The World's End is a gift of a name for a pub, isn't it? Especially when it's in London Road. I was diverted there by Brendan Cleary the other day, when I was off to the bank. I'd left myself so much time to kill that it was a relief to have something to do with it other than the mundane daily life stuff. Brendan is a good friend and a great poet but for some reason neglected, or overlooked. He and I have our own theories about this, most of which are too rude or bitter to write down, but somehow don't seem unreasonable to utter by the 4th or 5th pint.

Not that we went to those lengths the other day. It was mid afternoon and actually, I stayed on a pint of orange juice. It was a bit tricky having a conversation on the pavement, but it was a fine day and too gloomy inside. That goes almost without saying for a pub with that name. The lorries that pound out of Brighton mostly go down London Road. Sean O'Brien, another poet who used to live in Brighton many years ago, wrote a good ballad about London Road. He's gone onto Dante's Inferno now. I wonder if there's any connection?

I keep wanting to tell people I was at the World's End. It's like a man I know who's called Jesus. That too is a gift, when you tell someone you saw Jesus on Lewes Road. And for a moment they think you're mad or perhaps have had a bad day. It would be interesting to combine the two. Oh, I met Jesus at the World's End.....