On Eastbourne

Whilst Ali is in the Maldives, it is my solemn task to bring things back down to earth with tales from our tattered British isles, and more particularly, with my thoughts on Eastbourne’s relative merits. Why Eastbourne you might ask? Because it’s the only place I ever get to visit through work. And living in Brighton has given me an affinity with all other seaside resorts, however gaudy, run-down or plain unfashionable.

First thing to say is that Eastbourne is lovely. It’s full of handsome buildings; it’s spacious; it boasts its own *micro-climate*, and it has some good shops and some decent bars and restaurants. Contrary to what you might think, there are some young people there, and it also has a large student population. But certain aspects of its reputation are all too true. Wandering through the town centre to the seafront after a meeting last Monday, I was struck not just by how old everyone was, but by how many coffee shops of the formica-table variety there were. Also, there has evidently been some kind of revolution in walking supports for the older Eastbourne citizen. Zimmer frames with integral seats seemed to be all the rage - I saw at least ten of them. One day, some Flash Harry pensioner must have sashayed forth down the boulevards of Eastbourne’s central shopping precinct with his shiny new Zimmer Sitter, and all grey heads must have slowly turned. They all went home and phoned their now middle-aged sons and daughters, and in their best martyred voices, told them how their legs weren’t what they’d used to be, and that they’d stopped eating or putting the heating on because it wasn’t worth it, but they had seen these new seat thingies that might just give them back the will to live. So now all the pensioners have them. They sit on them neatly outside shops and at bus stops, watching the world go by and waiting for their pals. Those bastions of senior citizen life, benches, are now dominated by Emo kids, whilst the elderly can now have a nice sit down wherever they happen to last be standing up.

It’s heartening to think that when I am old, and long only to sit in tea rooms, rustling packets of demerara sugar for my milky tea and eating big Chelsea buns with glace cherries on top, I will still be interested in new technology, even if it’s only in aid of finding new ways to take the weight off my feet. I think it’s a collective throwback to childhood, and to the moment when the great game of musical chairs is finally played. When the music suddenly stops and the scramble to sit down is underway, the old folk will be home and dry.