Visiting Brighton

Sunday, March 18th., Cadogan Square, London.

I returned from Brighton yesterday and developed an entirely new kind of neuralgia, the fourth kind since my influenza. I had been down to Brighton to rid myself of the obstinate neuralgic sequelae of a quite mild attack of influenza. Also for the purpose of getting an idea for a short story. Despite entertaining, and being entertained, and free indulgence in the most agreeable and (to me) most pernicious of all alcoholic liquids, champagne, I attained both objectives in three days. At least I thought I had, but the neuralgic 'victory' proved to be more of a 'cease fire'.

Of all the 'circle' in which I move I think I am the only person who likes Brighton, or at least admits to doing so. The sole thing I object to in Brighton is the penny-in-the-slot machines on the piers. Brighton has character, as the man who made its fame had character - but his character was evil. 

The Lanes

I have spent months and months in Brighton and I thought I knew the place, especially the 'Lanes'. But today I found a second-hand bookshop previously unknown to me. I went in there immediately. I have never knowingly walked past a second-hand bookshop! And I discovered some plays of Labiche, an author of whom the bookseller had never heard, so that I got the plays cheap! I bought twelve books for £1 15s. This episode gave me no idea for my short story, but it certainly did something to cure my neuralgia. Doctors still all begin their treatment at the wrong end, dealing first with the body instead of with the mind. It is quite apparent to me that much of my neuralgia, like my speech impediment, has a psychological basis. But that knowledge doesn't make it any less debilitating.

Later I went for a ride along the shore on the Electric Railway. Years ago the proprietor of this railway gave me a season ticket for it because he liked one of my books. An example which might advantageously be followed by the G.W.R., the L.M.S., the L.N.E.R., and other railway systems.

This afternoon a man came by invitation to tea, and brought his niece. I don't know why he brought his niece except for her to have the opportunity to tell her friends that she had met yours truly. I rather object thus to be 'viewed' by strangers. he was witless enough to tell me that I looked tired. I will not be inviting him again.