yesterday my favourite ex and I got on the train to Goring By Sea and jumped off to look at the smaller copy of the Sistine Chapel that's in the Roman Catholic church there, it is as kitsch as you'd expect but the Catholics always win a bit by being brightly coloured and out of reach and I liked the big stained glass window - our guide (Margaret) said the big things were sails but I liked to think they were nets being cast over the sea.
Then back on the train to Worthing. We'd both driven/trained through it many times but had never stopped off there. By now, lunchtime, the rain was stopping and the wind was amazing and we went to the Wimpy and then on to the pier which is short and stubby and I liked it and the wind blew my firmly-rooted woolly hat off my head and into the sea. Lucky sea, she was wonderful - bright brown and dull yellow and wild and pale and speckled with sunlight and empty except for a kite-surfer and my red hat like a jellyfish just hanging there an inch below the surface back and forth.
We walked to the restaurant at the end of the pier. My ex wanted to go in and nose around because this is the place where apparently Bill Nighy sits and broods in the recent film Living. I wasn't much impressed with Living.
It seemed to be a dull vacuous way of saying the old cliche about how you've got to live your days a bit more fully. And I don't like Bill Nighy. I am tired and bored and annoyed by all the hammy Brit actors we are all meant to dote on - the Maggie Smiths and Judi Denches and Benedict Cumberbatches and Jim Broadbents and Olivia Colemans blah blah. But I did quite tolerate Bill Nighy in Living - not as unbearable as usual.
Worthing is like everywhere now. More run down than I expected. It is famously a place where old people hereabouts go to die, but they must all be dead by now because the mooching people all looked quite young. Very scruffy and drab of course. I love this mess we are all in. Worthing is like a less grand Hastings, a less shabby Great Yarmouth, a slightly smaller Bournemouth, there were tiny signs that it would like to be as London-y and self-consciously hip as Brighton is but knows that it is a hopeless task.
For me the best things about Worthing were our accidently stumbling on the blue plaque that showed us where Harold Pinter lived 1962-64, the old cinema which my ex said was the second oldest cinema in the country, and the fact that the art gallery was shut (bank holiday) so we didn't have to waste time in there. Then we went to the empty Kaspas and had pecan pie and ice cream and then we went home, passing the "trespassers on the line" - rather bloody.
Worthing is the sort of place that has a Wimpy - that is the best way of describing the town. Southampton doesn't have one. The nearest ones are, I see from Google, in places like Andover and Southsea and Swanage and Basingstoke - and those places are much like Worthing, places which are uncool and generally despised but which I love, because they are the final real places and they're so much friendlier than the cool places.
Worthing having a Kaspas - that was more of a surprise. That's probably why it was empty, whereas Worthing's Wimpy was popular. As we approached Southampton in the quiet train the afternoon sun vanished and the sky flashed and there was a storm. The day's highlight was me pressing the button and opening the carriage doors and instantly hearing an amazing roar - the sound of giant hailstones falling on the roof above platform 3. This isn't planned, nothing is, but I now realise that that's why I suddenly like this piece of music more than usual, because it reminds me of that sound.
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recorded a few days ago, photo by me, Worthing beach yesterday
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