Getting older has its drawbacks – but it's a lot better than the alternative.
February 3, 2012 • Feeling My Age • Comments
The near-perfect cappuccino: 1 of 3. Pic taken with Instagram
Pump the black stuff into your cup…
The near-perfect cappuccino: 2 of 3. Pic taken with Instagram
Top it off with inexpertly frothed milk
The near-perfect cappuccino: 3 of 3. Pic taken with Instagram
Half an hour later take huge swig of Gaviscon to relieve crippling heartburn from raw caffeine overdose on a ravaged stomach lining.
February 2, 2012 • Feeling My Age • Comments
Pic taken with Instagram
Last November we lashed out £90 on a proper De’Longhi coffee machine which has rapidly taken centre stage in our kitchen – getting way more use than the blender (right) or even the toaster (left).
Once you get used to the caffeine jolt of real rocketfuel espresso in the comfort of your own home, it turns 95% of the coffee served anywhere else into a #disappointingingespressoexperience
October 2, 2011 • Feeling My Age • Comments
We’ve lived here in South London for twenty years now and bit by bit our little parade of shops has changed. Our local post office and newsagent closed down, as did both the bank branches, the greengrocer and one of the two off-licences. Also a local wonder known as The Lucky Parrot where kids could buy appealing toys and trinkets with pocket money.
The pharmacy, bookshop and convenience store have survived, but now we have expensive dress shops, a bake-your-own-cake venture, and any number of estate agents. Plus three bistros and several cafes to service the area’s increasingly transient and upwardly mobile population. My wife reserves particular scorn for the languid gangs of blonde, long-legged Yummy Mummies (as she calls them) who cluster around the tables with their giant pushchairs, designer sunglasses and loud confident voices.
But here’s the thing. For our family – even though we’d rather see a return of the hardware shop, post office and bakery – the arrival of decent cappuccino and genuine French patisseries isn’t exactly unwelcome. The real reason we’re so irritated by the Yummy Mummies is that, for all our Guardian-reading smugness, we’re every bit as bourgeois as they are. Just a tad less honest about it.
So if you’re ever round our way looking for a light lunch or simply a Danish and coffee, here’s an insider tip. Ignore the English Farmhouse pretensions of Crumpet and the faux-continental decor (and free wifi) of Mooca. You’ll find the best espresso, freshest food and most comfortable ambience are here at Prestige Cafe, 14 Bellevue Road, Wandsworth Common, London SW17 7EG.
Not to mention the lowest concentration of braying blondes with baby buggies. And yes, since you ask, they have free wi-fi too.
May 31, 2011 • Feeling My Age • Comments
My first encounter with amphetamines was in 1973 when my friend H slipped me a small tablet which I stowed in my wallet for later investigation then promptly forgot. Two weeks later an ill-advised night on the town left me feeling like death at work next morning. Having crawled into the office at 9:29am I put in what felt like five hours’ gruelling work before realising it was still only 9:35. Another eight hours later the 10am tea trolley arrived – and then I remembered the little pill in my wallet. Washed it down with my morning cuppa and two minutes later it was lunchtime. Result!
The next was in the late 70s when a kindly private doctor prescribed me a particularly pure form of medicinal amphetamine designed, he told me, to help airpline pilots stay awake on longhaul flights. It was brilliant stuff – no gabbled speech, racing pulse or grinding teeth – in fact no noticeable side effects at all. You just stayed alert and awake for eight hours. Result!
With my thirties came a cocaine habit. Coke was pretty much the reverse of the Pilot Pills. All side effect and no noticeable benefit. Since so many people around me were doing it socially, we all kind of took it for granted that we were having fun. It was a buzz of course but bascially a waste of the little spare cash I had. After stopping in 1986, I’ve never felt the urge to take it again. A result of sorts…
But over the last three decades any pharmaceutical drug with even a hint of recreational possibilities has become minutely regulated. No doctor, however amenable, will risk getting struck off for the sake of helping a patient stay illicitly awake when tired. Now I have a freedom pass, keeping awake and focussed at work – or even when out in company – requires copious cups of high octane espresso plus more cans of Red Bull than can be good for anyone… And that’s no result at all.
