Strawberries.

We love Strawberries. Before crossing the channel, we were eating fruit from Lincolnshire and Scotland; both were totally delicious.

Here they are grown more locally, some even in our own 'abandoned' garden; Haddock's. I have to search around beneath the overgrowth of weeds etc, but there they are by the hundred.

A bowl of Strawberries, a dollop of cream, and maybe a sprinkle of sugar; What could be better?

Who doesn't like Strawberries!

p.s. My neighbour José has just offered me a tree-full of Cherries. I shall go a-scrumping this afternoon.

 

Back to the old Routine.

We have plenty of Artichokes, Strawberries, Cherries, and Sunshine; and the pool is open and awaiting its first swimmers.

We also have LOTS of GRASS, and are hoping for our nice neighbour Claude to come by with his tractor to mow.

Of our two ride-on mowers, Rory started at once but needs the blades changing, and Reg' refuses to start. I'll have to get 'our man' in to pass his magic wand over them. Trying to cut a couple of acres of metre high grass with a pair of nail scissors ain't going to work

The pool thermometer says 18 C, but we'll have a swim anyway. Outside it's 24 C in the shade; and I always prefer to get out of the water into hot sunshine, rather than to swim in warmer water without sun.

Oh, and I nearly forgot. Half the house has no electricity; no doubt a short circuit somewhere. Can't find our Electrician yet; he may have gone on holiday. I'll try calling him again today. 

And 'YES'; here (below) is Claude with his tractor cutting the grass. We still have some wonderful neighbours; really good old friends who we've known for almost 50 years, and with whom we've grown-up. It's such a shame that some of the newcomers are such shits an odd bunch!

p.s. My swim lasted just two lengths; it was bloody freezing. Cold again this morning (4.45am), so the water will need to warm-up again. I'll break the ice again later this afternoon.

Who doesn't love a good wedding?

American royalty Kourtney Kardashian and the heavily inked Travis Barker have just married in Italy.

Classy or what! Her in a longish white corset, and him swigging cheap fizz from a bottle. The wedding pix will be highly prized on the mantlepiece.

Yo Bro (or something like that). Fings ain't wot they used to be!

 

Donbas

I've noticed that people talk less and less about The Russian war against Ukraine.

Prior to a few months ago, the area of Ukraine known as Donbas was probably unknown to most of us. Now however, thanks to Putin, it has become a byword for destruction and genocide; for which he must  eventually pay the price.

The Donbas region is (was) a major historical, cultural, and economic region of South Eastern Ukraine, it borders Russia to the North, the East, and the South East. 

President Zelensky has now declared the region totally destroyed. Putin's troops have thrown their all at the area; having mostly failed elsewhere.

The question must surely be; now that the Russians have made the area unliveable-in, and destroyed every vestige of industry, and agriculture, WHAT DO THEY INTEND TO DO WITH IT?

Will they unfold their deckchairs and admire their newly conquered land? Will they spend a fortune rebuilding it all? Or will they simply go home and count the cost of their losses during its destruction?

So well done lads. You've slaughtered, tortured, and reeked havoc, and you have now gained a vast area of 'scorched-earth-policy' land. You must all be feeling very proud of yourselves.

The stage is set.

The Lord Chamberlain's Men will give three performances of Shakespeare's 'As You Like It' in our nearby park.

The sets are small, yet practical. The acting always good. And if my online Meteo page is correct, the weather should be perfect for an outdoor production.

The LCM are a travelling troupe, and they perform all over. Below was taken from a recent production of Macbeth in Holland.

 

Unfortunately we are unable to attend, but we shall be there in spirit. 'As You Like It' is an apt play for today's woke UK. As you know, the 'gender-fluid' Rosalind first dresses as a boy, then changes back to a girl before marrying the handsome Orlando at the end.

Break a leg boys and girls.

Prices

I must admit that I haven't really noticed, but I'm reliably informed that everything is going to get much more expensive, and in many cases already has.

Maybe I have subconsciously shopped slightly more wisely than usual, but I've easily been able to stick to my sub £100 weekly spending on food and wine.

Being the cook of the house (which I enjoy) I am able to keep tight reins on my spending, and stick to meals that are both reasonably priced and tasty. I don't buy pre-prepared meals, or takeaways, and I cook from scratch every day.

As long as food continues to be available, and we are not obliged to drink from ditches or eat our pets, I for one shall now be reducing my spending, eating veggie more often, and trying to economise. There is great pleasure in producing really good tasty meals for little money; I recommend it to everyone. 

 

Capellini alla Checca

The older I get, the less I like heavy sauces of any sort. I much prefer a plain steak with just a simple salad, a dry curry to one drowning in sauce, and with Pasta I far prefer the simplest of flavourings to a dish swimming in a gallon of liquid tomato.

This Pasta dish is a classic example. Very few ingredients, an amazingly simple process, and a maximum of flavour. If you're a Pasta fan and you don't follow this recipe; I shall want to know why!

Personally I would use Spaghetti rather than Capellini.

Poem in an unknown language, from December 2014

To be read aloud!

Trendla trendla yarna hoo

Somtery ayrabel larding too.

Pemanbello ansenfellow trandly-ing

Mantargo lullingberry tinage fing.

Manso manso tuttelmust fardo

Wizzing trizzing diddledum lardo.

Armay frindig ootoom atch

Sandog Trattleditch tiddledin snatch.

© Cro Magnon Dec' 2014

Above the Crypts.

                                        

In the 'Rest Garden' where I take Billy for his walks, there is a row of Crypts, above which is a raised 'fly-over' pathway.

I rarely take this little path that is in fact the roof of the row of Crypts underneath, but yesterday morning I was lured by the amazing perfume from the red and yellow Roses that grow beneath the tall, South facing, flint wall. The Red ones were magnificent, but the yellow ones even better.

The path is quite short and contains a couple of benches, for if one is looking for solitude away from all the exercising dogs on the grassy area below.

I suspect that this is its best season. I was quite surprised to see how beautiful it is. Everything that flowers was in flower, and it was stunning. Here (below) you can see the row of pinnacles that feature in the first photo. 

The benches do attract a few overnight sleepers, but I haven't seen any for a while. When I was there yesterday, I was totally alone. Lovely.

Billy was never too keen on going up the steps, but he seems fine about it now. I expect he simply preferred to stay on the grass to play with his chums.

The garden is tended by a group of local volunteers. I may offer my services this Autumn.

 

Online Weather.

This (below) is my online weather forecast page; you might possibly use the same service, or at least something very similar.

It tells me just about everything I need to know about the day's weather, as well as plenty of stuff I really don't need to know.

It tells me about the UV index, the hours of Sunrise and Sunset, the Dew point, Barometer readings, and all sorts of other things. 

But from my personal point of view, it misses-out on possibly the most important piece of advice; and that is WHAT TO WEAR.

Ever since I can remember I have been completely useless at equating clothing with weather. On hot days I will be sweltering under several layers of ice-breaking South pole insulated coats, and on cold days I venture out in shorts and T shirt. I simply get it wrong. Occasionally I ask advice from 'she who knows everything', but my question is usually greeted by some flippant comment about going outdoors to look for myself.

What I really need is this....

5C, light rain.... Raincoat, hat, umbrella, gloves, scarf, wet weather shoes.

32C, sunny.... Shorts, T shirt, espadrilles. 

Surely this wouldn't be too hard for them to set-up.

 

Things; in no particular order.

Firstly I had a very pleasant surprise yesterday. I received a really lovely card from the mother of the girl who's bag I found a couple of days ago. Wasn't that nice of her; and totally unexpected.

At long last we've had some reasonably serious rain. We also had two nights of gentle thunder and lightning, and everything is looking refreshed. 

It is actually raining as I write, so I've donned my new Barbour and dinky matching rain hat, and ventured out down to Boots for my prescription. I'm pleased to say that the new Barbour was put to task, and is extremely efficient, which is more than I can say for Boots. If you are a shareholder of the USA Co that is buying Boots; sell now.

My oldest (Kimbo) is in Venice. He's having fun touring around Italy, it's his favourite country and he loves the food. He deserves a break; he works too hard.

Yesterday I picked-up my car from the 'garage'. They put a new clutch in for me, which took about four times as long as promised.

My mechanic in France, the wonderful Monsieur B, is one of those old fashioned types who seems to live in a permanent mess, but knows exactly where everything is. His workshop is about twice the size of the one below, but he never has more than two cars in it at any time.

What you can't see in the photo of my garage, below, was another four cars round to the left that were literally stuffed-in nose to tail, and being worked on. He was working on EIGHT cars. This guy seriously requires bigger premises.

                             

Anyway, all is now done. The Compact Royce no longer makes clanking noises in first and reverse, and changing gear has become an altogether different experience.

The garage boss previously owned a home in France, and wanted to tell me all about it. I think of myself as a reasonably good listener, but I have my limits. He went on and on and on and on.......

Our heating engineer has just been to make sure our boiler is up to scratch. He says it is.

It's been an extremely busy couple of days.

Why are the Newspapers obsessed?

 

Even in our troubled times, there seem to be three subjects that, above all others, are grabbing the attention of our daily newspapers. Two of which are courtroom 'Dramas'.

Ex-lovebirds Johnny Depp and Amber Heard are at each others throats in the USA, and here in the UK the protagonists are a couple of WAGS (Footballer's Wives and Girlfriends) called Colleen Rooney and Rebekah Vardy.

Depp and Heard are simply an unpleasant pair of spoilt brats who are trying to say who hit who first, with one of them wanting lots on money. And in the UK it's a schoolgirl hair-pulling scrap about who revealed secrets to the press, with one of them wanting lots of money. I cannot tell you any details simply because I find these two courtroom fights as interesting as cold porridge.

What an example to the less privileged outside world. Film actors and footballer's wives spending millions just to prove some pathetic point, about which no-one is the slightest bit interested.

Need I tell you, but their third obsession are that tiresome couple Harry and Mrs Harry, who continue to behave like naughty children. Their main sponsors, Netflix, are apparently making a documentary series about them, filmed at their cottage in California. Yes, they really did quit Britain to avoid the limelight.

All I can say is thank goodness we have the more important members of our Royal Family still doing what they do best, here at home. They all work very hard, meeting, greeting, handing-out gongs, and showing their presence. Charles, William, their wives and a few others continue to do what we expect of them. They are non-political, forward thinking, often ridiculed, but well loved by the huge majority of Brits (and foreigners).

Depp, Heard, Vardy, Rooney, Sussex, and Sussex; are six people we could happily do without. 

Their Lawyers and the press, however, adore them.

So, what happened yesterday?

I was expecting to pick-up my car from the garage yesterday morning, but it'll now be this morning instead (we'll see). She's having a new clutch, and they had to wait for the part to be delivered.

My oldest is in Bologna; no doubt eating lots of Tagliatelle Bolognese.

On returning from an early small shopping trip, I found a woman's bag just a few metres from our house. I took it home, and as I've done before, I immediately tried to locate the owner.  

Inside there was just about everything you really wouldn't want to lose. It contained her passport, her purse containing quite a lot of money, her phone, all her credit cards etc, and all the other paraphernalia that a young lady would carry around with her.

Luckily I found her mother's phone number in the back of her passport, and I called her in Norwich. Then between us we managed to trace the young lady, and eventually she herself traced her belongings by some 'locate my phone' app on her mobile. She knocked on my door about 20 mins after I'd found the bag. It hadn't been stolen; possibly just lost due to over indulgence. 

She was a very nice young lady, and was delighted to be reunited with all her stuff. Luckily she hadn't started to cancel all her cards. She told me that she believed people in Brighton were honest; I'm not too sure that they all are!

Another lovely hot day, with a BBQ in the evening. Never a dull moment.

Banquet.

How life has changed over in France. This photo represents perfectly how things used to be.

I don't recall the occasion of this photo, but I expect it was taken on the evening of a Grape Harvest. Once the grapes were pressed, and the juice poured into the huge oak vats, we would all gather for a 'thank you meal' with the farmer involved. We later moved from farm to farm to do the same.

Monsieur and Madame D (lower left) were our next door neighbours. She was a wonderful cook, and would serve delicious eight or nine course meals at the drop of a hat. Most of what she served had been produced on the farm, including the previous year's wine.

Sadly this way of life has now gone (along with M and Mme D). Their daughter and son-in-law now farm the land, and things couldn't be more different.

There are no longer any vines, no chickens, no ducks, and no pigs. They still grow plenty of fruit and vegs, but the EU has changed just about everything else. This particular family still have a very small herd of beef cattle, but they are the only family nearby that does; and I can't see it lasting.

People were happy. They worked hard, and took pride in what they did. Their lives were ruled by tradition, and that tradition has now faded. No longer do farmers wives produce their own foie gras, confit, and paté; all that is confined to history. And now that farmers spend a much more leisurely existence, their children leave for the big cities. No doubt the farms will eventually be sold to Dutch horse owners. I can't see them being farmed any more (not for a while anyway). 

It was such a lovely way of life. People worked hard, but they enjoyed what they were doing. So much has changed during the past 48 years that we spent in France. A life-style that will never now return.

Scottish tour guide of St Andrews University.

It's exam time in the UK, so I imagine students (pupils) are presently trying to decide which wonderful University to attend; providing of course that they pass enough A Levels (which they all will).

Here is a breakdown of St Andrews University (Scotland), for those who wish to head North.

I don't know who she is, but I really like this wee lassie (Scots for 'young lady').

How to travel in the UK.

The man above is called James Jelly, and he's a football fan.

He wishes to attend a match in London featuring his own team of Sunderland who will be playing against Wycombe Wonderers, in some minor cup final. I hope I've got that right.

James looked at the rail fare and found it to be £260; an inordinate sum. So he looked elsewhere and found that he could fly to Menorca with Ryanair for £12.50, then back to Stansted (London) for £10.50, making a total of £23. A saving of £237. 

Whoever said that 'the world's gone mad' was absolutely right.
 

Who is Lee Anderson, and why do people hate him?

Anderson is a British MP. He was a lifelong Socialist, but switched to the Tories about 4 years ago. Why he is hated is not uncommon these days in the UK; he dared to tell the truth!

He has an interesting history. His father was a coal miner, as was he. He was a Labour councillor for many years, and has worked with the homeless. In other words he knows a bit about life. He's not your average Eton Oxford titled toff which is how The Left like to brand all Tory politicians. He's a 'man of the people' who knows where people's interests lie.

One of his favourite causes is a Food Bank in his Ashfield constituency, which, as well as distributing food, teaches people to prepare very cheap and nutritious meals for their families. He recently claimed that people could prepare good meals for 30p, and of course the 'poverty police' went bananas, and called him every nasty name known to mankind.

His claim is that it's all about education, not unlike the 'give a man a fish and he'll eat for a day, but teach him to catch fish and he'll eat for ever'. And, of course, he's absolutely right. To make your own Pizza at home might cost anything from £1 for four people, but to buy it through a moped delivery service will cost from £15 upwards.  

I suspect that many of the woke dungaree wearing 'poverty police' want 'poverty' to continue. It not only supplies them with well paid social service jobs, but it also serves a good political purpose. To suggest that people could educate themselves out of poverty is obviously going to annoy the hell out of them.

There will always be people who cannot manage their finances, and I hope there will always be those who try to help them, but for heaven's sake lets not shoot the messenger.

 

Haddock's Mark 2.

Haddock's is no longer a veg' garden, it has now become a mowed orchard and fun area. I hope to build a vine covered Pergola there this Summer, and install a decent BBQ.

Meanwhile back in the UK, I still intend to grow Tomatoes. Haddock's 2 is already in place (below), and all the digging and composting completed. I have bought four 'Tumbler' Tomato plants, and with any luck we'll have some Tomatoes later in the year.

My aim is to grow the Toms whilst we're away, and reap the harvest when we return. What could be simpler?

Whether or not that will happen remains to be seen. I think it might depend on the amount of rain-water the plants receive, but I'm anticipating kilos and kilos of wonderful tasty Tomatoes. Knowing what an amazingly dry and mild Winter we've had, I'm anticipating a wet Summer, which would be fine for my plants, if not for tanning on the beach.

Our fingers are collectively crossed! Watch this space.

The Thunder Box.

The ongoing saga of John's loo got me thinking. The house where I grew-up in Surrey had an outdoor loo, but it was specially built for the gardener. My father had designed the house, which was built in around 1953. He thought of everything.

Our present home also has an outside loo (below), but with the size of garden we have, it certainly wasn't built for a gardener.

Personally I would do away with the loo and hand basin and make the little room into a larder, with fridge/freezer, etc, but I am over-ruled.

So, instead of being a practical room that would answer some of our space problems, it remains unused, and filled with junk. It doesn't look too bad at the moment because Lady M has been de-cluttering, but usually it is filled with all sorts of rubbish.

The outside loo is almost a thing of the past. Maybe David Beckham or Wayne Rooney would still have one (or more) for their army of 'ground staff', but otherwise they have little use.

It wasn't so long ago that the outside 'privy' was the only loo in the home; luckily those days are now long gone.

The Death of a Dog.

After having written recently about Dog names, I remembered that I'd written this 'poem' about a month after our Dog 'Bok' (below) died. 

You looked at me with an unusual expression in your eyes,

eyes that said your time had come.

You could no longer run or play with friends

now you just sleep; the joy of life has gone.

We stayed close for your last few days

I stroked your loving face and kept you company

Until there was no more use for the word goodbye.

Your new home is now of earth, amongst your favourite toys and games,

and old friends by your side.

I tend your plot with wetted eyes, and 

spend my hours alone.

The good times have gone, but everywhere we used to walk

your spirit remains.

I miss you more than words can say.

(Jan 2019.)

I still miss him.

Streets of Philadelphia, Kensington Avenue.

I expect most of us have seen these videos, or ones similar to them. You don't need to watch all of it.

It doesn't matter where or when they were taken, such scenes are to be found all over. I don't know exactly what makes these folk act like zombies, but I believe it's usually either Fentanyl or Crack Cocaine.

Fentanyl, like Cocaine or Heroin, is an expensive habit, which can cost the user anywhere between $500 and $1,500 per week (I could only find USA figures). Quite where the money comes from is anyone's guess.

I find looking at these images extremely upsetting. I also find it quite bizarre that no-one seems to care about them. They are simply left to their own devices; in their own mess. They have been abandoned.

Most of us will have, at some time or other, experienced some form of drug; whether it be Hashish, Alcohol, Tobacco, etc; but most of us can't be bothered with it, and stop. Personally I've never been interested in illegal drugs; preferring Beer or Wine to anything bought on a street corner. I also prefer to be in control of my faculties at all times.

But here is the problem. These drug users take their fix specifically to be out-of-control of their faculties. To block out whatever pain life has offered them, and live in a world of fantasy.

I believe that most of the world's Fentanyl comes from China. New synthetic opioids are being created almost daily and shipped to the USA and elsewhere in vast quantities. One figure I read said that there are an average of 37,000 deaths annually from such drugs in the USA alone. By the time I post the above, no doubt some of those in the video will have joined the statistics.

The dealers/manufacturers get rich, whilst the users get sick and die.

HM The Queen.

Her Majesty is much in the news these days as we prepare to celebrate her 70th year on the throne.

Here she is at my old school, with the then Headmaster Hubert Ward, celebrating its 1,000th anniversary. The magazine is dated 1974, but our Millennial year was actually in 1970; the school having been 'officially' founded in 970. Maybe they used the photo again for the 1974 magazine, but I can't think why.

I wasn't there (I left in '64), but everyone said how wonderfully happy she'd looked. I think you can see it in the photo.

H M The Queen is now 96, and her age is sadly preventing her from attending too many regular duties; she even missed Tuesday's State Opening of Parliament.

Hers is a remarkable record, and one of which we should all be extremely proud. It's just a shame that certain younger members of her family are incapable of behaving themselves; especially their unruly wives. 

Gawd bless yer M'aam.

New Pavement

I'm afraid this photo isn't very clear, but I hope you get the idea.

Yesterday our 'People's Republic of Brighton Council' decided that the pavements on both sides of the road, just behind our house, should be lowered to road level in order to make life easier for Mums with pushchairs and the disabled in wheelchairs. 

It used to be said that the likes of Mr Sainsbury, and Messrs Marks and Spencer, would stand on the street to watch where people crossed the road. When they had pinpointed where people mostly crossed, they would then build their stores. Sounds sensible to me.

I think I can honestly say that I've never seen anyone cross the road where these two lowered pavements are. Nor have I seen anyone struggling to cross with a pushchair. People who continue round to the left stay on the left hand side of the road, and those who head downhill to the right do the same. There is absolutely no reason to cross where this new crossing has been positioned.

One really wonders who makes the decisions for such projects. I'm sure some dungaree wearing, green party, feminist, do-gooder, will be feeling very proud of herself for having won some non-existent battle on behalf of the local yummy-mummies, but as far as everyone else is concerned it's a total waste of money. Just a few yards up the road there are potholes that have been waiting for years to be filled (below), but the 'crossing' apparently had priority. 

It's great spending money when it's not your own.

Bons vivants Corses (2) - Gueuleton

Vegetarians may prefer to look away.

Vincent and Arthur are on the second phase of their visit to Corsica; the perfectly named 'Island of Beauty'.

Beautiful landscape, meat, wine, singing, cigars, more meat, and even more meat. However, my favourite Corsican speciality, Figatelli (a dried Pork sausage with about 35% liver), doesn't get a mention. Maybe it was lauded in Part 1; I think it was. If this short video is anything to go by, Corsica is surely worth a visit.

Russian TV threatens 'UK's nuclear annihilation.

Yesterday (May 9th) was Russia's 'Victory Day', when they quite rightly celebrated defeating Hitler in WW2. As such, one might have thought that they would despise invading armies (apart from their own, I suppose).

Watching this video below, you'd think that it was the English who were the bastards in their sordid war against Ukraine.

No it's you, you bunch of disgusting Russian tyrants. All England is doing is helping Ukraine against your vile troops who are murdering, raping, and torturing that nation's innocent citizens who simply wish to be left alone; and you have the bloody cheek to talk about us as if we're the baddies. Idiot.

I don't know who this person is on Russian TV, but his blustering 'hot air' frightens no-one. 

Another Sunday, and more 'Seen in Brighton'

 

Another selection of pictures from our Sunday morning walk on the beach and prom'.

Firstly the BBC (Brighton Boules Club)

Classic Deck Chairs (lots of people were swimming yesterday)

A few Hobie Cats being readied for a morning's racing 

The obligatory Buckets-n-Spades

Ice Cream for Dogs.

Some of those whirly things for kids in prams.

And finally, who can resist a Mr Whippy. Yup; they're still around.

Dogs names, et alia.

 

Our Lab' of recent times was named Montague-Macbeth Magnon; but known to all as Monty. Our Border Collie/Black Lab' cross was called Bok, although I think we'd misheard 'Pok' from the previous owners.

Our present ball of mischief is called Billy, regardless of him having originally been given the very silly name of Badger. I'm not sure who gave him this name but he had to be registered quickly, and somehow the name Badger slipped through. It still says Badger on his papers, passport, etc, but I soon changed it to a much more acceptable Billy. 

Of course to a dog his name simply means 'come here'. All dogs hear their names as meaning 'come here'; whether they take any notice of it is another matter.

I had an eccentric Aunt who had a series of Westies that were all called Rover. My own family had a series of unfortunate Cats that were either called Blackie if they were black, or Tiddles if they weren't. There seemed no point in changing anything. 

Recently we had three Hens, and we asked the (then very young) grandchildren to name them; they called them all Richard. So we had three Hens named Richard.

I don't suppose Dogs really mind what names we give them, as they only mean 'come here' to them anyway, but I do pity Dogs who are expected to answer to Twickywickyboo or Princess Koochy-Eyes. It can do nothing for their self-esteem.

The only Dogs I avoid are those called Tyson, Thunder, or I'll tear your throat out (pronounced 'I-frowowt'. They are given such names to reflect their reputations. Those reputations tell me to keep clear.

Preferably Dogs names should be of one or two syllables only. Long names are pointless. A short sharp name is far more likely to get the 'come here' response we desire, rather than some silly name that the poor thing might pretend has nothing to do with them at all.

My two illustrations have nothing to do with Dogs names, but I thought you might like their shameless sentimentality.

Bertrand Russell - Message To Future Generations (1959)

The great Bertrand Russel giving some wise advice from 60 years ago. 

A walk in the Park.

I've been taking my morning dog walks much earlier than usual recently. With it being light so much earlier, and with our exceptionally warm weather, it's allowed us to head off at 6.30am, and we often have the luxury of the Peace Garden to ourselves.

Early mornings in the gardens are beautiful. The birds are singing, the air is fresh and filled with ozone, and if we do meet other dog walkers, they are always chatty and pleasant.

Here are a few photos from yesterday, starting with some old codger and his scruffy mutt.

That's it; walk over. 

Yet more 'Seen in Brighton'.

This heavily flowering Apple tree is right outside our front door. I predict a good crop this Autumn. There is a second Apple tree just to the right which is equally full of flowers.

Amusingly painted bus.

Not so well painted bike lane sign, maybe it was his 'first'. I love these signs, even when the wheels are wonky.

I hope you can see 'Charlie'. As I ate my breakfast, he was standing on top of the nearby Primary School, surveying his realm.

A recent meal. Chicken, red Peppers, Lettuce. Yum.

Memorial bench for Brighton's own Theatre Critic Jack Tinker, in the nearby 'Peace Gardens'.

That's it.