Thoughts on the pier

Okay, right. So its been a while. A long while, and a long way. and I'm back. Here at least, although other things have moved on and changed. Such is life, I suppose. In Brighton last night, on the pier. Shut down for the night, staff mopping and cashing up inside their little plywood booths, a few daytrippers enjoying the gaudy panoroma of the seafront all lit up. Bouncy castles deflated, funfair rides lying dormant. And I thought - this could be a chemical plant, or an oil refinery, or an offshore launchpad; it might as well be. All this kit, and underneath a weary victorian frame, and underneath that, the tide coming in like a black silken sheet and shimmering in the electric street lighting. Over there's where Pinky killed that man in Brighton Rock. We have a big wheel now, as if to confirm those London on sea jibes. Its a nice size, about seven pounds. Ambiguity there. Last month/Last year, the burning of the clocks, and we all followed the bobbing paper lanterns and hammering samba drums and all the people to the beach by concorde 2 and thralled to the sight of the bonfire. Drums and winding throught the streets of town in a big bopping mass. More drums please. Work is good. Or its okay. It demands much. But I do like the sparks flying when I get a good idea. Those wild European philosophers painting mad pictures with words, like they've caught a loose thread and pulled it to see the great carpet unravel in their hands. Best leave it there. Peace