Tuesday

I went to Brighton - for half the time I was dressed appropriately and very comfortable - the other half I was sweltering. No surprise.

I left the house and cycled down the hill - a loud car horn and wolf whistle drew my eye to three girls walking along Old London Road - they didn't appreciate the attention - "that's fucking disgusting and sexist - fucking cunt" I heard one say. She was about 14, wearing hotpants, a tiny top with huge breasts, bare midriff, absurd hair extensions in a full spectrum of brown to blonde shades and enough slap to sink the Bismark - and she was the soberly dressed one.

I read a discarded copy of The Daily mail on the train - every page had an article about weight loss or middle aged women's bladder failure - the pages were impregnated with self loathing and failure.

Brighton was good, quieter than usual - but people were still over dressed and sitting in pavement cafe's at 11am drinking wine and staring blankly at top-of-the-range laptops, doing nothing. There were quite a few shambling drunk tramps and people sleeping on the street - a few years ago they were probably working in banks and living in flats in Kemp Town. I saw someone I knew - but they had gone totally bald, and someone else I remember as being smug and self important is now working in a bike shop.

The new University quarter and stadium at Falmer is like a new town in itself.

A couple of posh yummy mummy types were letting their toddlers scream and shout on the packed train - one said to the other " oh - isn't he vocal already, you have done well" - I could have punched here... they were not words, that was the mindless gabbling of a spoilt child.

Through the day I bought 2 sandwiches and 2 coffees - cost enough to feed me for 4 days. I always ask for 'filter' coffee and express my irritation when being asked 'is that an Americano' - actually, no - it's just a fucking coffee - the woman at Hastings Station - which is NOT the most sophisticated place on the south coast - insisted on telling me that 'actually, it's not filter - the machine grinds the beans for you' - "I don't care" I replied, stony faced - probably ruining her day and wasting the 4 weeks barista raining she had to endure. I bet the certificate was a photocopy.

On the way back - a girl of about 20 sat opposite - she was very heavily made up and possessed a prize wining bust but still manged to pass a child ticket - she was wearing headphones and her iPod was packed with mindless acid house and thumping disco shite - I could hear it all quite clearly - so her brain must have been soup, she also found it impossible to listen to a whole track, shuffling every 30 seconds. As this is England, and we don't complain - I gritted my teeth - but had already decided that if she was still on the train at Eastbourne - I'd have to stab her eyes out with my Parker Pen - I could have moved, but that would have been admitting defeat - and I would have hated myself. The old woman next to me was pretending to read poetry - but I could hear here clicking her dentures in frustration.

A very tall man with a child got on at Eastbourne - he was covered in facial and body tattoo's - all over his face, head, arms, neck and body - they were terrible, like a very bored 8 year old had drawn all over him with a biro and crossed a lot of them out. When he chatted to his son he was remarkably civil, well spoken and mild mannered. He had a large 'Taz' Tasmanian devil cartoon character on his neck. I could have drawn it better myself from memory.

Just getting my head straight - I have to work late tonight, a piece of work must be completed by 5pm tomorrow - but it pays very well.