Matt Whistler searches for some thespians

I overheard part of a conversation in Brighton’s Mad Hatters Café, that there was a settlement of film makers, comedians, thespians and dancers living on the seafront in Shoreham in old railway carriages and houses named after pantomimes, with no electricity.
At around this time my girlfriend robot ATM, had announced she had a confession to make and we should drop in to meet the theatrical folk and drink tea. So there we were on Shoreham beach waiting to meet Jack Nicholson, when one solitary hobbling old man tootled up to me while staring at ATM whose sequins were glistening in the sunlight – he was definitely eying up my girl.
After asking him where Bungalow Town was, he said you are about 100 years too late. The old man told me back in the day, entertainment industry types were often looking for digs to enjoy an unconventional lifestyle when they had performances in Brighton – Bungalow Town was the happening place. Some of the houses were constructed around old railway carriages. He doffed his hat, looked me in the eye, said ‘break a leg’, winked, did a mid air clanging zip-a-dee-doo-dah, then scuttled off with more energy than when he first arrived. ATM made her confession and told me that she had taken every triangular stone off the Coastline of East Sussex to make prehistoric spears to throw at car sponges, to increase her powers of perception, she then persisted to throw a force field around me that made me to laugh hysterically at her confession and then with her mind, intertwine my arms and legs like a packet of noodles. I removed one of her circuit boards, once again and carried her back to the house under my arm.