Hardeep Singh Kohli

HARDEEP is your love

Short, sharp shut-eye: let there be more power to the nap

There are few arts more worthy of perfecting than that of the power nap. I have to confess to being an accomplished proponent of catching a few zeds at opportune moments. As a man it would seem I am genetically predisposed to sleep; however there is a certain wherewithal needed when the sleep in question needs to be scheduled into a busy afternoon/evening of work. A power nap is not, by definition, a leisurely courtship with slumber. There is no gradual movement towards bed, none of the time-consuming rituals associated with a good night's kip. Oh no. Rather, it is a strategic engagement with a short, sharp sleep, an engagement specifically designed to refresh the mind and body with a view to further work thereafter.

There are all sorts of tricks and tips to maximise the power of the power nap. Some suggest drinking a double espresso immediately before laying one's head on the pillow; the theory here is that the shot of caffeine will take 20 minutes or so to begin coursing around the body, kicking the lethargy out and replacing it with a slightly hyper-stimulated sense of purpose. This 20-minute window is nap time. I have tried this method and the only drawback is that if, by some chance you don't manage to catch some sleep immediately then you're scunnered for the next two hours since there's no way you will manage to get that caffeine out of your system in any sort of hurry.

I have, like my father invariably does after a big meal, fallen asleep on a couch or an easy chair, but seldom has this happened by design. If one is to power-nap one has to be business-like and serious about such a thing. Bed is the place for sleep and that is non-negotiable. (Next you'd suggest showering in the hallway.)

Another great debate is the "under or over the covers" question. My wife would insist that a nap occur above sheet level, on top of the duvet; the canopy of warmth would be afforded by a blanket. (We had a particularly warming blanket for napping purposes, emboldened with slightly overweight teddy bears.) I, however, preferred to be under a duvet with a pillow over my face, blocking out any daylight.

Follow these simple instructions and you too can enjoy the most powerful of power-naps. The only problem I have now is that I would appear to be too busy to nap.

My juicer will bring me liquid assets

Juice Update: I recently purchased a juicer in an attempt to inject vitamins and nutrients and generally healthy stuff inside me. A good friend of mine suggested that I would be lucky to still be juicing by Christmas. So confident was he that my kitchen utensil would soon become a kitchen white elephant he suggested that I would win a tenner if I was still juicing by Easter Monday next year. It is with pleasure that I inform you that I have made plans as to how to spend my soon to be acquired £10. The juicer is alive and kicking and being put to full use. My skin is young looking and vibrant and my intestines have never been so beautifully clear. I stand to gain a great deal more than simply money.

Revelling in my twin peaks

There was a most welcome blast from the past the other day. A friend asked me to remind him of a song recorded by some heinous American glam rock band. Not being terrible musical (actually medically tone deaf) I tried my best to capture the tune he was requesting when he looked at me quizzically and laughed. He likened my singing to The Cocteau Twins, rather than some guitar-frenzied American spandex-clad rock outfit.

How lovely to be reminded of the angelic sounds of Grangemouth's finest musical duo. Liz Fraser's hauntingly memorable voice was part of the soundtrack of my early twenties as a Twin fan, and later when she collaborated with Massive Attack, becoming the voice of a generation of ambient music lovers. While she and Robin Guthrie's work was sometimes a little too ethereal and inaccessible at times, there was something very special and timeless about the sound the Cocteau Twins created. And it is a sound I intend to rediscover.

99 reasons to love the Italian Scots

I was in Edinburgh last week making a new food programme. I seldom need a second invitation when it comes to being around food. But what makes this project special is that it involves me in Italian food. I spent most of Wednesday morning in Valvona and Crolla, perhaps the most famous of Edinburgh food institutions. I went to university with a girl called Carla Crolla; she spent many summers working in the family shop and so as a Weegie I was blessed with early knowledge of Italian cheese and wine, thanks to her. V&Cs is an Aladdin's cave of the finest Italian produce and the shop itself tells the story of the Scots Italian story in this country; the premises have gradually grown and developed as the community has settled. Also, given my Catholic education in Glasgow, I found myself never too far from a child of Italian heritage, whether it was comedy god Armando Iannucci or Gianpiero Celino, pharmacist extraordinaire. And of course the Zanotti family who ran the Grosvenor Cafe in Ashton Lane, my surrogate family who kept me fed and watered and introduced me to the beautifully dark art of minestrone soup making.

But there is no more significant example of the wondrous union of all things Scottish and all things Italian than the woman who has occupied so much of my imagination since the early Nineties: Daniella Nardini, daughter of the ice cream family in Largs. A beautiful woman and ice cream. We have much to thank the Italian Scots for.