St Leonards Land

Image by AndyWilson via Flickr

Probably the best thing you can say about St Leonard's on Sea, the poorer cousin of the less than properous, Hastings, is that there is always something happening. Of course whether you want that something to be happening is another matter. St Leonard's often gives the impression that it has just finished playing host to some pop concert or other and the audience is making its way home encouraged by the local police.

Technically, you are not allowed to drink on the street, but that doesn't stop the small legion of thin, dishevelled men and worried looking women from attempting what I have come to call 'The St Leonard's Legerdemain' a sleight of hand trick that holds the can in a cupped hand supposedly hidden from view by the wrist and arm. As a way of keeping the can out of the sight of the local constabulary it is hampered a little by the appearance of the would be alcoholic magician giving the faint impression that they have suffered a slight stroke.

Right now extensive and seemingly overlapping road works mean that the main part of the town gives the impression that its actually still under construction. Even the alcoholics a

Image by Joffley via Flickr

nd junkies have been moved to find quieter and more convivial spots to abuse themselves.

Odd then that despite all this I find it oddly stimulating to live here. There is nearly always something to amuse, or at times to worry. The ethnic mix is never dull with the chance to learn swear words in half a dozen middle European languages. Odd then that although Hastings is a bare mile away, probably less in terms of the official distance, it could be another country at times. It combines a strange and almost schizophrenic combination of poverty and affluence with owned three storey houses rubbing shoulders with the broken windows and moss infected guttering of the rented accommodation. Volvos sit uncomfortably close to rust coated bicycles of uncertain parentage and the tattooed and paint bespattered creatures of the night find themselves vying with the commuter for the contents of the local bizarre.

Not so much a melting pot, more an attempt at cultural arson.

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