Saturday 31 May 2014

Day 31: Baby it ain't over till it's over


Wow, that was quick. Well it was actually 31 days, but it seems to have rocketed by. So how did I do?

Hmm... 23 out of 30 by the looks of things. Can I call that successful? I'm not sure. What do you think dear reader? The fact that I wrote 23 blog pieces in a month is pretty good going, even if I didn't hit my target of 30. The point of a 30-day challenge is to experience something new, either by giving something up or taking on a new thing, so from that point of view I was successful: I now know what it's like to have to write everyday for an audience, on top of my regular routine.

This was definitely the hardest challenge so far. Not because I had trouble finding stuff to write about, but because of the time involved. Writing is not something I can just hammer out in 10 minutes. OK, I probably could, but it wouldn't be very good. It would be like this piece. Just a stream of thoughts and words.

My approach - with only one exception - was always to think about what I'm writing first, then write it, then read it through, and then, very often re-write entire sections. The thinking part of that often takes the whole day and I probably change my mind about the subject several times. The writing part can take up to an hour, including edits and publishing on-line.

I'll probably change this when I read it though. There I just did!

I read somewhere once that there is no such thing as spare time. All our time is ours to command. We know exactly how many hours there are in a day, so there is no extra. Nothing is spare. If you chose to do something, then it's knowingly at the cost of another thing. It's unlikely that anyone suddenly stumbles across a few extra hours they didn't know they had and certainly not on a regular basis. The only real spare time is either accidentally mis-allocated time (I didn't think I'd finish the mowing the lawn so quickly) or just a bit of luck (what were the chances of there being no traffic in the west end this afternoon! I got home 20 minutes early!) And if you are the happy beneficiary of one of these unlikely scenarios, seldom does it allow for much more than a hastily grabbed extra phone call or a few extra minutes of rest.

So this challenge was hard because I always had to move things aside for it. Now I've learned how tough that is in my current life schedule.

Saying that, however, I'm a bit disappointed that I didn't make all 30, even if I have mitigating circumstances. The missing 7 days were all pieces I either really wanted to write or promised I would write, so...  I'm going to do them anyway and over lap this challenge into the next one!

Baby It ain't over till it's over. Watch this space.

Wednesday 28 May 2014

Day 28: Chinese Night

My friend Pete is an exhibitionist. Not the kind that takes off his clothes in front of an audience (although he may do that in his spare time, I don't know him that well!), but the kind that likes to take on seemingly impossible feats, just for fun and then surprise everyone by going one step further.

His speciality is dinner parties. Simply put, he will choose a country or theme - Indian, Mexican or Thai for example - and then declare that there will be a feast at his home for the first thirty people who claim an invite. Yes, thirty!

I'm sure when he started, it was about 10 people and the numbers have increased slowly over time. And, rather than the portions and amounts of food getting smaller, they've grown in size too, roughly in proportion with the number of guests. At most dinner parties you’ll get maybe three or four dishes if your host is handy in the kitchen. At Pete’s, it’s always in the double digits.

Of course he doesn't do this completely alone. He invites people to help him and if you are near the kitchen while the action is going on, you’ll be tasked with something. That's right, in addition to everything else, he does it live. with hardly any prep or pre made items. Pretty much all the dishes are made just before chow time, while there are guests milling around and the drinks are already flowing. Did I say impressive? Impressive!

If you're wondering what I did to help, I’ll tell you. I bought some of the trickier to find ingredients in China Town, just before the meal, and stirred a wok full of noodles for about 5 minutes. Utterly invaluable, he couldn't have done it without me. Yeah, right.

Thursday night was...

Chinese Night!

Appetizers

Steamed Prawn and Pork Wontons
Canton Style Spare Ribs
Crispy Duck Pancakes
Sticky Sesame and Soy Chicken Skewers
Spiced Mushroom Soup Shots
Mains

Kung Po Chicken
Beef in Black Bean Sauce
Dong Po Pork
Spicy Szechuan Prawns
Shanghai Noodles
Steamed Rice

Needless to say it was all good and he got the portions perfectly right.

But the most remarkable thing about Pete is (and I mean this honestly) is his enthusiasm. The next morning, just after 8.00am, after no doubt spending hours cleaning up the house (and garden), but before going to his regular day job, he sent out an email, inviting loads of people to another feast in a few weeks time.

I'm starting to wonder if we need to stage an intervention…

Tuesday 27 May 2014

Day 27: at the pictures

I'm sitting in the cinema writing this. Don't worry, the film hasn't started yet, so I’m not offending anyone or breaking any rules. In fact, the lights haven't even dimmed - they are still playing slides.

Still playing slides! Funny that they still do that in 2014, albeit via power-point or something similar. But then, why not - the basis for the whole experience is about 100 years old. Some things have changed… some things have not. No, I’m not old enough to remember that far back!

It's a good day to 'go to the pictures'. Gloomy, raining, midweek, early evening. Stopped for a bite to eat on the way (Pie & Mash), rocked up to the theatre without booking first, wrestled with the decision of buying popcorn and/or pick & mix (chose neither)... this is all pretty old school.




We are at the Vue Westfield Stratford city. Screen 5 to be precise. I like it here. It's far from home, yet still less than an hours journey. It think this might be the most recently built cinema complex in London. Which translates to a very good quality screen, projection and environment. And, due to Stratford city being a little bit chavy, slightly cheaper than it’s counterpart across town in Shepherds Bush.

I’m tired of 3D, so we've elected to go 2D, also known as ‘normal’. I never walk away from 3D feeling I enjoyed the film more for it. Just that I have a slight headache and pay about £3 more for the privilege. Instead we went for a VIP seat at the Extreme screen. Combined with the digital projectors they have here, it’s a good looking picture. And fairly big too.

Sound just came on. It's pretty good... and loud.

Lights are dimming. A shame there are no curtains to open. Where’s the showmanship? I doubt anyone cares any more...

Here come the trailers! Time to put this away...

Next: Days of Future Past

Monday 26 May 2014

Day 26: time travelling and alternate universes

Today, whilst I travel through London's relatively empty streets, on this sombre, damp, public holiday, I find myself thinking somewhat speculatively about could-haves, what-ifs, buts and maybes. The world that is, the world that isn't and the world that probably never will be. The decisions I've made that led me here and the opportunities that have past me by. This train of thought, which is in no way, connected to my hangover, eventually arrives at the subject of time travel.

What would you do, if you could time travel? I mean, seriously? Aside from my own wandering thoughts, driven on this and other occasions by regret, I've asked many people this question as part of an audio podcast I was working on a few years ago. The question I would pose, is actually multi-part:
  1. Would you go forwards or backwards in time?
  2. Where and how far?
  3.  What would you do when you got there?
  4. What would you take with you?
  5. What would you bring back?
  6. If you met a future or past version of yourself and gave him/her advice, what would it be and would they listen?
Unsurprisingly, the most common general answer is 'I'd travel back to last week with this weeks winning lottery numbers'. Aside from being extremely unimaginative, we've seen and read enough works of time travel fiction to see where the perils in this particular course of action may lie. From the classic movie Back to the Future to the more recent and darker sci-fi cult fave Primer and all the tales in between - time travel as a get rich quick scheme idea seldom turns out well, for anyone.

So lets put the lottery numbers (or horse race results or stock exchange history) aside. What would you do? While you think about that, let me tell you what I would do (other than going back to last Friday evening, surprising myself whilst I'm on my way to the bar at The Plough and giving myself a crisp slap round the face and a lecture on common sense).

Assuming I have multiple trips available I'd probably visit my younger self with some advice, ranging from simple, but cryptic things like 'don't step on the first cockroach' or 'don't visit a barber who has never cut afro hair and has chosen to name his salon the joke shop', to the more straight forward 'Don't let them talk you into taking that business loan' and 'It does matter if you don't spend Christmas together'.

Would I listen? Actually, I think I would. My younger self would probably reason that if older me is smart enough to figure out time travel, then I/he must know what I/he is talking about and wouldn't have made the effort without good reason. That, and, What the hell happened to my hair and waistline?

And then I'd go forward in time, far enough that I'd be dead. I don't want to know how things end for me. I want to know what happens after that, in general. What I'm going to miss. Are we heading in the right direction as a society? Is everything going to be OK? Or do I need to take action now?

Whilst time travel might not be a reality (at least not now), I do believe in the concept of parallel universes. Every time we decide on a course of action (or not) we don't just alter our path, we create a fracture, an alternate universe where we made the other decision. I think if time travel were possible, to go forward would be to visit the future of your current set of choices - the ones you are currently on a path to make - and because they haven't happened yet, you can effectively change them, with a little bit of fore-knowledge. I don't think this would break or damage anything that hasn't happened yet (unlike going back in time and trying to change the past).

Which brings me back to today. I wonder if there are other realities where I haven't got a hangover. Or do I have a hangover in all of them? Or none of them?

Yes, there may be realities similar to this one where we've all made different choices and regret different big things, but chances are the little regrets are still the same. The things that lead to those aren't strictly choices. They are just our nature and I don't believe we can change the fundamentals of who we are.

Saturday 24 May 2014

Day 24: Match of the day


I was going to do a piece about hangovers today. I also considered doing a piece about after work drinks which lead to hangovers. So there I was, on a train, making some notes on my ipad, with a hangover, when a very large group of gentlemen got on and started to sing. Like so:


That was actually a quieter moment, just before they got off at Shepherds Bush.

Not knowing anything about current football affairs, it was with great, if somewhat bemused, interest that I listened to their chanting.  I would now like share with you what I learned about today's football match, entirely from the lyrics to their songs:
it would appear that Queens Park Rangers were victorious at Wembly, thanks to a single goal scored in the last minute by a fellow named Bobby Zamora. One goal was all that was needed, so one goal was is what they stole.
West London is wonderful.

Derby on the other hand, who were the other team involved, well Derby... they can just go on home. Go on home. go. on. home. George, who I believe plays for Derby, is apparently OK though and can stay. Yes indeed. He. Can. Stay.

As for Chelsea - who as far as I can tell, weren't even playing today - they are can just fuck off. just fuck off. fuck. off.

QPR are back in the game now. Back in the league. and this is just the start. They will return to Wem-ber-ley to win the cup. Wem-ber-ley. Win the cup. Because QPR are match of the day you see, whilst Derby are just a football special.  And Chelsea can just fuck off. fuck right off.
Since arriving home I've had a quick look at facebook and some of the posts from my friends (Jason & Peter) who are far more in touch with English Football, would appear to verify these facts. So I can honestly say, that as a source of sports news, the QPR supporters were very reliable in this instance.

Citizen journalism and the power of song. BBC 5 Live Sports radio eat your heart out.

Thursday 22 May 2014

Day 22: Vote local

For much Europe, today was election day. European Community Elections and in the UK and some other countries, additional council elections. I've been out to vote already (and I always encourage to do so) but by the time I get this on-line, the polls will be closed, so I don’t expect anyone to read this and think wow, I must run out and vote. It’s too late for that - this time. But I do want to talk about why I think it’s worth doing, next time.

With the exception of my neighbourhood, everyone in London had two polls to cast a vote in today. One for the European Parliament, in which you are allowed one vote for a European parliament member, and one for your respective local city council, in which you can cast up to three votes for different local city councillors.

In our London neighbourhood - Queens Park - we are slightly special. In addition to the European and City Council ballots, we are voting for a Community Council, the first and only one in London, ever. The area it covers - defined as Queens Park Parish - isn’t very large: It’s some (but not all) of the postal districts of W9 & W10, an area of no more than 2 square miles. Probably less.

So just what is a Community Council? Apparently it is:

"An elected Community Council (aka town council or parish council), which will share the same legal powers and responsibilities as the other 8,000-plus town and parish councils that came into being as a result of Victorian legislation in 1894.

Parish councils are the lowest or first tier of local government. They are responsible for areas known as civil parishes and the elected bodies have variable tax raising powers.

The Queen's Park Community Council will be made up of 12 Councillors, all of whom live within the area, who will serve a four year term. Over that period they will consult with all residents on local priorities and be accountable to them for spending more than £500,000"

It’s unclear at the moment how much of a real influence on local life the community council will have once elected - only time will tell. Half a million pounds sounds like a lot of money, but in a big city like London I bet that can disappear really fast. Over 4 years it’s barely £10k a month. But its exciting to think that people we know as neighbours will have some resources to spend and powers to act on things I can see out of the kitchen window!

Really? Yes really! On my way out of the polling office, I met some of the candidates. Every one of them lives within a mile of home and one of them I went to school with when I was less 10 years old. I think it’s the first time I’ve ever actually been connected to the candidates in an election I’ve voted in.

And we would never have got to this stage at all if the local community hadn’t voted in a referendum a couple of years back to have a community council in the first place.

A friend of mine once told me that "voting in local elections is likely the most influence you'll ever have on the politics that directly effect your life." Or something like that. She probably phrased it far more elegantly. Regardless, the essence of it, I think is true. It's easy to believe, that in a national election,
your single vote isn't going to make a difference (despite that fact it will), but in a local election of thousands or even just hundreds, it's hard to dismiss the notion that every vote counts.

But it's not just the counting that makes a difference. In local government there is a much higher ability to meet and influence the people you are voting for and ultimately the people in power. Let's be honest, you're unlikely to ever have even a passing conversation with a member of parliament (or congress). Your local councillor, on the other hand, could very possibly shop on your high road and drink in your local pub.

So if you didn’t do it this time round, next election day, get involved. Don’t be an armchair critic, complaining about the state of the neighbourhood, town or city you live in. Vote and do something about it. Meet the people who run things. Buy them a pint. Get them to buy you two. Get drunk with them (but don't get arrested with them. That shit doesn't look good on anyone's CV). You might genuinely make a difference, by doing nothing more than talking to your neighbours and getting involved.

Wednesday 21 May 2014

Day 21: Has Portobello Road lost it's charm?

So here I am, standing beneath the elevated section of the A40 Motorway, on Portobello Road on a Saturday afternoon. The sun is shining, the weather is sweet here! And so is the smell of food coming from Acklam Village to my left and the sound of funk coming from one of the music stalls, sheltered under Portobello Green, to my right. There are hundreds of people on a hundred different missions and if I stand here long enough, it won't be long before someone I know will walk by.

If I take a wander, under the massive canvas covering of the Green, it's easy to get lost in amongst the clothes sellers. Here, you can buy everything from cool re-styled army-surplus camo-gear to T-shirts sporting whatever the current  trending internet meme might be. If you've seen it on-line then it's here, be it home made or mass produced. Need something less common? Not to worry: this is also where the line blurs between second hand, scrap and vintage.

But if you really want to go vintage, the music options here will keep you extremely happy. There's always someone selling an old vinyl collection or two. And, if it takes your fancy, you can still buy 'mix-tapes' here, as well as their modern equivalent on CDs. When I lived in Germany in the 90s I would come to this section of the market on every visit to London, just to buy music. On one occasion I met a fly-by-night trader who was selling a record collection so similar to my own that I took a photo of him in case I'd find mine missing when I got home.

Portobello Green extends along the flyover all the way to Ladbroke Grove - a stretch about 100 meters long that is filled with yet more stalls of dizzying variety. Beneath the flyover itself, tucked under its massive concrete supports is a small dark, arcade. it has several entrances which lead from the green, back under the elevated road to the main market. Despite the hubub and colour just outside and the chaos of traffic above, It's a strangely tranquil little place is filled with boutique shops, ranging from bespoke tailors to chinese herbal tea specialists. It's always quiet here and on a hot day, several degrees cooler than outside. It's like a secret sanctuary in the middle of the market, missed by most visitors who can't see the entrances, tucked behind the second hand stalls and jewellery sellers.

On the opposite side of the market, along the flyover in the opposite direction, on Acklam Road is an area which is fenced off, currently called 'Acklam Village'. In here are more food vendors, bars and an area for live music. This is a relatively new addition to the market. The Acklam area has always been here, but it's often been home to different things: A children's play area gave way to a youth activities centre, which later became a Farmers Market, which has since transformed into a 'street food village'. Perhaps it will be something else next year.

Once you've passed under the railway bridge, you are onto the main stretch of portobello, the part that you are most likely to see on TV or in a music video. Even though I've effectively been in the market for an hour, it's only here that I will really start shopping, for this is where the majority of the fruit and veg sellers are situated.

Of course, I say that in such a way that perhaps sounds grander than it is, but there are far less of them these days: I counted less than 10 stalls on my visit, which is probably a half to a third of the number there would have once been. Regardless, what they offer is still fantastic. There's a guy who only sells mushrooms - some of which look like they can't possibly be real. There's a group of ladies who have an artisan bread stand. A fresh olive dealer. A Fishmonger stand. A Butcher stall that seems to have any kind of meat. And not to mention the actual fruit & veg sellers who still call out their wares in ever so colourful ways.

Along the sides of the streets, the shops are mostly boutique fashion places mixed in with coffee houses. And of course - Garcia's.

Garcia's is probably the best known Spanish retail & whole-seller in London. Established in the late 50s, there probably  isn't a single Spaniard who lives here who hasn't been there to buy something. Indeed, over the years, the operation has expanded and the shop is at least twice as big as it originally was and has extended to having a Spanish cafe and restaurant. Personally I prefer the Spanish Deli that I already passed earlier up the street. I've always found Garcia's a little unfriendly and aloof, but there is no doubt that it's a major contributor to what gives Portobello it's character.

At this point, I'm about half way along the market and fully into shopping mode, trying to figure out who has the best prices for the veg I want. It's easy to get distracted. There are so many things going on. The drunk cross dressers badly miming to trance remakes of popular pop songs. A very good human beat-box performing on the corner with his mobile speaker rig. The Hare Krishna's on their march to where-ever they go, with their symbols, chanting and drums. The short american hippy standing on his own on the corner reading chapter and verse to seemingly no one...

By the time I get as far as the Electric Cinema, I've found my chillies. At a good price and quality too. This is normally where I stop and turn around, but it's by no means the end of the market. There is still the antiques section that goes up to Notting Hill Gate. In fact, as I mentioned at the beginning of my previous piece, to most people the market hasn't really started yet, because they are coming at it from the other direction and they've only seen the antiques. That section of the market, even though it's shorter, can keep you occupied for much longer due to the nature of the shops. A lot of them are actually mini arcades and indoor markets with a myriad of small vendors inside, occupying maze like corridors and basements.

I'm not one for that kind of thing and I have my chillies, so at this stage I'm going to turn back. On my way, I'll revisit the things I found interesting and probably allow myself some indulgence spending. Probably on a bratwurst or some churros. And I'll probably sport a bunch of things I didn't notice on the way up.

This is what it's always been like. Some of the stall holders have been here as long as I can remember. Some might be gone next week. Half the shoppers are probably tourists or at least, visitors from out of town. But if you could transport yourself back in time either one, five or even twenty years, it would feel essentially the same.

I can't imagine spending an afternoon here and being bored, or not finding something interesting. When we were doing our sixth form art project, we'd sit in the Portobello Cafe (which is now a Thai restaurant). It has a second floor outdoor terrace which looks down on one of the busy market sections. You can just sit there and watch and be entertained.

So I suppose, the answer to the initial question is easy for me. Portobello Road has definitely retained it's soul. Charm is subjective. I've never found it charming, but I suppose some people would. I find it fascinating.

Monday 19 May 2014

Day 19: Saturday Shopping

For most visitors to London and indeed most Londoners, Portobello Road starts at Notting Hill Gate and winds it's way north towards Kensal Green. If you look it up in a guide book this would likely be the suggested route. Certainly, at Notting Hill Gate Station there are seemingly endless tourists with maps and books, heading north, chattering away in foreign tongues, heading that way - probably hoping to get a picture outside the house used in that film.

But not for me. As far as I'm concerned, the Portobello Road experience should be done the other way round, from Kensal Rd via Golbourne Rd and then north towards Notting Hill Gate. Of course, I'm biased as I grew up in the neighbourhood and look at things from quite a different perspective from most.

My earliest memories of Saturday Shopping doen the 'bella are shopping with my mum and my sister. We'd walk there from the other side of the Grand Union Canal via the Ha'penny Steps on the Harrow Rd, through the estates on Kensal Road and past Trellick Tower. The market actually starts there, on Golbourne Rd, right after the iron bridge. Our first stop would often be the Portuguese delicatessen - Lisboa - that sells very good chorizo.

The market still begins there and Lisboa still sells damn good chorizo. So that's score one for the market being unchanged by time. However the rest of the Golbourne Road section of the market is now mostly North African food vendors. One of them - The Moroccan Soup Stand - won a British Food and Farming Award a couple years back for being the UK's Best Street Food Vendor. 

The whole stretch is a bit like an open air street restaurant. The stalls aren't just trestle tables selling food. They are caravans and huts with seating and menu's. But not contrived like other places such as Borough Market, near London Bridge. There you feel as though the whole thing has been manufactured as a disney-esque theme park, even though it's actually the oldest market in London, dating back to 1100AD. Here on Golbourne Road it feels like the line up was quickly put together quickly and without a plan. In between the food stalls there are also the odd fruit and veg stall or a large piece of carpet covered in trinkets. It all feels very real.

After a couple of hundred meters, Golbourne Road meets Portobello Road. The rag tag collection of sellers turns left at this point and you start to get into the market proper, although at this stage, it's mostly second hand stuff and hand made craft items. Everything from hand-made jewellery to old & rare books. Running alongside the road at that point is a large brooding monastery like building, which is home to La Instituto Espanol AKA the Spanish school.

I have to do a side bar here.

Back when I was a kid, we were sent here after school for Spanish tuition. For the children of Spanish immigrants it was the norm. You either went there full-time or you attended for evening classes. My sister were already in regular school, so it was evening classes for us. These generally revolved around Spanish grammar, rather than things like maths & science. Speaking English was forbidden (punishable by a cash fine of a few pence if caught) and the lessons were conducted as if it were a school in Spain, run by nuns (as I've always assumed most schools over there were at that time).

I despised going to Spanish School. It's the only time in my childhood I can honestly say I encountered racism that actually bothered me. In normal day school I was much bigger than the other boys my age, so I was never the victim of name calling or bullying. Plus, growing up in an immigrant neighbourhood, there was a very even mix of colours and races all around me. I certainly didn't stand out. But at Spanish School not only was I the only non-white kid in the school, but I didn't really speak the language very well at all. All the other kids were already fluent, speaking Spanish at home with their parents from a young age. That wasn't the case for me (or my sister) as only my mum spoke Spanish in our immediate family. I always suspected that my Dad was a bit of a conspiracy theorist and didn't like it when he couldn't understand us. He spoke Patois - the broken French creole of the Caribbean island St Lucia and he didn't insist we speak that either. At home it was English all the way.

At Spanish school however, the other kids could make jokes and call me names in Spanish and I couldn't understand them, never mind answer back. And even though I was much bigger than practically all of them, especially the ones my age, it didn't help. Kids ganging together are fearless. If it wasn't for my cousin (who was one of the more popular kids in the school) I wouldn't have survived at all. 

Eventually, when I told my dad the reason I hated going there he immediately pulled me out. Unfortunately it had the unforeseen side effect of making me hate speaking Spanish as a child, which is the most important time to learn a language. As an adult my Spanish is pretty atrocious as a result.

Now, when I walk past La Instituto Espanol , I look at it sadly. It's one of the few parts of my childhood that I consider unpleasant. Sometimes I feel like I actively avoid that part of the market because of it. Even now, 35 years later, I find the building quite menacing.

Sorry bout that. Back to the subject at hand.

A little further down the road, before you get to the flyover, there is a small string of shops that hasn't changed too much. There's a Spanish Deli (changed hands over the years, but still the best one on the street in my opinion), Honest Jon's Records and The Falafel King. These stores have been there as long as I can remember. Amongst them are a wide mix of other restaurants and second hand curiosity shops. It's at this point that the market starts to get busy. People lingering, Music blaring from hidden speakers under the stands. In addition to Honest Jon's, there are a fair number or music stalls around this section, selling obscure CDs, DJ Mixes & compilations. 

If you ask me to paint a mental picture of Portobello Road Market, this is the section I see in my mind. Looking south along the road towards the bridges, where the road dips as it passed under the A40 flyover and the Hammersmith & City Tube Line. To the right is Portobello green, filled with clothes stalls under it's giant, peaked, canvas awning. To the left is Alkam Village tucked underneath the flyover, mostly selling food. Straight ahead, beyond the bridge is the main section of the market before the accent to Notting Hill.  

On this Saturday Afternoon, the picture is perfect. The sun is out and the large covered area, oblivious to the noise of the overhead vehicle traffic, is filled with the sound of music, people, market sellers and the smell of food.

Next: Has Portobello Road lost it's charm?

Sunday 18 May 2014

Day 18: Heading down the 'bella

A few days ago I asked my readers for some writing topics. I got a fair few, but it was the first one, given to me by my old school friend Yan Lynch, that took my fancy the most:
Has Portobello road changed for the better or the worst, has it lost its soul?
I grew up in the area around Portobello Rd, West London. We lived on the Queens Park Estate, just north of the Harrow Rd and I went to school in Ladbroke Grove - St Charles Square. We'd often walk home via 'the 'bella' as we used to call it (even though it wasn't really on the way home for me) or go we'd go there for lunch. We'd hang out there in the afternoons when we were dodging classes and shop there with our families on a Saturday afternoon. In our later teens it was our general stomping ground. Pubs, bars, etc. A lot of my friends lived in the streets immediately surrounding it. Many still do and my mum still lives in the same flat on the queens park estate.

It's taken me a whole week to start this piece because in order to do it justice, I felt it only fair to pay a proper visit. It's not that I don't go there any more - I'm there at least monthly - but I wanted to walk the 'bella with the subject in mind, making notes and observations. I did that yesterday, and even took a voice recorder along with me.

I recall once being given a similar assignment by our English teacher once, when we were in our 3rd year in secondary school. A few years later, in sixth form, we were given an art project, with the street market acting as a focus for our work. The first produced to some very funny, juvenile essays (hey, we were 13) the latter was the best excuse ever for a bunch of 16 year old teenagers to spend Friday afternoons lounging around coffee shops and trying to be cool.

So this isn't the first time I've been tasked with this subject. I think that's part of what makes it appealing.

Needless to say, I need more time to collect my thoughts. There was so much to think about when I was there yesterday - what was it really like when I was growing up? I wasn't actually paying attention at the time, just getting on with being a kid. How much has it really changed? I think it's changed several times in the intervening years, going through both good and bad patches. Does it still have the same qualities, despite the changes in culture & wealth of the area?

I also gave myself a shopping mission while I was there - to buy a kilo of chillies for my next batch of hot sauce. I figured if I was there with a purpose I could make a better observations...

Next: Saturday Shopping.

Saturday 17 May 2014

Day 17: Saturday


Those paying close attention will notice that yesterday was another gap day. However, unlike the previous one I wasn't idle on the writing front, so I'm not counting it as a challenge fail. I was so pleased with my writing of the previous day - who do they think you are - that I embellished it a little more and posted it on a far more public and professional forum: Medium.

I like medium. Its one of the few internet content sites that has held my attention. The pieces there are short, often topical and generally well written. Each week I get an email with a selection of featured extracts, annotated with approximate reading time and links to the full pieces. So for instance, my piece is rated as a 3 minute read.

It's this little detail which makes all the difference. In a world of information overload, digital distraction and multiple channels of input, knowing how much time you need to sacrifice  when you take a trip down the rabbit hole is critical. No one wants to lost forever in floppity bunny's boudoir. 

As for today goes, I spent it fully devoted to the challenge. I took a walk down Portobello Road, making audio notes as I went , so i can properly address one of last weeks writing topics, provided to me by you, the reader.

Theoretically that will be tomorrows post, but between now and then I'll be showing my face at several different party locations, so my head may have a different idea of how I'll be spending Sunday. We shall see.

Thursday 15 May 2014

Day 15: Who do they think you are?

I saw a man getting changed in the street, hidden, or so he thought, around the back of his car. He didn't see me watching him from the train platform. It was below street level. If he had looked down he would have seen the other 30 passengers standing there, waiting. But his attention was divided on his clothes and on the street. It didn't matter because they didn't see him either. Their attention was elsewhere. They didn't look up.

But I did. I saw him, even though he didn't see me. I saw what he was doing and in my mind, I knew what he was doing.

I think he was a stripper-gram. He changed from one set of clothes to another. He started as a man in uniform, with an air of authority. A police man or a security guard maybe. In his transformation he became a workman, with a look of determination. Hard hat. Yellow overalls. Tool-belt. Boots.

I wonder what message he carried? And for who? Would it be a surprise or an embarrassment? A gratefully received gift or a cruel joke played by friends, waiting with cameras, thoughts of blackmail and mischief festering.

He could have been something else though. Perhaps he was a man with two jobs? Both garbs genuinely his work clothes. A man who would have twice the concerns, twice the bosses, twice the laundry bill and twice the wardrobe of a normal man. Twice the man I am.

Or maybe he was a thief. A member of a gang, successfully completing a heist. Slipping out of one disguise into another. Too concerned with the task at hand to pay heed to the hidden eyes below. I can see through his façade, past his confident sneer. He thinks he has gotten away with his crime but his arrogance will likely be his downfall.

I Imagine the haul in the rear of his car. Millions in precious stones, used notes and bankers bonds. Priceless art. What will he do with it? What would I do with it, if it were me?

Then the train rolled into the platform and I found my seat. When i looked out of the window to where he had been there was nothing there. He was gone - on his way to the building site, to the party or maybe back to his lair to count his loot.

It gave me pause for thought. I had judged a man whom I did not know and concocted a truth about him and then another and then another still, all of which were likely false. How often do we all do this and how often does it happen to us without our knowledge? Perhaps it's happening to you right now!

That man there. The one with the hat. Is he looking at you? Does he see the real you or does he see someone else? That woman over there, who flicks you the occasional glance. What does she see? Are you a policeman? A builder? A stripper-gram? A thief?

When you leave this place, are you someone's imaginary hero? Their lover? Or do you wear the guise of a villain, projected onto you by someone you didn't even know was looking?

Are you, in the eyes of others around you, the person who you really are, or just the person who they think you are?

Wednesday 14 May 2014

Day 14: The Messaging Fallacy


What is the Messaging Fallacy? It's the idea that sending text messages is a better way to organise something or to communicate than a short 30 second phone call. For example:

Thursday, 15:00hrs

>. Hey what are you doing tonight?
>. Nuffin. what's up?
>. how about a quick one down the pub?
>. sure. where?
>. Dog & trumpet?
>. Which one is that?
>. That's the one at the corner of the common.
>. Wandsworth?
>. No. Ealing.
>. k. which corner?
>. The south corner.
>. I thought you hated that pub?
>. I do hate that pub.
>. So which pub then?
>. FFS  its the one near the station.
>. Oh. Right. See you there then? 8.00?
>. 8.30 is better.
>. k.
>. Laters.

Thursday, 20:35hrs

>. Where are you?
>. On the train.
>. how far?
>. 2 stops, but train is stopped between station. Where r U?
>. At the pub.
>. ok. be there soon.
>. No worries. its nice in the beer garden. I'm holding a table.
>. what beer garden? what pub are you in?
>. The one you said!
>. The dog & trumpet doesn't have a garden dude.
>. oh. I'm in the kings head.
>. FFS! I meant the other pub.
>. You said you hate that pub.
>. Sorry. stupid auto correct. I meant I don't hate that pub.
>. OK I'll see you over at the other pub then.
>. phone is nearly out of battery. just stay where you are.

Needless to say the phone, in this conversation, the phone dies at this point. A meeting place is not established properly. it takes another hour to meet up, leaving enough time to say laters and head back home.

I think we've all experienced something similar. This could have been avoided with a phone call, probably. You can say more in less time when you talk. It generally costs less too.

But there is a whole generation that seems to hate talking on the phone. It's not the current young generation. They can't seem to stop babbling. It's the one between mine and theirs. Something happened, I don't know what, to make talking on the phone a chore. Undesirable. Uncool.

Not only do they not call, but they don't answer their phones, leave voice-mail or listen to their voice-mail. This is in fact a general trend. Apparently 80% of voice-mail is unheard by the intended recipient. 

Perhaps it's because it's convenient to say "sorry I didn't get your text" if you want to avoid someone - despite the fact that we all know that the majority of text messages get through. And we all have return-receipts turned on, don't we?

Or is it because it's easier to lie to someone or just ignore them through text? In the same way that it's easier to be aggressive in an email or write things you wouldn't never dream of saying out loud? Even though it makes less sense to do this when you leave a record of it?

I don't know. Perhaps I'm old fashioned in actually wanting to talk to people. I don't think I am, I just find it more efficient. And that's without taking into account the clunkyness of auto-correct and stupid touch screen phones.

No, messaging is useful for some things, but not everything. The idea that it's the best way of communicating is a fallacy.

Tuesday 13 May 2014

Day 13: Dissociation


According to Wikipedia, psychology uses the term dissociation to describe:
"a wide array of experiences from mild detachment from immediate surroundings to more severe detachment from physical and emotional experience. The major characteristic of all dissociative phenomena involves a detachment from reality, rather than a loss of reality as in psychosis."
It is my feeling that this is what is happening all around us - at an increasingly alarming rate  - as we dive deeper and deeper into the world presented to us via the little gadgets in our pockets. I have to be honest, I don't think it's a good thing.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not a Luddite. Nor am I innocent of these acts of dissociation myself. A long time ago, when I first discovered the internet, It captured my attention so completely that my friends around me thought that they needed to stage an intervention. It was 1994 and I was one of relatively few people who knew what the internet was and how to use it. I was hooked.

Since then I have been similarly fascinated by all manner of new gadgets. My first PDA (a Handspring Visor/Palm Pilot). My first iPad (bought on the first weekend they became available to the public). I expect this to happen again soon when I buy my first Oculus Rift

No, I totally understand being sucked into something. But I've never seen it happen on such a large scale whilst simultaneously being accepted by society as OK. Do we need to stage a mass-intervention? Or is it nothing to worry about? As I asked yesterday, Is this really a problem?

I suppose that depends on what we are actually doing with these little gadgets. What exactly is stealing our attention?

A fair number of people use devices purely as book readers. There's nothing wrong with that. After all, you wouldn't stage an intervention because someone spent all their time reading books. You might encourage them to go outside and socialise a bit more, perhaps do a bit of exercise, but generally our society regards book reading as scholarly. You also can't really fault someone for using a digital device as a map. It's actually a lot more functional than a paper map, as long as you have battery life. And what's so bad about messaging people? It's communication right? That can't be bad can it? So what then?

I think the problem is not so much to do with being engaged with small devices all the time. It's not the playing games, surfing the net, sending messages that's the issue. These things, in and of themselves are harmless. It's the disengagement from everything else at a time when you probably shouldn't be. Instead of paying attention, you are dissociating.

For example, today, as I got off the train at Balham station, I found myself weaving through a crowd of unresponsive, non-moving people who were too busy fiddling with their phones to be aware of anyone around them. One lady was walking down a narrow staircase, really slowly, typing a text message as she went. Another commuter angrily barged past her and she nearly slipped on the stairs. She didn't, luckily for her, but she still muttered indignantly under her breath... and then carried on with her message, completely carefree that she was single handedly causing a pedestrian jam in a narrow exit. Once, this behaviour would have been exceptional. Now, it seems to be becoming the norm.

It can't be healthy to not be aware of your surroundings as you move through a public space. Surely awareness of your surroundings is an important survival trait? I know we are not being hunted by wild animals and haven't been for centuries (except in Croydon), but there are plenty of other reasons to look where you are going, the least of which would be - not walking into things. Others would include noticing other people, not getting hit by cars and possibly seeing new and wonderful things. To name but a few.

So yes, I think it is a problem. If you don't believe me, try and spend some time tomorrow watching people in a public space and see for yourself.

I'm not saying put down your gadget. I'm saying put it down while you are walking.

And while you are talking to others. Give people the attention they deserve. Enjoy your meal. Give it your full attention. Talk to people without distraction.

Enjoy the here and now.

Next: The messaging fallacy






Monday 12 May 2014

Day 12: The uncomfortable silence

I t was the silence that woke him up. As he opened his eyes, there was a brief moment of confusion before he figured out what was out of place. It was the uncomfortable silence. That and the cloying sticky dampness of the humid tube carriage. He'd fallen asleep on the tube.

The train had stopped between stations but having been asleep for a while, he couldn't say exactly where. He knew they'd gone past Paddington, as all the travellers with suitcases were gone, yet they were still underground, so not as far as Queens Park. Which was a good thing because that meant he hadn't missed his stop. Denis-Jose found himself falling asleep on the tube more and more frequently these days.

Despite the decrease in passengers the train was still fairly full. And, of course, silent. There was at least 50 people in the compartment and not a single person was speaking. All you could hear, above the strange electro-mechanical thrumming tick of the undercarriage, while it waited to continue on its way, was the very faint scratchy sound of poor quality headphones, leaking their wearers dirty musical secrets out to the rest of the world. That and the occasional rustle of a page turning. The uncomfortable silence.

Nearly everyone was looking at either a phone or a tablet. A few people were reading one of the free papers. With the exception of himself, no one was looking up or around at anyone else. "I wonder if anyone has even realised we've stopped?", he thought to himself.

Sitting directly opposite, a teenager in an ill-fitting suit looked up at him. Almost as if he was telepathic. There was a very brief moment of eye contact. There was a flash of annoyance on the young man's face as if he realised he was being scrutinised. And then he looked back down at his phone.

And then the train started moving again. No one seemed any the wiser. No one seemed bothered by the delay. There wasn't an announcement. There wasn't an explanation of any kind. "Of course not", Denis though as he shut his eyes again and settled in for a two more stops worth of sleep. "The driver was probably using the opportunity to read his messages".

* * *

Recently I've found myself wondering whether we've been duped into accepting a bland, dystopian future, which will eventually lead to a civilisation like the one portrayed in the Pixar movie Wall-E. If you stand outside any train station or at any bus stop and watch what people do when they get out of the bus or leave the station it normally begins with looking at a phone or a tablet device. But not briefly. Intently. And they most likely don't stop to do it. They just keep on walking, head in their device, allowing only their subconscious brain to guide them, often not very well at all. How there aren't more traffic deaths, I don't know. It's as if there is nothing more important to the western world than what's on the little screen.

I'm not talking about the youth either. If anything, they are a little less hooked on their devices. I'm talking about us. the Adults. Especially the 25 - 45 age group. At least that's how it appears to me. I can't say for sure because up until now I've been busy looking at my phone and I've only just noticed.

I'm not the only person who has noticed. Thankfully not everyone is lost in the digital abyss. I recently saw this great piece of spoken word poetry called Look Up, by Gary Turk. It's doing the rounds, you might have seen it. If you haven't, watch it here And there's this very short piece called I Forgot My Phone. I think you get the idea.

Once you notice this behaviour it very quickly seems to be everywhere. On public transport, at the office, even around the dinner table. Next time you are at a restaurant,. have a look around you. I bet at every table of more than 4 people, someone is looking at a device.

I suppose the question to ask is, is it really a problem?

Next: Dissociation and the messaging fallacy. 

Sunday 11 May 2014

Day 11: Failure


I suppose now would be a good opportunity to think and talk about the concept of failure. I didn't write anything yesterday. The question is: Is it OK to fail at things?

In the context of these challenges, I did state, right at the beginning, that it was. The intention of the entire exercise was to better myself through exploration and push up against my limits. Not succeeding in doing so can be looked at as a failure, but that doesn't have to be a negative thing. Through failure that we learn as much about ourselves as through success. So yes, it's OK to fail If you understand why. So what happened?

Time. It's all about time. Or rather the management of time. Or rather, my mismanagement of my time. As with the first challenge - a gym level work out every day - writing every day requires making space my schedule every day. That would be at least 15 minutes, but more likely 30-45. I could write just a paragraph of course, but if you are still with me on this little journey, you'll know how unlikely that is. Not to mention thinking time. I try to think about what I'm writing, before, during and afterwards. while I proof and edit. This very line is a edit done after the initial piece.

Yesterday - Saturday - I was out of time from the moment I woke up. We spent the most of the morning and early afternoon flat hunting. By 3pm, we'd seen 5 places through 3 different estate agents in South London. I'm sure you've all been there, so I probably don't have to tell you - it's exhausting. We hadn't really planned on it taking so long, but that's the way these things go, so from then onwards my day was completely shot. I had to cancel 2 other appointments and was late for an afternoon lunch with my mum and a family friend. Then I was due over in Chiswick at a social gathering at 5, but I got there around 6 (whilst getting soaked by the rotten weather in the process). I had planned to leave there at 9, but I couldn't leave until 10. I headed back to Clapham for a birthday party at bar near the junction. I made it there for 11 (an hour late) and didn't get home until early Sunday morning.

In fact, the time loss has spilled into today. The flat hunting has had a knock on effect which means that I've had to spend today doing a whole bunch of related things that were not in my Sunday plan.

Like I said, out of time. No time to write so challenge failed.

What I take away is that I need to allow myself space to do the challenge from the beginning of the day.
"Don't put off till tomorrow what you can do today!"
Or perhaps in my case, it would be better to say
"Don't put off till this evening what you can do this morning"
And, challenge or no, I need to make my schedule less complicated and do a better job of managing my time. Too many appointments, to many projects, priorities all mixed up. That's me. That's something I need to change. Maybe I need to do 30 days of no planning at all?

And I know, I still haven't answered any of the questions or topics from a few days back. Patience, I'm still thinking.





Friday 9 May 2014

Day 09: Deliberations


Writing about what you did every day - no matter how truthful - is easy. At least, it is for me. I wrote a diary for a long time as teen and then again as a thirty-something. And this isn't the first time I've had a blog. Therefore, this writing challenge has thus far been quite straight forward.

So, to spice things up, I thought I'd ask the 'audience' to throw some questions or topics at me. A bit of writing improv. I didn't expect too many, because I don't really believe that people reading the web these days can be bothered to interact. I also don't think too many people are interested in what I have to say about anything.

Not only was I wrong about that, but if I had any thoughts that this would continue to be easy, well, It looks like I was wrong about that too. Aome, if not all, the questions & topics provided are things I could muse over for a long time and write bucket loads about. Which makes it all the harder. I've spent the last couple of days trying to decide which ones to do (I may do more than one). So, while I continue to think about it, here they are:

Has Portobello road changed for the better or the worst, has it lost its soul? (Yannick Lynch)

This was the first and probably the best candidate. I love Portobello, I grew up around there and I still visit the area on a weekly basis, even though I don't live there any more. To do the question justice, I think I need to pay a visit with the subject in mind and then write about it. So I'll save this one for later. But I will definitely do it. Thanks Yan.

Is there such a thing as "true democracy"? (Gareth Ellis)

Hmm. I don't know if I'm qualified to pontificate on such matters. I need to think about it a bit more. I'm a lover, not a philosopher.

Why can't science solve the riddle of time, space and causality? (Chris Van Hoven)

Is there a riddle to be solved? Like the previous question, I need to think deeply about this. I'll put this on hold.

Friendship between women and men (Hajni Gyulai)

Ah, now this is a topic I can talk about. In fact I have done, with the poser of the question, on many a late night I think, a long time ago in a European town far far away. I can address this later.

John Snow knows nothing. Discuss (Dave Joyce)

We won't really know the truth of this until the story is over, will we Dave?

Discuss the intricacies of the relationship between a fan and the material of which they are a fan. (Dave Joyce)

A topic very close to my heart. Got a lot to say on this subject. I'll do this one later as well.

Tea. Discuss. (Jayme Joyce)

We already did Jayme! On this episode of the Ground Level Podcast. Check it out:



So, let me think about all these for a while and then I'll get writing. 


Thursday 8 May 2014

Day 08: Oops


So that today is not a complete failure, I have to write something now, even if it's not what was promised.

We went out for Chris Carroll's birthday this evening to a pub near Waterloo and had waaaay more drink than planned. On the way home we stopped for a curry. It was a bit over priced, but damn good. 

Only just got in after midnight and I can barely type coherently, so any real writing will just have to wait until tomorrow. I might make up for it by doing a double

On the plus side I've had loads of topics and questions sent, so thanks to all for getting involved.

Curse you alcohol and curry. In that order.

Merf.

Wednesday 7 May 2014

Day 07: Public Writing


And thus we arrive in the present. 30 day challenge No 05: Public Writing.

A few people have asked what that means exactly, so let's see if I can provide a better explanation than the one I gave at the beginning.

My original thought for a writing challenge was just to write something every day. But that's too easy. I do as part of every day life: emails, work documents, scripts, messaging. Code. But writing for work  - or yourself - is quite different from writing for anybody to read. If you know who you are writing for, the words can come easily. If you don't have a clue who might be reading your work you'll think about it a bit more carefully. At least, that's what I reckon.

So, for this to actually be a challenge I have to publish something every day. In this sense publish simply means that it's available for anyone to read. Any one. Not just my friends on Facebook.

I think there is an additional difficulty in maintaining a layer of honesty. Sure I could make up a load of shit about myself, but I'd probably get found out sooner or later, so what's the point? Plus, chances are, whatever I publish on-line will be visible forever, so its essential to think carefully about what you put out there. Who knows if a future employer might be reading this 5 years from now? Or a journalist, looking for dirt when I'm running for mayor?

I don't want this to just be a public diary though. Which is all it it has been so far. At some point I'd like to try my hand at some other stuff - perhaps a short story or a review or an interview or... 

...or how about a bit of straight up honesty?

Let's try this. Someone ask me a question or give me a topic and I will write about it tomorrow. Do it in the form of either a comment on this blog, on Facebook or a direct email/message. I will answer the question or take on the assignment as best I can.

Be sensible! I'm not going to write anything that will slander or anger people unnecessary and I'm not going to write anything that will be compromising to me or anyone else.

Do it. Do it now!

Tuesday 6 May 2014

Day 06: Vegetarianism


Meat, to some, is as much a religion as it is sustenance. Whilst I can never claim to have been a vegetarian, I've also never really considered myself as one of the indoctrinated congregation of the church of cooked animals.

I grew up in a house where both my parents were chefs. In fact, my father was a master chef. He was head chef at the Dorchester Hotel, Park Lane, during the late seventies and early eighties, under the great Anton Mosimann. That was when it became the first hotel restaurant outside France to be awarded 2 Michelin stars. So I guess that made him a Michelin starred chef. His specialities were fish, pastry and presentation. Not many people in the world could make a fish pie taste or look as good as my old man.

At home, my Mum did most of the cooking. She was also a chef (although she prefers the term cook). She worked at a private American school and specialised in kids food. American kids food. No surprise she was (and still is) so popular with my American cousins when they visit.

On occasion my parents, along with work colleagues, would do private catering jobs for rich Jewish families or private high class events in the city. And yes, they brought this level of elite culinary mastery into the home.

But, despite my Caribbean father and Spanish mother having mad skills, there was one thing that above all else was the pinnacle of home eating. Sunday Dinner. Or, to be precise English Sunday Roast.

I suppose after working all week on spectacular international cuisine, there was a desire to eat something normal. Maybe that's what my parents considered a challenge. Whatever the reason it was always a roast on Sunday. It would alternate each week: Beef, lamb, chicken, pork, duck. On special occasions, Turkey. Gravy made properly from the meat juices. All the sides &  trimmings: Roast potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, sprouts, broccoli, corn-on-the-con, pettis-pois. Always followed by a classic dessert of some kind.

Generally we ate well. We were not left wanting. No complaints (apart from school dinners). But we weren't spoilt either. We weren't over fed. We weren't allowed to waste food. There was (and is) no wealth in our family. Every penny spent was a penny considered carefully. My sister and I were always aware that our parents were doing their best in tough times.

So at no point did the idea of not eating a particular type of food ever enter the equation. In fact, we ate such a wide variety - British, Spanish, Caribbean, Indian, Italian, you name it - that I'm not sure we were even aware of the truth that these were all separate cuisines. To us, this was just normal. If we, the relatively poor, could enjoy such a wide variety, then surely everybody ate like this, right?

So why wouldn't you eat meat if you could get it? But at the same time, what did it matter if you couldn't? All food is good food right? So, like I said at the beginning, I've never considered myself a member of the church of meat per se

So why choose vegetarianism as a challenge?

Because, despite all I've just said, I probably eat meat every day. twice a day, without giving it a moments thought. I am aware that I don't need to - if I don't have meat in a meal, that's ok - but I nearly always do.

So why not see if I can rule it out completely for an extended period? And whilst I'm doing that I can observe any other side effects - blood pressure (I have hypertension), cost, weight... contentedness.

For this challenge, I had the support and co-operation of two of my flatmates. Gavin & Bernice decided to take up the challenge too. That definitely made it easier. My third flatmate- Shane - had no interest in joining us. In fact he threatened to cook bacon sandwiches every day. Thankfully he didn't.

The first day was a fail. I was in the pub that night with a friend and without realising it, I had stuffed my face with pork scratchings. In my mind they were just crisps. This important lesson - think about everything you put in your mouth - served me well. The very next day I nearly ate marshmallows, but stopped to think about it first.

The next few days were a bit tricky. At lunchtime in Soho all you can smell is grilled meat. The temptation faded after a while. The rest of the month was generally smooth sailing.

By the second week I started to find that I was enjoying my food more. Every meal was a delight. It sounds like a weird thing to say, but its true. Things I wouldn't have enjoyed as much before - steamed vegetables, pulses & beans, salads - even breakfast cereal - tasted that much nicer. Perhaps because they were now the centrepiece of the meal rather than being overshadowed by the taste of meats. Whatever the reason, any thoughts I had about being bored with my food were put to bed.

I also found myself feeling less bloated. Even after a big meal. I had been worried that increasing my vegetable intake would mean increasing my time on the porcelain throne, but if anything I had less incidents of upset stomach than normal.

After a month of this I've lost 3 kg in weight and generally felt much better about myself. To round it off I'd probably spent half the amount of money I would normally on shopping. It's cheaper being a vegetarian. By far.

And then, suddenly it was over. May 1st. But actually... after a few days of eating meat again I've decided I'm going to go back to being a veggie for a while. I actually enjoyed it that much! I don't feel as though I've run out of new things to try yet. I'm addicted to Lentils. And I'm enjoying the weight loss.

I don't think I'll be a vegetarian permanently. You can't keep me away from fried chicken for long. And the piece of fish I had for dinner I had a couple days ago was divine. But I can see a future where I only eat meat & fish occasionally.

It will certainly make Sunday roast a special occasion again.