Troubling because I can't seem to upload pictures to my blog any more, and also I have reached a kind of impasse in my life. Having decided that London was the way to go, Brighton, like a rejected lover with a makeover, has started flaunting itself with the bluest summery skies, the sea bannering on the horizon.
I went to a concert by the Daughters of Albion last night; I know very little about folk but it was a free ticket, and mostly I loved it. there was something about the music that was primitive, natural, feminine, and it was so inspiring to see women of all ages on stage for once, rather than the youngest, the prettiest. I experienced an urge to be one of the older women singing, there seemed something wise and settled about their interpretations of love and loss and motherhood and general living, two things I do not feel at the moment.
It did not help that I was sitting next to perhaps one of the most infuriating concert-goers you could imagine; unlike an annoying gig-goer, who might stand in front of, or on, you or perhaps nudge your pint or sing along raucously, this more refined annoyance clacked chewing gum through the first half, and spent the second half nose-breathing, nodding off and twitching.
I tried to lose myself in the music, despite him, and the encore of Who Know Where the Time Goes almost had me in tears. There was a very Brighton wind blowing all the way home.
