Last Sunday, a week ago now, I was sweltering in London during the unexpected October heat, picnicking in Regents Park and chillin’ on Brick Lane. This Sunday the truth that Winter is on its way couldn’t be avoided. So I thought it a good time to get back into a bit of blogging. With the primary aim of wanting to shift my time here from a WORKING Holiday to a Working HOLIDAY, I have dropped down to part time teaching and part time café worker. So, you see I now experience what the normal people do; Sunday afternoons not spent thinking about or doing marking and planning. Today’s post is a short guide to the street art of St Leonards-on-Sea. Now I am quite a fan of the art of the streets, plain concrete walls just don't hold any attraction Let’s start with the most famous. Banksy.

Rumour is that Banksy was visiting town about a year ago for local artist Ben Eine's (see below) fortieth birthday. Note the cat stencil on the left hand side of the wall. There seems to be a mysterious animal stencillor in town.

Moths have also been turning up around town over the last year, these ones are by a group called zeroh who have conducted the Hastings Moth Project commissioned by the local council. It's done by a process known as reverse graffiti, cleaning away dirty walls to make a pattern. So in time, as the grime comes back, the image will slowly fade away. I like these the most.

And finally, there is the biggest. A pixelated young Prince Charles by an artist called Ben Eine. This was commissioned by The Guardian newspaper. Eine firstly achieved some fame for painting closed shop shutter fronts several of which are in St Leonards and Hastings. Then the PM gave a image he's done to Obama as a gift.

So there you go.

Modern hunter gatherer am I.

I am feeling a little smug tonight for I have just made fish curry with mackerel caught from off the beach not 100 metres away. Well, I should be accurate here and point out that my friend Mark caught it. But let's not mess over the details. Although I'd like to add that I did use thyme I grew myself, in a pot on my very windowsill.

Last night I made crumble with blackberries I had gathered from the woods about 800 metres away from my house and had friends over for dessert. So, you see, I am feeling quite proud of my efforts.

It has fortuitous for this week as I am broke (result of another weekend in London).

Here in Hastings and St Leonards currently being held is the month long Coastal Currents Art Festival. From what I've seen, it's very good. Which brings me vaguely to this link, which I like.

And hence finishes the post about my day.

The day that was (and still is) 9th August 2011

Today I meet an Irishman who played for Munster in a match they didn't win against the All Blacks. "They were are bunch of bruts" he said in a thick Irish accent shortly after telling us how he'd broken his collar bone after a few drinks the night before.

Meanwhile in London, there are some angry people doing a lot of damage. The Police seem unable to cope, it is interesting to read this article written nearly eleven months ago, where:

The home secretary, Theresa May, has dismissed fears that deep spending cuts could undermine the ability of the police to tackle possible civil unrest, and insisted the British did not respond to austerity by rioting on the streets.

The politicians have all called off their holidays, although at first the Mayor of London, Boris Johnson, did not think it necessary to return for initially, but then he did. And now he's not so popular.



I'm going to tread a tricky line here. While I do not in any way condone violence, and violent actions should have consequence, there are some points I would like to note. Firstly, from my limited knowledge of English history, the last time riots broke out were in the 1980s with similar economic conditions and a similar government. Secondly, young people at present are faced with the prospect of high unemployment, almost impossible university costs and cuts to almost every service that has been set up to help them (with perhaps the exception of prison services). They seem unable to articulate themselves, with media reporting what seem like wild and stupid rationale for violence. Perhaps it's opportunism, but perhaps it's also a feeling of rage and unfairness.

Monday's Bucket of Reflections

1. Living in the attic flat, four storeys up, 100 metres from the sea, makes us a calling point for seagulls. We, these seagulls and I, share a weary fondness. They are humorous, intriguing. But when they off load, it is like a missile attack from above. They don't plop once; it's a whole string of white. And very annoying when you're running late for the morning train.



2. Two months ago, following a plan devised under slightly inebriated circumstances, some friends and I set out to walk from St Leonards, past Eastbourne, over Beachy Head and The Seven Sisters and back again. In one day. While I only made it to the turn around point, I had still managed to cover 25 miles (the last ten of which suffering on account of blisters) in nine hours. I took the bus and train back home. We set out at 4:15am and this is a picture of a friend Ralph at sun rise some 90 minutes later. I'm quite proud of that day.

St Swithin's Day, if it does rain

Full forty days, it will remain

St Swithin's Day, if it be fair

For forty days, t'will rain nae mair.

3. Last Friday was St Swithin's Day. According to the legend, if it rains on that day, then the following 40 days well be full of precipitation as well. The story goes that this fellow Swithin (or Swithun) became a bishop of some importance and built a few churches. Just before he died he asked to be buried outside so the rain could fall on him (the English eh?). But nine years after his wish was granted, some stuck up old monks moved his body and a dry summer was followed by 40 days of storm. There is some meteorological basis for this and the Met Office thinks it especially will ring true this year. School breaks up for summer in two and a half days.

4. School breaks up for summer in two and a half days.

And it all came crumbling down.

"England's dancing days are done.
Another day, Bobby, for you to come home
& tell me indifference won."

PJ Harvey Let England Shake

It's the height of summer here in England, so as you'd expect I'm sitting inside watching the rain pour down outside as the festival market on the square outside heads steadily towards a washout. To be fair it's not typical, I went for a lovely swim in the sea in the calm evening last Monday.

However, the gloom seems to reflect the newspaper that all the newspapers are talking about- The News of the World. You would have to have been in a coma here to have missed hearing about this one. The suspicions many (including myself) had, that Rupert Murdoch's media corporation News International had phenomenal amounts of influence with the Police and the Government, can at last it seems, be proved. This clip probably best explains how it all started, and why I have a new found respect for Hugh Grant.



The actual article Hugh wrote is here.

The implications of this, that the Government really is just a puppet, are immense.

For me however, it adds to a growing sense I have had, ever since arriving in Britain, that I am living at the centre of a crumbling empire. One that has been shrinking for a while, admittedly, but even in the time that I have been here (a year next Tuesday) I have seen the value of my savings diminished every time I send money back to New Zealand, I have seen university fees go beyond reach of most citizens, and a significant number of social and educational services scraped.

The decline and decay of the British Empire has become a little bit of a fascination for me recently. I can't help feeling that I should get out, but I feel drawn to stay. A friend of mine worked in the London financial markets in the 1980s. Just before The Crash (without realising what was coming) he had sold up everything and taken off to India, only to hear about it all on the BBC World Service. I asked if he felt relief at escaping the downfall. His reply was actually no, he would have quite wanted to be there to see the chaos shatter everything to the floor.

And I think I understand what he means.

Things I feel the need to share; Volume One

A counterfeit horse, a spinal monkey and seagull poo.

I was watching a documentary and heard this song for the first time and quite like it. It was the lyrics, more than anything, that caught me. Here they are in their almost entirety:

It's the monkey on my back
Makes me talk like that
It's the monkey on my back
makes me act like that

I've just moved house. It's temporary, but tranquil with views of sunset and sea. And an occasional soundtrack of pub fights and reversing rubbish trucks. This is what I saw out my bedroom window at 9pm this evening (as seen through seagull poo stained windows).




My recent viewing habits have been a strange diet of intense documentaries, and light BBC comedy panel shows. I saw this one when it aired on BBC1 a few months ago and couldn't stop laughing, and it still makes me laugh several watches later. See the summary for a wee explanation of how the game is played.