Summer ends quickly in Brighton like someone turning off the lights. And for bar staff like myself the days go from harsh spotlight too a forgotten back room gloom and the sea turns the colour of mud. The skies will blow you away though – Being a big city boy having a big sky like you find at the coast will always be a luxury. And in the instant the summer dies the sky, as if to distract you from the grief, produce drama that you’d have to be all but dead inside not to be moved by. Skies the colour of paint water moments after pure black ink is dripped in.

Autumn is a good time to move, float away like the leaves dropping around you. Brighton has been good for me, the city and attitude seems to be free of the pressure that Birmingham and other cities have. Free of the machinery of industry that needs heaps of raw souls to be funnelled into their waiting furnaces. this machinery oiled by the myth of job security and the vast spirit chambers relived from the building pressure by a complicated valves system of Bank Holidays, flexitime and the occasional two weeks in the Costa Del Cheap.

But the sea air has blown the dust out of my brain and I’m ready to explore the dirty alleys and forgotten car parks again.

(pic my own)