Liberation

That Friday night sensation of pleasantness. The ability to go to bed late in the knowledge that tomorrow is Saturday, and that bed can be stayed in without fear, or worry. My eyes are tired but I must continue.

Lying on the pebbly beach with my eyes closed I felt the sun on my skin and the wind flapping around me like a spirit. Pear cider, David Icke, lizards, consciousness, and the sound of the waves crashing in and crashing out.

The carousel playing the creepy music while invisible children rode round and round. Stumbling into an eerie dark room with A. Penny arcades and age old dolls smiling out through the darkness. A. put in the twenty pence but nothing happened.

Walking along the seafront battling the breeze and squinting in the sunlight. The ghost train was a waste of money. The colourful sheds shining in the evening sunshine as people jogged past with their dogs. White kites and seagulls floated out at sea while a solitary figure read a book on the pebbles.

The Indian buffet was spicy and aromatic and the waiter was morose. J asked if I was ok twice. I must have made her feel uneasy eating in silence and watching the people float past the window.

Then came the luminous karaoke. Japanese tourists in pink wigs stood outside, cameras flashing. Inside we drunk Pimms and sang to a screen. Well A and J sung, I just kind of shouted and tried to be dramatic. Time sped by song by song until it was time to leave. A didn't get my Placebo voice.

Outside Brighton on a Friday night in Summer. The air was mild and the smell of plants made the city seem exotic. Walking past the drunks, homosexuals and hen parties to the train.

Walking back was peaceful and the knowledge that I was going home to a quiet house, mint tea and well stocked book case was quite inspiring.

The last time darting out light in our post-orgasmic after glow where the colours of the city had been turned up in intensity so everything was floating, in a mixture of blue, yellow and silver. The sun shone down on a Sunday morning in Summertime.

But now the lights were turned low and the mild night air smelt of expectation floating like smoke through the alleyways. Walking past the portaloos and deserted roads came N and her boyfriend, like characters in a novel, with buckets of KFC and wine. Small talk and a friendly goodbye.

A and I walked a bit further and then we hugged goodbye. Too much intensity is a bore.

A fat girl and her scrawny friend smoking outside the station toilets asked where they could find a cash machine and if I was Irish. They then began dancing and clapping their hands as the corpse of a train driver asked for our tickets.

He then burst into flames while a clown walked past carrying a suitcase. His hair was green and his nose was red and tears were dripping down his face.