Is it acceptable in this day and age to have a two-pie day? Let me explain. I was having lunch with some colleagues at an old London hotel, the sort of place where the Queen Mother used to pop in for a gin and a quiet lunch. We were offered a set menu with a few choices of entrée and main course. I was very happy with a shredded chicken leg salad, with hazelnuts and carrots. (I agree, a rather bizarre triumvirate for any plate.) But I was faced with a rather compelling main course dilemm
My dilemma was this. I knew that later that day I was to dine with a dear sweet friend. She is a chef. We were going to a place famed for its beef flank and oyster pie. Do you see? Was I willing to abandon myself to a two-pie day? It's just not the d
one thing. I had a decision to make and quickly. I had to eschew a pie, either the kidney or the oyster. Tough decision, but I chose to live in the moment and allow the evening to take care of itself. I couldn't predict whether the beef flank and oyster pie would still be on the menu that evening or whether my friend Angela might have to cancel. She might even have ordered the beef flank and oyster pie, destabilising my entire day's balance of pies, because it would contravene another of the other rules and protocols I apply to eating out. These are:
1. You cannot have two fish or seafood courses. You must have meat or chicken, preferably as a main course.
2. You cannot both order the same starter or main course. It is a pointless pursuit that halves your possible eating experiences.
3. If you have a cheese-based starter you cannot then have the cheese plate for afters. Too much cheese.
4. Both diners must have still or sparkling water; it is not cost effective to have both since it encourages wastage.
5. You cannot have the same lunch as you have dinner; ie no two-pie days.
Having reviewed these rules and protocols it's frankly astonishing that I ever manage to order any food in any restaurant. I chose to cancel Tuesday night dinner and me and Angela had a tuna and onion sandwich and a glass of milk. Somehow, at home, rule number two is impractical.
I can't help loving mercurial music prizes A friend of mine and I were discussing the Mercury Music nomination list. I love the completely random nature of the Mercury. And this year is no different. Normally it is all about up and coming acts, new bands or artists who have brought something fresh to the world of music. This year Radiohead have been nominated with their 4,000th (and highly regarded) album In Rainbows. There is almost always a folk/kaftan-based outfit; again this year is not disappointing with Rachel Unthank from the North-east of England who sings in a Geordie accent. There's the R'n'B act, the transatlantic Estelle with her debut album. In and among the rest is a peculiar and unexpected little gem. Burial is the name of the artist and not a great deal is known about him. He is an anonymous dubstep musician signed to his own label. His music is ambient drum and bass, dark and sombre yet somehow rather brilliant. Nobody is quite sure who Burial is. There are rumours and stories about his real identity, none of them yet substantiated. It seems rather perfect that on a list of nominees there could be a global superstars like Radiohead alongside unknown recording starts from the ghetto. After all, it's all about the music.
Two worlds tie the knot on a day never to be forgotten Last Sunday was a special and unique day. It was my best friend Luke's wedding day. That was the special part. The unique part was that it was my first ever gay Buddhist ceremony. Luke and Alex couldn't have looked happier. They couldn't have seemed more right for each other. I had witnessed the civil partnership ceremony a few weeks back, which was a small affair, six of us in total. I had been very much looking forward to being part of the big day, when, in front of friends and family, they professed their love for each other. To be honest, most of my experience of weddings has been of the Indian variety. Sikhs and Hindus, enough to fill the town of Croy, would descend in their coachloads upon a church or community hall, children running and screaming, an unspecified number of bodies and a lorry load of whisky. There would be tandoori chicken, bhangra music and drunk Uncle Kulwant would fight the coach driver. That was pretty much my every experience of weddings as a boy and an adult. However, this gay Bhuddist thing was very different. Firstly, the notion of a gay partnership ceremony has been around for less than three years. It is so new, so modern that it has still to work out what exactly it is. It has no antecedents and therefore tends to be a very pure and honest expression of the love between two people. This juxtaposes with a Buddhist ceremony that has been in existence for more than a thousand years. It was amazing to hear and experience half the room chanting hypnotically and the other half looking on rather bewildered. And when the chanting was over and Alex and Luke were declared united in the eyes of the world, spiritual and temporal, this most unique and special of days became every other wedding I had ever attended – full of happy people, dancing kids and spilled champagne. Speeches were made. Tears were shed and hugs exchanged. The only thing that was missing was drunk Uncle Kulwant.
Trainers that won't turn you green with envyI picked up a new pair of trainers the other day. They're great, just the dab for the young man about town that I like to think I am. They looked brilliant on the shelf; an homage to suede and leather and neoprene. I had to have them. And I did, rushing home with the box-fresh delights. Then when I got home the realisation sunk in. I had indeed purchased beautiful new training shoes. Beautiful, new and lime green. Terribly lime green. And yet they looked so good on the shelf. A sanguine lesson to us all, I think: never be seen in green.
The full article contains 1112 words and appears in Scotland On Sunday newspaper.
