We had two viewings on our place last night, the same day it went on the market. I was present for the second viewing, while chopping garlic for a Cinco de Mayo dinner. The smell of fresh garlic must have been inviting to the young couple having a browse, since they only lingered about three minutes before ejecting themselves out the door.

I don’t know whether it was my garlic or my flat but I felt slightly offended. If you are going to come into my home then you damn well better sit down and enjoy it!

One line that is used in the advert is “early internal viewing is highly recommended”. For some reason it made me think of a doctor standing outside, holding a speculum.

We went to Devil’s Dyke today. While standing at the top and watching some ambivalent hang-gliders that were too timid to jump, we spotted a field of wild mustard in the distance. Immediately, an agenda was mapped out and we set off in that direction. On our way, we stopped somewhere a bit more sombre.

The footpath we chose, which clearly was the incorrect one, emptied onto a winding residential street. We saw a church around the bend. Jackpot.

My iPhone’s GPS quickly told us we were near Poynings and the church that we were looking at was called The Holy Trinity. Next door was a cemetery and I was surprised to see this Remembrance Wall.

I have been to loads of cemeteries, even forgotten ones tucked into tiny little towns, but have never come across something like this. Were the bodies buried elsewhere and the placards were hung to remember them a bit more locally? Were the bodies plum snatched out of their plots at night? Dunno.

We never did find the mustard but we found out a lot about the dead folks of Poynings.

Until I can get out another dispatch, here is last night’s lovely sunset, as seen from the beaches of Hove.

Having walked almost 2 miles from Alfriston on the shoulder of the road and, in some stretches, on the road itself, this cart of books was like seeing an oasis. Especially since we had to wait 30 minutes for our train.

Now I like doing things the easy way just as much as the next person, but is it wrong for me to be stunned that someone would just leave this cart parked in the middle of nowhere?

I picked up two books: Natural Disasters, which has the inscription “To Robbie from Aunt Ca Janie” and Then We Came to the End, which is about “sitting all morning next to someone you cross the road to avoid at lunch.”

My £1 went to the Parkinson’s Foundation.

One thing that may be instantly apparent is that everything on the table is American. Like, imported, from America. That Jif- came over on a Transatlantic flight. The Correll coffee mug- nicked from my parents. The Mrs Butterworth’s and Krusteaz pancakes were direct imports that arrived, via mail, to Brighton this week. Processed corn syrup with a maple flavour atop instant pancake mix (just add water!) never tasted so good.

And that is one thing that is very different here in the UK- everything is so fresh, as if processing plants were places that existed in other countries. The frozen section is tiny in the supermarkets when compared to the behemoth labyrinths in stores such as Meijer. Of course, the iceboxes are much smaller here as well.

This food, wonderful food, was brought to us by the good graces of John’s sisters. The cost of shipping exceeded the cost of the contents within. Straight economics would seem to indicate that this is somehow foolish. But when it comes to Krusteaz and Mrs Butterworth’s, making sure that two boys far from home are well fed really cannot be priced.

I can only the picture the string of motherfuckers! that littered the post office as John’s sister watched the price go up, up, up as the scale digested the full shipping weight of this morning’s breakfast. But price can’t hang with love/sentiment and, even though a diamond ring can be shipped far cheaper, it doesn’t mean it is worth more.

£97 billion on new nuclear weapons and YOU’re going to pay!

As seen from a bus stop in Churchill Square.

Fancy Dress in Camden Market., originally uploaded by daveisnotmyname.

Second floor of Rokit in Camden Market, London.

John and I were thinking of picking up junk store music instruments, for fun. John has considered the synthesizer while I have opted for the banjo. This coincidence of receiving a machine named banjo just seems to validate that the world is ready for a synth-banjo band.

(Pictured above is one of banjo’s neighbours)

OK, the cities are really different, but they are both post-industrial and Manchester does share the same crazy urban fabric and textures that Detroit does. The architecture is stunning- shiny glass next to old brick, abandoned rubbing shoulders with renovated, posh restaurants and hotels whose views are that of street art (graffiti). It has been a long time since I have been to a place where these contrasts hugged each other so tightly.

The city was littered with the same open spaces and misplaced car parks as Detroit. At one corner was hope and, in another, reminders of a funky fresh prosperous past. There was a brand new civic fountain just blocks away where the DVD street above was located. The high street- full of modern buildings and a shopping mall- was packed and I had no need to wait for people to move out of my way to snap photos- there just weren’t any people walking about.

However, one thing that was sprinkled across the city was just people doing it for themselves- small businesses, art, and an awareness that the city was yours to have if you embraced it. That was one nice thing about Detroit- you felt like a pioneer there in the sense that the city was weak enough to nudge and not too strong to suck the life out of you or hold you down on the city’s terms. You could mould it to suit you with a little elbow grease and bravery.

I was only there for an afternoon and an evening and, during that time, I was more fascinated and in love with the city than I ever was with The City. Manchester made me feel at home in a way London never has and, while I like them both, I doubt there is a doorway in London with cartoon characters saying hello to everybody.

Goldfrapp on MUZU

There is something inherently delicious about revenge tales- especially when they involve voodoo dolls, push pins, electrical tape, semi trucks, and phallic rockets.

One Glove, originally uploaded by daveisnotmyname.

I have seen many unpaired gloves over the past couple of weeks, many of which would be a fairly decent match for my knit singlet, but none was as attempting to grab as this one outside of Regent’s Park in London.

i360 Blues., originally uploaded by daveisnotmyname.

The current view from the Upper Promenade does not quite do her justice. Despite recent announcements of setbacks, the fence and construction signs keep yelling at me that, yes, the i360 is actually coming.

Below is a video from the i360 website. Enough has been written about this horrific structure but the gist is this: in the name of economic benefits, the city thinks that adding a space needle to a Victorian seafront is going to somehow march Brighton forward as a bustling 21st century destination. This logic is on the Council’s lips and in the developers’ pockets and I don’t understand how Brighton’s caretakers could have their priorities so disgustingly wrong.

Portsmouth built the colossal Spinnaker Tower in 2005 and, four years later, attendance has dwindled. The tower operator’s response? To add theme park styled attractions to spark renewed interest. Is anyone surprised that no one comes any more or that even more ridiculous measures are needed to ensure these economic benefits stick around? Other than the breathlessness of being so vertically high, there isn’t much to see other than sea, sky, rooftops, and some hills that roll off into the distance. It’s not as if good views of Spain’s topless beaches will be available.

So, if they must build this train wreck, here is what is on my lips. Move its location past the Palace Pier, beyond the historic seaside squares of Kemptown, and let it fall on the other side of that other project with economic benefits, the Brighton Marina. And check this flash of brilliance- why not promote Volk’s Electric Railway, the world’s oldest, by extending the line past its current terminus at the nude beach all the way to the other side of the Marina.

This will not only benefit Volk’s, but it will also benefit the 24 hour Asda megastore that riders will pass by as well as the floating Chinese restaurant, Pagoda. It also gives a good starting point to exploring the cliffs of Saltdean without having to worry about parking.

Hello, Brighton, are you listening? You can pick on her all you want, pretend that you are looking after her best interests, but please just leave the West Pier alone.

Starlings over the West Pier, originally uploaded by howzey.