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Poetry on the Beach

The article I linked to yesterday, about Brighton's Unicorn Bookshop, included some interesting comments, one of which quoted from a September 2nd 1968 Guardian article:

"David Field, another helper in the shop, was arrested while giving his weekly officially-permitted poetry reading on the beach. About 200 people heard him read a Ginsberg poem, and the policeman said some people in the crowd looked upset. The chairman of the magistrates on that occasion was … Mr John Cuttress. Mr Cuttress said there was no evidence of annoyance to the public by the use of a word which was part of a published work by a recognised poet. He dismissed the case."

The poem in question was apparently Allen Ginsberg's America (available online here). For me, the most amazing thing about this article is that 200 people used to attend weekly poetry readings on Brighton beach. The current poetry scene is thriving, but a regular poetry event of that scale sounds incredible.

I'm also surprised that I've not read about these poetry readings, or the Unicorn bookshop, in any of the reading I've done about Brighton. Someone should write a counter-cultural history of the town. There's so much material: beatniks sleeping under the piers, SchNEWS, Mods and Rockers, bands, The Squatters Estate Agency, fortune tellers and black magic. Or maybe the book already exists and I've just not seen it?

The Lost Bookshops of Brighton

Last night I was thinking about my favourite bookshops in Brighton. When I was a teenager I loved sneaking away from school to go shopping there. I'd trawl the second hand shops, hunting for cheap science fiction and horror novels. I've never been interested in antiquarian books – all I wanted was to fuel my reading with as many novels as I could get for my money.

Brighton has changed a lot since the 1990's. There are many good things about the changes, but I miss the places I used to visit when I was younger. Inspired by my nostalgia, here is a list of some of the great lost bookshops of Brighton:

I discovered Savery Books, at Fiveways, in my second year of university. The shop was a converted house, with shelves on every available section of wall space. Both floors were full of cheap books on every subject you needed. It's probably the best bookshop I've ever visited, and its closure was a tragedy. I think Savery Books are still in business, but the old shop is now a bar.
The Queens Road bookshop always looked chaotic, with books piled everywhere. The huge windows at the front displayed what looked like a landslide of books, hopelessly disordered. Many visitors were overwhelmed by the task of finding what they wanted among the shelves and stacks. But the owner, who was usually smoking at the front door, would know if he had the book you wanted, and could lead you straight to it. The shop closed suddenly and the owner was said to have vanished.
On the other side of Queen's Road was a smaller bookshop. I think it was connected to the other one and contained the science-fiction and horror section. I spent a lot of time in there chatting with the owner, a friendly American man. I've no idea what happened to him.
The Komedia was built on the site of the old Jubilee Market. This was a wonderful place, like a nursery for shops – Reservoir Frogs was one of the stalls that graduated to its own premises. Downstairs was a warren-like space filled with more stalls, including Jabba's Hut. This sold old toys, games and comic books. To some people, Jabba's Hut might have seemed filled with tat, but the shop contained some fantastic treasures. It was the most comic-shop-like comic shop I've ever been in.
Unicorn Books was open between 1967 and 1973, before I was born. Unicorn Books was famous for being involved in an obscenity trial in 1968 for publishing the JG Ballard booklet Why I want to fuck Ronald Reagan. The trial resulted in significant costs and fines for the bookshop's owner, Bill Butler, eventually resulting in the shop's closure. The linked article makes it sound like a bookshop I would have loved.

Sadly my Drif's Guides from the 90's are in storage, so I can't check to see if there are any obvious ones I've missed. Please leave a comment if you can think of some.

Nowadays I don't have enough time to read to justify the trawls I would make as a teenager. I remember feeling overworked during my A-levels, but somehow managed to read an amount that amazes me. Still, I really should take the opportunity to tour Brighton's current bookshops.

Glue Gun ’91 Election Special

Two days to go! This Thursday sees the Glue Gun '91 Election Special. It's likely to be an amazing night "Spin! Swingometers! Sleaze! Education! Education! Education! Life! Death! Prizes! Surprise guests! Party politics!". It's even been endorsed by John Prescott.

Sadly, being in Derbyshire, I won't be able to make Glue Gun '91. Instead I will be at an election party in Leicester, where we'll toast or commiserate the results with drinks in the party colours. I have, however, written a short piece for the handout with my friend Umberto Thwaites, 'The Secret World of Elections'.

The night is absolutely free and starts at 8:30pm sharp – but I'd get there early if I were you as it may be packed.

The latest new genre

Yesterday I was buying presents in Waterstone's Derby and saw this display:

It had never occurred to me that there was an entire genre of pet biography. Some days I feel incredibly out of touch.

The Campaign for Real Fear

I'm very excited today, because a story I wrote, In the Night Supermarket… has been selected by the Campaign for Real Fear following their recent competition.

The Campaign for Real Fear is run by Maura McHugh and Christopher Fowler. The Campaign began with a blog post by Maura, Horror Wants Women to Scream But Not Talk, about a recently released collection of interviews with horror writers which contained only men. In addition to attacking such maginalisation of women in horror, the Campaign wants "diversity in themes, characters and monsters. It’s time to promote a twenty-first century horror sensibility, one that explores what scares us most in our rapidly changing world."

While I'm delighted to be selected, I'm equally looking forward to reading the other entries. Writing in the last issue of Black Static, Christopher Fowler said "…we hope it will eventually lead, as it did in the heady experimentalism of the 1960s, to new writing and a fresh perspective".

As I teenager I loved horror writing. Not for the gore, but because writers like Clive Barker did things with words and stories I'd not seen before. I spent long afternoons digesting anthologies, excited by the techniques used and the possibilities of what writing could do. I love the idea of experimental horror writing, and I've been playing with that idea a lot since submitting my entry. What would New Worlds horror be like?

Initially there ten stories were going to be selected, but this has been expanded to twenty. The stories will appear as podcasts from Action Audio, as well as being printed in the next two issues of Black Static.

Buying books in India

Books are one of the most important aspects of travelling. The Lonely Planet's guide to India makes sure to list the main bookshops for each town. In fact, one advantage of carrying a book as large as the Lonely Planet India (1200 pages) is that one always has emergency reading material.

Having time to read was one of the best things about India. I read dozens of books during my travels (what else are you going to do on a 31 hour train journey?) I visited bookshops ranging from plush Borders-style places a to shelf in a cafe. My favourites were probably the Full Circle Bookshop in Delhi's Khan Market (the cafe, while overpriced, was a good place to relax) and the shelf in Sonam's kitchen in Darjeeling. The photograph above shows Jodhpur's Krishna Book Depot, which had the feel of an old-fashioned English secondhand bookshop.

The books I read were decided by the stock in the shops and those I found in guest-houses – basically books sold in airports and the sort of books that interest travellers. Certain writers turned up everywhere, such as Howard Marks, Paul Coehlo and Salman Rushdie. Haruki Murakami and Milan Kundera were also well-represented. Occasionally you'd see a book that looked marooned, out of place among the others. An example of this was Piers Morgan's celebrity diaries, which I found in Jaisalmer (a fun read, but not as good as the first volume).

Sometimes, when supplies of fresh literature run low, one faces difficult choices. At Ajmer I was down to my last book and, faced with a poor selection, considered buying a copy of the third volume of Lord Archer's prison diaries. I was saved by a visit to Pushkar, which had several good bookshops.

I re-read Lord of the Rings and discovered it was a far, far better book than I remembered. However, revisiting the book while travelling made some shortcomings obvious – Tolkien mentions neither hand sanitizer nor digestive issues. These are notable omissions for what is, effectively, a book about backpacking.

I also read my way through the whole of Stephen King's Dark Tower sequence. I'd read the first half of it in the 90s and when I came across the whole series in a bookshop decided to read the entire thing. The seven Dark Tower books run to about 3,900 pages. It wasn't terrible, but Tolkien managed a far deeper saga with much less fuss.

While in Bikaner I found a copy of Extremely Loud and Incredibly
Close by Jonathan Safran Foer. This was one of the best books I've read
in years. As delighted as I was by the novel, I was also vexed. How
come no-one raved at me about this book? If I'd not found it in a
guest-house, huddling next to a couple of Ludlum thrillers, I might never
have read it. I now worry that there other modern classics I've missed.

Travelling in India

An old friend once said that you only need to return from a holiday with three stories, whether you're away for two days or two months. After three stories the conversation will drift, or people will change the subject.

(This same friend once pretended to be on holiday so they'd have a week to themselves. It meant they had to keep the lights off at night but they thought it was worth it. Although, looking back, if they were devious enough to think about faking a holiday, how do I know they weren't faking that they'd faked a holiday?)

I've made more than three posts about India, so I hope I've not tried anyone's patience. There are just a couple of posts left now. One is about bookshops, and the other, this one, is a collection of thoughts about my holiday. Hopefully they'll come in useful to someone:

Delhi is a fairly intense introduction to India. Fresh-faced tourists can be easy prey for scammers and touts. Fortunately the Lonely Planet did a great job in warning me what I was likely to face. It did feel, at times, like every person who spoke to me in Delhi was a petty cheat of some type. The touts lie and give false directions, anything to take you to a place where they get commission. The cynicism of Delhi's tourism can make one wary about people met in other places, which is a shame. India Mike has a great thread on How to handle touts. One commenter reminds readers that, while touts might be annoying, none of them is ever likely to have the opportunity tourists have to fly around the world.
Delhi, and Parahganj in particular, might be busy and noisy – but
the German couple wearing blue facemasks and earplugs were probably
overdoing it. If you feel you need to wear a surgical mask on holiday,
you'd be better off staying home.
It took some time to get used to the constant touts. No sight was sufficiently sacred that there wasn't someone
intrusively selling souvenirs or trying to make commissions. It was like real world spam: change money? want smoke? cigarette? need rickshaw?
I hated the banal conversations the touts started before they made their pitch.
The most hassle I received was in Khajuraho, which I think was having a quiet spell. It seemed to be one tout to every tourist, and sometimes felt as if the rickshaw drivers were 24 hours from physically forcing visitors to take rides. One man shouted furiously every time I passed him on foot. I did end up hiring one guy who offered me a ride in his 'helicopter'. It looked like a normal cycle-rickshaw, but it was a very cheap helicopter ride.
Weirdly there seemed to be little correlation between hotel price and quality in the places I stayed. The best hotels I used cost about 400Rs (about £6) and the worse was around 1200Rs (about £17). The cheapest I stayed in, at 250 Rupees (£3.50), was described in the Lonely Planet as 'tolerably clean'. This was not true, and was the first time I left a toilet cleaner after using it.
One of my favourite things was travelling by train. I made some epic rail journeys, and loved sitting at the window watching the landscape pass by. The overnight trains were great: cheaper than a hotel, you would leave one town and wake in a whole new location. At their best you were gently rocked to sleep, although I had some long, sweaty, sleepless nights where I couldn't settle. It didn't help that some of the passengers were very noisy. I feel bad about the person playing minimalist jazz at midnight on one train, who received a rather curt request to turn it off.
Most of the trains I took were on time, but when there were delays they were substantial. While I was away one the the BBC World Service's main news items was about delays on the Eurostar. Apparently these had been quite long, sometimes "up to six hours". I was underwhelmed by this.

A difficult journey to Darjeeling

Darjeeling is a beautiful town 2,000 meters above sea level. I had the best Chinese meal of my life here, and watched an incredible sun-rise from Tiger Hill. The town was cold, but the friendly people more than made up for that. I'm glad I liked Darjeeling so much, because reaching the town was hard work.

Travel in India was generally fairly good. Since I wasn't on a tight budget, I didn't have to take the cheapest option for everything. This meant my stay was more comfortable than that enjoyed by friends who went as students. I did, however, have one nightmare journey.

My Dad came out to India to join me for a couple of weeks. Before coming out, he booked train tickets from Varanasi to Darjeeling. The trip would take about 48 hours in total, with an overnight break in the middle. We would leave Varanasi at 3:30pm on day 1, have a two hour wait in Bihar, then take an overnight train to New Jalpaguri, arriving early on day 2. After a night in a hotel we would take the world famous toy train to Darjeeling. This final stage was a seven hour ride through incredible scenery before we arrived at Darjeeling, a little over two days after leaving Varanasi.

We spent the morning before the journey in Sarnath, where the Buddha preached his first sermon. It was a pleasant excursion after which we returned to Varanasi, picked up our luggage and went to the station.

As soon as we reached Varanasi Station our plans began falling apart. Our train wasn't on the departure boards and no-one could tell us when it would be leaving. It soon became obvious that we had no chance of making our connection in Patna. We booked another ticket, a sleeper that would leave the following day, around the time when we should have been arriving in New Jalpaguri.

We left Varanasi after a 7 hour wait. Waiting on any train station is a drag. In Varanasi we had several persistent beggars to deal with, as well as running between platforms, chasing rumours of our train. We finally arrived in Patna around 5am.

The Lonely Planet says that Patna has 'only a handful of worthwhile sites'. It's not a place that tourists generally visit. When we arrived it was still dark. Sleeping people lay everywhere in the station. We looked for the retiring rooms but they were full so we decided to find a hotel. It was about 9 hours until our train to New Jalpaguri and all hope of a relaxed journey to Darjeeling were gone.

We took a taxi to the city's main hotel, but couldn't find any way into the grounds. The neighbouring hotel had space, but £70 seemed a little steep for 9 hours. We had a taxi drop us in an area with three hotels, all of which were full. We were then stranded at the side of a road, dawn fast approaching, with nowhere to stay. Half a dozen cycle rickshaw drivers waited for us, hoping for a fare. We called the remaining hotels in the Lonely Planet, but they were all full. We were stood on a roadside with no idea where to go.

We were about to return to the incredibly expensive hotel when a man approached and asked if we were looking for a hotel. We were indeed. Tired as we were, dealing with a tout wasn't a problem. We followed him, keeping an eye on our surroundings just in case.

The man led us to a hotel where, for the price of 800 rupees, we could have a room until lunchtime. It wasn't too bad a room either, compared to some we'd had. I'd expected the man to stay around and ask for a tip, or to wait in the hotel for a commission, but he left as soon as we were in the building. We were incredibly grateful to him.

While the accommodation standards were OK, the hotel staff themselves seemed to be trained at the Basil Fawlty School of Hospitality. All we wanted was to sleep for six hours and leave. But there were a constant stream of interruptions: could I come down and pay an advance?; could they borrow our passports to take copies?; would we like towels? About ten, after a couple of hours sleep, we were woken once more: would we like our bin emptied?

Sometimes, being gracious and polite is hard work.

About midday we returned to Patna station. Dad and I took a cycle rickshaw through the drizzly city, which rekindled my spirit of adventure. It died once more at the station, where we waited and waited. The four hour window for our connection at New Jalpaguri began to look shaky. We met another couple of travelers on the platforms, the only other tourists we'd seen in Patna. Trains came and went, with no clue to whether they were ours. We realised that most of them were local trains, and eventually found our own one.

We were traveling from Patna in sleeper class which was busy and hectic. Beggars and hawkers wandered through the carriage at each station. Other passengers listened to music on their mobiles. We got little sleep. We finally arrived at New Jalpaguri around thirty minutes after the toy train should have left. It looked as if the train hadn't departed, but the idea of another seven hours train travel was too much - even on one of the world's greatest train lines. Instead we hired a jeep to take us to Darjeeling, the last stage of our journey.

One of the interesting things about travel is that the frustrations are an integral part of it. Admittedly, our misadventure in Patna was less trying than many of the things than some of the things people I know have. And, while I'd never have chosen to have the journey we had, it was endurable moment by moment. Even a patch of station floor can be restful – it's more about attitude than situation.

As soon as we drove off in the jeep the trials of our journey was behind us. We passed quiet forests and tea plantations on our way to the foothills. From there we rose higher and higher, incredible views opening out below us (as well us steep drops beside us). I think the mountains around Kurseong and Darjeeling are some of the most beautiful sights I've ever seen.

As soon as we reached our hotel in Darjeeling, all our problems disappeared. We stayed in the Hotel Tranquility whose rooms had stunning views. It was a long journey, but I'm glad we went.

The i360 and the West Pier demolition

The saddest thing about returning to Brighton recently was seeing the effects of the official vandalism of the West Pier. Back in February the bulldozers were sent in to remove the wreckage nearest to the shore. The first I learned of this was when my Dad joined me in India. He'd been given the day's Times newspaper on the flight. Inside was a photograph of the demolition, which currently appears on the West Pier Trust site, a page crowing Removal of the Concert Hall Attracts Media Interest.

Richard Willis recently wrote a good post on the West Pier,
listing some of the reasons why this demolition was a travesty. He argues about the
beauty of the ruins; their iconic status; nostalgia; and their place in English
culture. It's a good, passionate piece of writing.

I personally thought the ruins were beautiful. At low tide it was
possible to stand inside the ruined dome. It was a strange, sad space, the wreckage draped with seaweed. Being inside this structure, normally submerged by the tides, was a powerful experience. This has now been denied to everyone.

Rachel Clark, chief executive of the West Pier Trust was quoted in the Argus (West-pier clean-up operation begins, 2nd Feb 2010) as saying: "For the last couple of years the concert hall has been resting on the sea bed and it has been quite dangerous. People could climb on it and we would be liable if they got hurt." I'm not sure why this had suddenly become an issue, when the ruins had been in their current position for years. I certainly never saw anyone
trying to climb the wreckage. I also wonder if another solution could have been found rather than removing the remains of the concert hall.

In the West Pier Trust statement on the demolition on January 31st, the Trust was "pleased to announce that the collapsed remains of the Concert Hall will be removed during the next two weeks", and that this demolition was "a requirement of the i360 planning permission and has the full support of Brighton & Hove City Council and English Heritage". The implication being that the old West Pier is being exchanged for the new i360.

What's interesting is that while the West Pier remains were being removed, the i360's problems were continuing. A BBC website article on problems with the Brighton O and i360 (4th February 2010) announced that "The i360 viewing tower, due to be built near the remains of the West Pier, still needs a sponsor." David Marks, representing Marks-Barfield architects, said that the project was short of cash: "We have got most of the money in place. We have made the significant investment in the project and this year, now that we are coming to the end of the recession, we are hoping to finalise the funding and get on with it."

Which makes you wonder why the demolition work was done now. The i360 is a troubled project. Take this Argus article from July 2008, when the project hit an early delay, with a Marks-Barfield spokesperson saying "We remain very optimistic it will be open by Spring 2010." In November 2008, the Argus reported that Marks-Barfield "haven’t quite got the full funding together but they are ready to go as soon as they can". I have several projects ready to go, except for the money, but it doesn't mean they're likely to happen.

The original planning permission was granted for three years. According to the Argus in October 2009, "In June the company admitted it needed another £20million. Planning permission for the i360 is due to expire on October 25 so work will need to start before that date. Geoff Lockwood, deputy chairman of the West Pier Trust, said: “Planning permission won't expire as next week they're starting to do the piling work." A statement from David Marks, from Marks Barfield, said: "This is a short piece of preparatory work."

All we have to show for the project that replaces the West Pier ruins is a "a short piece of preparatory work". According to an October 2009 article in SkyScraperNews.com, Prep-Work Begins On i360, "Once
construction work does start on site, the issue of renewing planning
permission becomes moot whilst there are few rules on how quickly they
have to build the scheme meaning that they can do work at the speed the
lack of full funding allows."

So the work for the i360 is progressing slowly, just quick enough to maintain the planning permission. The current aim is that the i360 will open in time for the 2012 London Olympics. Arriseme on the Argus comments quipped: "I look forward to attending the opening of the i360 in 2012. I shall, of course, be arriving via the seafront monorail that by then will link the Black Rock mini-stadium with the Gehry Towers."

While I prefer to now-demolished ruins of the pier to the i360, I'm not against the i360. In a Telegraph interview with the architects (August 2006), Marks-Barfield make a strong case for the construction of the tower. They speak about their inspirations, which include a Victorian account of a hot-air balloon ride over London (reminiscent of the tethered hot-air balloon that used to be in St Anne's Well gardens, commemorated in this postcard).

The i360 is described as a "vertical pier". In addition, "As part of the plans for the new tower, the old Victorian toll booths will be restored, the beach will be cleaned up and a heritage museum put in place. The trust might also have enough left over to help fund new planning applications and funding bids to build a new West Pier, after years of disappointments."

The i360 won't save the West Pier, but it may evoke some of its charm. But if I had to choose between the ruins of the West Pier and the i360, I'd choose the ruins. There was a unique charm to those, and it's a shame to remove them for a project that looks like it will never happen.

Brighton Street Art

One of the things I miss when I'm away from Brighton is the street art. I'm currently in Melbourne, a small market town of 5,000 souls, which barely even has any taggers. I miss walking down back-streets and stopping dead on encountering something like this:

You can find this in the alleyway between the Old Music Library/Prescription Gallery and the Prince Regents swimming baths.