Beautiful Stranger

I’d booked to go to Brighton only a couple of weeks ago on a last minute “fuck it” impulse. The aim was to see one of my very favourite bands, Turin Brakes, on their new album (Spacehopper) tour, I’d left it to the last minute to get tickets and when I failed to procure them via their Facebook fan page for the Bristol date, I mentioned I’d be up for the Brighton date as my late brother Eric used to live and work in Brighton and it was somewhere I’d never been but always wondered about going. Kerching - a kindly fellow offered me his spare ticket and that was it - Brighton here I come.

I reached out to a former contact, Gregor, who’s helped us on our Co-alc Conference a couple of years ago, who seemed delighted I’d got in touch to meet up. So, with a suitably rated hotel with disabled parking booked, care for Pascal staying behind sorted, and not enough time to ruminate and talk myself out of, I packed my case hastily on Thursday morning and forced myself out the door before I second guessed my spontaneous decision.

New Ground

I took my time driving there after loading my car and actually took a friend’s advice and chose an audio book to listen to for the 4+ hours drive. Kathy Burke’s new biography was a brilliant choice for the long journey there and back, poignant, interesting, authentic and as entertaining and straight talking as she appears on the telly! It was so good that I barely noticed the rush-hour delays on the rammed M25.

I arrived at my seafront hotel about teatime, rolled my trademark bright green suitcase in and checked into my ground floor room. I did my usual sensory sweep of the room, made a cuppa while I unpacked and got myself ready, then rung a taxi to meet Greg at his local put the Joker where he insisted was “the best fried chicken in town”. He wasn’t wrong, it was spicy, crispy, juicy and indecently good. But the conversation was the real feast; easy and fast flowing as if we were great old pals, definitely on the same wavelength, perhaps it was due to our comparative ADHD brains, or the prosecco I’d decided to drink but at 200mph our dialogue covered some pretty deep topics. From creative ideas, to philosophy and hopefully allaying worries he’d been carrying since participating in the conference panel - we delved in to each of our soul driven discoveries and the unspoken relief of being around someone who just gets it.

It was an insightful and lovely reunion that I hope we’ll be able to reconnect in a future meeting, ending with me being unceremoniously shoved in to a rather inappropriate taxi van for my useless knees, and driven back to my hotel and finally stumbling into the sumptuous king-size bed which I now had all to myself.

That Friday Feeling

It’s not a real holiday break without a blissful lie in which I managed with a only a little sweaty hangover. Showered, dressed and up and out for little mooch about this strange new town I was in. I drove along the prom with the sea beside me like an old friend. No plans - just freedom. Leisurely taking in the looming hotels and distinctive Victorian architecture, some with their cute little squares. Windows down, I could feel the cool sea air and the expanse of calm glassy sea. I was lucky with the weather as it was bright and clear with scant rain spots as opposed to storm Claudia which was wreaking havoc back in South Wales. I noticed the Grand Hotel which was infamously bombed during Maggie’s Thatcher’s residence there for a Tory Conference over 40 years ago, and the sad ‘boney’ remains of the West Pier and then onwards past the bustling Palace Pier in it’s working glory with it’s vintage fairground rides and bright decorative lights.

Brighton feels like a beautiful stranger who instantly becomes familiar. Reminding me of various fragments of my past, sometimes of my beloved Douglas promenade and other times of gale-infused blustery moments of Blackpool way back when, and snippets here and there of Yorkshire’s Scarborough, Brid and Whitby. The seaside always makes me feel like I’m home somehow. I stopped to take some pix and would have loved to pick up a couple of stones from the beautiful stoney red-fox coloured pebble beach but I wasn’t sure if I had managed to get through the old Victorian railings, if my knees would allow me back in one piece so just took what I could in with my eyes. I wandered like I belonged there, drove down by the Marina and filled up my tank then decided to venture into town.

I didn’t put my sat nav on, instead just kept driving round and found myself on an interesting street with a car park where there were some nice little boutique style shops. I parked up and I got my chariot out deciding no-one knew me and I’d probably enjoy myself more if not in pain and was surprised to find myself right in the middle of the Lanes where Greg had mentioned last night. I think actually the Lanes had found me, with their bohemian temptations, art everywhere. People who look like they’ve escaped from novels, films, and dreams. Oh and the shops, my god, so many cute and quirky shops like I’d found my forever destination, my only drawback (or salvation?) being my lack of disposable funds!

I mooched for hours, stopping to take photos, noticing colour, noticing beauty, noticing myself. No idea where I was going, just instinctively following my own unplanned path. In those small, quiet moments I remembered who I am when I’m not bending for other people; spontaneous, curious, independent, capable, happy in my own pace and I loved it. I didn’t shrink back from my inner negative voice reminding me that I was on my own, instead I kept going and dissolved my mind chatter into the wonder and appreciation of all these amazing glimmers. I stopped only to grab food in a conveniently ramped Five Guys burger place - I’d been meaning to try one of these since Cole raved about them last year. I’d not eaten all day so I mindfully consumed every mouthful while checking the bag of random Christmas presses I’d bought in a fab little home/kitchen accessory shop.

By the time I left the cafe the daylight had become dusk and the town’s Christmas decorations had started to light up the streets. So I had one last little lap down one of the streets I hadn’t ventured to, then loaded up the car and returned back to the hotel with heart and tummy full. I was tired in that delicious, sensory-overloaded way and made a cuppa and chilled out on the bed and my worn out brain started whispering,

“Maybe stay in tonight…”

Concorde 2

Thankfully a new friend I’d made from the Turin Brakes fan group had messaged asking where I was. That was all I needed. A nudge, a spark, a reason. I threw myself together and headed down to the unusually named famous venue, where lovely Tom Speight had already taken to the stage in a suitably gentle, melodic, warm up. I asked for a seat for my old knees and was directed down to the front, right by the stage and handed a tall stool, giving me one of the best vantage spots I can ever remember having at any venue. My new friend came over during the interval and introduced herself, lovely as anything, and returned to her spot at the barrier. I stayed on my little throne. Perfect view. Perfect timing. Perfect energy.

Honestly, it felt like a cosmic wink. And then at last, the boys came on. Turin Brakes have this unassuming brilliance; no ego, no theatrics, just music that feels like honesty, hope, melancholy, and craft all woven together. They’re criminally underrated.Which somehow makes loving them feel even more personal. Every song curated with care opening up with Pays to Be Paranoid followed by beautifully reminiscent Spacehopper from the same-named most recent album and then interwoven beauties from their back catalogue Future Boy, Average Man, World Like That and everyone’s favourite Emergency 72 amongst many others that just seemed to ebb and flow with a gentle ferocity. A brilliantly funky rendition of Fishing for a Dream that had the lovable Eddie channelling his inner Nile Rogers in sync with the many disco balls on the ceiling.

Then from the yearning familiar lines from Underdog seamlessly morphed into my favourite track from the new album and what I’d waited to hear all night came What’s Underneath. The song builds slowly and creeps up on you, then pulls you in like a mighty soaring eagle - my entire body was tingling with goosebumps and as if it couldn’t get any more ethereal, Gale stepped up on to a speaker box right in front of me and played the shit out of the his solo, not showing off, but in his usual soul-tearing, heart-cracking, time-stopping way. Every note was a spark and it went through my body like electricity. I swear I left my physical body for a moment - it was the moment I’d unknowingly been waiting for all night. Holy shit balls. I could have left then and there, totally spent and ecstatic but the crowd were eating out of their talented hands and eventually they finally said goodnight after two encores which I think were 3 or 4 songs later.

Gale's force to be reckoned with!

WOW every molecule of my being felt alive and fulfilled. Overcoming my own anxiety and negative inner thoughts to sit on my own in this strange place and feel like I finally knew I was in the right place in the right mind. I realised something simple and huge: I did this, I brought myself here, I showed up for myself - was this what self-love actually felt like?

And Brighton, this beautiful stranger of a city showed up right back.