Eating Sushi In A Slightly Run Down Open Space In North London

On Friday I ate sushi in a slightly run down open space in North London. This wasn't a planned picnic, it just happened. Should you ever feel the need to do such a thing yourself, either through accidentally finding yourself in that situation or as a result of meticulous planning, you should read the following review.


I grew apprehensive as I assessed the scene. Was this the place to consume such culinary delights? There was an old drunk sitting on a bench cursing at a tree, a small group of rowdy school kids smoking cigarettes on another, and a flock of belligerent looking pigeons separating them. On the verge of turning around and lunching elsewhere, a sudden wave of defiance took hold. This was as much my space as theirs. I wasn't going to allow myself to be intimidated.

I could see a vacant bench at the far end of the small green area overlooking an imposing housing estate. Hiding my bag of food from the all-seeing pigeons, I waded through the rubbish towards my selected picnic spot. I sat down, pulled out the package containing my lunch, and sombrely took in my surroundings. It wasn't long before the first interruption made itself known. I was literally just beginning to eat when I felt movement around my feet. Damn pigeons! They're on to me already. I didn't look down and continued to eat. I could still feel something persistently pecking around my feet. I soon discovered that my aggressor wasn't in fact a feathered challenge for my food, but a reminder that the food I was attempting to eat really wasn't the norm around here. A Mcdonalds bag was attacking me, probably because I was eating something healthy. I lifted my feet allowing it to continue its journey towards the estate in front of me. This opened the floodgates for all manner of cartons and wrappers of the same kind.

Peace again. About halfway through my meal, I noticed the group of school kids edging towards me. How cool they looked puffing on their cigarettes. I must reconsider my position on smoking. I knew I wouldn't get through my lunch without another interruption, so I braced myself for some juvenile social interaction. They slowed to a snails pace as they passed, then the conversation began.

"Mmmm, that looks nice." Commented the cocky one of the outfit between deep puffs of his cigarette.

"Yes it is." I replied, considering which bit to devour next.

"Can I have some?" Paved the way for some giggling from the other boys. This guy clearly has a career ahead of him in comedy.

There was just about enough time between mouthfuls for me to decline the boy's request. "No." With that they disappeared in a cloud of their own smoke.

My next interruption arrived on four legs. A small dog now approached the scene, his wet nose homing in on the contents of my carrier bag. He didn't seem too deterred by my pulling the bag from his reach, and proceeded to climb up me to get what was rightfully his. Intervention came in the form of his owner running to my rescue. Mumbling an apology from under his breath, he picked up the dog, turned him around, then put him down, pointing him in the direction he wished him to travel. Not easily distracted from his mission, the dog simply turned around and continued his attempt to steal my food. I've always paid particular attention the saying, 'a fool is not some one who makes mistakes, but some one who doesn't learn from them.'
The fool picked up his dog, turned him around, then put him down again pointing him in the direction he wished him to travel. Finally forced to admit defeat, the fool carried his dog until he was on the other side of the gate.

I had just finished the sushi and unwrapped a chocolate brownie. I'd intended to finish my lunch where I was, until I noticed two of the pigeons huddled together speaking in low voices. Before I knew it all eyes were on me and the distance was closing. The sight of fifty or more beaks marching towards me prompted an instant withdrawal. I left hurriedly, passing the drunk to throw my rubbish in the bin.

'Fucking idiot!' He shouted at an Oak. The tree ignored him.



I don't think I'll eat there again.

The (Inevitable) Pre-Christmas Rant

A card received on the 10th of November saw the beginning of Christmas for me. I picked up the envelope from the mat after sifting through the various food delivery leaflets, and opened it to the tune of bangers and rockets whizzing around the dark wintery sky. It seems that one excuse for commercial exploitation in the name of festive occasion, seems to blend seamlessly into another. I opened the card to discover a deeply sentimental and heartfelt Christmas message from the local Chinese take-away. How nice. Perhaps I should pre-book a delivery of Christmas dinner. Turkey chow mein perhaps, with stir-fried potatoes and Brussels sprouts.



As the fireworks become more and more infrequent, leaving one die hard culprit who just can't bear to see it all end, the hype surrounding Christmas starts to pick up pace. Turning-on-the-lights ceremonies begin around the country, proud engineers flicking switches to showcase their arty illumination of shopping areas, only to be upstaged by some pop star of the minute hitting a fake button on the other side of the street. More and more festive adverts become hard to ignore on television and radio. Many discussions can be heard about what everyone is doing for Christmas. (I must stop eavesdropping on the neighbours, those phone taps are probably illegal.)



It's quite clear to most that this festive occasion has become more about retail than religion, with particular emphasis on a bearded man that breaks into people's houses via the chimney, leaving presents in return for biscuits, carrots, and a big bottle of vodka.(Maybe that was just my in my house.) We've all gladly accepted that it's now a time to buy presents for our friends and family, which certainly isn't a bad thing. It seems however, that we can't even be bothered to do this anymore. I overheard a man showing off to his friend about how he'd completed his Christmas shopping online in 15 minutes. The large retail stores have a team of Christmas shoppers selecting presents, wrapping them, adding a gift tag, then sending them to the appropriate address. One day we'll just transfer some money online and the shops will choose an appropriate gift. Just type in a few details about the recipient, and they'll do the rest for you. A shopper will personally deliver your presents, stay for dinner, then catch up on all the family gossip over a nice game of charades.


This year I've decided to give something different. Obviously it's no longer the done thing to buy thoughtful presents and wrap them, so I will be sending vouchers. I thought that this year I'd try something even less imaginative. Parking ticket vouchers might be a nice gift, were they to exist, or even prescription vouchers. I could give the joy of illegal parking or perhaps keep a rash at bay.



That's enough rambling for now, I must go because I need to send a Christmas card to my local Chinese restaurant.

Happy Listening

I had to change the earphones for my Ipod today. I put them in my ears then hurried off through the front door, taking care to lock it after me. Well, I didn't want to take chances just because I had different earphones. It didn't take me long to realise that the little rubber doobries that come with them didn't fit properly. They seemed to me to be too small. This meant firstly that the background noise was almost as loud as the music, meaning that I couldn't entirely shut out the world I desperately try to ignore, and secondly that the music sounded as though I was listening to it through an old telephone handset.

I continued my journey not particularly bothered by it, thinking more about the downpour that had just begun. It rained harder than I've known in a long time. I can safely say that I was the wettest I had been since I'd stepped out of the shower this morning.

After about half an hour of struggling through the fiercely inclement weather, I decided to abort my mission. Absolutely soaked to the bone, I pointed my umbrella in a homeward direction and prepared for take off. As I walked something made me smile. I have no idea what it was, but that's not really the point. Let's not dwell on that. No really, leave it.

This brief and rare event had made the sound in my ears fuller, more music, less background noise. The smile seemed to make my ears smaller. (Or the earphones bigger.) I decided that for the rest of my journey home, a full fifteen minutes, I was going to walk along with the biggest fixed grin you could possibly imagine.

I got some very strange looks.

Never Lose Your Car Again...

...With one of these.
Have you ever forgotten where you've parked your car? At the airport, the multi-storey, the service station, or even just on your street? You need never worry again with this new, highly portable, weather-proof and stylish device.

More About Beards

After much deliberation, and as a result of underwhelming demand, I have decided to post pictures of the beards.



Here is the longest ever beard to grow on a man's chin.





Here is the longest beard ever to grow on a woman's chin.





A match made in heaven. If only he wasn't dead! Is it true that your hair continues to grow after you die? He may still be breaking records from the grave. There might be a large beard growing from the ground near his headstone, reaching for the sky like a giant beanstalk.

Here is a chart about beards. There are more beards than I could have possibly imagined! I particularly like beard numbers twelve and sixteen.





I shall never mention beards on this blog again.

Beard Facts

The longest beard ever recorded on a man is 5.62 metres.


The longest beard ever recorded on a woman is 27.9 centimetres.


Come on women! You're just not making the effort.


Anyone who would like to see pictures of these hairy chins, don't hesitate to ask. Links can be provided.

Blind Fury

The District Line train pulled into Victoria to a busy, overcrowded platform. The doors opened and everyone clumsily moved aside to allow people to leave. Most of the passengers had left, when a middle-aged woman with blonde hair began to board the train. A battered old guitar was simultaneously attempting to exit the carriage, strapped to a heavily bearded man. A small group of us anticipated a collision as it became obvious by the colour of the woman's stick, that she was visually impaired.

An attempt was made to warn the guitar wielding walking beard that she couldn't see him, which led to quite an outburst from the owner of the white stick. She stepped back in anger with a scream of rage, and hammered her stick into the ground three times. My foot being where it was, intercepted the full force of this punishment allowing the ground to get off scot free.

I limped onto the train without so much as a yelp to discover that the shenanigans were continuing within. An offer of a seat met rejection in the form of more unruly behaviour and a stream of abuse. I was now adamant of her blindness, as the words 'stupid bitch' clearly mouthed to her by the occupier of this seat, failed to energise the stick into more aggression.

An attempt was made to sit down at the next station, but she was no match for the suited commuters racing past her for the prized positions. Another guilt inspired offer was rejected with stern, stick waving indignation.


At the next station she alighted alone, having alienated all who tried to help. I had to admire her spirit as I watched her walk from the train, dignity in tact, but heading straight for the tunnel we'd just emerged from.