Oh here’s to Brighton
A town that says ‘do your worst’
Says here’s to the hug that won’t let go first, taking the sting out of signal failure at Three Bridges
Says here’s to the archers and all the weekend flotsam that washes up beneath
Says here’s to the orderly queue of shit even deeper below, a feat of Victorian engineering
Says here’s to a grubby sunset and the whirling twirling starlings
Says here’s to 11,000 a year at American Express, crisp and shiny in a Primark suit
Says here’s to chips and curry sauce and the crunch of leather jackets
Says here’s to pile-it-high roasts with all the trimmings and the gurning turning chefs with nicotine knuckles
Says here’s to the Steiner school kids and their lost ambition
like mist drifting across the downs
Says here’s to saying sorry 100 times in the Kemp Town Coop and the calming absence of choice
Says here’s to the wind between the tower blocks battering your London hair
Says here’s to a sun drenched nap, half way back to Hove
Says here’s to setting sail in a mobility scooter, “ahoy” says the fat man blowing along the prom
Says here’s to giggling at the turnip palace as you pass the joint, resting your head on a soft white thigh
Says here’s to an overpriced painted rock and a passive aggressive sales pitch in the hallway of an open house
Says here’s to watching over us wise old channel like a tear in the sack of an eye ready to roll
Says here’s to the beach of misshaped hearts
Says here’s to falling asleep on the couch Sunday night and missing the rail replacement bus
Says here’s to getting here
Says here’s to never leaving
Here’s to the things we love