Turning right out of my front door, I walked down to Hartington Road. I’m too far down Totland Road to be able to see the views of Hollingbury Camp that can be admired from the top, but I consoled myself with enjoying the rather wonderfully OTT Victorian gothic entrance to “Brighton and Preston Cemetery”. Not only that, but there was a Citroen DS parked opposite at the bottom of Bernard Road. Gold in colour, which is not my favourite colour for a DS, but still rather gorgeous nevertheless.
Next on the left is what I can only describe as a true work of 20th Century genius. On the corner of Hartington and Whippingham Road is, possibly, the world’s shittest-looking hair salon. I’ve never seen it open, which is a shame, because I’d like, one day, to sample the delights of sitting in a cheap plastic chair grouped around a Calor Gas fire while I wait for someone to cut my hair who can, apparently, according to the pictures in the windows, only do styles from around 1984. At least, I’m sure Sharon from off of Eastenders had that kind of do in 1984 anyway. All is not lost, though! A sign in the door proudly claims “Can’t get here? I’ll come to you! (Saturday mornings only)”. I can barely contain myself.
Moving on from here, the excitement only ramps up further as one approaches the bus stop where the mysterious 37b calls on its way to somewhere called Meadowview. I have not, as yet, ascertained where this mythical Meadowview may be, nor why it’s served by a Compass Bus instead of a Brighton and Hove one, but there’s always people on it. Maybe one day I shall throw caution to the wind and leap upon it shouting “TAKE ME TO THIS PARADISE THAT YOU CALL MEADOWVIEW MY GOOD SIR” which is, I believe, the way that one talks to bus drivers. Who knows what glories may lie there? It could be a whole new life.
Steady yourself, though. Hold you hard, as they say in Suffolk, although in a thicker accent than I am prepared to attempt via the medium of type, especially with ladies present. We come now to the Lewes Road itself. Turn left at the aquamarine sign on the alarmingly-named “Skinner’s Funeral Home” and all of life opens up before you. There’s a Turkish shop which I’ve never been in despite a vague nagging sense that everything in there would be better and cheaper than the Co-op, but you wouldn’t get your divi, would you? Got to get your divi. Even if they didn’t bloody pay it out in 2014. If they don’t pay out in 2015, I’m bloody going in the Turkish shop and see if I don’t. Next there’s a Morrisson’s. Not the same down here as in the North, Morrisson’s. The big ones have a good fish counter, but not the small ones, no. This, of course, is a small one. AND they built it on that community garden that some hippies made happen on an old petrol station, so knickers to Morrisson’s. Eschewing that, the Co-op is next door and on your right. Bear in mind that, even if you only popped down for some onions and a loaf of bread, you will still spend at least £20.
The return is an exact copy of the way there, only backwards. I mean, don’t *actually* try walking all the way up Hartington Road backwards or you’ll do yourself a mischief.
Things I Have Learnt 