Julie Burchill

Dear tourists, you’re welcome in Brighton

  • From Spectator Life

I love my adopted hometown of Brighton and Hove – I moved here in 1995 and I still feel like I’m on holiday. I love everything about living here. The obvious thing is the sea. Although I hear what our local Surfers Against Sewage say, nothing’s going to keep me out of the briny. The water quality at Hove Lawns Beach – literally at the end of my avenue – is excellent at the mo, whereas when I first lived here, it was quite normal to emerge from even a brief dip festooned in all sorts of unmentionable stuff, like an obscene Christmas tree.

Here comes the summer – and the tourists. Personally, I love ‘em

I even love the seagulls. I know in theory that they’re flying rats but their natural comedic bent never fails to crack me up. I adore the way they perv over your food with their sideways eyes, then do that indignant shuffle when defiantly stared at, denying that they want your chips. Sometimes you see two of them fighting over an abandoned burger, pulling it to and fro – priceless. But they do have sad cries. I’ve always said they’re inhabited by the souls of Londoners who always meant to move to Brighton but died before they got round to it. I used to feel that way when I came here to visit from That London, and their cries never fail to remind me that I escaped.

I love it here all year round. In the winter walking on the prom is like living in a Morrissey song, communing with the timeless spirit of our damp, dazzling island race. But when the sun comes out, it truly is ‘that paradise of brightness’ that A.E. Coppard eulogised and that S.P.B. Mais was thinking of when he stated that: ‘Anyone who does not live in Brighton must be mad and should be locked up’.

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