A wonderful contribution to the Britannia Moribundia canon by old-hand and k-punk fave Michael Moorcock in last week's Guardian:
'Cheap renderings and patched stucco are moulded by a natural graffiti spelling out the dreams of failed novelists who come to escape, to set down their stories, before it dawns on their horrified minds that the bungalows and boarding houses are as hungry as the sea. Stay too long and you inevitably drown in a quicksand of disappointment, seedy nostalgia and self-deception. Here, on the shingle of Kent and Sussex, East-Enders habitually come to die, just as south and west Londoners choose Worthing or Bournemouth as their final resting places, no longer able to attain the dormitory heavens of Brighton and Hove.
Sidling around the Estuary, Sinclair, via Norton, has learned the secret of the English seaside: it was designed only to be visited. This is where desperate immigrants, former showbiz stars and ancient juvenile delinquents seek asylum. To live here for more than a few weeks is to be caught in a 1950s time-trap where all the prejudices, loyalties, hatreds, myths and desires of immediate post-second world war England constantly recycle themselves.'
(Thanks to Sphaleotas for drawing my attention to this nugget.)Posted by mark at May 2, 2004 07:19 PM | TrackBack