Tesco's a-comin'

The Caffyns garage is slowly metamorphosing into a shiny new Tesco. Disaster! The arrival of the UK's biggest and hungriest retailer will mean the end of independent shops in Seaford and change the character of the town for ever.

Well, hang on a minute. Isn't it better that the building is restored for a useful purpose than left to fall derelict? And haven't shops been closing in Seaford prior to Tesco's arrival? Yes, and yes. As for Tesco itself: I don't particularly want to shop there, but judging by the number of delivery vans seen around the town every evening, quite a few people clearly do. Who's to say they're making an error in their lifestyle choices?

People talk about the Tescofication of Britain as if it's somehow the fault of tyrannical captalist evil-doers, lily-livered planning departments and spineless (or corrupt) ministers. The truth is far simpler than that, and possibly harder to accept.

The reason Tesco is opening in every high street in the land, stealing market share from large and small rivals and moving into peripheral businesses like insurance, music downloads and probably its own airline is that people like buying stuff from it. Elemental supply and demand economics: nothing more.

If Tesco succeeds in Seaford it will be because local people want it to. If nobody chooses to shop there, it will close down. I wonder which it will be.

Going a bit radio rental

I've tuned into Seahaven FM a couple of times: local radio doesn't get much more local than this, except perhaps on CB. I'm all for it. At a time when regional media quite obviously haven't got a clue about the geography of the area they report on (the Argus thinks Seaford is between Brighton and Peacehaven, according to one memorable story) it's nice to have a radio station based a bike ride away.

The broadcast I happened upon involved a long and tedious link about a policy that had been introduced in some flats, restricting residents to a maximum of one dog. Oh well, not exactly a story that the Today programme will be kicking themselves for missing, I thought, but that's what community radio is all about: reflecting the peculiar and sometimes trivial concerns of its local audience.

Turned out the story wasn't from Seaford but Peru. My bemusement was then compounded by the first 30 seconds of William Shatner's version of Common People and soon afterwards my experiment with Seahaven FM was at an end. I may venture back for more, but first I'm going online to see if any stations in Lima are doing stories about the state of the Salts.

Bye-bye bikes

Cyclists who leave their bikes chained up at Seaford Station may well find their vehicles stolen when they return. The culprit has already confessed to the crime, in advance. You have to admire their honesty, but at the same time question whether a regional rail operator should really be behaving in such a way.

Southern Railway "has issued notices telling cyclists if they persist in leaving their bikes outside the designated area, it will remove them", according to the Gazette.

It doesn't say what it will do with the bikes it plans to take away. Staff bonuses? Spare parts for rolling stock? We can only guess.

Anyone who remembers how grim the old slam-door carriages we used to have on this part of the network were will probably have something of a soft spot for Southern, with its nice green trains and scrolling LEDs predicting the next "station stop". But I don't remember reading about anything in their franchise agreement entitling them to nick our bikes.

Perhaps the deal works both ways. I am going to issue a little note to the Fat Controller, advising that the next time I have to stand in a crowded doorway all the way from Victoria to Haywards Heath, or my train is cancelled due to staff shortages, I will be helping myself to three KitKats and a can of beer from the trolley.

But Southern has solved a little problem for me. I have about six rusty old bikes in my garage that I'm always tripping over, all of which are well beyond their useful life. I can never think what to do with them. Now I have the solution and they'll be on the railings by the end of the week, awaiting collection from the nice people at Southern. What a service.

Hotel de Ville

So the plans to turn the Beachcomber into a granny farm have been kicked into the long grass and now the jubilant town council is giddy with excitement about the site's potential. We can only hope that Councillor Jon Freeman was getting mixed up with his words, or was else misquoted, when the Gazette reported him as saying there could be a community centre that would be "a permanent home for the young and the old". Does that mean we'll all be forced to live there? Suddenly the McCarthy & Stone proposals don't seem quite so extreme after all.

The idea of the council somehow taking control of the building and running it as a civic hotel brings an unexpected, and somehow heartwarming, hint of Soviet central planning to our Liberal Democrat coast. I can just picture the viscose brown curtains in every room, the shared shower facilities, the unbranded mints under the lumpy pillows.

In addition to a hotel and community centre, the council also dreams of "affordable housing" on the Beachcomber site. The plot must be an awful lot bigger than I realised. If so, can I also request a swimming pool and cinema, a piazza with space for performing art and open-air concerts, a petting zoo, an observation tower designed by Frank Gehry, an ice rink, a boating lake and an artificial ski slope?

Well, they asked for ideas.

The Angel of Newhaven

Gateshead has the Angel of the North. Ebbsfleet is planning a gigantic white horse, or perhaps elephant - I can't remember which. Newhaven and Seaford are getting an almighty incinerator, which will burn lorry loads of old crap and sit on a flood plain.

You have to admire the chutzpah of the officials behind the plan, and their determination to fly in the face of every environmental cause they can find. Pollution, extra traffic, proximity to a river ... these guys are out to piss off as many people as they can. I'm expecting a press release any day now, detailing plans to supplement the garbage Veolia will be burning with chunks of virgin rainforest flown in on 747s, or perhaps they'll go for live gorillas as fuel.

Finding anyone in favour of the incinerator was more difficult than tracking down French holidaymakers in Newhaven high street. Even hardened thickos - people who have England flags instead of curtains - could see it was a stupid idea. They'll never build this thing, we all thought. Somebody, at some point in the process, will listen to reason. But they didn't, and they are, and they've started - even though there's currently a judicial review into the legality of the planning permission. Anyone who still thinks democracy means anything in East Sussex should go and check out the bulldozers clearing the land at North Quay.

The fact is, the incinerator is coming. But great news! It may be a toxin-belching eyesore, degrading the quality of life of anyone unfortunate enough to be down-wind of the thing, but it has major tourism benefits for the area. That's right - according to Hastings county councillor Godfrey Daniel, people will arrive in buses to tour the facilities and marvel at the technology. Perhaps they will be able to buy souvenir inhalers at the gift shop.

Well I say let's give credit where credit is due. I have already written to Councillor Daniel, and I think I spoke on behalf of the entire community when I invited him and his fellow planners to attend the grand unveiling of the incinerator on the day it begins its glorious work. I think a plaque should be installed, listing the names of those few courageous souls who backed the project. That's what I told him and to his credit he said he'd be happy to come along.

But this is unambitious, small-town thinking! What's really required is something altogether more grand and imposing. I think I have the solution. Standing proud and 100 metres tall on the harbour arm should be a statue to Councillor Daniel, our very own Liberty or Angel, reminding all ferry passengers who arrive in Newhaven who is responsible for that peculiar smell. And of course all those "for sale" boards outside the grimy houses.

Deer in Friston Forest

Seaford is not rich in conspiracy theories - though it is, of course, the duty of all parents to feign shock at the sight of the aircraft beacon on the Head and proclaim it to be an alien spacecraft.

Yet quacks and weirdos persist in the wholly unsubstantiated claims that Friston Forest is populated by deer.

Oh yeah? Let me see 'em. Or some tracks, or some poo, or some antlers.

I've been going to that forest, man and boy, for nearly 40 years. I've had a close encounter with a badger, seen several foxes on dusky bike rides (I was riding the bike, not them) and disturbed many a pheasant. I've found toads in the undergrowth, all manner of creepy-crawlies, and stumbled upon a dead human body. (It had been cremated, but don't imagine for one moment that made it any less creepy.) As a kid, I almost trod on an adder. Today I found a decapitated mouse. And that, my friends, is about it.

The idea that deer are cavorting around the beech glades is gaining popular currency, but I cannot for the life of me find anyone who's actually seen one - or, more precisely, can prove that they have. Those wags at the Forestry Commission are in on the joke: their website insists that "glimpses of rare butterflies like the fritillaries and elusive deer can reward patient observers," but I would suggest there is a big difference between a roebuck and a red admiral, and certainly between the size of net required to catch either.

This is "fairies at the bottom of the garden" territory. I suspect the people who have "seen" deer at Friston are the same troubled loners, equipped with the cheapest available cameras and Primark combat jackets, who are regularly "abducted" by UFOs and assured they will be spared when the invasion of earth occurs.

Just as the famous sceptic James Randi will offer $1 million to anyone who can scientifically prove they have paranormal abilities, so I will issue an apology and a £1 book token to any deer-stalkers who can send me a genuine photograph of this elusive and beautiful beast at Friston. Some venison sausages will count towards the evidence.

That sinking feeling

The idea of sinking a warship a mile off the coast of Seaford has, predictably, rattled a few cages. Judging by some of the comments that have been made, there are people who would prefer that the town did all it could to be a sterile, featureless place which went out of its way to deter visitors, rather than support imaginative ideas to drum up business and add a bit of interest.

I wasn't too bothered either way about the Sink One 4 Seaford campaign until I read some of these remarks, so now I'm nailing my colours to the sinking mast of HMS Newcastle or whatever decommissioned navy vessel may be available for this project. I'd much rather the town attracted divers than be allowed to turn into a dive.

Whenever the idea of "tourism" is discussed, there's the usual moronic knee-jerk reaction from certain quarters. They're usually responding to suggestions that nobody was making in the first place. "We don't want slot machines on the front" is a typical example. "We'll be knee deep in donkey poo" is another. (All right, I made that one up.)

But the British seaside is back in fashion. People are seeking out uncommercialised, scenic coastal areas that have something going for them. It might be fantastic seafood, or golden sands, or surfing, or seal-spotting. Maybe Seaford could become a diving mecca. Why not?

There's a link on the left for the Sink One 4 Seaford blog. Make up your own mind ...

It's not a real seafront, apparently

Do you drink in the Beachcomber? Me neither. I don't know why, really. It looks nice enough from the outside, all white weatherboarding and picnic tables, but somehow I know it's not the pub for me. That's not me having a go at the Beachcomber - not many pubs are really "for me". I had a good night in the Wellington recently, though ... the landlord even offered to give us a lift home. Now that's service.

If you've never been to the Beachcomber, you should think about doing so now, because before very long it could be bulldozed to make way for another McCarthy & Stone retirement castle. You may wonder how so many frail, elderly people will cope with setting up home on such an exposed spot as Seaford seafront, and I'd be wondering with you. Still, I guess these shaky octogenarians will have just as much command of their motor functions as some of the people who spill out of the Beachcomber on a Saturday night.

The planning application to close the pub, the last on our windswept promenade, has been opposed all the way by our councillors, in a rare display of solidarity with the people who elected them. Now it's reached the appeal stage and the Gazette has reported on the hearing. http://www.eastbourneherald.co.uk/seaford/Inspector-will-decide-fate-of.4147020.jp

The arguments on both sides are fairly predictable, to be honest, but I was struck by the comments attributed to Anthony Allan, a chartered town planner and managing director of The Planning Bureau, who said: "Given my assessment of the character of the seafront and its tourist potential I do not consider that the loss of either the existing public house or the failure to provide for a replacement facility would affect its tourist, recreation or economic potential."

What does that mean? "This is not a 'tourist seafront' but is an attractive amenity used I would suggest, in the main, by local people much in the same way as a riverside walk or public woodland/park."

So there you have it. On top of everything else, we don't even have a proper seafront.

Bad news, pornography fans

The way traders talk about our town centre, you'd think there had been some sort of chemical spill, or that it had been sealed off by enemy troops. Seaford is dying as a commercial centre, they sob, as more of them board up their windows.

Some of them appear to think the reason for this is that there aren't enough signs pointing to where the shops are. Oh, right. That will explain all the baffled pedestrians with empty bags, pacing up and down the seafront, searching for food, lottery tickets and packets of fags. If only we had thought to show them where the shops are.

What has not occurred to some of these shopkeepers is that people don't want to buy what they have to sell. The latest casualty is Martins, one of the bigger units in Broad Street: a good place to buy lollies, fireworks and, if you're so inclined, a specialist pornographic magazine. But not much else. It was a dreary, muddled, joyless place, in which staff would earnestly explain that your kids were not allowed to hold the sparklers they were selling you. I dread to think what advice the sales assistants gave to the blokes buying jazz mags.

But it's gone, and in its place will soon stand a shiny new WHSmith. This is perhaps curious, because Smith's itself is often accused of only selling stuff you can find everywhere else (though perhaps not in Seaford). But let's be honest: it will add a little bit of class to Seaford's main shopping street, even if it's likely to go down like a lead balloon with the independents it will compete with.

But there is a catch. Smith's has a policy of not selling porn, in sharp contrast to the Martins approach which appeared to be to cater for every conceivable fetish with its top-shelf offering. Maybe customers who are affected by this sudden withdrawal of their favoured reading matter will picket WHSmith when it arrives. Me - I'll push my way through the placards and breeze straight into Smith's on day one. Where else in the town can you get inkjet cartridges for a Hewlett Packard Photosmart C4180?

Good morning Seaford

Brighton is said to resemble a town helping the police with its enquiries. Seaford, to the naked eye, sometimes looks like it’s already been charged, convicted and banged up in solitary. But I chose to live in the place, and even though there are things about it that make me want to run away forever, I don’t. Having given the matter serious thought, I can only conclude that I quite like it here.

My big worry about Seaford is that it doesn't seem to care as much about its identity as, say, Lewes – which has a smaller but much more vocal and mobilised population. Most of its residents are prepared to burn effigies of anything that annoys them. We don’t do things like that in Seaford; perhaps we should. You get some kindling and a can of petrol, and I’ll start a blog.

I thought I’d get the ball rolling by analysing what I like and don’t like about my adopted home town. The plan is to post on here whenever I feel the urge to share my outrage or delight about goings-on in our bizarre and very windy little corner of East Sussex. But be warned: I am a Seaford resident now. There will be times, I am pretty sure, when I just can’t be bothered. You understand.


10 things I like about Seaford

1. Woolworths. In our charity-shop high street, this is our own little John Lewis. It’s got everything you need, and a lot you don’t. Go in for batteries and some envelopes and you’ll generally emerge with a fluffy hot water bottle, a novelty bird box and a Spiderman outfit.

2. The Bottle & Basket. A lot of good retailers have given up on Seaford, but thank god we have a half-decent wine shop. As for other independent retailers: Intersport is OK, but doesn’t quite have that homely C&E Sports feel. Paul the fishmonger is a civic treasure. I like the health food shop, even though it smells of pills. We need a decent deli, though.

3. Cuckmere Haven. Even the tourists can’t spoil it. No matter how many times you admire the shimmering meanders, the view doesn’t get any less breathtaking. Which brings us to …

4. Seaford Head. And not just because it gives the best vantage point for the Seven Sisters. It’s got little secret pockets to explore, great walks, an amazing golf course if you like that kind of thing, and a steep concrete road which lends us mountain bikers some very welcome gravity. (Tip: do it without braking.)

5. Critters. I can look outside my window and see hedgehogs, foxes, woodpeckers, squirrels, bats, wood mice, red-legged partridges and kestrels. Without trying very hard, I can also find herons, egrets, rabbits, oystercatchers, skylarks, owls, frogs and, if I’m lucky, a sunbathing adder. That kind of stuff is important to me.

6. It’s possibly the least cool place in Britain. That’s a good thing. Don’t get me wrong, I love being close to the bright lights of Brighton, but I can do without the city’s self-obsessed swagger. Boring people move to Brighton, get every part of their body pierced and assume that means they have a personality. Nobody moves to Seaford to be cool. Which is, well, kind of cool.

7. The Seaford Half Marathon. 13 miles of relentless, beautiful and exhausting off-roading. Taking part should be a condition of living here.

8. Bumping into Denis Healey. All true Seafordians see themselves as friends and associates of the loveable ex-Chancellor.

9. The train links. We should count ourselves lucky – we have a nice little station, trains that run regularly and on time, even if they’re populated by hyper 14-year-olds who’ve had too much Lucozade and want to achieve their day’s quota of swear words in the brief interlude of freedom between school and home. Feel free to give funny looks to anyone who gets off at Southease station.

10. Beach combing. The rock pools at Hope Gap are great for all kinds of marine life. Further along, the beach doesn't have quite the variety of shells I remember from when I came here as a kid, but you'll still find mermaid's purses, intriguing pebbles and the remains of frightening-looking fish. Oh, and depending on the circumstances, enough wood to construct a sort of wicker man, which locals could set fire to and dance around while confused Belgians speed off in their camper vans.



Things about Seaford that make me despair

1. The “sea defence”. The sand and the groynes of what was once a gently-sloping adventure playground are entombed under thousands of tonnes of imported rubble, stacked at a perilous angle of 45 degrees. Step two paces into the surf and you’re already up to your neck. Thanks, Southern Water.

2. Morrisons. I genuinely believe you should be able to vote for your town’s supermarket in a democratic election, and my rosette would say Waitrose. The evidence against the big M: shrink-wrapped peppers. Flavoured couscous. A whole aisle devoted to Yorkshire puddings. Signs for “pop”.

3. Seafront flats. I’m talking about monstrosities like Dane Heights, The Viking etc. Perhaps early Nordic visitors to Seaford raped, burned and pillaged, but at least they didn’t erect towering monolithic structures that would disgrace even the least ambitious Soviet satellite state.

4. The Newhaven incinerator. Soon, we will be burning the rubbish generated by Brighton (and, to be fair, ourselves) and breathing in the toxic fumes that this generates. It’s not too late to make those responsible for this planning atrocity feel pretty shitty about what they’ve done to us. They’ve abused local democracy to push this through, and nobody has taken them to account. Thanks, Tories. Thanks, Lib Dems.

5. The town centre after about 7.30pm. That’s when we officially hand over to the night watch of semi-naked, loudmouthed, teenage trolls. No doubt they’ll all undergo a miraculous metamorphosis and grow up to be fine, upstanding citizens who make huge contributions to society. It’s boring watching them pupate, though.

6. A lack of. Fill in the rest of the sentence yourself. You could try “a cinema” or “a decent swimming pool” or “a farmers’ market” or “choice of secondary school” or “men’s clothes shops” or “a proper newspaper” or “evidence that Lewes District Council even knows we exist”.

7. The Salts. Yeah, yeah, yeah, it’s a great big patch of open land and we should be grateful for it and it’s better than a housing estate and it’s somewhere for the kids to let off steam. But it’s so bloody bleak. The last thing I’d want to do there is indulge in “recreation”. There are war cemeteries which feel jollier.

8. People who moan about the town. That's why I'm not going to reach 10 on this list. I can't stand the attitude of people who think they're somehow better than where they live. If you're not part of the solution, you're part of the problem. So just shut up.

Feel free to suggest likes and dislikes of your own. I take it you have them.