Hedge Fund

This is not as common a site as it once was. A properly laid hedge and right on the boundary of urban Brighton. Such skill, such precision, such artfulness in bending nature to man's will. They say that a job done well will last fifty years before it'll need doing again. Probably the finest livestock barrier devised, and growing and enriching itself naturally after this drastic surgery, although in this case the livestock is human on the eastern edge of town. Bordering land owned by the City, one can only assume some sort of unusually imaginative and benign decision was taken to adopt this far-from-cheap form of hedge maintenance. If you want chapter and verse on the craft of hedge laying, and it is poetry! - read Roger Deakin's 'Wildwood' which covers the subject wonderfully well.

Brighton or bust!

The pictures remind me that this coming Sunday is the annual Pioneer Run from Epsom to Brighton for veteran motorcycles. This event always attracts the best of British eccentricity. These shots demonstrate it perfectly. Not content to hitch a wheezing ancient motorcycle to a heavy sidecar, the hopeful owner then fills it with a wife and two dogs. Obviously one wears a tie when riding such machines...and a deerstalker hat if possible too. The De Dion tricycle (I think that's what it is), being rather sporting and fast requires its owner to sport a conventional crash helmet.

Nery-a-cross word

This curious device is named a 'Ner-a-Car' and aptly too, for it is neither a motorcycle nor a car but successfully combines the bad points of each. Heralded as the new 'best thing on wheels' by its inventor, one American gentleman named Carl Neracher, it was made under licence by the grandly titled Sheffield Simplex company of Kingston upon Thames. For the mechanically inclined it has friction drive involving the forcing of a buffalo-hide covered roller against a brass flywheel which effectively, or rather, ineffectively gives speeds of slow and not-so-slow. It has two brakes, both on the rear wheel and operated independently. The handlebars are really there as a place to rest your arms, for the device is hub-steered like a car and despite the primitive appearance the motorcycle can be manouvered by moving your bodyweight in the required direction. The handling is extremely stable and quite in advance of anything of its time.

Having always been fascinated by the off-beat when it comes to transportation I heard of this device languishing in a disused fish shed in Maldon, Essex. The owner was charming but already had too many sick donkeys in his sanctuary and saw that I would give it a warm, dry stable. It is in what we old vehicle freaks call 'oily rag condition' which means that it's very original but has never received the dignity of polish - rather it has been preserved by liberal applications of a diesel-soaked rag. Consequently it looks (and smells) quite delightful. Having lugged the beast home I studied the miniscule instruction manual and it struck me that here was a machine that was quite serious in its intent; it would be laughed off the market today but must have been quite a revelation back in 1922. Apparently the Ner-a-Car was advertised in magazines like Country Life as well as in Legal and professional medical journals. Many found a following amongst midwives and country doctors, particularly attracted (it says here) by the ease of control and the comprehensive weather equipment. I can tell you that I doff my cap to the sturdy midwives of the 1920's for it is anything but easy to ride requiring octopus-like dexterity to even start the machine in motion. However, on a flat surface, like a billiard table, say, and with a fair wind behind you on an extremely quiet country road there is a certain charm with the tiny two stroke engine emitting clouds of noxious fumes which are thankfully left far behind as you buzz serenely along at around 25 thoroughly English miles per hour.

Last summer the lanes of a remoter part of East Sussex were home to me and the Ner-a-Car as I triumphantly completed a journey of some twenty or so miles, much of it spent with my 'assisting' the little 'bike up the mighty hills thereabouts. But I made it! and my triumphant return to that most delightful of pubs, the Six Bells, Chiddingly was greeted by gales of laughter by the crowds of young motorcyclists who gravitate there on a Sunday. Their mockery turned to undisguised amazement when I parked in their midst and to downright admiration when I regaled them with my (slightly exaggerated) tales of the open road. Ner-a-Car, Ner-a-Bike, Ner-a...nything really, just a huge amount of fun at the expense of its thoroughly worthy inventor - I love it.

Government business...

Going through all the stuff that's left behind when people shuffle off this mortal coil there's always a quantity of what the dealers like to call 'printed ephemera'. This is an example. Nothing remarkable but somehow it sums up the austerity Britain in which I grew up. Of course I had no idea that I was living in austerity Britain at the time what with my free clinic orange juice and cod liver oil and machines in shoe shops that x-rayed my feet. The point is that we were being taken care of, and the government was providing for us. This notebook, dated (can you believe they'd bother to do that?) 1952 proudly states that it is 'Supplied for the Public Service'. The cover is set in Gill in just two weights with a little Times for the reference number and has the look of those 'Don't Panic' posters so popular these days - consequently it appears really quite modern. How nice it would be if rather than the ubiquitous 'red and black' notebooks so beloved of account managers today, someone would produce one of these little beauties or it's foolscap equivalent and start taking down the great matters of pith and moment. My aunt who worked for the 'Min of Ag and Fish' scribbled in thousands of these cream covered notebooks as she tramped the dairy farms of West Kent and East Surrey in her mission of enforcing dairy hygiene and eradicating TB. Her journeys, upon which I occasionally accompanied her took place initially in her MG 'Y' Type sporting saloon, actually a rather underpowered device which however smelled delightful and gave one the impression of traveling around in a drawing room. As dusk approached the orange glow from the octagonal dashboard instruments proved mesmerising and I was normally sound asleep by the time we arrived home. I can still catch the aroma of her Chanel Number Five mixed with Morney's Lilly of the Valley...a curious juxtaposition with her stout brogues, tweed suits and beret...there was something of P.G.Woodehouse about her. She used cattle artificial insemination rods to prop up her Chrysanthemums and took great delight in telling the vicar when he asked where she managed to find such useful items. Funny how such an insignificant object should awaken those memories.

White Castle

We were introduced to White Castle Hamburgers by some American friends on a recent visit to the USA. Travelling between Indiana and North Carolina and visiting various historic Civil War sites en route we detoured especially to take in this regional chain. Our friend had fond memories of dining out 'en famille' during the 1950s with her father bringing out bags of the tiny square steamed burgers named 'slyders' to a car full of excited kids. Based in Columbus Ohio this was the first burger chain so you know who to blame. The first 'restaurant was opened in 1921 in Wichita Kansas and the whole thing grew from that. None of us admitted to being great burger fans and yet there is a sort of country innocence about these places that you don't find at a Burger King or a Mcdonalds. The company pioneered portable and prefabricated structures with wipe-clean interiors made of stainless steel and enamel, thus anticipating the bigger players by many years. Architecturally styled with crenelations based upon the Chicago water tower they emulate stereotypical fairytale castles, given a deal of artistic licence...incidentally much in the same way as some of the more 'historic' buildings here in New Anzac on Sea. For a hamburger chain it's miniscule with almost 400 outlets, none of which is franchised and the company is unencumbered by debt. They also pioneered the disposable paper hat (a bit like a printers origami hat but cleaner) for their kitchen staff who are immaculately turned out. Our sole visit to a White Castle was fun, not least in the ordering of some twenty hamburgers between four of us plus the obligitary hogshead of Coca Cola. It was all very blue collar and we lucked out in the chat with some jovial staff members who quite naturally failed to understand what the hell we English were talking about. A little piece of lost America that's still hanging on...

East Coast and Adnams

Suffolk is surely up there amongst my favourites of the English Counties. I've been living (on and off), and visiting there for the best part of thirty years and it still has the power to seduce. A recent weekend stay in Southwold had, on paper, nothing going for it all; almost continuous rain and the sort of hoorays in the pubs of the type who turn up the collars of their rugby shirts whilst guffawing over-noisily with their chums. And yet I can't dislike a place which still boasts proper greengrocers, butchers and great pubs riven through with a tangible atmosphere of 50's Britain. The WiFi in The Swan gives the game away but the Sailors' Reading Room maintains its inner calm as a sanctuary for the inquisitive visitor as well as being a reminder of the total commitment this town had to its maritime industry. Faded photographs of moustachioed cork-belted lifeboatmen modestly hint at the stories of immense bravery enacted in Sole Bay. Who couldn't fall for a town with a lighthouse at its centre? And the place is benignly overseen by that remarkable firm of brewers messrs. Adnams. A favourable sort of paternalism seems to run throughout the town, for the company owns much that is good and great about Southwold. I visited their small off-licence and was served by a charming local girl. On the following day I bought more goodies at their stunning new 'Cellar and Kitchen' store and was served by the same person. She seemed so happy in her work (as do most Adnams staff) that I was prompted to ask if this were true. She said that they were the most wonderful company to work for and that the chairman knew everyones name...indeed his office was always open if you wanted a chat. Now how many companies do you know that are run like that? Of course I may be wrong and it's all a front - but somehow I think not. They have a knack for doing things right; the pubs are well run and serve good beer and food, the new store has had immense thought put into its design utilising the most modern sustainable techniques in its construction, and the distribution centre just outside Southwold at Reydon is a triumph of modern architecture and practicality. Blimey! even the advertising is great, featuring as it does the inspired illustrations of the highly talented Chris Wormell which are so scrumptious they make you wish you were in Southwold on a permanent basis. What a talented young man he is...he's even produced out-of-register prints to be affixed to the Gents' lavatory doors to remind you of the dangers of over imbibing - sadly the only feature of an otherwise exemplary campaign that failed to work on me.

The pier too is worth a visit. Open every day apart from Christmas day it contains some beautifully comedic 'amusements' for the tripper to enjoy. Needless to say Punch and Judy too 'in season'. Incidentally the only pier to have been totally rebuilt in 21st century Britain.

Sorry about picture quality...operator error and near darkness.

Southwold, I can't wait to come back.

I must go down to the sea again

A powerfully dramatic sea doing its best to broach the coastal defences. Nothing quite like a bracing walk along the prom on a gale-lashed sunday afternoon. There's an undercliff walk from Saltdean all the way to Brighton thanks to its remarkable accessibilty. The original 'Dover' road along the cliff tops has long since vanished and to prevent further encroachment during the recession-hit nineteen thirties Brighton Corporation embarked upon a programme of sea defences. Huge government grants provided work for ex miners and workers from some of the most distressed areas of Wales which is why there's still a preponderence of Evans' and Jones' in Brighton's eastern Kemptown area. My wife's father and grandfather as locals found employment there after a lifetime of farm work. The labour was hard and governed by the tides and with virtually no mechanical assistance, extremely dangerous. My father-in-law's job was initially as tea boy in charge of producing industrial quantities of the thirst quenching fluid, ready mixed with condensed milk and sugar, served up in scrubbed galvanised buckets. Later he progressed to being a labourer where the combination of freezing water and piece-work eventually drove him to sign up with the Lifeguards (military version) for an equally colourful and character-forming career. The undercliff work was completed and still stands today as testament to those hardy souls who built it.