At the café there are eight men mending a bicycle. Or rather, one man mending a bicycle while the other seven offer advice and make approving and expert sounds. Meanwhile, another four or five of us sit watching the other eight, and occasionally throwing a ball for Paddy the dog. Paddy is very happy, where else does a dog get this much attention from so many potential ball-hurlers? She likes burying the ball in the sand, but then always ends up losing it so someone has to go and dig it up for her. This is considered charming, however all of us agree she’s pushing it a bit when, the ball having just been thrown, she stands staring at it lying forlorn outside the music bar until someone else picks it up and brings it back to her.
The conversation turns to living in Brighton.
“Were any of you born here?”
“No?”
“What about you?”
“Oh no, not me”
“Then how did all of us end up in Brighton of all places?
“Did anyone plan to end up here?”
“How did you get here then?”
“It sort of just happened… I can’t even remember when, or why.”
“ I’m suspicious of anyone who ends up where they planned to be.”
“Yes, people like that are weird”
“I don’t like them”
“No”
“But why are we still here?”
“Because you’re unlikely to have this kind of conversation anywhere else”
“Ah, maybe”
Michael gets up at this point and says:
“Right, I’m off”
“You going into town”
“No”
“Where you going then?”
“I’m off to push the button”
“What do you want to do that for?”
“Well someone’s got to do it, all those other buggers keep saying they won’t.”