Going bananas...

I seem to go through phases with foods. I can survive on one dish for weeks before I get bored and take up another. It might be beetroot this month and kidney beans the next. At the moment, I seem to have a thing for bananas; the smell and then the taste of the banana flesh is intoxicating to me.

Reading up on Bananas, I found out that Americans eat more bananas than any other fruit; that's about 12 kilos per person per year. However, Ugandans dwarf that figure, consuming nearly 230 kilos per person per year. Bejesus!

After a debate in work the other day about how many it's safe to eat before you get poisoned by the potassium they contain, I did some research. There are many stories out there warning against eating too many but you'd have to consume somewhere in the region of 250 in one sitting to feel any adverse effects from potassium. You'd burst well before being poisoned by the potassium.

Contrary to popular belief, bananas do not grow on trees. No, they grow from a root system that produces an above ground stem. The plant is officially classified as a tree like herb and the banana is actually a berry. Bananas are the only fruit to contain the amino acid, tryptophan and vitamin B6; these help our bodies produce seratonin, which help counter depression.

The health benefits of eating bananas are many, with claims that they can help lower blood pressure, ease mosquito bites, help with stress and even cure warts. If all the claims I've read are true, bananas will soon be hailed as the new wonder drug, more versatile than aspirin! Go buy a bunch today, before some supermarket slaps a superfood sticker on them and their price trebles.

For more on bananas...

Today's run at 11:40
Distance	5.03 km	Time	27:40
Pace	5:30 min/km	Cadence	80 spm
Comments: Grey.

It's all bananas...

I nearly choked on a banana in work this morning. As I took a bite from it, the memory of eating one last night popped into my head and I started to convulse with laughter, followed by convulsions brought on by choking on the banana I had in my mouth.

The memory that caused this was when I tried to eat a banana last night: having eaten half of it, I tried to peel back the skin to get at the rest and somehow it popped out of its skin high into the air and landed in a full glass of wine. The wine was splashed everywhere. Over me, the sofa, the curtains; there are even spatters on the ceiling. I could only laugh when it happened (after shouting "cock" several times at the top of my voice).

This story (and the choking that prompted it) sparked a discussion about the best way to peel a banana. A colleague I work with, who shall remain nameless (@NLMButterfly), said that she peeled hers from the end opposite to the the stalk. Silence, We all looked at her as if she'd just announced that she strangled kittens in her spare time.

She went on to explain to us that there was less chance of damaging the banana flesh that way. There were many looks of disbelief until, at lunchtime, she demonstrated her method before us. Begrudgingly, someone said, "It looks a more monkey-like banana, I suppose". Whether this is a good likeness, I guess, is down to your personal preference for monkeys.

And whilst we're on the subject of personal preference for monkeys, before going for my swim tonight, I popped into my local polling station on the way home from work to put a big X on my voting slip for the local elections. At the last general election in May 2010, much to my regret (and shame) I voted Liberal Democrat. I have been a Labour supporter all my life but was won over by Cleggy's smooth patter. Never again; I'm going back to my roots; tonight I voted for my local Labour candidate.

I can never understand those who don't vote. I'm not going to bang on about people laying down their lives so that we could have the right to vote, I'm not going to yap on endlessly about it being our duty and I'm not going to bore you with a list of countries in the world where people do not have this right that we seem to take for granted. No, as undeniably true as all of that is; if you don't vote, then I don't want to hear your whinges about services being cutback or withdrawn, about how crap local amenities are or whether the roads are gritted often enough next January. No, now's your chance to have your say.

If it was up to me, I'd make voting compulsory. Countries exist where not voting is breaking the law. Voting in these countries is often seen as more of a duty than a right and I think that's what I believe. People who don't vote where that right exists have no voice, they are (quite literally) dumb. I just don't get it. To continue with tonight's theme; it's all bananas...

Last meals...

There's a picture gallery published in the Guardian online today entitled Death Row Last Meals. The meals are nothing special in themselves but are loaded with meaning, given they are the requested last meals of those about to be executed.

Of course, last meals are not restricted to those on death row; at some point in our lives we'll all consume a last meal - even if it is liquidised and delivered through a tube. The only difference being that, for the majority of us, we won't know it's our last meal and so it won't hold any significance. Perhaps there's a lesson there about eating well and savouring every mouthful.

What would my last meal be, if I had a choice? As a starting point, I would have to think what my favorite foods are. So, in no particular order:

Peas
Bread
Cheese
Beetroot
Olives
Milk
Porridge
Eggs
Tomatoes
Onions
Bananas
Garlic
Butter
Green Beans
Mushrooms
Gherkins
Red Wine

I can't think of a meal that would contain all of the above. I guess I could just order all of them and graze throughout my last evening.

Today's run at 8:14
Distance	5.02 km	Time	27:35
Pace	5:30 min/km	Cadence	82 spm
Comments: Grey and blustery.

You are what you eat...

As I got into the pool for my swim tonight the warm fumes of belched pasty and chlorine wafted over me. I could see the culprit; he'd just turned and done a little kick to begin his next lap. The exertion must have forced a burp out which had perculated through the water to the surface. I felt sick. Who eats a pasty before going for a swim?

According to many reports, we are beginning to wake up to the benefits of eating a healthy diet. Open any magazine or newspaper and you won't have to look too far for that article on healthy eating. Those of us that care about these things try to avoid too much processed food and we watch the fat, salt and sugar levels in the foods we eat.

However... There are a group of Cardiff school kids that get on the same bus as me in the mornings that have successfully managed to avoid all literature on healthy eating. The stink of barbecue, beef and onion, smokey bacon and prawn cocktail flavour crisps on the bus is overpowering. A packet of Walkers seems to be the preferred breakfast of choice round our way.

Possibly, the best blowjob you'll ever experience...

Yesterday I wrote about Will Self's broadcast regarding opting for challenging and taxing art, books etc in order to deepen our understanding, rather than opting for the easy and convenient "boneless nuggets of McKnowledge" we often find on the internet; something for which I have a great deal of empathy. Well today, I'm going to advocate the exact opposite.

I consider myself to be a knowledgeable and often savvy man; I've been around the block a few times; there's little that surprises me. However, from time to time, I hear of something about which I feel I should know more. And every once in a while that something is known by everyone else but not by me, making it doubly hard to ask what it is. This is where the internet comes into its own; providing answers to those questions you were just too embarrassed to ask.

I like boiled eggs but loathe peeling them. I've tried peeling them as soon as they've boiled, I've tried peeling them once chilled in the fridge and I've tried peeling them under water but, invariably, I end up with shell everywhere, chunks ripped out of my eggs and my nerves in tatters. I typed the following into Google under videos, "Tips on peeling a boiled egg" and this is what I found:



Possibly, the best blowjob you'll ever experience...

Today's run at 18:06
Distance	5.01 km	Time	27:23
Pace	5:28 min/km	Cadence	81 spm
Comments: Squally showers.

Being difficult...

As I lay in bed this morning, debating whether I should get up, I decided to procrastinate a little further and so, at the risk of catching one of Radio 4's Sunday morning religious programmes such as Bells on Sunday or Something Understood, I turned on the radio. Luckily, God was with me and I'd narrowly avoided Sunday Worship, tuning in just in time for the start of Radio 4's A Point of View.

This morning's broadcast was a piece by Will Self entitled, Challenging Intellect. In this piece he argued that we should embrace the intellectual challenge of "difficult" books and art, and value works which are more taxing than our increasingly low-brow popular culture.

"The most disturbing result of this retreat from the difficult is to be found in arts and humanities education, where the traditional set texts are now chopped up into boneless nuggets of McKnowledge, and students are encouraged to do their research - such as it is - on the web."

I read the transcript of the programme when I got up and his phrase, "boneless nuggets of McKnowledge" has stayed with me all day. His comparison of knowledge to food and its acquisition in our information revolution age being akin to buying something cheap, quick and easily digestible at a fast food outlet is, I think, a powerful metaphor. It's a beautiful and potent phrase that I have returned to today - whilst cycling, at the supermarket, at the swimming pool. It has conjured up images throughout the day that have set my synapses alight.

We live in a 24/7 culture where everything is in competition with everything else for our short attention spans. It's a world of headlines, strap lines and catchphrases; anything longer is overlooked. I believe this to be a major driver in why we now have McKnowledge in place of broad understanding. Everything has to be easy and instantaneous; films, theatre, books, music - it's why so much of what we consume is formulaic. Once it's proven to work, it's repeated and applied to other genres and forms too.

The internet has revolutionised information; how we communicate it, how we access it and how we digest it. There is more information readily, easily and cheaply available to us today than we could ever hope to digest. There are, of course, many advantages to this but, as Will Self points out, there are many disadvantages too.

If you've not already done so, listen to his broadcast, Challenging Intellect.

Human suffering...

On waking this morning, I found that I had a blister on each of my heels from all the walking I did in Manchester in a spanking brand new pair of shoes on the weekend. These blisters were further irritated today by my work shoes. They haven't broken yet but it can only be a matter of time.

I also have a pain at the back of my leg, just above the knee. I can only describe the feeling as that sharp sort of pain you get when you damage a muscle. I have no idea how this happened. Throughout today it's felt, at best, uncomfortable and, at times, quite painful - like I've torn something.

The mad looking photo of me to the right was taken at a restaurant in Salford Quays on Sunday afternoon. Perhaps the face I'm pulling is as a result of the pain I'm suffering or maybe it's the cessation of it because I've just sat down, taken a glug of my wine and started to relax? Whatever the reason, I quite like it.

I very nearly didn't go running tonight because of my weekend war wounds. In the end, I decided to go for a short run only, promising myself that at the first sign of a twinge I would stop and return home. As it happened, my heels and my leg suffered less pain on my run than they had at any point throughout today. Isn't the body a wonderful thing?

I hurt like hell again now though...

Today's run at 17:26
Distance	5.01 km	Time	28:08
Pace	5:37 min/km	Cadence	79 spm
Comments: Sunshine and showers.

Welshcakes...

225g self-rising flour
60g margarine
60g lard
pinch of salt
75g sugar
75g currants and sultanas
1 egg

Sift together flour and salt. Rub margarine and lard into mixture to resemble breadcrumbs. Add sugar and mixed fruit. Mix in egg to form a soft dough. Chill for 1 hour.

Roll out to 5mm thick and cut into 5cm rounds. Bake on a hot griddle or a heavy frying pan greased with a little lard until lightly browned on both sides. Place on cooling trays and sprinkle with a little sugar.

Best eaten tomorrow on St David's Day, accompanied with several cups of strong tea.

Today's run at 16:30
Distance	4.01 km	Time	22:33
Pace	5:37 min/km	Cadence	80 spm
Comments: Clear and sunny.

Flesh...

I am not a vegetarian. However, I have, by and large, eaten a meat free diet since August. Yes, when I eat out I'll eat meat but I haven't really cooked any at home. I don't feel deprived and I can't say that I've missed it. It's no hardship.

Why am I doing this? It's not a conscious effort in support of green issues or animal rights or my own health - although, by varying degrees, I think all three are important to me. I just seem to have fallen out of the habit and, I must say, my food shopping bill hasn't scaled the heights it otherwise would have, had I been regularly buying meat to eat at every meal.

Of course, Christmas changes things somewhat: the frequency of eating out and also the pressure to eat meat increases. It can't be easy being vegetarian at this time of year. I remember when, as a student, I was vegetarian proper; everyone just expects you to eat meat at this time of year and if you don't then you are not enjoying yourself. In that Welsh food as a substitute for love culture, vegetarianism can even be seen as subversive: like you're spoiling it for everyone else by insisting on this silly behaviour.

My gran had a hierarchy of meat. Whenever I visited she'd always insist on cooking something for me. On learning that I was vegetarian, she paused for a moment then said, "So you don't want any beef then?" "What about pork?" "Will you try a bit of chicken?" "I got some cooked ham in the fridge?" "Sausages...?" "I think I got a tin of ham in the larder somewhere?" She looked flummoxed each time I refused her offers. When I suggested omelette, she went quiet and adopted a hurt expression, as if I'd told her that I didn't love her anymore.

That was 25 years ago. Attitudes have, no doubt, changed and I am no longer vegetarian. My diet of late, whether conscious or subconscious would not, however, impress my gran, "What about a pasty then boy, that's got potato in it...?"

Today's run at 08:17
Distance	4.03 km	Time	23:16
Pace	5:46 min/km	Cadence	81 spm
Comments: Calm, cloudy and cool.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas...

Up with the sun this morning as I wanted to fit a run in before heading off to the Blue Anchor in Aberthaw for Christmas lunch with a few mates. We've been doing this for a number of years and it usually always turns into a rather boozy affair, so the odds on going for a run this evening are practically nil.

It was very cold and very slippery first thing this morning because of all the ice, which meant that I tottered with little baby steps the entire distance to avoid going arse over tit. About midway through the run I realised that we're only one week away from the culmination of what we've been building up to since the festive season first started sometime back in late August.

In a week's time, you'll be sat in an arm chair feeling bloated and a bit woozy from the excesses of another Christmas Day. Nauseous from the over-eating and binge drinking, bruised by the family fights and bored by yet another Christmas TV Special; you'll be looking forward to Boxing Day when you can queue at an out of town store's customer service desk in order to return your unwanted gifts.

To see you through this final stretch, I thought I'd tell you a Christmas horror story from when I was a kid:

I must've been about eight years old and during the run up to Christmas my Grandmother, who worked in a shop, used to supply my younger brother and I with festive treats such as foil wrapped chocolates intended to be hung on the tree. Of course, they were never hung on our tree; they never made it that far - my brother and I would greedily devour them when we got home after school, ignoring my mother's warnings that we'd ruin our appetites.

On one miserable and grey afternoon in December we arrived home from school and rushed to the cupboard to share out our chocolate spoils. It was sheer heaven; sat there on the floor infront of the telly ripping at the foil to reveal the hollow chocolate bells, balls, snowmen and santas. We didn't stop to savour this cheap confectionary, we ate it quickly and mechanically while our attention was almost wholly focused on Scooby Doo or Hong Kong Fooey. Occasionally we might pause slightly or relax our feeding frenzy as my mother's voice echoed from the kitchen, "I hope you two aren't eating those chocolates yet?" My brother and I would grin at each other for a brief moment before picking up the pace again.

During my trance-like state I'd half noticed that one of my chocolate santa's foil wrapping had been punctured. I thought no more of it. I tore off his shiney red dressing and bit his head off. I then lifted his decapitated body to my mouth and tapped so that any chocolate debris that had fallen into his body fell into my mouth. I swiftly followed this with two bites at what was left and the whole santa was now in my mouth. I chomped away at it, the chocolate melting away between my teeth. However, this one tasted a little odd. It was an alkaline taste; the taste you get from silver paper. Rather than pull the paper out of my mouth I decided to chew at it a bit more and suck the melting chocolate out of it's folds. After a few more seconds I decided to retrieve it as the taste of the metal was beginning to spoil my enjoyment.

With my fingers I reached into my mouth to remove the chocolate sodden foil that had become mashed on my molars. I held it up so that I could have a better look at it. However, grasped between my thumb and forefinger was not the foil I'd been expecting to find but instead the biggest, blackest beetle I had ever seen. Its body was pretty much mutilated, crushed by my teeth, but there was enough of the animal left to identify it. Two of its legs were still twitching. My brother had stopped eating and looked on in silent horror. This silence was eventually broken by my hysterical screams as I tried to retrieve any remaining beetle body parts from my mouth. I cried and cried and continued to cry for the rest of the evening. Eventually, my mother lost patience (and any sympathy she might've had) and smacked me so that I'd shut up.

This next week I'll be wishing my life away to get to the other side as quickly and painlessly as possible. And I won't be eating any foil wrapped chocolate Santas...

Today's run at 8:16
Distance	3.86 km	Time	22:26
Pace	5:48 min/km	Cadence	80 spm
Comments: Very cold and slippery because of all the ice.

A veritable smorgasbord...

My favourite meal of the day has to be breakfast. When at home, I invariably eat porridge; filling, high in fibre and slow to release carbohydrate throughout the morning.

When on holiday, my favourite meal of the day remains breakfast, although I rarely eat porridge. Usually, there are too many other things on on offer that I want to try. The hotel I'm staying at does a very good breakfast. Everything from Full English through a vast array of cold meats and cheeses to yoghurts, fresh and dried fruits, tomato, cucumber, eggs in every imaginable way, a huge choice of cereals, pastries and every bread you've ever seen or heard of. I think I've tried them all.

My reason for liking breakfast here, however, is not because of the bewildering and tempting choices presented (although I admit that this would be reason enough). No, my reason for enjoying breakfast here is because of the people watching opportunities it provides. A veritable smorgasbord!

There's the German husband and wife with their 12 year old son. They all look like they've been cloned from Gert Fröbe; big boned, rosy cheeked and well fed - they've even all got the same sandy cropped hair style, mother included. If they said they were anything other than Schleswig Holstein farmers, I'd be surprised - fat of the land, or what?

There's the elderly English couple, traumatised by the choice of food on offer, they stick to what they know and what they're used to: tea and toast. Then there's the other English couple, where he just sits at table while she scurries to and fro, ensuring that his every need and breakfast urge is catered for. He gulps and tears at his food accompanied by frequent grunts and slurps. A trough wouldn't be out of place.

There's the beautiful dark French couple with the toddler. All three ooze chic from every pore. They seem so stylish and urbane; I'm sure that the toddler is allowed only black coffee for breakfast followed by a Gitanes.

And lastly there's the blond German couple with three blond sons all under 10 years old. They seem so relaxed and easy with each other. So helpful and forgiving. They all muck in together gathering what they need for this first meal of the day. And if someone spills or tips something; hey, it's not the end of the world.

I saw the father sunbathing by the pool in his swimming trunks when I came back from the beach tonight. If he scattered his breakfast on the floor and then rolled in it, I wouldn't think any the less of him!

[In a camp Swansea accent] O my God, I think I love him...!

Hangover...

I went out with some friends from work last night and today I have a hangover. What seemed like a good idea last night has resulted in a bit of a sorry day today. Hangovers are apparently caused by dehydration of the brain and an irritation of the stomach lining.

Potential hangover cures include:

Water
Fruit juice
Hair of the dog
Aspirin
Lucozade
Pickle juice
Fried breakfast
Spicy food
Eggs
Vitamin B
Ginger tea

If only I could summon the energy to opt for one of them...

A matter of taste...

And so another beautiful, blustery, bright and bouncy, autumnal day here in Cardiff. Time for another test drive of my new Nike+ Sportwatch. Again, it locked on to the pedometer in no time and within seconds had found those pesky global positioning satellites. It's facinating watching the distance increase and the pace waver as you run. After nearly getting run over by a cyclist, I decided it would be wise to look where I was going rather than at the ever changing display on my watch. And, as I concentrated on the run rather than the running watch, my mind drifted...

Taste accounts for a lot of the decisions we make in life. Taste is a badge we wear with pride; a facet of ourselves we show to the world. I have good taste whilst you have bad taste. Whether that's taste in foods or taste in wine, taste in furniture and decor, taste in music, taste in men or taste in women or taste in both (Rosie Bothways) and, not forgetting, taste in style and the clothes we wear.

When it comes to fashion, Karl Lagerfeld (right), the Chanel designer, thinks one of the biggest mistakes people make is buying clothes that don’t flatter their figure or fit properly. He advises, “Buy what you know works for your body and only buy something if it fits well.” He also emphasises the importance of keeping things simple, “Never underestimate the power of a simple T-shirt, jeans and a jacket. It always looks very chic." Taste is personal and entirely subjective and, as Mr Lagerfeld proves, there's no accounting for it.

Taste is often individual but can also apply to groups of people such as nations and ethnic or religious groups. There is a perception that the Italians have a certain taste, as do the Germans, Spanish and (let's not forget) even us British. We consider Scandanavians to have a taste for pickled fish and good functional design whilst the French to have a taste for molluscs and plush decor.

Imagine meeting a Frenchman who didn't enjoy a plate of escargot! My ex is Danish and (uncharacteristically) he doesn't like pickled fish, whereas I'll happily eat rollmop herring for breakfast (followed by a glass of Gammel Dansk, "...to make the fish swim"). One thing he and his family did turn me on to was cheese and jam. It doesn't matter what cheese or what jam; they all taste pretty good together - although there are some magic combinations. There can be no finer breakfast than a sweaty brie spread over crusty toasted bread with a liberal spoonful of blueberry jam.

Now, some people turn their noses up when I mention the combination of cheese and jam but, in essence, it's only that age old combination of fat and fruit. Consider pork and apples, duck and oranges, strawberries and cream, rhubarb crumble and custard and, of course, lemon cheesecake. And what do you think cheese and tomato is if it's not fat and fruit?

If there can be no finer breakfast than the combination of cheese and jam, then lunches don't come much better than a bacon and banana sandwich. There's something about the salty crispness of the bacon combined with that soft sweetness of the banana. I've been trying to get Ozzy from the excellent Sandwiched In The City in Cardiff to include this on his menu but no luck yet.

Elvis is reputed to have enjoyed a bacon, banana and peanut butter sandwich but I don't want to die of a heart attack whilst sat on the loo, so I'm gonna skip the peanut butter:

Ingedients
Crispy bacon
Banana
Raw spinach or lettuce
Sprinkling of nutmeg
Crusty bread

Method
Combine and eat.

Just shut up and try it.

And my run...? Well, it was enjoyable for the beautiful weather bathing the Bay this afternoon. I did 4.94 km in 26'46" at an average pace of 5'25"/km. It's not gonna win me any prizes but it aint bad.

I could taste her Charlie...

I awoke to screaming this morning. The Cardiff Half Marathon passes close(ish) to my flat and the spectators and supporters were out in strength. At least, I hope it was they who were screaming rather than the runners. I had breakfast and two cups of coffee whilst the screaming continued. Eventually, I went out to cheer them on myself.

And why wasn't I out there running with them? Well it's never really appealed. I love running but I think I prefer doing it on my own because it de-stresses me. I enjoy getting lost in my thoughts. I don't think the Cardiff Half Marathon would have the same effect; I'd get a headache from all that awful dayglo lycra.

I went for a swim at lunchtime and Cardiff International Pool was empty and serene (well, the International Pool was); only two other swimmers and all the noisy kids were contained in the leisure pool area next door. It was so wonderful to swim in the calm coolness of an empty 50m pool. I love it when it's empty like today. My only complaint was the woman who must have doused herself in cheap perfume before getting in the water; I could taste her Charlie in the water!

On my way back, I called in at the supermarket and bought some umami paste. Yes, you heard me right; umami! Umami is Japanese for delicious savoury taste. It is the fifth taste after sweetness, sourness, saltiness and bitterness. It was identified in 1908 by Kikunae Ikeda. Foods rich in umami include: fish, shellfish, cured meats, mushrooms, ripe tomatoes, spinach, green tea, cheese, shrimp pastes and soy sauce. It's a taste that is unpalatable by itself but has salivating inducing properties when used with other foods.

What I didn't know is that you can buy umami in paste form; delicious savoury taste in handy squirty tubes to add to your cooking to give it that depth of flavour. It's probably a rip off but it did taste nice in my spicy tomato sauce tonight.

And all in the best possible taste...

Teaching your granny to suck eggs...

A friend of mine, Gareth, has just returned from a week in Berlin (I'm envious). We have a standing joke that I think he'd be very popular with the gay community (whatever that is) because of his bear/cub like looks; he just needs to change his sexuality. On his return from Berlin, he'd bought me some Gummi Bears as a souvenir of his trip - apparently, they originated in Germany. And today I ate far too many of them.

On my run tonight I felt laden with a coagulation of half digested, multi coloured, gelatine lumps in my stomach. It was the revenge of the Gummi Bears. As I ran I was reminded of Hedwig and the Angry Inch because of the Gummi Bears scene between the black US soldier, Luther, and Hansel (later, Hedwig). This is one of my favorite films: a rock musical about an East Berlin transgendered rock singer on a tour of Bilgewater Restaurants in the US; as she tells her life story and persues her ex boyfriend, who has stolen her songs and hit the big time. Hilarious but also quite moving.

The other thing that I thought about on my run was Bearforce1, a group of four gay bears who cover gay dance anthems. Gareth introduced me to these earlier in the year. Again, hilarious (especially when Gareth does his dance).

Talk about teaching your granny to suck eggs...

Meat and two veg...

As I swam up and down the pool tonight, I thought about what to have for dinner. This is a bit like patting my head and rubbing my abdomen; if I get too wrapped in thought I end up not counting my lengths and then I don't know where I am. Whatever I was to decide upon having to eat would have to be bought at the supermarket on my way home. What was my stomach telling me it wanted: chicken, pork, lamb...?

It was at this point that I realised that I hadn't eaten meat for about three weeks. Not since I returned from Istanbul, really; the last meat dish being a Turkish lamb dish at a restaurant in Sultanahmet. No, I haven't turned vegetarian - I just haven't eaten meat. It's not a conscious decision at all, it just seems to have happened.

I've never been, what my Gran would have called, "a big meat eater". As a child I was more than content with the vegetables and if I did eat meat it tended to be a few slices of chicken. I became a full time vegetarian in 1983. But then, as a student in the early 1980s, it was quite fashionable to be a vegetarian (compulsory, some would argue). This lasted for the best part of the next 5 years until one drunken night I wolfed down a pork pie - always my Achilles heel.

As I thrashed my way up and down the pool, I thought about this and pondered whether I was getting all the nutrients my body needed. I wondered if I was getting enough protein, given the exercise I was doing. What was the point in swimming up and down this pool if I wasn't taking in enough protein to build any muscle? I resolved to buy some meat at the supermarket before I was laid low by some condition related to malnutrition.

I have just finished the biggest, freshest, tastiest salad I've had in a long time. I ate it with some warm crusty bread and it was delicious. But I thought you'd resolved to buy some meat to feed your malnourished body? Mmmmm! When I saw the packets of etiolated flesh laid out in the supermarket, I somehow went off the idea.

Telephones and cheese...

My phone decided to commit suicide in the night. All that remained this morning was a random arrangement of pixels like a fizzing paraffin sheen (and an invoice from Dignitas). Life had got unbearable, or so the note I found said. I couldn't make any calls (even to the emergency services) because tapping the screen resulted only in a splutter of buzzes and a death rattle of clicks.

So, with a heavy heart this morning, I gave Orange a call to arrange for the body to be removed (and a replacement delivered). This they readily agreed to and confirmed it would be shipped today, for delivery between 6pm and 10pm tonight. This meant a mad dash home to get the phone backed up (as best I could with little left of the screen to guide me) so I could dispose of the dead one and take delivery of its brand spanking new replacement.

Because of all this there was no time for my planned swim tonight and so I consolled myself by eating my own bodyweight in cheese today. I've noticed that cheese is often my prop, my comfort blanket, my diversion activity. At times of stress, I often turn to cheese for support. I'd be great in an emergency situation as long as there's a readily available supply of cheese. Today, I munched my way through a packet of Edam slices whilst in work this afternoon and nibbled on a block of Jarlsberg when I got home.

The courier came at about 6:30pm and now I feel a little sick.