#Instafood is unhealthy.

We are now literally products of our time obsessed with the products of our time.


#Jewellery has 9,623,991 tags on Instagram, while #Instafood has 83,157,881 tags.  Even more surprising;  #God has a mere 23,020,799 in comparison…Jesus was savvy when he conjured up all that fish and bread to feed the multitude; he knew that one day we’d all be applying the ‘Claredon’ filter recklessly onto everything: With so many people treating food like precious jewels or some form of higher power; the new status symbol truly lies in how you pick your dinner.

Desserts are easy; if you’ve got an overly sweet tooth; you go for some kind of puffed up version of a childhood favourite on steroids. If you are trying to be classy; or alcohol has dulled your palate; cheese is always the answer , but what about the gubbins beforehand?

I recently found myself wondering for a whole hour whether to have beef tartare as a starter or go for the trout, as a lamb wellington main was a popular choice on TripAdvisor: the reasoning being that it is correct and proper to have a fish or vegetable based starter to contrast with a meat main.

At home, my own recipe book wouldn’t even justify a pamphlet; so how had we come to such levels of pretentiousness? I had survived well in Nigeria; where moin moin followed by a bit of shortbread was my idea of a perfectly decent meal: You were lucky if the electricity was on.

Neanderthals; didn’t fret about whether ordering the Sabretooth Carpaccio as a starter because they were having the Mammoth Wellington as a main. Back in that time; I imagine procreating took a higher priority over what you put in your gullet; Eating was just a means to survive; not some kind of fancy way for the affluent, childish many to get a few social media likes.

We now want some kind of feeling to accompany the taste; it’s not merely a case of getting full or even enjoying it;  In some countries such as China; food is a rich part of the culture and it’s people take great pride in dishes that are native to their particular region; At it’s worst; food in western societies  has become completely conceptual and even fairly unpleasant as a result;


Take for example this awful concoction, which looks like Liberace’s smoking faecal matter or the Raindrop cake; which resembles a breast implant; Most recently; Starbucks have launched a Unicorn Frappuccino; which is more of liquid fashion statement than anything palatable, containing a whopping 76 grams of sugar for a large one. #Instafood is not healthy or nourishing, it’s entirely about surface.

Yet, we still worry so much about what goes into our food, while we also mindlessly eat hummus filled with pieces of metal or rot our molars with Fruit Smoothies; The ‘health’ food industry is just as dubious as the fast food industry.  We will one day see more virtual immersive dining pushing us further into a culture where to look is everything and drones will deliver our food for us; meaning that we’ll be able to designate a place at home to take our #Instafood pics.

Lastly,  the one saving grace may well be that immersive dining encourages us to put down our phones and experience restaurants in a way that isn’t so hollo; Take http://sagaya-ginza.com and their immersive restaurant below; while I’m still fretting whether to have the meat or fish as a starter; Interesting things are happening and the future doesn’t have to be Unicorn coloured and it doesn’t have to be hash tagged;


…I think i’ll go for the fish



Sonic Room Service: Room 29


‘Is there anything sadder than a hotel room that hasn’t been fucked in?’ 

Jarvis Cocker and Chilly Gonzales have delivered a ghostly meditation on pretzels, blonde bombshells and other tricks of the light: 

When we think of hotels, full of stories of wreck and ruin, we immediately go to the iconic Chelsea Hotel:  where grisly murders, coked up transexuals and head on an unmade bed were inclusive. Room 29  takes you under the sheen of The Chateau Montmartre, showing the crack which let the light in; leaving many stars broken beyond repair.

Jarvis Cocker, who went from working at one point at a fishmongers in Sheffield to the dizzying heights of Pulp, acts as the perfect curator; dreamily observing the stars and his own dealings with the allure of glamour and fame: The same voice which picked apart the girls eating boxes of MilkTray alone is back to focus on Hollywood.

Chilly Gonzales compliments this beautifully, giving the album a style closer to Cocker’s radio shows.  Room 29 is stripped back to give it a more ‘lounge’ feel that allows you to focus solely on the lyrics.  Of course, These are lyrics that you’ll actually want to focus on; there’s so much to dissect it’s thicker than a Hollywood starlet on valium.

‘Trick of the Light’ seductively takes on falling for Hollywood movies and contains cryptic nods towards Cocker’s own experiences: ‘I lost my wife…and that Hollywood!’  it seems even the ex-fishmonger can view his own life just as sardonically as he’s viewed everyone else. Though there’s plenty of observations that keeps me coming back to Room 29.

The album contains a multitude of witty lines on stars of the 1930s from Jean Harlow, Howard Hughes et all; but a lot of the imagery comes from Cocker’s own imagination;   ‘Ice Cream as Main Course’ as a hedonistic ode to days of turbans of silk, chocolate milk and shots of rum doesn’t need to be explained;  it’s luscious arrangement tells you everything you need to know.

‘Belle Boy’  in particular, features a particularly raunchy segment on discovering a hotel guest mid coitus; All delivered with glee that could come across as a bit pantomime in the hands of a less talented vocalist.  Unlike Bob Dylan, there’s only a hint of age in Cocker’s voice and that’s probably  just a trick of the light.

I have no reservations about this album; it has all the power of a 70’s Bowie album and will be spoken about in the same way someday. So help yourself to pretzels…help yourself to the minibar…This album is like sonic room service.




Mad Fer It: We Are Ian at Wardrobe Theatre Bristol.



We are Ian is about the ‘fuck all’ generation; left behind with debt, zero hours contracts and worst of all; nothing to do on the weekend. If we have nothing to look forward to; what’s the harm in looking back?  In Bed With My Brother are doling out the goods for a show that is much more than a nostalgia trip;  It’s ultimately a huge political music video about how we need a new movement; framed around 3 devoted teens literally following the light.

On a simplistic level, their sage is a talking lightbulb called Ian, We never get to the bottom of who Ian actually is; it’s up to you; you’d have to be a stone wall for the character to not resonate with you on some level. He could be a pop star or a Ziggy Stardust figure, doling out wisdom to his fans; He basically functions as a sample of soul from the rave era, treated with the same devotion as any pop star to their young fans.

In Bed With My Brother punctuate the show with a series of slang words and dance moves that could only have been invented after a few ‘Brown Biscuits’ which seems to give the characters just as much energy as any illegal street gear that used to float around Madchester during the 80s.  Even if you’ve lived your entire life without a cup of Coffee;  I defy you to not get up and do the Cold Spaghetti or throw a couple of Hot Potatoes on the dance floor.

With audience participation being at the forefront of it’s success;  it’s easy to see why In Bed With My Brother have performed at various festivals and for this show; Bristol. Bristolians love getting off their peanuts; it’s in their blood, along with Exhibition Cider. At 50 minutes long, the show pumps beautifully towards an ending which doesn’t so much offer a defining statement as state the obvious; we all have to grow up, but first; lets keep dancing before the comedown sets in.

It’s all in good fun; the real work is figuring out what you’ve projected onto the play and what the play actually stood for. I usually hate all the academic navel gazing, but it’s impossible in some senses to stop thinking about We are Ian, which is the key to it’s success. Rather than tell you, it challenges the senses; a refreshing break from the usual narrative toss usually served up in the Post Xmas lull. As a result, it avoid soap opera plots and retains all of it’s raw power.

None of this would be possible without the actors themselves; The enormous physicality they possess, even when throwing around various baked goods is astounding; We’ve all been a bit worse for wear and thrown some ill-advised shapes; but the Nora, Dora + Kat as their Facebook humbly bills them are like three demented droog mimes; There’s not a lot of companies that could make a talking lightbulb, a Maggie Thatcher rave montage and the pogo so appealing; but somehow they’ve managed it. All we need is a bit more clarification on who Ian is. Oh fuck it; We all are and you will be too. Fookin’ see it!

Next show at: New Wolsey Theatre 23rd March


50 Shades of Bristol: Woky Ko


Woky Ko

Woky Ko, one of the little worlds housed in a shipping container has a real charm: one of its real draws is that you cannot book, this is not a place to go to in order to impress your friends, save for a Sea Bass Tartare (£6.95) it’s a fairly simple hipster affair of Bao and Noodles.

It’s real strength is reflected in the offerings surrounding Wapping Wharf, you can make these at home, but I challenge you to make a Bao. We began with their Braised Pork, Hoisin Ketchup with Apple and Peanut Powder, a sticky peanut butter bomb of flavour that didn’t disappoint.

I’ve had Bao at the equally impressive Khao and Bao on Baldwin Street,  so I’m not going to deconstruct one with anything other than my teeth. All you need to know is that I’ve had wet dreams about Bao. Dreams which Larkin Cen has made a reality at Woky Ko.

Spiced Apple Scallop and the Tartare may impress some, but give anyone a Bao and they’ll discover something that has yet to become a full blown foodie trend.  The first chef to find a way to make them as popular as hipster hamburgers or import them tastefully into our supermarkets will be burned at the stake for practising magic. Larkin Cen; Please give me the recipe, I’ll dedicate my life to making it happen.

We also had the Crispy Duck Rice Noodle Salad (£7.95) and Braised Pork Chow Mein (£8.95) which were both rich in flavour, particularly after smothering it in Sriracha. Perhaps the simplicity of these dishes is something that would put off those who had designs to eat at Box E Bristol, but for a casual dinner, it’s certainly one of the best on the Wharf.

If you lived nearby, it’s a hipster lifeline: Washed down with a few Korean Beers or something Wilder at Wild Beer, you do leave feeling blessed in a city with many vibrant Asian offerings or faux Asian broth houses such as Cupp 

Wapping Wharf is slowly building itself as an alternative to the usual Harbourside jaunt. As it develops, I look forward to seeing what else can go in Bao, given they serve up a Salted Caramel Ice Cream Bao (£4.25)  which felt like a step too far, I’ve been thinking of new types…Sushi Bao? Ramen Bao? Bao Bao?

Honourable Bristol Mentions: 

The Old Duke


From the colourfully adorned ceiling, to the tribute to one of the locals at the bar, this place has a real 60’s Pub vibe, which is complimented by a regular line up of Jazz. Save for The Canteen, it’s hard to find good music on a Sunday lunchtime, usually places are filled with screaming children; so it’s good to visit somewhere for lonely people.


20th Century Woman


At www.watershed.co.uk/  

20th Century Woman has all the usual traits of an art film, framed around a family drama where the heroine is a chain smoking older mother, dealing with a ramshackle bunch of relatives who just haven’t found their way. It’s difficult to sum up what happens or the characters themselves without resorting to tired stereotypes about Hipsters, but from the Talking Heads soundtrack, to the club scenes, it has the same charm as Marmite; you’ll either love it or hate it.



Manchester Chinese New Year: Musings and Mithering.

As Morrissey woefully sang: ‘Manchester, so much to answer for’


Manchester has a feeling to it: in a particular frame of mind, it could be quite intimidating, but it’s evolved from an area which explores the condition of the working class in England to a cultural and well-meaning city.

From the moment you arrive at Piccadilly, you are greeted by (presumably) the old relics of textile buildings, which now either house Artisan Coffee shops or chic apartments.  The Northern Quarter is also home to a wealth of street art which can soothe the initial ruptures you might have about staying in MCN.

IMG_4833 (1).JPG

We began gagging for a drink at The Font, which from £2 leaves you with enough money left for a bit of dinner. Admittedly, they weren’t the best, but the Camden Beer on Tap is always a safe bet. As we waited for our Airbnb hosts to arrive, it was a good pit stop.

Finally, after unpacking,  we venture out to St Ann’s square to try the Street food for Chinese New Year, one of the biggest events in Manchester. It had been our main aim, it’s a long way to come for a Beijing  Jianbing, but oh so worth it: a crunchy omelettey textual experience, perhaps a bit more spice would do it justice, but still:  the experience was good, we were happy, didn’t need white tablecloths or fine wine,  just a half decent Martini.


Mei Mei’s Street Cart, the only place to get Jianbing in the UK. 

Speaking of Martinis, we then decided to stick to our reservations, going for a quick few drinks at Liquorice. It was all about being seen, but we’ve made a sacred vow to only ever order Martinis from now on. The amount of sugar and ice in cocktails these days is one of the greatest difficulties in Britain, it’s up there with Austerity. 

We stood around, taking it in and speaking about cultural differences, random little topics with perhaps a few language barriers. I seem to be able to pronounce Chinese effectively, the trouble is remembering it after a few. This is why writing exists; to give context to the content, though describing a feeling is not the same as feeling it and experiencing is much the same.

Okay so then on to Asian Fusion eatery Cottonopolis, via a Bowie mural and a few cocktail bars we should have visited instead: great cooking was likely going on, drowned out entirely by a cacophony of terrible music and people who just wanted to be seen there.


Cottonopolis leads you in with Bao and breaks your heart with music. 

 Never has the mantra that dining is about more than food been clearer. But still, alone it would have been torture, but in this case; we had the power to realise that better thing were to come…Frankly Cottonopolis is a bit shit really.

Anyway, The Fitzgerald looked after us a little better, a few cocktails before becoming jaded and moving onto Gin. Anywhere screening classic movies with a ‘DJ’ is at least somewhat bearable. There was a drunken dancing couple, the usual hipsters and a few ladies nights.


The Fitzgerald

In good stead, we spoke about everything from Chinese Artists, The Prohibition and onto the etiquette of prostitution. All of which needs to be written down in order to be remembered. At 2am, we are out in the breeze.

Via a few mystical fish, we arrive to see the Chinese New Year parade, dodging Mancunians and trams on a regular basis. Chinatown Manchester is an interesting environment, I couldn’t help wish we could have seen it when it wasn’t as busy, but hey ho, you can’t mither. Dragon Dancing and creepy Buddha heads abound.


Next onto the Warriors, firm and almost neon statues which have graced places like Sydney. We were drawn to a pregnant female Terracotta. Beautifully done standing among the same-same, but different warriors.


After which, we still haven’t learnt that most cocktails have been diluted to appeal to those with less adventurous palates. But what a building, Tattu is like an artwork in itself, it’s just a shame the food can sometimes taste of Condoms or something from Iceland.  Still…mustn’t mither. MUST NOT MITHER.



Despite this, I’d maybe go out for a cocktail and a bit of beef tartare. Sometimes it’s about hiding your carefully refined taste and learning to just enjoy your moments. As such, it wasn’t a total disaster and a good way to spend New Year.

All in all, Manchester we salute you. You aren’t quite Bristol, but you have some charm… Particularly in the foreign districts. 

Now onto Bristol the 25th of February and 4th of March. Thank god there are only 28 days in January.  


Hopefully we can discover more Bowie Artworks in Brizzle…

The Pub Bore Almanac

‘You want old bores, go to the pub’

Thaddeus of Edessa


The Crutch, Charlie Trotman. 

How about an evening amid strewn packets of scampi fries, cheap suits and the occasional dog?  Listening to someone find opportunities to talk about themselves, while you wear the expression of a docile garden gnome? We could have built Buddhist temples, we could have mimicked the bars of Barcelona and put a bit more effort in; but no, the great British invention is The Pub.

No matter how we try, we just don’t seem to be able to shake it off; the general Groundhog Day facades and Wetherspoons carpets. I’m not talking about the kind of boozers full of wasabi peas and tacky shit; Don’t get me started on those ‘smugstitutions’ either.

I’m talking about the places where the owner drinks more than you and the 1960’s never seemed to happen. Where anything that isn’t brown is considered girly and the aged go to die.

Pubs used to be sites of great political power, unfortunately; the biggest thing politically that has happened in a pub is ‘The Beer Hall Putsch’ of 1923, in which somebody called Adolf Hitler decided to mince around to get people to listen to him:

‘When Hitler did return to the main hall, it was in such disarray that he fired a shot from his pistol into the ceiling and threatened to put a machine gun in a gallery if the people in the hall did not settle so that they could hear him.’


Sound familiar?   Hitler, the classical pub bore, wished to install a machine gun to get people to listen to him. Curiously, they soon began to listen and agree. Presumably the same landlord of the Munich Beer Hall went on to open up Wetherspoons and Britain has now thrived with similarly aloof Fascists, armed with a  purple UKIP banner and a copy of the Daily Mail. Easy targets sure, but definitely not as easy to look at.

The second greatest political event to happen to The Pub was the Craft Beer Revolution, which was only slightly less bloated than Stalin himself.  Suddenly, another loathsome creature emerged in the beer bars, this creature didn’t so much have a story, but they did have a tasty beer, this was The Beer Bore.


The Beer Bore is typically male, loves Beer and has very little interest in what you have to say,  but god does he know a thing or twelve about Cascade Hops. His girlfriend typically stands like a shiny faced pawn among the spiky, leather handbag types;  They tend to be vegan, but they aren’t adverse to getting pissed and forgetting about it.   

If you buy them some nuts, you’ll undoubtably bought the wrong kind.  Like all young, hip vegans; supporting the suffering caused by the purchase of drugs is perfectly fine, as long as you put a Sweet Potato in,  If you don’t have one in the oven, just pretend you intend to or that you are fasting; it’s the only thing more cool than being a Vegan is deliberately not enjoying yourself.

If you are going to partake in the Pub ; It’s important to know how to match the person you are drinking with,  always look interested, always act like you aren’t there to simply get pissed, be sure to always be on the same level; lest the parasite decide they want to suddenly talk about the Beat Generation;  some people can knock it back; some people are so malnourished that a night out with them is like a William Hogarth’s Gin Lane.


Then they might try and hide their malnourishment with Fascism…again…

They knock back a few dodgy vodkas and then it’s onto the Dive clubs, full of sketchy types who were probably also in the pub. The important thing to remember is that if you aren’t on the same level, you will either be not drunk enough to deal with them; or too drunk to care. Smoking is now a no go zone, even though it shortens your time in the pub; you might get a bit of schtick, but it’s definitely cooler to vape. 

Photographs in the pub are always lame, unless you are commenting specifically on your drinking problem or trying to appear a little out of control, eating in the pub is a sin; beyond a few handfuls of KP peanuts, alcohol is the food on the pub, Fish and Chips might be on the menu, but you have to wait specifically until the end of the night, when all you can taste is Desperados.

Gigs on the other hand, are almost one the saving graces of being in the pub; it’s probably the only thing separating them from an episode of Eastenders. Usually it’s a cover band, sometimes it’s something eclectic, even vaguely listenable that you’ll never find the time to jot down;  eventually the band will be living in the pub with you, so get to know these people, they beat your family; who are essentially evolved out of the pub bore, this is an exact science as nobody would get pregnant without the pub.  Not even the old men drinking Guinness.

If you get bored of the music or playing Sigmund Freud for all your friends, then it’s definitely time to start trying to get on the person you were least likely to have hooked up with that very morning; this requires a certain tenacity and lack of respect for the values of your existing friendship.

Be warned, you’ll definitely come up in a pub quiz if you head down the Sex route;  You’ll ultimately last longer after a few; but be warned you might not get off. If you are ugly, another good thing involving balls is pool; pool is the national sport of one-upmanship;  You could be Oscar Wilde and nobody would find you cutting if you can’t hit in a few reds.

So there we have it; go to the pub and take my advice; you’ll glide through the quiz and you might even enjoy yourself; Remember; this is the good olde nation of Pub Bores; you cannot escape this; it might be written as an almanac; but it’s more of a rule book;  Look on my works, ye Mighty and despair! I think that’s worth about 20 points on the quiz?

beer-largeCheers to that.

The Directionless Generation


Advice and Structure doesn’t just end with school.

I have so many friends who were treated well when they were younger, they all grew up with Tamagotchi’s and the latest Disney movies, they never missed out on a school trip; Their lives were structured. Then they turned eighteen and their parents stopped helping them. 

We spend so many years in the cotton wool world of secondary school,  you turn around and find;  it’s up to you to decide whether to go to College, work for a paltry zero-hours contract or go to India to ‘find yourself’ 

They told you in school that if you didn’t do well, you wouldn’t amount to anything; so you take on a job in a phone shop and find that the structure suits you, okay it means you have to flat share; maybe get in a bit of debt, but nobody ever explained that the same debt incurred by Student Loans is never going to be possible to pay back. So you work and go out on the lash, perhaps fall in love or just sleep around.

Yet, much like the fact nobody ever explained that University Debt is totally invisible; you are left wondering where your life is headed, if you’ll actually grow out of perpetual student mode.

The Christmas shoppers descend upon your phone shop and you want to quit because the manager is practicing his best Donald Trump, day in-day out mithering at you to meet your sales targets. You want to quit your job, but you are already in debt and the older you get, the harder it is to apply for a college or get into a University.

This is happening all around us at the moment; I’m not saying University is the answer to all your problems; I happened to pick at random and ended up in Northampton, which was a vast wasteland in comparison to the city of Swansea in which I lived (and that’s saying something)

 I was taken in by the idea of further education after a difficult secondary school and a frustrating college Education in something called ‘Media’  many of my classmates dropped out to work in call-centers lured in by the certainty of money. 

Their parents either lacked an awareness of the stresses of the modern world or in some way, decided that supporting their children through the early steps was sufficient. Some teens even end up having to pay their parents rent; as if they should magically know what to do as soon as they turn a certain age. 

Some parents even use money to control their children or fail to recognise the drudgery that a life without any clear guidance can produce. I’m fortunate to be aloof to this kind of challenge, as I’ve always had at least access to money. Therefore, it’s impossible for me to feel entitled to let any personal sniping or emotional problems of any of my family get me down…Makes no difference to me.

Given that Rates of depression and anxiety among teenagers have increased by 70 per cent in the past 25 years.’  This type of neglect is creating further distance between young adults and their parents; they see their job as the caregiver to be over with and never have the privilege to think of their teens as ‘friends’

I’ve seen friends spiral down into drug dependency and unhealthy relationships as a response to lack of guidance. I was lucky enough that one half of my parents was willing to support me financially; until I found a concrete opportunity to work abroad.

I was encouraged to go up to London for interviews for Voluntary Service Overseas, which could be seen cynically as time I should have been putting money into the household.  It’s time to acknowledge that parenthood doesn’t have a sell-by date and that there is so much more obstacles in early adulthood than there ever was in the Tamagotchi days.