There are times when I feel like escaping to Brighton for a night or two, The intention is never sexual, you must understand that, it’s more to do with escapism, to get away from the stress of work and the senseless mayhem of home life, and there’s plenty of that. I relish that moment when I’ve negotiated a decent B&B rate, climbed the creaking staircase before I can stretch out on a foreign mattress, breathing in the recent streak of cleanliness, adequately undertaken by an underpaid Armenian student. That’s when I drop into a catnap for an hour a so and wash away a layer of tiredness, yesterday (13 May) was no different.
Showered and refreshed I left Kemp Town and headed for the tidier part of Brighton, with the cooler bars and restaurants. I felt quite stylish for a change with a loose black shirt, tight skinny jeans, jacket and a new pair of leather boots that needed breaking in, I need to be careful not to kid myself too much, I mean about the attire.
The Cricketers beckoned, apparently the oldest public house in Brighton, they were serving Carlsberg so that was good enough for me. I stood at a wide bar with lots of brass and soon got chatting to a local psychopath, I did wonder if he had done time in my local library but this line of inquiry would have been lost on him. He was an ex-hippy sort with a grey ponytail and with the red-veined nose of a raging alcoholic. There was something alarming about him; I suppose it was the eyes, the way they stared through me, little like Anthony Hopkins’ Hannibal Lecter. He insisted on repeating the same story about having “done” the gardens for a local ex-MP who happened to be in the pub, drinking with his “bird”. Grinning, he would raise his thumbs up at an embarrassed looking guy called Tony. The psychopath later introduced himself as Dave and confided in me that Tony had fiddled his expenses and that there was always plenty of cash lying around. I do pick them I realise that. Dave was convinced that Tony was still in the illegal arms business, more realistically, Dave was on hallucinogenics. He kept threatening to leave and go back to his pad, but this never materialised, instead he made a beeline for the ex-MP, patted him on the head like a true psychopath and said “I know who you are Tony mate”, Tony choked on his red wine but Dave continued nevertheless, “I used to do your gardens, and I know all your little fucking secrets.” I doubted whether these two people had ever met, but this was gripping stuff. At this point Dave tapped his nose, turned and winked at me, leaving an embarrassed ex-MP cowering.
I’d finished my Carlsberg and had prepared my excuse, I had to leave this madman behind, but Dave had other ideas. He managed to scrounge half a Stella off me. He thought my black leather wallet which was hooked to my jeans with a chain was rather cool then asked if I was gay, I was mortified, it never occurred to me that Dave could be a psychopathic homosexual and this spectacular performance was simply foreplay designed to impress me. Fearful of being picked up I said something lame like “no way man.” He then moved too close, I could smell the stench on his breath, and then he looked down and said “nice boots man’. I acknowledged the compliment and then the conversation became really weird when a now perspiring Dave said “take them off mate, I wanna try them on.” What little moisture was left in my mouth and throat instantly evaporated, I whispered something ridiculous like “my feet stink man”, why I said that I’ve no idea, perhaps just a pathetic attempt to appear tough, macho or both. This seemed to encourage Dave, he shoved my shoulder before continuing with his foreplay “go on man, I wanna try on your fucking boots man.” I was now expecting the worst, the worst being the squealing pig scene in Deliverance but to my great surprise he turned his back to me, slurped back his Stella, and to my great relief called me a “fucking tosser” and speedily left the pub. I waited an agonizing five minutes, conscious that I was involved in a couple of scenes with a madman, albeit my association, and that people were watching me with caution, then, when normality resumed in the pub, I made my getaway into a darkening Brighton.
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