The world-famous British weather has been pulling out all the stops over the last few days. During a short break in the proceedings yesterday I did a bit of flat-hunting in Brighton. It was a lovely bright morning, with the winter sun low in the sky making the city look absolutely beautiful. Here’s a pic I took with my Blackberry of the Palace Pier from Marine Parade…
I managed to get away at a reasonable hour after the end of the interviews and made it home to Cardiff before the snow arrived, which it eventually did around one o’clock in the morning. It’s still snowing a bit, actually, but it’s now mixed with drizzle. The slushy streets are unusually quiet. There’s not all that much in Cardiff itself, but the examinations due to start at 9am this morning were delayed until 9.30 to allow students and staff extra time to get to the various venues. The main thing is that it’s very dark, with grey clouds filling the sky. Here’s another Blackberry pic, taken on my walk into work this morning..
The contrast with Brighton yesterday is considerable, except for the temperature. Bright and dry in Brighton, dark and damp in Cardiff and cold in both.
Still, at least the “red snow alert” broadcast by the BBC came to nothing. This lot is definitely white.
Back to the splendid Cavalaire Hotel after an exhausting day of lectureships interviews, following on from yesterday’s exhausting day of presentations by the candidates and the subsequent (much less exhausting) dinner with the candidates in the Coach House. It’s such a packed schedule because we’re appointing three lecturers at the same time, so have a bigger group of candidates than at a normal recruitment event. I’m going to go out with an old friend for a relaxing pint and a meal later on, but I thought I’d just put up a quick post before I go out into the chilly seaside air.
The first thing I have to say is that I’ve been completely blown away by the quality of the applicants we have to select from. In fact, watching the succession of excellent presentations and participating in today’s interviews made me wonder how I ever managed to get a permanent job at all. It’s a shame we’re going to have to disappoint some of them, as we clearly can’t appoint them all, but fortunately I’m sure they’ll all have other opportunities in the near future. Not that we’ve made any decisions yet. There’s another bunch of interviews tomorrow and then we’ll be locked in a room in Sussex House until we make a decision. It won’t be easy, but it’s a good problem to have: like a football manager having to pick a team from a very strong squad.
Other than that this trip has been a process of gradually rediscovering Brighton. One thing that has changed for the better since I lived here in the late 80s is the public transport system. The buses from the City Centre to the University Campus at Falmer are very frequent and quite cheap, only £2 for a single full-price and a lot cheaper if you buy a return or have a season ticket. Cardiff’s buses are expensive and poorly organized in comparison.
One other thing struck me last night as I walked through town to the Coach House for dinner. Large parts of Brighton try very hard to be quite posh. There are many fancy restaurants and upmarket boutiques all over the place. But however hard they try they can’t quite shake off that slightly seedy image that I think Brighton will always possess, and which makes it such a fun place to live. It’s a bit like how a dirty joke is always funnier when it’s told by someone dressed as a vicar.
Last night I watched the classic 1947 film of Graham Greene‘s novel Brighton Rock. Well, I thought I should get into practice for my tough guy role as Head of School when I move down to the South coast next year. Anyway, this great film is worth watching for many reasons, including a superb performance by Richard Attenborough as the young gangster, Pinkie. But what struck me watching it last night is that this is a rare example of an authentic British Film Noir, not only in terms of the nihilistic central character but also because of the expressionistic use of lighting, deep shadows, and strangely disorienting camera angles, as exemplified in this scene.
Twenty-five years ago I was living in Brighton as a graduate student at the University of Sussex. On October 16th 1987 (a Friday) I woke up to find the electricity had been cut off. Without breakfast I struggled out to find the street lined with fallen trees, smashed cars and houses with broken windows. This was the Great Storm of 1987 which, according to weather forecaster Michael Fish, was “not a hurricane” and I had slept through the whole thing…
Here’s the infamous weather forecast broadcast on the Thursday evening
and here is the BBC News from the following day:
I’m sure my readers (Sid and Doris Bonkers) will be anxious to share their recollections of that wild and windy night through the comments box!
I’ve been away for a few days leading up to the Whitsuntide bank holiday so I thought I’d just throw together a quick post catching up on two or three things.
First, we’re all indebted to Ed and Haley for putting together this video of the Herschel-Planck launch party a couple of weeks ago. I think it’s very nicely done, despite the fact that I’m in it. In fact, some trick of the lens makes me appear slightly drunk. I don’t know how that can have happened.
I’d also like to take this opportunity to thank the fine folks at the University of Sussex Astronomy Centre for inviting me to give a seminar there on Friday and also laying on such fine hospitality, in the form of an excellent curry afterwards. They also put me up in the splendid Cavalaire hotel (run by Derek and Garry) which is comfortable, friendly and, well, just very Brighton…
I did my graduate studies at Sussex, getting my DPhil there about 20 years ago and stayed thereafter for another couple of years as a postdoc before moving up to London. Having the excuse to go back was rather wonderful because wandering around the city brought back lots of very happy memories of the place.
Some things have changed, of course. I was shocked to discover that the Zap Club under the arches on the seafront has closed down (or at least changed its name). Superficially, things have come and gone but the overall feel of the town hasn’t changed much, though, as far as I can tell. I was quite surprised that the same bus route (number 25) runs from the town to the Campus in Falmer, although the one I got was stuck in traffic for ages on the way. On a glorious sunny weekend, though, there’s no better place to be than Brighton. I wish I could have stayed a bit longer.
And finally, as I predicted, the last day of the Premiership season did indeed see the relegation of Newcastle United. I wasn’t surprised at the outcome, but it’s typical of this season that they went out with such a whimper. Basically they needed to get something out of their game away Aston Villa and hope that either Sunderland or Hull City would lose. In fact the other two teams played their part by both losing. Unfortunately, however, Newcastle also lost 1-0 (to an own goal) so they go down. I’ve been reconciled to this for quite a long time, however, and it didn’t depress me too much. It probably helped that the substantial bet I made on this eventuality has already paid out and I’ve got a nice bit of dosh to compensate me. It probably also means I’m a cynical bastard. Quite a few folks at Sussex expressed disapproval of my gambling philosophy – always bet on the outcome that you don’t want to happen, as a kind of insurance policy – but I stand by it. I’m looking forward to seeing the team play in Cardiff City next season and, who knows, maybe they’ll be playing Brighton the following year!
Incidentally, the Whit week holiday (which celebrates the feast of Pentecost) was always called “Race Week” when I was a kid on Tyneside, because it is when the Northumberland Plate has been run at Newcastle racecourse (since 1833). The associated festivities regularly got out of hand and degenerated into drunken chaos until, in 1882, the local Temperance Society set up a Temperance Fair on the Town Moor. Over the years this grew into the largest travelling fun fair in Europe and became called “The Hoppings“. It was the highlight of the half-term holiday at School to be taken to The Hoppings – usually in the pouring rain – to come home with a goldfish in a plastic bag and a toffee apple.
Race week isn’t to be confused with the famous “Blaydon Races” which take place on 9th June and which are commemorated in Geordie Ridley‘s music hall song, which mentions the date of 1862. The race referred to in this case is an athletics race which was originally run on Stella Haugh, which is now the site of a power station. The runners now race from Newcastle to Blaydon following the route described in the song. If you’re confused by the lyrics then you probably weren’t aware that Paradise is a place in Newcastle. The Blaydon Races is typically sung by supporters of Newcastle United, though I suspect those renditions will be rather subdued for a while.
Anyway, back to work tomorrow. In a day or two I’ll be locked away marking examinations. Hey ho.
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