August Bank Holiday - relaxing or exhausting?

The miniature golf course

People talk about relaxing over the bank holiday, but we're both poleaxed after this one.  On Saturday we'd been invited to a sixtieth birthday party by family connections of mine.  It was held in a stunning old barn behind their very beautiful small manor house.  Although the dress code was "smart casual" everyone seemed very glammed up.  The barn was full of flowers and the beams draped with hops.  The 120 or so people present seemed to own most of the land in East Sussex, not to mention some of the neighbouring counties.  Much talk of shooting parties and harvests.  The immaculately-groomed woman sitting beside me at dinner said "I think people are very judgmental", which I only later understood as "I know you're gay but I don't mind even if others do."  The women seemed to specialise in greetings that involved effusions of shrieks.  It took a while for the men to loosen up and indulge in some bluff teasing that your average feminist would have probably found offensive - but then your average feminist would probably have to put up with quite a lot in a farming community.  A good time was had by all.

The atmosphere in the plush barn could not have been more different from a barbecue we attended on Sunday, given by a couple of ladies in Saint Leonard's, and largely attended by representatives of Saint Leonard's LGBT community - quite a lot of Ls, a certain amount of Gs, one T and some apparent heterosexuals who could have been Bs but you never want to ask.  The ladies were heavy drinkers and very self-confident, somewhat eclipsing the men.  There was enough muscle power for them to erect a marquee without outside assistance but the sun shone on the festivities and we basked in their spacious garden.  

Friends stayed overnight on the Sunday and we engaged in seaside pleasures today: ice-creams at the Italian ice cream parlour, a game of miniature golf and then a burger at the Pelican Diner, before the friends departed and we could regain our sleepy existence.  Socialising's fun, but it's nice when it stops!

Antony Mair  

Hastings - deprived?

View of Hastings Old Town from East Hill, with the pier in the background

Shortly after news came through that funding had been obtained for the renovation of Hastings Pier, a report was published by the Office for National Statistics last week, which concluded that Hastings is high on the list of the most impoverished coastal towns in the UK.  There are a number of problems with this.  First and foremost, the conclusions are based on figures for 2010.  Everyone locally agrees that immense progress has been made since then.  There is an increasing influx of new residents, particularly in the arts and media sectors.  This usually means that an area is on the up.  Call me biassed, but my impression has always been that artists and the gay community are often the first to spot potential, and precede the subsequent arrival of the middle class.  That certainly seems to be happening in Hastings Old Town and parts of Saint Leonard's.  

On the other hand, it's impossible to deny the existence of deprivation.  There's a shortage of local employment possibilities, which is in part due to a lack of investment by businesses.  This in turn is partly due to poor road and rail access.  Local difficulties are compounded by London boroughs sending benefits claimants down to cheaper lodgings in Hastings, which increases the ratio of people in the town on benefits together with the attendant social problems involved.      

We know all of this.  There's no quick-fix solution - Luddites lamenting the building of the Jerwood Gallery and pleading for extended amusement parks fail to appreciate the changes in visitors' tastes, and the increased diversity of their demands.  Improved road and rail access requires enormous investment and is not going to happen in the short term.  The town's council is probably doing its best, in difficult circumstances, but is bound to make mistakes along the way. 

However, there are a number of major plus points that nobody seems to be mentioning.  The town has a wonderful community spirit.  The voluntary sector seems to be thriving, even if more helpers are always needed.  There is a vibrant social life in the pubs and clubs.  Festivals and celebrations abound.  The fishing industry, historic core of the Old Town, looks set to benefit from changes in the quota system.  The diversity of people and interests, combined with a highly egalitarian attitude, makes for a very special place.  I can't speak for Blackpool, Margate and Clacton, also high on the list.  But I know that in Hastings a historic figure for deprivation only tells part of the story.  

Antony Mair 

Beachy Head from Saint Leonard's

Taking the Chinese medicine

Entrance to Dr. Ye's practice in Saint Leonard's

 

We learnt about the Chinese medical practitioner, Dr. Ye, a year ago from our joiner, Olly Adams. Paul consulted him (the doctor, that is, not the joiner) with total success about the cold-sores that had plagued him for years.  Having myself been a victim of headaches and migraines for around four decades, I thought it might be a good idea to go and see whether he could do anything.

 

Paul's treatment has been mainly dietary, with the abolition of yeast and yoghurt from our daily diet, a change of mealtime regimes so that lunch is the main meal rather than dinner, and regular consumption of warm water.  As a result of my visit this afternoon, I have been told to stop drinking all alcohol (I was down to one glass of wine a day, but that was treasured, so it's going to be a sacrifice), and abandon tea and coffee, but to drink warm water instead.  And eat more of - guess what?  Beans.  Hmm.

 

So far, so sensible.  After the initial advice, based on questions and answers, looking at the tongue and feeling the pulse, the good doctor proceeds to track the meridians while the patient lies on a massage couch.  Tracking meridians involves the pummelling of acupressure points and felt like being run over by a giant bulldozer.  In fact, the process was so painful that, between yelps, I asked whether he was torturing me for information - if so, I'd gladly give it to him.  I now know that I would be no good as a spy in enemy territory.  Curiously, the whole business was so bizarre that I found myself getting slightly hysterical with laughter at the same time. 

"Did your back feel like putty at the end of it?" Paul asked when we were comparing notes on my return.  Actually, no.  But I'm hoping that with the new regime of no alcohol or caffeine and loads of beans I shall feel newly energised.  Strangely, I was feeling quite good before I went.  But I suppose that's what preventive medicine is all about.

Antony Mair