Dharma is universal, and seeing as Cornwall, including Midcornwall and its environs is at least partly in the Universe....
Hi,
Situated in the heart of Truro’s Little Brighton, The French Bistro is the City-Village’s newest restaurant. From the outside there is one thing to say about it, it’s small and quirky. It’s a little bit fairytale; perched on a corner by a bridge overlooking a little river.
Inside the restaurant is small and irregular with angles that you just don’t find anymore. The tables and chairs are all different. The crockery too. Old and antique and, en masse, even before you add any human or cuisine elements to it, you know you’re in someplace rare.
The service was delightful, right from the offset we were made very welcome, even as we handed over our BYOB wine. The fact it’s unlicensed is, like most things in a world that is complex and deep in all directions, both a blessing and a curse. It’s a curse, to me at least, because you just can’t beat a draught premium lager in an ice cold tall.
Ohhh baby .. mmm yaa...
But being unlicensed is a blessing because you can bring your own wine and, even with The French Bistro’s very reasonable corkage, that’s going to save you a few bob you could be spending on meth later on, at Vanilla. I am not sure of the BYOB etiquette but I erred against turning up with four cans of warm Special Brew in a tatty carrier-bag. Which is lucky as it would have juxtaposed the ambiance somewhat.
The Menu wasn’t high on choice, but was on variety and quality. The olive’s were some of the best I have had and the starters, mains and desserts all delicious. The food’s got a very homely glow to it, it’s authentic, its’ Bistro! Ohh la la!
Pricewise, The French Bistro is very reasonable, which is good, because due to our inefficient, corruptible and debt-based economic system, there is less fake money to flow through the veins of the Hegemonic Behemoth that is Babylon. Jah bless the Prices at The French Bistro.
Food, style, staff, aesthetic, I can’t fault it, I can only praise it. In my humble opinion, as a man who has reviewed more restaurants in Mid Cornwall than most, The French Bistro is, right about now, right about the most interesting and rewarding restaurant in Truro.
The French Bistro
19 New Bridge St
Little Brighton
Zone One
Truro
Cornwall
01872223068
PS. In the day they also do lunches and coffee (You have to ask for “café” not “coffee” though, as it’s French.)
Au revoiur
Donde est le estation de autobus?
In order to protect Cornwall from the absolutely certain and imminent Pandemic, I have taken it upon myself to volunteer to consider, if you will have me, to be Cornwall's first line of defence against the Biohell that looms scary.
I will code some advanced AI bots to monitor and interact with all information on the internet as well as, via Q-Grid access, doctor's surgeries, the red cross, the military etc etc. Sorted. If I can’t get these bots coded in time I’ll just use Google’s News Alerts, and stuff like that. In fact, forget the AI bots, I'll stick to news alerts.
As soon as I get a sniff that this new Plague is upon the Duchy, I'll wap out a few tweets on it on my twitter account.
If you do get one of my CUNI Alerts please try not to panic, stay at home, stay warm and ABSOLUTELY do not shop in the Tesco's or Sainsbury’s in Truro. In fact, if you’re in Truro, you should leave the moment you get my tweet. Please leave your doors open and keys in your cars in case the emergency services need use them.
To Recap: If you live in Cornwall and you want to potentially save your own life as well as the lives of those you love and care for and those strangers who you don't love but connect with as as fellow, struggling, humans then you should probably partake in my CUNI Alert and lick the back of the digital envelope yourself.
Why would you not?
Life is so precious.
Today I was outraged by Google. I found that in it’s Weather Gadgets, Google lists ZERO locations in the Nation-state of Cornwall. These weather gadgets are used in the Google Homepage and in Google’s popular spying application, Google Desktop. This is injustice.
The Continent of Cornwall is used to such exploitation by search engine giants. Most residents of Kernow still refuse to use Yahoo search since it’s 1996 mistake of suggesting Cornwall was, in fact, a part of England. And indelibly etched on the expatiations of Cornish IT companies is the shortly lived askjethro.com; after pioneering multi-layered Cornish search heuristics in 2003 askjethro.com was obliterated by the legal canons of A very nameless corporation. I can’t even write that coperation’s name from within the Cornish internet without being sued or a getting mundane rendition to Abu Ghraib.
Tread carefully, said the badger.
Whether it is marauding mercenaries, mercenary missionaries or men from Microsoft, Cornwall is used to getting shafted. But until now (excluding the infamous “Grampound Line”), the proto-omniscient Googemon has remained on the side of the Kernotropolis.
We have always felt deeply at one with “The G”. When Cornish citizens needed to find out about things in other counties, and sometimes even other times, Google was there. When Cornwall petitioned for a modern progressive online democracy instead of disinterested Westmister-quangol scrag-ends, Google was there with the technology to facilitate and liberate... wouldn’t it be great.
So why... now... have they forsaken us?
The injustice that the closest weather information Das Googen can supply is Plymouth is a bitter injustice. And anyone who has ever been to both Plymouth and Cornwall will know how much better the weather always is in Cornwall. Plymouth isn’t Cornwall. They can’t even swim there!
Outrage at injustice often leads to action. I took action. I decided that I would Boycott all Google Services. I would give “The G” “The Bird”.
After less than a minute I realised that this would not be possible. On an Information and Communication Hunger Strike I made a shoddy Bobby Sands. Simply, the sacrifice of my protest wasn't worth the victory.
However, not one to give in totally, I "fine tuned" my anti-Google protest to the totally encompassing and lifelong new protest: The Boycott of Google Mars.
Whilst they mock and ridicule the people of the Empire of Kernow I shall not be looking at their Online map of The Red Planet. And in this I shall be steadfast - Unless, say, the kids are using it for their homework and they need my help?
It doesn’t matter if you live in Cornwall or not, this is an almost global issue. If you don’t believe me, simply imagine the slight annoyance you would feel if your Capital City wasn’t listed in the Weather Gadgets. I rest my case, and... with you, I pick up my war flag.
My clarion call that shall rattle down these digital ages shall also echo aeons across my small and badly lit office!
To:Customer Services
Muji Europe Holdings Limited
8-12 Leeke Street
London
WC1X 9HT Dear Sirs/Hunnies,I have long been a fan of Muji's functional minimalism. I believe your pencil cases are the stationary equivalent of a Zen Koan, and for this I thank you.However, this festive season you failed me, and, in a deeper sense, you failed yourselves.I received two Muji gifts from Santa, a pumice stone and an Egg Timer. The pumace stone was a well cut piece of solidified pyroclastic froth that will perform adequately upon corns and dry skin (which I currently dont posses). The egg timer leaves me with an incredulous sense of despair at your quality control. Both the package and the device specify it is a 3 minute egg timer but, after multiple tests, including the one on this youtube video, it saddens me to say the timer times a period of 2 minutes and 56 seconds.I hope you will agree that a four second error is simply not acceptable when determining such relatively short metrics.I like this egg timer, it looks good, and, before realising the temporal blasphemy this timer commits every time it times, I was going to carry it around with me to time things. This is no longer possible.I am sure you will refund me whatever this item cost, but I don't want that. I want a either a three minute Muji egg timer that times for three minutes exactly, or twelve Muji egg timers with an error margin of no more than five seconds in either direction. This latter option provides the possibility that when needed I can use all twelve timers and average out the result. Thus, we would hope, achieving something like accuracy.My address to send either one accurate, or twelve inaccurate, Muji egg timers is:******************************Once recvived I hope we can put this malign point in our supplier/consumer Warm regards,Mat.....
I have been researching the big conspiracies for my new novel, Kingmaker. One of the things that keeps coming to me as unavoidable is how Pro-Illuminati I am becoming, especially with relevance to Cornwall. I guess it's much the same way that researching marine ecosystems would make you more pro-fish. I think that The Bavarian Illuminati may be seen in a bad light just because they are a shadowy secret government that's been influencing the Tides of Man since before the Euphratean slave camps discovered The Power of Few Over Many. But I think if we could all get to understand the Illuminati better we would be able not only to serve them better but perhaps, in time, really have them open up to us. They are people too and though we only ever know about their generals, the Bildebergers, Masons and Churches, we must assume that they, in some sense, would rather feel loved than hated. Increase the Peace, even with your Hidden Overlord God Emperors. So, rather than just saying that we should offer an olive branch to the Illuminati (clenched between trembling buttocks), I will outline why I think the Illuminati are A-OK 2 Me. Firstly, they are European, and although I am not nationalistic in any bigoted sense, I just feel happier that the world's secret overlords are, like, from my patch of The Illuminati Hegemony. If it was the Americans or the Russians or the Chinese who really had been running the show for three millennia it would just seem a bit, I dunno, retarded. America wasn't even around then! Secondly, their principles of enslavement have evolved over the last three thousand years into something that is at least able to maintain a certain quality of life for the higher ranked prisoners as well as, relative to the ancient prisoners, much better chances of living into adulthood for the lower ranked prisoners. Every one is a winner with The Sons of Terah. Thirdly, they are Smart and Smart is better than Dumb (Remember you can hate Bush and Brown and still be Pro-Illuminati). BecauseThe Real Illuminati are a quasi-totally-secret-society (“the line between two shadows is stronger than the edge of sword” Analogs of Terah CIXIXIIX) most people never get to hear about how smart they really are. Which is a shame. Making a best selling fiction novel exactly about them to destroy the sniff of them that people had after WWII and during the Cold War was a work of genius. Putting your secret overlord “tags” all over the place, Awesome! As was smuggling the debt of existence into religious guilt to gain extra shackleless control. Who would have come up with that today? Nobody!!! These guys, throughout history, have again and again trumped the prisoners at every turn. That's why they are the masters and we are the slaves. Respect. Fourthly, when the Illuminati Hegemony is ready to fully homogenize the world into a global unified socio-economic slave camp where punishment is the absence of false-liberty and reward is relative to subservience/genetics there will at least be easier travel. Many of the barriers to global travel in the past have been due to secret conflicts with maverick secret governments who have accidentally discoveredThe Power of Few Over Many. When we are finally totally enslaved, thes boundaries won't be possible, which means less queues and more time on the beach for all of us. Lastly, and most Importantly for Cornwall, when it comes to secret governments its consdiered better the devil you dont know than the one you do. This may seem counter intuitive, but remeber the entire edifice of your life is a facade covering the invisible bars of a slave camp, and thats much more counter-intuitive, Don't ya think? A Prince Charles is kind of a Secret Overlord in the sense that his overlording is secret, but he is a very public figure and I just cant help feeling that we ar being treated unfaily when the rest of the world has fully secret, secret slavemasters. So, I hope like me you can see that Illuminati Hating and Baiting is just wasting their time – which is much more valuable than our time to the ultimate progress of humanity – and our own time, which you have very little of, and even less that isn't working to keep the prison running; satisfying its its multitude of requirements. In the Long term The Illuminati are good for humanity and, in the medium term, I really think they can be better for Cornwall. Much better than the feelble shadow-puppet hands of the House of Windsor we have currently. However, this raises my concerns for Cornwall; Historically the Illuminati have had no interest in Kernow at all. They sent a scouting expedittion from phonecia thirty centries ago and that was that, like Wales and the Faero Islands, Cornwall has simply not had anything the Illuminati need and this worries me. What happens when the world's population is fully enslaved, chipped and dipped apart from the Cornwall? What happens when we are on holiday in England and dont have the right ID cards to use a public Toilet? Do we get left out of the free therapy drugs, comsumption implants and TV credits? It happened with Motorways, Powerstations and A-Bomb testings and now its happening again with our probable exclusin from The Sons of Terah's evil plans, Cornwall comes last. Every time:( Don't hate them, just because they own you.
In pursuit of pomodoro perfecto...Where can you find MidCornwall's best pizza? Is it on the same menu as the most mouthwatering melanzane mozzarella? Is it accompanied by an above average avocado prawn? Wherever it is, I want to find it, eat it, and eat it again and again. To paraphrase a cheesy movie I once saw: pizzas are like weddings: everyone likes them. What's not to like?Well.....actually, there's a lot not to like. Like sweetcorn out of a tin, spinach out of a tin, pineapple out of a...you get the idea, and on one occasion, leftovers from a Sunday roast. Rank. Then you've got the 'deep pan', the culinary equivalent of David Grey. I could go on. But I won't, unless I meet such a ghoul on what I imagine will be an epic trek through as many restaurants with a pizza oven as I can stomach.Restaurant number one: Piero's, Truro.If I was the location scout for Life On Mars I would have them have dinner every night in Piero's. There are pepper mills in there older than anything in the Royal Cornwall Museum. But there's nothing wrong with eating in a Thatcher Years Italian Bistro theme park, provided the pizza is good. But is it?I went there last night with my Mamma, bambinis and esposa? (ok no more cod-Italian. My husband). All had pizza (vegetarian, kids', and the prosaically named 'multi topping') except Mamma mia, who had lasagne. The place was much busier than we expected for a Wednesday night, and I think a fair bit busier than the management expected too, if the service was anything to go by. The waiting staff were pressured, but always pleasant. It took long enough to get served for my youngest to make and discard a party hat from her napkin, make two solo trips to the toilet and finally attempt sleep on her chair. She's only four. It was probably about 35 minutes.But holy moley, when the pizzas arrived, everyone woke up. It's not every day your dinner is in the shape of a rabbit's head with spicy sausage eyes. For the record, I'd rather mine never was, but the kids were well impressed by the pizza pet portrait. My own pizza was the usual round shape, and looked pretty appetising. It had some zingy fresh spinach on it, a floury, broken crust and a fair tomato/ mozarella ratio. Great. Except for the presence of my own bete noir, the rotten reanimated corpse of the once golden headed beauty queen of the vegetable kingdom, the dread yellow peril: sweetcorn. Once I had scraped off the offending veg, the pizza was actually pretty good. Nice and crispy base and flavoursome fresh toppings. The 'multi topping' pizza did indeed have a variety of things on it- vegetables, salami, bacon etc., but sadly no exotic items, like artichoke. Must be the old credit crunch biting. The lasagne, the size of a child's bed, was declared 'good'.As we left, I wondered whether I could give Piero's a fair mark. Whenever I eat there I'm with a big party. Sometimes it's the extended family. There are requests for extra olives, dozens of straws of the same or different colours, spills to be mopped up. Or I'm with friends, talking loudly with our mouths full and ordering another bottle of house something. The staff are always accommodating, the atmosphere is always festive and you never have to book. What more could you want from an old fashioned family pizza joint? I'm giving Piero's seven out of ten for the pizza itself. For the way it takes you back to your childhood quicker than roller boots, nine.6/10Kenwyn Street, Truro TR1 3DJ
01872222279
Today, while researching the Cornish poultry industry, I stumbled upon a dark secret that I believe could shake the British chicken industry to its sick little stick-like knees.
Throughout these isles we eat chickens, especially the non-vegetarians, and what kind of chickens do we eat? Cornish Mother-Clucking Chickens!!! Yes! Its True!!! This outrageous fact is indisputable.
There is a line in Louis CK's stand-up routine where he speaks of how in Chinatown there are vats full of duck vaginas for sale, and he asks rhetorically (and paraphrased by me), "how much more could you possibly dominate a species than by selling their vaginas in a vat?"
And he is right. But isn't this exactly analogous to the English Imperial Hegemony's decimation of our poultry population to feed the English proles' TV-induced yearning for Mc Nuggets?!!!!
Cornwall has many issues. I think I just found another.
Over the years I have designed a number of computer games. MondoPondo is a multiplayer quiz game with adult Truths and Dares. In fact, MondoPondo Wilde was the World's first computer game for Lesbians. And thats a fact. Its now defunct but Lesbians are going strong. Though not at my parties. Alas.
I designed the vastly underplayed 22Kung (from the blurb:"Use your Monks and all your cunning to capture your opponent's Jade Fountain and become the master in a game that combines the tactical planning of Chess, the simplicity and gameplay of GO and the drama of Kung Fu.") which by now I was hoping to have been bigger than Sudoku and Online Poker combined. I think maybe the graphics could have been a bit better.
And there there was Factland, which I designed a while ago, bought the domian, specced the game and then, stupidly, didn't repurchase. Lesson learnt.
On Saturday Night we went again to Gaudi's, the third time this year. It was just the two of us and the welcome and atmosphere was as expected. Friendly, intimate and modern. The food, as with the other two times, was just fantastic, in fact, better than the last two times; the same can't be said for all Restaurants in Truro. Starters For starters I had scallops with black pudding that was just amazing. The scallops, I have never had them so perfect in taste and texture, Mmmmm yaaaaa yummy. Mind you, I would have preferred five rather than four of these molluscular marvels, but that is probably a symptom of my gluttony rather than the reality of my expectations. Grenouille In the early days of my courtship with my wife, back before the constant attrition of romance by kids and mortgages and hate, we had a fun bet for fifty pounds that I could be vegetarian. We were living in London and eating out lots and it soon dawned on me that I loved meat way too much. So, via a process of negotiation, nagging and pleading I plotted a path of escape from pure vegetarianism that went taramasalata>muscles>fish>things that can swim>frogs (we had a French restaurant nearby) and finally to Duck. Duck! I have never normally eaten Duck, but I did then, and I did on Saturday night. And it was very very very niceeroonie. In fact it was probably the best Duck I have had, apart from that shredded duck you get in Chinese restaurants – I’d be happy if every restaurant served just that, always. It’s the only time I eat cucumber too. Apart from in tatziki. My indentured ex girlfriend had a stunningly tasty (my words, her experience) Artichoke salad for her starter and a "ground breaking" chestnut omelette made just for her because she had had the other two vegetarian options there before. Now that’s service! Dessert Bread and Butter puddings are one of the prime examples of emergent gastronomical phenomena. From just some bread and a bit of butter a skilled Bread and Butter Chef can make a dessert so tasty that you would think it had been made of stuff other than just bread and butter. This happened on Saturday night. So tasty, so emergent. Another highlight of the evening was us both getting quite squiffy on the Leffe. This is a strong Belgian beer that comes in little bottles and gets you pretty ramadangdingdonged in a nice way, unless you have more than four bottles. In conclusion, Gaudi's is still the best restaurant in Truro, and, as far as I know, Midcornwall. It’s not a fast food place so expect to take up the whole evening, but with attentive service and a comforting vibe, that’s all good in this Cornish 'hood. Gaudi's
8 Edward Street
Truro
TR1 3AJ
Tel: 01872 227380
Of late I have been battling much against The Hegemony. I got totally Screwed over by Orange (They really are evil) and I have had similar dalliances with deceptive practices by other aspects of The Hege'.
Dear David Pyke and Reverend Peter Ninnis (Truro Evangelical Church),
I read with such disappointment about your hateful protest at Cornwall's Gay Pride parade.
You say that Homosexuality is a sin in the eyes of God and that the Bible is the justification for your homophobia. I think it its fantastic that you have the right to protest and voice your concerns, but, now I'd like a little say about your "lifestyle".
You base your lifestyle on a book that is provably and unquestionably:
If you have ended up on this post looking for a traditional educational establishment in Cornwall's finest city, I am afraid Google has let you down again.
The Old Grammar School is situated in a Georgian building with high ceilings and a warm three dimensional feel. I'm not much of an amateur buildings archaeologist, but I have watched a few episodes of Time Team, and a documentary on Alexander the Great, and I think it the building might have started off to do with dairy production. Allthough other evidence in the building might suggest it was some kind of Cooper’s yard or perhaps a huffler's bump house?
Whatever it was originally, The Old Grammar School is a very well decorated and furnisherized venue. You walk in. Its nice. ‘Nuff said. Great building. But what is a building save for its bricks, mortar, care, style, decor, attention and aesthetic?
I need to tell you not just what it is, but how it is. And I think the best way to describe that is poetically.
/me dons polo neck
The Old Grandma School
You started on a Friday,
But I couldn’t make your call.
We had Folks round for dinner.
And on the Saturday, I had a boat trip.
Falmouth for pasties, St Mawes for beers.
JKQ:Whats better, Falmouth or Fowey?
JKA:Truro
We got the ferry back to the City,
Saturday late at night, not Sunday morn,
You had the kind of vibe, like an opening night.
But it was your second night, not first,
(So that was a good good sign)
And then on the Monday, me, beer , MK,
You were the host that I could boast,
I had drunk in you on "the second night"
"Great bar, that"
"Yea, I was there on the second night"
"Cool"
"Maybe"
And then I went on the 6th afternoon.
Drinking
With people:
The kind of people I drink with at 16:30 on a Thursday
Wife. Two Kids. And Tarryn.
Great Chips.
Really Great Chips
Great Beer
Cold Glasses, Frosty.
Really great chips.
And nice staff.
(For long term readers (Clive) I do think these chips were better than these ones reviewed many moons ago here: Review: St Austell Brewery Tribute Beer Battered Chips . These are probably the best chips in Mid Cornwall right now.)
I'm not a Buddhist scholar but I am a Buddhist and I like to think that I like to think.
Over the last seven years I have been pretty deeply involved in thinking about Dharma - the teachings of the Buddha, and trying to make this fit in with my personal attempts at understanding life and reality.
The Buddhism I have studied is the traditional teachings of the Buddha known as Therevadan Buddhism. I realised as soon as I started dipping my toes in this that it was much more level-headed and rational than I would have imagined; Dharma has evolved and taken up the effects of the cultures it took root in, this is never a bad thing, but, I believe, that it might make the core teachings less accessible to western rationalists, such as myself.
The following list of 3 Bulletpoints and their subs I believe captures the very core of Dharma; everything flows from the three doctrines of existence; Anicca, Anatta, Dukkha.
I have used the original Pali terms not to be pretentious but because, as an understanding will show, there simply are not the words or concepts in English to capture the essence of these complex, composite terms.
Please note that this is my interpretation and it is not complete.
Annica, Anatta and Dukka, The Three Marks of Existence
The natural state of reality is systemless. It is disorder not order. It is less rather than more. It is simple rather than complex. It is low in value and information. The natural state of reality is devoid of complex and connected systems.
Persistence is existence into the future. Given the natural systemless state of reality the only systems that can persist are those that are able to defeat the collapse into the natural state.
Imagine a system at a point in time. If we accept the Law of Impermanence then it follows that this system must change at some point in it's future. This change can either increase the system's arcitechtonics (make the system more organised, structured, connected) or it can decrease it. The natural direction is for systems to decrease arcttechtonically.
All of everything is tending towards nothing and it is only the persistence of systems, you, me the galaxy, that holds this of.
The very root fundamental purpose of life, traceable through a linear and continuous, though vague, path down through the scaled of abstraction; Beneficial states persist.
The foundational fact of systems is that beneficial states persists. The beak of a finch, a job promotion, the distribution of matter in the universe, beneficial states persist.
The fittest survive. The beneficial persist. In many ways these are trivial and tautological, but in in understanding this tautology with the systems framework you can see why things are as they are. They are as they are because of enough impermanence (time and change and possibility) to allow increasingly more complex systems to emerge from more simple systems.
That is why we are here. The purpose of being here is to continue the persistence of systems. And the method of doing this is by increasing beneficial states within systems.
There is no fundamental meaning to life in Cornwall, in the way there is no fundamental meaning to a joke, but there is a fundamental purpose to life in Cornwall.
:)
As all of you know, Saturday is the last night for Cornwall's only gay club; Eclipse is closing down. In the heart of Truro's Little Brighton a swan song shall be sung.
I have been here four or five times in the last three months and rate it as Truro's best night night out, being 29% better than Pippa's Disco - which is still pretty fun.
So the writing is on the wall, the only time, perhaps for decades, when you will be able to dance and enjoy the gay atmosphere of a gay club in Kernow, is tomorrow night.
This restaurant is probably the worst restaurant in Truro right now.It's run by a fascist regime who decree that:
Its 10 to one in Truro.
I have been out with the creme of the Cornish patriots, great fun, great people, and now I'm going out with the creme de la creme of the Cornish gay scene, to Eclipse, again.. wooop wooop.
I'm not gay but I am Cornish!!
And English!!!
And human!!!
Woop woop
I have lived in the heart of four Capital Cities: London, Colombo, Sydney and, for the last year, Truro, the capital City of Cornwall. As a boy, Truro was that distant place, where my mum would buy my dad lots of socks in M&S (Before they did food) and I would be very unimpressed by the wallets, also in M&S. It was a distant place, the roads were slower then, a slowness augmented by my mum's Talbot Horizon.
Until recently... Truro was not what she is now....
But now, she has blossomed.
Me, and my family, and the people we meet who live here, and the people who come from all over to visit us, all agree, even the skeptics, that Truro is really good as a place to be. Much better than expected, and we expected it to be good.
These are my comments upon this City of Three Rivers
Location, Location, Location , Location and Location
Truro's Location, in the local and duchy sense is great. Its on the right side of The Grampound Line and its close to a variety of types of places, beach, river, forest, moore and of course, funky lil' city center....
I have been sacked many many times. My mum thinks I'm proud of this fact, and she is often right. I have never been sacked for dishonesty or unadulterated laziness, I have invariably been sacked because of:
As a boy I loved The Who, for all the reasons people loved, and love, The Who.
But then came the 90's and The Who didn't really fit with the non-prescription pharmaceuticals of the Era, so I put them on hold in terms of my listening.
Then as the 90s came to an end I started to get very much back into them. Until....
Townsendpaedeogate in 2003.
Sex with children is fine if by "children" you mean "consenting adult humans who have parents".....
But the accusations against Pete Townsend where not implying that simple tertiary relationship. So, being a great follower of tabloid-herd mentality, I decided to throw away my MP3 Who Discography and place the The Who's corpus very much along side Jordi Chandler's police statement.
BBC4 on a Friday Night
But last night, my Wonderful Wife and I stumbled upon a BBC showing of a two hour documentary about The Who. From the first moment we were gripped. Golly-gosh what a rock and roll story like no other. What a band!
There were many moments where I felt like I was watching Napoleon commanding battle or Michaelangelo painting, such is the status of their product and magnificence.
Is he or isn't he?
In the documentary they mentioned Townsendpaedogate and everyone came out to say, "of course he isn't a kiddiefiddler, no way Jose." But you can't just follow what you hear unquestioningly like you are just part of a flock. So this morning, listening to The Who, I asked myself this simple question:
Is the evidence for Townsendpaedogate significant enough to outweigh the facts that everyone thinks he is innocent, including the English legal system and the fact that he is a musical genius.So in my head I visualized a 3 axis mind-graph, with the axes being Evidence (of paedophilia), Opinion (on evidence), Quality (of Music).
It was one of those days when I try to avoid them as much as possible, even though I am their guardian. There is an age old principle in parenting, if they are crying, they are probably not dying, and this something I adhered to. But come about three I decided it would be good to at least give them one activity that didn't involve asking them to leave my office when there was an advert on whatever TV channel they were watching.
So I decided upon that stalwart, Victoria Park and associated Children's Playing Facilities
They got dressed up as a bunny and a dog, as often they do, and I knew that I needed to get changed.
And for that, I needed underpants.
My domestic assistant does my washing. It's not a sexist thing, it's not a lazy thing. I do my things, she does hers. One of hers is doing my washing. And I must say, apart from the occasional fabric over-softening, She can't be faulted. But today, for the first time since I hired her, I was out of underpants.
There weren't even any available dry "one dayers" that any right minded guy would resort to. It was not a conspiracy, it was a black hole of underpants caused by the collision of various domestic singularities. It was the Perfect Storm (welcome to the first ever use of a storm metaphor to represent a lack of underpants).
I had two impatient kids dressed as super-sized pets standing in the hallway and I has no underpants. But I had options. Until you're strapped to the nuke, you always have options.
Four of us went to this well recommended restaurant, and it was great.
The food was really really good, the service, the works.
When the biggest downside of a restaurant is the fact that the dessert you have is too rich, you know the meal is special. The dessert in question was a highly concentrated singularity of pure chocolatey richness. In the end I made a five pound bet with Tarryn that she couldn't complete mine, after her light Lemon Posset... she accepted. She didn't complete... so rich was this confection of delectation.
Before desserts, as with other Cornish restaurants, we were served the main course. We all ate something different... it matters not what... for suffice to say, all were were universally described as the best of foods.
We took a highly accurate Straw Poll and the average was 8.5. However in my dictatorial and editorial capacity I am not counting the 9s. A nine here would be an unrealistic vote; a 9 would be something like The Fat Duck with all your friends and your favourite people from history.... 10 would be God's own chef.
There were some downsides:
So the Restormel Council leaders do not consider St Austell to be a suitable position for Clear Springs to house prisoners, and are strongly objecting to the Ministry of Justice. Funny that. How strange. I would have thought that a council that has allowed a rehabilitation centre for ex offenders with a drink or drugs habit in the middle of a town regeneration project would not really mind. I hear they are also considering an application for 8 additional bedsits at this site as well. That will be interesting! Wonder what will happen there…
Face facts – St Austell has enough of its own problems without importing more!! Has anyone walked down Truro Road, one of the main routes into the town, lately? Seen the broken glass, the dog mess, and the empty alcohol containers on the granite monument outside Belfield Park? Does St Austell appear more like a town bidding for rehabilitation centres or a town desperate to tempt in big names into a brand new shopping centre? Has a precedent been set?
So why are the council supporting public opinion and objecting now? Quite simply politics. There was unrest at the Belfield Park announcement last year. Now the latest news will affect more residential areas. There could be a huge backlash…and politicians do not like a public backlash. It makes them nervous. Well, certainly not in their back yard anyway…
Dave W
This is a world exclusive! OMG this is the equivalent of Windows Ultra Vista 2010 being released as a DVD on the front of The St Austell Voice! For free!!
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The mega-myriad readers of my blog will know that I have a problem with alcohol. I'm not an alckie, I'm not even a big drinker. But when I drink, whether I end up sober, or so drunk I bone a bollard, my hangovers are evil. Invariably I enter a state I term the alcoholocaust.
In case you didn't know, hangovers are rated on the the H:E ratio (Hangover:Ebola ratio). The relative proportion of the hangover has a psycho-phsyiologiocal equivalent to Stage 3 Ebola. As a point of reference, a 19 year old rugby playing Russian would typically have hangovers with an H:E of 1:480. When you have an average H:E of 2, things get pretty bad. That's basically half an Ebola; an experience that can change you, as a man, deep inside.
The Four Noble P's
- Pint (of water)
- Pizza (purchased/prepared previously)
- Pint (of water)
- Paracetemol.
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Sorry I haven’t been posting for ages, its been a bit of a nightmare:( Last week my husband found out that I had been having an affair for the last two years. The dust hasn't settled and we are in mediation, my mother hates me, my brother called me a "Harlot" and Jeff is devastated. As you know we have no kids, but nonetheless, eight years in its looking all over.
I am angry. Jeff is angry. We are angry with different things.
Readers of this blog will know that four months ago Jeff had a mass noted in his left lung during a routine work medcheck. It was small, about the size of an almond, but there where it shouldn't be. He went for some more tests, all paid for by his private insurance, and they found that is was cancerous. They would need to operate and give him some reparative stem therapy for the damage. We were assured that everything would be OK, and on the cancer front it was. A month later it was gone and the damage close to being repaired.
We both felt very lucky.
The day Jeff got the final all clear he also got a paper letter from his private insurance. It started off talking about the success of his recent treatment, etc etc. Then, on the next paragraph it was stated that:
We have evidence that you have been undertaking in activities that contravene your insurance declaration and, under agreed terms of your policy, we will be investigating this evidence further.
It went on with a load of legal talk and recommendations that seemed helpful and friendly. Jeff and I were shocked and couldn't think what they could be talking about. He called his lawyer, who liaised with the insurance company and, a few days later, gave us the low-down. Once the claim was made the insurance company went into "automated refutation" mode. Bots and engines owned by the company tried all they could to disprove the claim. Its how it is nowadays, I guess.
They found a face that looked 93.3% matched to Jeff in someone’s public Goggle album. It was a picture taken on Cay Caulker two years ago. The lawyer got us a copy of the photo in question. The man in the photo, that they said was Jeff, was hidden away in the background on a trestle table in a dimply lit bar or restaurant. The photo was just in an album of some German holiday makers.
In the photo the man was smoking, like people do from time to time on holiday. That was all they needed. The bot sent out the paper letter and the ball started rolling. It transpired that because the facial match was below the required 98% threshold (stipulated by the insurance company) they needed to do more investigation. Jeff’s lawyer said that even if it was 99% match a digital photo couldn’t be evidence without a locked watermark.
The insurance company needed to prove with close to certainty that Jeff had been smoking within the last 5 years, and they were like a pack of hyenas in pursuit of this. They got subpoenas from wimax providers, google, yahoo, ISPs. Even from his work; things like the cams that overlook the outside foyer. We were pretty sure no humans were involved in this. The various bots and engines sent messages and requests to each other. And as it all rolled out, we were kept constantly updated with emails. Trust me, until you have been involved with this kind of process you have no idea how clever and frenzied it all is.
Jeff was in such a panic. He talked about having to mortgage the house, sell the car, downgrade this and that. All in all it was a time filled with as much, though not the same calibre, tension as the cancer scare.
They must have looked through zillions of images and cams, checked millions of store records for a purchase of cigarettes. They found nothing and the claim remained intact. We were ecstatic and feeling the luckiest people two times in as many months.
A fortnight ago I was watching "Deal or No Deal" on my specs and he came in with a frown like I hadn't seen. He was holding a printout.
"What do you make of this?" he asked, handing me the paper.
I took the specs off and started to read the paper. It was from "Cavendish Detection". I looked at it for a moment, confused. Then I read it. I couldn't believe it. I read it again. I don't have a copy of it but it in essence it said
"Dear Mr Sills, we have found evidence that suggest with a high degree of reliability that a person or persons close to you have been partaking in actions that we feel you would think are dishonest... bla bla bla.... If you would like to see this evidence please contact us....bla bla bla.... and pay $5,000...."
My world melted right then, but, after lying to him for two years, I lied some more and just said something like, "Its spam or 414". I don't know why I lied but it was too late, really.
That night I went to their website, Cavendish Detection. This despicable company is one of the new pre-emptive detective agencies. I didn't really know about them until that point, but, my god, I hate them. So should you!
Employee fraud, adultery, child illegality. These bastards it seems would analyze publicly available information and find "dishonesty" wherever it could be found. They then go to the parties concerned and sell them the evidence they have found. Despicable. You should go read the news on these companies, they should be illegal. I may be an adulterer, and I will carry that guilt with me for ever, but these bastards have no right to cause the trouble they do.
Jeff couldn't sleep and my lie became bigger, day by day. I’m so sorry. For a week he would say thing like "Maybe its Kalvin and the club money?" or whatever. All the while I was pretty sure that it was me and my affair that the bastards had the evidence on. I tried to play it down, and I’m sorry for that too, but after week of sleepless nights, Jeff decided that he would pay. Jeff always equates cost with clothes and for him this was just "a couple of pairs of shoes".
I didn’t know he was going to pay right then, but on this Saturday night, he got out of bed and paid the bastards. They obviously sent him a media file. This was all the evidence he needed. He didn’t wake me, he forwarded me the mail and, when I woke up on the Sunday, he was gone. I’m sorry Jeff.
I didn’t open his mail until lunch time. He wasn’t answering my calls, his GPS and messenger was off. I was in a panic. I opened the media file and went through the professional presentation. I was thinking there might be a photo of Mark and I checking into a hotel, or holding hands as we walked down the street in
I met Mark at a my cousins barbecue about two years ago when Jeff was away on business. We clicked though nothing happened for, like, four months. I met him a few more times that summer. We started private messaging each other (Which the bastards couldn’t read) and it grew from that. We were in it for the excitement, for the illicitness. It was that illicit buzz that kept it lasting so long, I guess. (Mark is also married).
The real gutting thing is that the affair with Mark was a mistake and I knew this way before any of this trouble. In my head and heart Mark and I were over the moment I thought I might lose Jeff to the big C.
I don't know what will happen with Jeff and I. I’m going to go away for a few weeks so won’t be posting. I love Jeff so much, I have been a fool and I have been caught out in ways I didn't imagine possible.
Who was that twentieth century author, she said "Our actions are like ships that we send out to sea, and we don't know when or with what cargo they will return"? She was right here.
I’m sorry Jeff. So sorry.
Draft One (Unproofed)
I originally published this story on my other blog www.salted.net, me hopes you likes.
What is, or are, The Nines?
I'm fresh from this fantastic freak fest of a film, and I use that term not lightly. This film is a mesmerizing, if at times unpolished, masterpiece that not only intrigues right to the end, but at the end leaves you as if you have just done three Kaiser Sozes, two Matrix trilogies and half a dozen Monkeys.
It’s like one of the best quirky tales from 2000AD but made into a modern, well acted movie with great production. It has an unusually compelling style - and oodles of conceptual layers. But it’s complex and weird and hard to follow in a close to exhilarating way.
We just kept asking... "but?"... "how?" I think one of the brightest aspects of the movie is that it doesn't try to out weird you. So unlike, say, Eraserhead or Jacob’s Ladder (both great films, mind), there is always the chance that everything you see could be normal. And maybe, at the end it is all normal. Even with the revelation (I won’t spoil it by telling you what that is), even if you accepted it as this reality, even then, it could still be normality for all of us.
Q: Is it complex and weird like The Number 23?
A:No, the biggest part of The Number 23 is a number two.
I won’t tell you what The Nines is about, but I will tell you the nearest thing it reminds me of. My wife and I both will testify that my clothes (and of this weekend some soft toys) sometimes duplicate. Literally. As if someone has logged into reality, taken an unusual T-Shirt bought in a "London fashion sample sale" and then made an exact copy of it (except that one now has an oil stain that cannot be removed. I think it’s probably WD-40, so any tips appreciated). An exact copy. The same with a pair of brown trousers that I know, and would testify in a court of natural laws, that I only bought one pair of. No questions. I now have two pairs of them.
I think it also happens with socks, but my wife is sceptical of this.
Sure, the trousers and T shirt spontaneous duplications are mindboggling in the degree to which they render all notions of laundry normality.... abnormal, but it gets worse:
There have also been discoveries of soft toys that there were never, until recently, two of. One of the ontological clones was won five years ago by my dad in a raffle (probably Rotary) and could not possibly be duplicated (OK it’s possible. But I don’t think so). We have debated the possibilities. All of them, with a Doyleian keenness to the causal and material structures of our domestic reality that could allow this. Sure, perhaps the crazy lady across the road saw me wearing the shirt, spent four months on Ebay to get a copy, bought it with Paypal and slipped it in my smalls one spring morning. Maybe so. Maybe my brother in law, when he bought me the shirt, bought two, one for me and, knowing I'm a sharp dresser, one for him. And then at Easter three years ago accidentally left it in my house. Maybe....
It is rare in these days to have even the smallest of epiphanies.
Just as The Nines has lots of "buts", this crazy flux in our existential architectonics makes us have many more "maybes" than simple folk deserve. If you have objects disappear in your house, it can be weird. In English we call this "losing things". But when things don't vanish, rather they are duplicated... that’s mega weird... there is no word in any language for that kinda spooky. No word (ED, how about "isoanatanmorphic?", but that only applies to fruit.?).
These events, along with some before the little people came and took all my liberty away, have made me question the nature of reality at a very fundamental level, or at least, the nature of the material world.. and I guess I mean "material" in both senses here.
I wouldn't wish these kind of metaphysical palpitations on anyone, but luckily for you, you can experience even more weirdness than this by watching The Nines, without any actual weirdness in your clothing inventory. What is more, the weirdness The Nines can massage into your porridge is a kind of meaningful weirdness... a thought pumping weirdness... a metaphysical maelstrom... set conveniently in the Hollywood Film and TV world.
The Nines is in my Top Ten. That’s top ten of all time.
9/10 (duh!)
(Note: If there is a word for a review trying to represent what it describes, then I want that word to apply to this review).
Simultaneously published in on salted.net, my other blog.
Feel free to print this out and pass it on. At least now we can get on with our lives knowing the truth, the absolute truth, about 911.
(This post originally appeared on my salted.net blog. Inspired by a lack of ideas I have decided to plagiarize myself. )
Situated in the heart of little Newquay, Sala Thai is an often praised Thai restaurant. On Saturday night myself and my domestic assistant/teutonic re-enactment specialist decided that we would be adventurous.
Intrepid, we would venture far from the art galleries and golden-hued venues of Little Brighton, past even that far flung gem of the The One Eyed Cat, and into Truro's Little Newquay. What lust is for life if life is not for living???!!!!!
We didn't need to book for Sala Thai, which was beneficial because we hadn't.
I would like to admit at this point, that as I walked in, much like when I walk into the Indian takeaway by the railway station in St Austell, I was racist. Readers of this blog will know that I am not that racist, but when I saw the waiters on Saturday night it just couldn't be helped. A gut reaction, I guess, but they were friendly an seemed honest.
Sitting down, the ambiance was very warm and cosy and perhaps, as an incidental, it was ever so slightly too occidental. I love Asian food, but when I go to an Asian restaurant I really want it to have the ambiance - the aesthetic spice and charm - of the food's origins. Sala Thai doesn't have this, a fact which , when coupled with the all white staff, just - to me at least - detracted from the experience.
We ordered tempura vegetables for starters... which were nice but not awesome; the crown to protrusion ratio of the vegetable batons was inappropriate and the bits were too big. But perhaps a bigger gastrocide was..... hold tight dear readers.... the tempura came with... only one... only one kind of dip. It's 2008. We deserve at last 3 dipping sauces (ideally a thick soy, a thick balsamic, and a very spicy sweet chili, but hey, I'm not picky).
For mains, I had a beef green curry which, I stipulated I wanted, "so hot as to make me cry," as I always do when I eat curry (also incidentally, I have never, ever been beaten in a curry challenge. I have beaten the legendary Rupali Curry Hell and the entire population of Sri Lanka).
"Baby blow my mind."
When it came, it wasn't very hot at all. A disappointing flaccidity in the spice and the taste vicinities :(
Mein Sonder Fraulien had tofu curry which was, to quote, "essentially bamboo shoots and f**k all else".
The food is reasonable price and reasonable quality, the staff were very friendly and the service was excellent, but if you're looking for a Thai in Truro, the ever visited Chantek is bamboo shoots ahead.
Kenwyn Street Truro TR1 3DJ Tel: 01872 272363
Sala Thai is in The Truo Map. If you want your business etc on it (for free of course) drop me a mail, blog@midcornwall.com
Looking for inspiration for stuff to put on the blog, fresh stuff, I came across this from Metro
Drunk guys in bum-branding foolishness
Boozer's chum brands his bum
(Incidentally, the brandee is a friend of mine)
If you sit opposite my house you can use my WiFi for free, anonymously, securely, safely and without impacting on my use in any real way. To do this you need to be either a BT Broadband customer or a member of the Worldwide Fon network.
If you are either, you can travel the world and share in this communal WiFi network, getting free, or close to free, internet access.
I think Truro city centre should partake in this network. it would not cost anyone much at all and it would be a modern and progressive asset.
In order to do this, nobody would need to do much. City centre businesses, bars and the municipals would need to share their internet connection using Fon or BT.
If anyone would like to help me get Truro a WiFi'd up or if you have a business and would like some free advice on it, then drop me an email blog@midcornwall.com.
Its official, unless I rapidly post, like, 5 blog posts today, before the month is out, then this month will be the worst in terms of posting since the now WORLD FAMOUS Midcornwall.com Blog started way back when......
"When?"
"About 13 months ago..."
"OK"
I could provide many reasons why this month has been so lax, but only one of the following is true:
Wishing you a happy 2008 in Midcornwall, or there abouts, or anywhere really.
Peace and Peaches
Mat
Not everybody thinks Starbucks is an Ethically wholesome company. It's image is better than in the 1990's; a campaign of product placement, cool partnerships and store ubiquity has placed Starbucks alongside other tolerated beasts... well.... they might be evil... but so is Coke, and that's the real thing.
So Starbucks continues to grow... and find ways to milk us (The Undercover Economist is a great book about coffee and consumer economics)... and now the spread of the Colossal Caffeine machine has... as of today... come to the City of Truro.
When I knew there was going to be a "special" opening of the store I knew I had to get a ticket. I went through my little black book, essentially the Who's Who of Truro and found that there was nobody with the right connections to get me on that fricking moccachino list. I racked my brains... didn't such and such way back when have an uncle who ran a Starbucks in Montreal...? But nothing.... luckily for me Truro Starbucks just happened to be sponsoring my daughter's school so I got in on the "dad ticket". Back of the net.
Myself and the "others" went out last night for the first night of Christmas shopping in the city.
The last time I went late night shopping in Truro I seem to remember being about 15 and spending the entire time in Games Workshop looking at new "orc friends".
What can I say, even though it's not even December the energy and festivity was pretty thick on the ground. The lights looked fab. People seemed happy. There were real reindeer. Even Father Christmas looked real.
So there we go. Wednesday nights up until Christmas, Truro City Zone One. Bring on the minces! (I might not be so enthusiastic in 2 weeks when, yet again, it dawns on me, about the 17th, that Christmas has been hijacked/subsumed by the corporate whores of the vast hegemony with the soul aim to feed us, the consumers, stuff that we can spend on, so that the big wheel of eternal economic growth keeps turning and we, the serfs of TK Max, with our proud medals of Boots Points and M&S Vouchers, gladly suck on the big yuletide log until Santa unloads his sack down our chimnies once more. Vive La Apathy!)
I have just got back from the festival of lights, a procession of marching sambesque bands. Think Notting Hill with many fewer black people, less police and more drizzle. It was my first Festival of Lights, I wasn't expecting much to be honest. Cold, moribund children with fading torches...
.... but how wrong I was.
It was quite a spectacle musically, visually and just as a happening. The effort that people from as far a field as Probus put in was just... well, everyone should be proud (apart from Idles who were VERY conspicuous in their unilluminating absence)
Put your hands up for this city.
I have been in many bars in my time. Sometimes drinking. Sometimes thinking. Sometimes just passing time.
Friday night I went to Boujis - smack-bang in the middle of Truro - just on the edge of Little Brighton. It's a new bar that has been opened a week. They didn't have an opening night. Which is good, because if they had, and I wasn't invited, this would have been a total bitch-slap of a review. I would have made things up. Lied. Photo-shopped bad images. Just totally tried to take them down using the Internet. I did it with Beta-max, I can do it with them. But, luckily for all concerned, there was no opening party; they just kinda "started up". Last week. Phew. Absentis est Vendolius.
Before I go into the review proper I'd like to take a little diversion and explain the three core types types of licensed destinations:
Yon city 'pon the three rivers has renown for many things. The mighty cathedral. Chi-Chi "Little Brighton" and laying on three rivers- even though it only looks like one.
However, it isn't famed for its live music....
Thus, it was with some surprise that when we entered into the hostelry known as the Kazbah last eve' - with nary a Moor in sight - we did meet a vocal song-smith who goes by the name of Andrew Bate. A song-smith not only vocal, but local - in the sense he is from Par.
And his singing was certainly above par, quite far above, in fact. As was much of the singing far above the normal octavian range. For truth be told, oft times his harmonies could have emanated from the silken chords of a Venetian eunuch.
The young man not only wove an audible magic but he did so with a presence and elan that could have sustained the finest halls er faces did smile. But the notion of smile....well....therein... my dear reader... lays the nub of the dub.
Life and love are so very rare, in this universe of ours. And youth so short and old so sick. And all those lives that never had the chance to live, and all those cut so quick. And then those who live long and lonely and lost and loosing...
....that when I see a handsome singer/songwriter/catamite (Mum, I'm not gay!), who looks in good health, clearly has talent, I assume good prospect.... and he seems to have the attentions of an attractive female human...
... I ponder... as I listen... to this melody and it's moribund majesty... why oh why... don't you smile... why do you cry when you sing, but instead of tears you cry words... why... oh why... so glum?
I spoke to him after the gig and he wasn't glum, in fact he seemed quite a happy chappy.
Note to self - the performance is not always the actuality.
Thursday nights are normally "watch Tuesday's Dragon's Den on 'video and deploy the tadpole belly creme just before my Domestic Assistant comes in from Yoga" night.
But not tonight.
Tonight we were going for dinner with my domestic assistant's sewing instructor, Norma. Having sampled pretty much all of the City's eateries we deiced to go, on recommendation, to Manning's.
I should at this very moment be working on the copy for work's new website. I should have just got back from a meal at Pizza Express with some people I know quite well. But instead I am writing this post.
We went for a meal at Pizza Express in Truro. We arrived just before six, as some of the business consultants I was with were less than 5 years old. We stood for about two minutes, maybe a bit more. Standing like lemons (all be it sexy lemons, apart from the under 5's) we decided we would take a seat at the nearest available table. We sat, nobody came. Tick, tock, went the clock.
I suggested, after about seven minutes, that we should leave, but my social engagement advisor recommended against that "again". After fifteen minutes my "lets bail this pile and get some service" barometer was just about to flip into action when one of the staff came over to us...
You know that look when you break into someone's home, do a full scale multi-bedroom Bobby Sands, then abuse every pet they own and then sit doggy-style-naked in their lounge covered head to toe in THEIR mayonnaise waiting until they come home... well... we got that look here. That exact look. It gave me a fricking flash back to '02, thats for sure. So anyways... the look turned into a question... "Have you reserved this table?"
"Ummm... No... but equally we have been here for fifteen minutes with not a jot of our ontological status being acknowledged..."
"You can't sit here... this table is reserved." (nod to the door).
And then he walked away. Now, I'm paraphrasing the encounter a bit... but that's pretty much how it was. The rest of my party were soon out the door... slightly hungry but dignity still very much intact (apart from the youngest member of the business meeting who was constantly muttering on about everything she could apprehend being "thsthoopid").
I decided to hang back and confront Caesar herself. The manageress had a pleasant smile and manner, not dissimilar to those in charge of other restaurants in the City.... but she had a hollowness to her convictions. I felt I was speaking into the rancid, cavernous heart of the hegemony... and the only echo... was a whimper of the manageress clinging on to what remained of her establishment's consumer integrity.
It's funny, because last year we went there, and were served by the same person who was so rude to us tonight. All was good... and it's fair to say that meal played a bit part in one of the days that tipped us to agree, "let's move to Truro."
I've just done some quick research on the Pizza Express chain. Last year, it was part of essentially a family business running since the '60s.... but this year... to quote Wikipedia, Pizza Express was "taken private by private equity group Cinven in 2007." I see a pattern.
We are part of a vast and interconnected system of people with human rights and businesses with people's rights (corporations). I am not a lefty-let's-all-live-in-a-Tipi-Village-in-Wales kind of a guy. I'm not even anti-globalism; in order to satisfy our billions we need efficient global business systems and a free market.
But I do appreciate that there is a tension between what's best for us as individuals and what's best for us as consumers in this deep sea of consumption. The crux of the thin-crust is that we always... always... have the right not to consume. And so....
This blog is published under the Creative Commons Share Alike license, which basically means you can do what you want with it so long as you don't claim it to be your own work. But I am, as of this moment adding a new clause:
The display starts Napleolataen
Mint blooms.
Chinese gallows inline hangs.
A dozen red against the dark.
Cylons scream in spirals.
Sky striping. Bursts High altitude
But not that high in amplitude
Or fortitude or attitude.
Or bulk.
Rapid incandescence.
Aerial Catherin wheels, fantastic!
Purple rain and purple haze.
Flames twist the sky.
Rat a tat tat trajectories.
Nebulous embers and then the sound...
Acoustic like Aphex
Crackling flame fountains
Spiders.
Ghostly smoking sea flowed with increasing entropy.
Glitter glitter... a pause mocks until Cylons return
Firing squad... Pyrotechnic pointalism.
Projectile Pixels haphazardous placed.
And I think of the futility...
In fireworks there is no utility.
The cost in time.
The man in the mine.
To process. The refine.
I saw many Picassos not a week go.
There is none of that here.
This is not an aesthetic aesthetic.
This is all of the gut
and of the eyes
and in my ears.
Pure experience without the raw feel.
Irrational and REAL. HUMAN.
20 mins and done. What fun.
it was a party for my domestic assistant's birthday.
The meal was good... well the meal would have been good... apart from the fact th the fajitas had way way too much rosemary. This isn't winging, there was more herbs on those babies than in a Bob Marly '74. A herbaceous onslaught, that, were it not for the fact that there is no fajitas in "Wine Women and Song", would have ruined the night, and perhaps the next year.
After the savory sacrilege we left the restaurant and ascended to the D>I>S>C>O where, with not a whippersnapper in sight, we danced. Luckily for the ladies present, I stumbled upon a dance floor lay line that increased my funk by 17%.
After Pippas we scored some prime class A's from a 16 year old on a stolen bike. Then we went to a squat party in Carn Brea with some polish strippers, warm Vodka Orange mix (with extra washback) in a plastic bottle and ended up in a shared K hole of some considerable beauty. The bitter taste of Rosemary a thread of disappointment. (Note, this paragraph might not have happened)
Thanks for your pictures, I would put them all up but it would bring down the internet in much of western Europe if I did.
The winning picture, was sent in by Martin B. Its punchy, controversial and yet has that "champions aesthetic" which pushed it to the top of the Judge's list:
Martin has won two free tickets to see Tap Dogs.
Well done!
So, someone at Tap Dogs heard about my last blog post and have offered two free tickets to anyone at the show during it's Truro stay.
I'm sorry about that title, it was meant to be "Tap Dogs Play Truro" but I felt that a bit, uneasy, with the sub text.
So yes, the Tap Dogs, are playing in Hall for Cornwall all this week, and I really recommend them. I saw them a few years ago in Saddlers Wells
Its quite hard to explain what they do, other than that its a whole lot of visual and auditory energy, mainly powered by tab dancing uber althetes and musicians.
Its a bit like the Russian State Cirucs only with less bears and more pazzzaz.
Read a much better preview here
http://www.bbc.co.uk/cornwall/content/articles/2007/09/07/theatre_tapdogs_feature.shtml
In this blog's long and illustrious lifespan there have been a number of very accurate and unquestionable revelations about the often ludicrous reporting of the now obsolete St Austell Voice newspaper.
Since the St Austell Voice's demise, I have felt that it was safe to re-enter the medium of paper news media with a sense of trust and coherence. Sadly, the infectious virus of falsehood has blossomed out of the Duchy's domain and now permeates into the Guardian (not Cornish - but still about Mid Cornwall, else it wouldn't get a mention on this blog).
In this Saturday's Guardian (not Cornish), Truro got a full page in the magazine as the week's "Let's move to..." section.
How exciting... Capital City getting a write-up in the country's most prestigious broadsheet... or so I thought. The problem with the article was that the journo who wrote this, Tom Dyckhoff, went to the same school of journalism as everyone who worked at the erstwhile St Austell Voice.
There is a joke in that name
In order to raise some money for God (or whatever Cathedrals need money for), Truro Cathedral decided to sell of some of its antiquarian library. It sold some books for just under 40k last year - the price being based on a valuation paid for by the Diocese in 2002, plus a lil' extra for the years.
Thats all good, until it transpires that the Books get sold recently for half a million at Sotheby's
God is not happy.
Nor is the Dioceses, understandably so.
http://www.builderandengineer.co.uk/news/regeneration/st-austell-demolition-starts-710.html
A lot of people in positions of power should be ashamed of what they have let languish.
Yesterday I got this email from my friend Chris, (printed with permission): alright dude hows things?
u seen the news?
that fire was directly opposite where i live we have all been evacuated out while the investigations and demolitions go on.
it was fucking savage the fire was so bad, i ran outside when i first realised a fire had started only to see a man smash through a window on the top floor of the hotel and jump out, i ran over to save his ass, and ended up in the gulleys of the hotel whilst things were bloody exploding above me saving this dude until the ambulances arrived, then when i thought i could get out of there i had to stay and help this guy with the ambulance man, all the while police put riot sheilds above my head to help protect me and the paramedic, at this point i did notice everyone had helmets on but me...i couldnt help but feel a little left out. was not a fun time!
anyhows back on my computer and internet now.
hope all is good
chris
Bonkers. And big big respect to Chris.
I have been trying to get an objective view of Cornish nationalism and history and I have found it is quite a mire. I have read most of the authoritative Mebyon Kernow and Cornish Nationalism book as well as spent way too much time on-line and in the Wikis.
Where I ended up was talking to very hard core (though non-political) Cornish nationalist, Jim Pengelly. Jim maintains the KernowTGG website which seems to be an Alexandrian library of Cornish nationalist information. Its huge in scope and often hard to wind your way through the content but Jim has agreed to help.
We were initially going to do a single transcribed interview but it ended up evolving over a number of weeks as the following Q and A.
I'm not at all nationalistic and Jim is very nationalistic so together the idea was we would be able to get some "bullet point" summaries of what Cornish Nationalists believe, and why.
For the record, Jim has had full editorial control on this article and I all facts stated are without many dispute I could find - let me know if Jim or I are wrong.
Q) Is Cornwall a Separate Country from England?
This is the paradox that fuels all the arguments over what Cornwall is, or is not. Following a time-line from a Cornish legal and historical perspective, Cornwall is both distinct from England, and the Crown. The paradox arises from the fact that we have all been tutored to believe that Cornwall is no different to an English county, and, as a consequence, in England.
Q) So Cornwall is historically distinct from England but not officially or constitutionally recognised?
That is Correct. Cornwall is legally a Royal Duchy not an English county, although it would contain within it, an equivalent civil administration. Royal Duchies were created as semi autonomous States within the State. Cornwall (Duke as Heir to the Throne) and Lancaster (the reigning Monarch) are the only Royal Duchies within the United Kingdom. The 'official' promotion of the Duchy of Cornwall as "a Private Estate and nothing to do with Cornwall", is not legally correct.
Q) How did we get to the point where people in England, and Cornwall, accept (or acquiesce) to a de facto status of Cornwall as an English county?
Over the years the English government has surreptitiously included Cornwall in its borders. There has been no conquest or agreement or law defining that Cornwall is a part of England.
It has been a subtle change over time because the Duchy (and the former Earldom) of Cornwall, when there has been no Duke (or Earl) is held 'in trust' by the Crown as a 'Territorial Honor' - Terra de Cornubia. During such occasions, the Honor is held as the Comitatus (Earldom), which translates as County.
Also, the civil government termed as the vicecomitatus also translates as 'county' and it is this latter definition, which has passed into general modern usage and fossilised perceptions. Most people identify with paying tax and, if they are lucky, land/property ownership. This is the normal focus for relating to civil government etc.
Most people, therefore, have accepted the lack of distinction because they have been made unaware that there is a genuine distinction.
Q) Doing my research its pretty clear that there is lots of evidence for both sides.
That is very true, but where would you place the moral obligation, when the obvious contradictions show that the suppressed history and constitution of a distinct people have knowingly deprived that people of their rights. It is only the Cornish peoples awareness of themselves that have endured and fuelled the cultural, political and intellectual renaissance.
It is very easy to throw-up 'evidence' in an attempt to negate the Cornish argument or to imply that there is 'no distinction'. The following examples are some of the pitfalls to be avoided, or taken into account, when doing so:
If you like proper coffee then Truro has a little gem hidden away in the Pannier Market; The Truro Tea and Coffee Co.
If your looking for a buy one get one free deal then this ain't the place - that would be Tesco's etc. But of your looking for coffee that is genuinely in a different league this really is the place.
Coffee ground while you wait. Coffee served by an expert who, as he grinds imparts all manner of info for the connoisseur or the curious.
I like ground coffee. I'm just about to make me a caffetiere of "Monsoon Maillibar" which is about 50% more pricey but twice as nicey than anything you can get in a superstore.
Thanks for voting in the August 07 Best Restaurant In Truro Award, the results are in. The first in the list is the best and the last is the objectively worst resturant in Truro.
Last week saw two comparative failures for Cornwall. Firstly there was the failure of the spirit of democracy in England, about Cornwall. Secondly there was Cornwall sliding down the rankings of regional lethargy.
Cornwall, normally low on the lethargy charts crept up, past the West Midlands to sit just below Devon, a position it hasn't held since 1984 and the Cornwall Coliseum's crucial role in Live Aid.
"Cornish non-lethargy is generally world class, at least for Western Europe," said CLA spokesman Wendle K Montezuma. "Devon has had a slight drop in lethargy thanks to that new shopping mall in Plymouth, but that shouldn't explain this dip. This is off the scale."
In related news, William Hill have just announced 4:15.9 against Cornwall beating Brighton and Hove.
The Simpsons movie hasn't been released and already there is trouble in the Duchy regarding the sequal - The Simpsons 2.
The details of the protest are hard to fathom, but apparently hard-core Cornish neo-nationalists are complaining about the second Homers.
Sorry.
It seemed like a good gag in my head.
I'll get my coat.
I get a lot of people asking me, every single day: "Whats the best thing about writing the The MidCornwall Blog?" Sure, it's great to have chicks on tap, as many as I want, 24/7. It's great to have an endless stream of cash, drugs and free pasties. Its great to know that 90% of people in Cornwall only have a computer because of MidCornwall.com. But most of all, I'm in it for the platters.
You can take away my liberty and my dignity, but provide me with an oversized plate covered with a selection of various tasty morsels and frankly, I'm anyone's.
The Seafood Platter at the Kasbah is just a rock and roll fishy excuse to eat. Loads of different fish and shellfish, some fresh, some marinated... all really good. Could do with some olives or what have you, as it's pretty much all fish. But if you like fish, and you like platters, well, how wrong can you go with such a good seafood platter? And it only costs seven squid, which is not bad considering you can get a sandwich nearby costing £4.50.
Truro Coffee, House my other platter review
I remember, as a boy, camping on one of the moors with the scouts and the scoutmaster saying, as he nonchalantly brushed off cuckoo-spit from his pantaloons, "There are only four miles of land that separate Cornwall from England." I always believed that what the scoutmaster said was the truth.... and last night in the pub this point reemerged...
Is it true?
If it is true what does it mean?
If its not true why would he lie to me?
This morning I decided to mount an expedition to the source of the River Tamar to see if it was true.
I just saw Jack Bolitho on the BBC being interviewed. He comes over better than I would have thought - I met him a couple of months ago busking in Truro. Ahhh... the fresh arrogance of youth. I have asked him a couple of times to be interviewed for the blog but he clearly has better things to do. Meh....
The issue about "second homes in Cornwall" is clearly pertinent and significant locally. But there is only one solution, and it is not anything to do with nationalism or prohibition, it is to do with taxation.
I propose that the council introduces a term-of-residency based taxation system: If you have lived in Cornwall X amount of years you will pay less council tax, relatively, than someone who has lived here a shorter length of time.
As for the details as to how much less, well I guess that should be left to democracy to decide.....
I expect this to be in action within one year,
Thanks in advance,
Mat
Rubber up kids:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/cornwall/6284330.stm
Thanks for voting in the first Best Resturant In Truro Award, the results are in. The first in the list is the best and the last is the objectively worst resturant in Truro.
If you have been on the Cornish live music scene for any amount of time you will have heard of The Pocket Players. I haven't been on the scene at all, and so when I heard they were playing, I was like "...who?".
When I heard they were playing at Zafiros in Truro Zone One I had serious concerns; as we all know, Zafiros has the worst WiFi in the city.
I took a risk and I went.
With my domestic assistant away, I needed a Belle to take to the ball, so I took a friend.
J'ai arrive.... Ding dong, there was a throng.
Zafiros turned out to be a good venue for live music. The big window was a back-drop to the stage and the venue's substantial length and perfect girth gave it a nice flow. One severe downside to the evening was the fact that had I had my laptop on me, I would have been forced to use a flaky and over priced WiFi; with a shudder, I put this dismal thought behind me. I needed to prepare for the band both emotionally, and perhaps, in a little way, unemotionally.
Om Shanti Zafiros Om
Before I enter the review, I should say that this is my first ever live music review. I once started to write a review of an album but gave up. I have no idea what you're meant to write but I'm pretty sure it's a different kind of writing to reviewing a resturant. So here goes.
Its forty past midday, you're in Zone One, you're hungry. But at One O'Clock you have that meeting about the orphanage fundraiser. Options. You need options:
So put your Snickers and pack of Discos back on the shelf, walk out of the Co-op and into the heart of the city's trendiest quarter. Lo! There, 'pon a trice of thoroughfares 'midst the shadows of spires be the Duke Street Sandwhich Bar and Deli. Rejoice, for ye hath found thine luncheon salvation.
Many stores in Mid Cornwall (ADSA, Tesco, Sainsbury's, Iceland...) are now selling the world's best lolly, the amazingly tasty Del Monte Iced Smoothie. Imagine making love to a beautiful woman all weekend, only to find out she is an android who you can "date" almost any time. And when you don't need her you can keep her in the freezer, no problem. That's the Del Monte Fruit Smoothie.
But not only do these babies taste so great, they are also mainly fruit, nigh on no fat and only 96 calories - for reference an atypical Magnum has close to 4000 calories. It's the lolly version of having your cake and eating it, but the cake makes you live longer, have a better complexion, ward off cancer and prevents liver disease. In terms of sex toys, they may not last long but they have just the right amount of stickiness to Blu-tack the Polaroid to the back of the shed door.
.
It wasn't long ago that Betty reviewed the lunches at Cuckoo and gave it a mild but apparently justified criticism.
Went last night to see Holly Golightly - who is the 38th most famous person ever to grace Truro (Not counting Brian May's infamous 2003 "Drive Through" on the way to Flambards). The plan was to spend some time in Cuckoo and afterwards to nash on down to Pippa's. Well. No need. The night was great. Packed out with atmosphere, fun, friendly people and just a little smidgen of self-referential irony from the band. All in all, a great combo.
I might have ruined a fair few friends' evening by being a dropthepop.org bore but hey, its only the single most important issue to face us as a planet.
Anyways, Cuckoo, when it passes the required population threshold, is an ace venue for this ace city's all night/late night funkentastic melange of memorable moments.
In terms of its design ergonomics and the underlying architechonic principles its also much better than one would expect as a music venue. Bonus.
I have one regret about going to Cuckoo. Just the one. Regrets are something you should try not to have even though, like a vile cancer that eats away at your perception of the things you have done, they are often unavoidable. Kebabs, the shame of Saturdays.
Midcornwall.com Reviews are fantastic, Pulitzer and Nobel Prize winning winning explorations into the unknown areas of the area's restaurants and bars.
But we feel that the City needs a way to determine which are the Best Restaurants In Truro, and so, dear readers, we provide.
Every Month we will be listing the Best Resturants in Truro, and, logically, the worst.
To vote for a restaurant or restaurants just send a list of the restaurant name with marks out of ten on the same line to thebritawards@midcornwall.com.
Like this:
La Menza D'Pradre 4/10
Barry's Bistro 9/10
Send as few or as many as you want and we will do all the collating, normalizing and indexing to calculate a list from objectively best to objectively worst restaurant.
Please note that the techniques, algorithms and technologies that we will use for this computation will be on a par, both conceptually, computationally and scientifically with Google, SETI,CERN, MIT and County Hall.... combined.
What this will guarantee is 100% certainty in the fact that this list will be as close to objective as is logically possible when dealing with the subjective.
To vote in any months The BRIT Awards just send all votes to thebritawards@midcornwall.com.
by midnight on the last day of the month.
We will then have our guest presenter, Live on youtube from LA or maybe Probus.
I had beef with the waiter about my savory sorbet. He took it to the chef and on his return was at a loss for an explanation other than "Its a fair cop guv'". Rumbled. 
Thanks to Chris Leather for this fantastic photoThe question everyone seems to be asking about Cuckoo is, why isn't it more popular? With its funky decor, DJs, live bands and fantastic beer garden, it should be packed every night.
Now that it's started doing lunches, it ought to be packed during the day too.
So what gives? I went there to investigate today.
The first thing you notice about Cuckoo (aside from the fact it's invariably quiet) is the cool interior design in shades of green and grey, based around the cuckoo clock next to the DJ booth- allegedly purchased from Ebay. The young bar staff are friendly and attentive and the service is quick.
However if, like the Queen and myself, you never carry cash, you'll find you have to key in your PIN at the far end of the bar. This could be a pain if the place ever does get packed out. The new food menu is simple, traditional pub fare. There are snacks like chips at £1.50, garlic bread at £3.25 and soup of the day, £3.95, as well as baps, all priced around £5, with fillings like cheese and chutney, or slamon and cream cheese. So far, there are only six mains, of which one was vegetarian. So guess what I had. In fairness, the ratatouille with cheese was fresh and herby, and accompanied by a good chunk of crusty bread, so I shouldn't complain. But complain I will: come on! One veggie option? Just one? And the one thing even I can manage at home without having to call the fire brigade? Shame on you.
My carnivorous dining partner opted for the burger and fries at £5.95 over the cod and chips (£7.25), lasagne (£6.95) and the rest. She was impressed by the quality and texture of the burger which was clearly freshly prepared from scratch, but wondered if a little seasoning wouldn't have gone amiss. The 'fries' were in fact oven chips- a shame when real potatoes would have chimed much better with the retro theme- and the salad was undressed and straight from a bag.
We swigged a couple of glasses of rather tasty merlot with the meal, and both agreed that the wine list was pretty good. I left Cuckoo wondering whether I hadn't got to the crux of the issue as regards its lack of patrons: I think it's down to spice, or lack of it. Take a tip from your interior designer and apply it to your food: blandness is the enemy of style.
We should all be celebrating. Hoorah! Cornwall has the cleanest beaches in Europe.
Now we just need to wait for global warming to ramp the sea temp, and for the opening some beach cafes that sell damp baguettes for eight quid, and we really will be able to compete with the Med'.
Aside from the pleasure of their company, there are precious few advantages to dining out with small children. So it was with some trepidation that I set out with two under fives as well as a grown up dining companion to 'enjoy' an afternoon drink followed by dinner.
It all started badly. Frankly I'm amazed that Zafiros failed to ban the little rugrats for their behaviour. By the time we arrived at Saffron my nerves were shot. Luckily the service, food and atmosphere in that tucked away little gem were enough soothe us all. And the benefits of eating at tea-time, rather than dinner time, became readily apparent on inspection of the "Early Diners' Menu" (available to order between 5 and 7pm): only £9.95 for two courses, £12.95 for three, with a glass of wine included in the price. Bargain!
The service in Saffron was top notch. Within seconds of arriving the little ones were given books and crayons, leaving us to choose from the a la carte, children's or set menu. The kids chose scrambled egg and garlic toast, priced at a very reasonable £2.95, and fish and chips at £4.50, which arrived promptly and were declared "licious!". My grown up companion had the duck rillet to start, and I had the asparagus soup.
All of the dishes were prepared from fresh, locally grown ingredients, including the children's, and the excellent flavour of each reflected this. We followed the starters with a rich and creamy chicken risotto and a goats' cheese linguini, again delicious. The portions were a little small for a hungry man- you'd easily have room for the dessert if you fancied one- which is, arguably, ideal for an early meal. We accompanied the food with a decent glass of red each, and also tried a couple of bottles of 'Heligan Honey', an excellent local ale from the extensive beer menu.
The bill came to only £37, a serious bargain when kids' meals and drinks often represent quite a strain on the pocket.
Saffron is by no means a trendy establishment: the average age of the diners, even taking into account my own party of whippersnappers, was approaching pensionable age. The decor is bright and fresh but not 'sexy'. It's not the kind of place I'd want to go to on a hot date. Having said that, it is exactly the sort of place I'd recommend for the beginning of a longer night out with friends who enjoy award-winning locally sourced cuisine. Including those too young to read the menu.
Saffron Restaurant
5 Quay St,
(Next door to Kazbar),
Truro
01872 263771
Location on The Truro Map
For the last decade Veal, the pale flesh of a young cow, has been shunned, and for good reason:
| One Way Veal Burgers
| |
Truro police today issued a second warning to drinkers in Truro about the new underground practice amongst bar staff, the "Truro Switch". Chief Inspector Leslie Grantham warned that "though not a health risk per se, the Truro Switch is irresponsible and against the 1968 Trades Description Act."
The Truro Switch is based upon the "Cowboy Switch", popular in the GoGo bars of Bangkok and Manila during the Vietnam war. American vets on R&R would be surreptitiously given the switch in order to make them more amiable to the limitless immoral promiscuity that was on offer.
Truro may lack the hookers and the battle-mashed amputees but it seems it has its own version, and reports are that the craze is sweeping through the area's bar-staff fraternity. It is somewhere between an epidemic and a local pandemic. 
If you have been on the bad end of a Truro Switich let us know, email blog at midcornwall dot com
Another blow to the festering commercial anus of St Austell Town was delivered today by major national retail franchise, Poundland. In March Restormel Council offered Poundland a "significantly small" peppercorn lease on a "substantial" retail premises in the town center. The details of the offer were very shielded, and still are. However I have found out that it was the smallest lease price on any property in the Town for three decades, and that it was also offered to a well known local insurance company.
So I kept on snooping and investigating and yet again, I have come up trumps. Last week I wrote a letter to Poundland's CEO, Quidsley Montogmery, asking about the potential to get a Poundland in St Austell, and specifically the council's peppercorn offer. Today I received a short but informative email reply from Mr Montogomery:
"Dear Mr Chesterton,
Thank you for your correspondence.
It was hard decision for the board to make, but we feel that on the whole the credibility and image of Poundland has to be our prime directive. We feel that St Austell is not on a vector that is compatible with ours, both in terms of aesthetics and ethos. Also we are worried about shoplifting".
Best wishes
....
"
Quidsley Montgomery
CEO Poundland
As soon as I had this confirmation I moved my journalistic sniper sights onto the councilor responsible for the initial offer. I can't reveal her identity but I can publish here, without prejudice, the response she emailed me back not three hours ago:
"Dear Charles,
Thank you for your correspondence regarding the redevelopment of St Austell Town Centre, specifically the issue of Poundland not being established in St Austell; a fact I can today confirm.
Although the PWAB* method of redevelopment has had a good national track record around the country over the years, we feel that seeing as St Austell already has the WAB, losing Poundland isn't as critical as it could have been.
I agree that it is not ideal, but it's not as much of a setback as you are implying in your email - it is certainly not the "disaster of old testament proportions" you describe.
Also, and for the record, there are two points I am obliged to make:
1) The terms of lease agreed were in keeping with the projected lease value of the premises and we do not consider them to be "peppercorn" or "nigh on free".
2) If you send me a photograph like that again, even it was to "illustrate your point", I will sue you for harassment.
Sincerely,
....
"
*Poundland>Woolworths>Argos>Boots.
The Thatcher government paid billions to the Rand corporation to come up with the ideal way to regenerate town centres after the collapse of industry. The PWAB method was developed using highly advanced concepts from population maths and economic psychology. If you're interested, "Game Theory and The Primart Dilemma" is a great introduction to modern conurbation architectonics.
When you eat out, do you um and ahh as you read the menu, change your mind about five times and only make up your mind what to eat when the waiter arrives? Or do you scan it efficiently and stick to your decision, the menu closed on the table when all around you dither? If you fall into the latter camp, you are either a ruthlessly efficient restaurant robot or, like me, a vegetarian.
Vegetarians seldom have the opportunity to vacillate, there being only one or two options available to them. Often, it’s veggie lasagne or starve, and don’t get me started about places that think vegetarians eat fish. So when I spotted the innumerate little ‘V’s all over the extensive menu at Chantek on Truro’s trendy New Bridge Street, I came over all a flutter. To my joy and amazement, they can cook nearly all of their main courses with tofu as an alternative to meat or fish, and boy! Can they cook them well!
Price-wise, Chantek offers good value all round, with beautifully presented starters from £5 , including soups, salads and other sundries. My dining companions opted for the mixed starter to share at £10.50, which included funky little steamed chicken parcels wrapped in banana leaves, king prawns and a range of deep fried delights they declared delicious. I had the vegetable tempura, crisp and succulent with a sweet and tangy chilli dip, all for £6.50.
In the mood for heat, we all opted for curries, mine a spicy jungle one. It wasn’t nearly as hot as I’d have liked, but contained a good range of well cooked vegetables and the sauce was sticky and delicious, as was the jasmine rice I had to accompany it. One of the people eating with us asked for "the hottest curry the chef had ever made" and it came in at a disapointing mildness.... but a great taste.
We enjoyed a bottle of chilly dry white with our meal, but opted out of dessert, having already eaten way too much. We were delighted to find the bill totalling just over £60 for the three of us
Chantek offers good value dining in a cool and atmospheric venue, with good service and an authentic range of dishes from the pacific rim which is close to representing the holy grail of vegetarian eating. It's cheaper, better more stylish and less snooty than Truro's other fusion restaurant, Snooty Lu Lus.
For chilli and choice in the heart of Truro, try Chantek.Midcornwall.com has just had a forum added. Its free and totally anonymous (Use a gmail or hotmail etc if you are bothered) and has been made because of the comments to this post: the big battle between racists and lefties.
Use it, Abuse it, Don't use it.
The forum is here:
http://www.midcornwall.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=6&t=5
Nearly one in five in St Austell Voted for The British Nazi Party.
Democracy is a wonderful thing.
Every silver lining has its tarnished ring.
And freedom of speech is sacred,
And haters mustn't be hated.
But it makes me sad, that him or his dad,
Or your neighbor or lover or friend or mother,
Voted this way, to have their say:
That they are haters too.
I just hope it wasn’t you.
After the Investigating Mebyon Kernow Artciles changed forever the face of the Cornish Internet, it is with great pride that I unleash upon the readers of The Midcornwall Blog the complete and unabridged Investigating the Strawbridges.
It is hard hitting and controversial and threatens to shake the very framework of Cornish Investigative Journalism. And at the end it has an aspect that wasn't planned, it has to be said.
Print or Download from here
Powered by ScribeFire.
I get thousands of emails a day "PLEASE! can you release your Investigating Mebyon Kernow as a single PDF file I can download and read in a linear manner as opposed to the inverted chronology of the blog posting structure!!!"
Yes my pretties, yes I can. Here it is:
http://www.midcornwall.com/Investigating%20Mebyon%20Kernow.pdf
I have just been out for a beer with a man from Mebyon Kernow.
The catalyst for this meeting was my spoof Investigating Mebyon Kernow series.
Since leaving the house, I am now a paid up member of Mebyon Kernow and tomorrow I am leafleting for them.
Its a funny old world
:)
If you are in An Gof, I would like to interview you for this blog. Privacy, anonyminity and impartiality absolutely assured. Contact me using this email form. Thanks, a Citizen of Cornwall, England and the World, but not Devon:)
For reasons of cross pollination and weird Internet feng shui stuff I don't understand, Part 6 of Investigating The Strawbridges is published on The Truro Blog. Its not as lighthearted as the rest of the series.
Student James Strawbridge takes after his father in many ways. He studies Marine History at the University of East Anglia, and is described by his fellows as “a great bloke” and “greener than algae”.
He writes poetry. Most of his oeuvre is highly personal, appearing to arise from the Lacanian mirror phase of his development, in post-structural psychoanalytic terms, of course. He explores the interstices between the ego and the ego-ideal with sensitivity and panache, clearly influenced in this sense by Coleridge’s opium induced self explorations. James Strawbridge’s free verse, unbound from the shackles of the traditional stanza, swoops and flies in a manner resonant of the Ted Hughes’ early work; while the elasticity of the metre is comparable to the great metaphysical poets of the seventeenth century.
Since his family has moved back to Cornwall James’ poetry has taken on a more environmental flavor. Bold pieces that challenge and alert within the same well wrought couplets. For a man in his early twenties it is mature and very well considered verse. The following Poem from the UEA Union Poetry magazine captures his muse beautifully:
But like his father, there is a hidden darkness.
James has an addiction, kept secret from his parents. An addiction with one of the worst environmental payloads of any. James steals on average five traffic cones a week from the streets of Norwich. These he takes back to his “digs” where he and his mates laugh at their ever growing hoard. Perhaps we could look at this tomfoolery and give a knowing shrug; “students, eh? Crazy.” But a man must be judged on how his actions shadow his words, and I am afraid in this case, we cannot brush over this so easily.
To make one Traffic cone produces three tones of CO2. To deploy a traffic cone on an urban UK road junction releases another half a ton of Carbon. To replace a stolen cone on a UK road means anther half ton of CO2. All in all, that’s 4 tons of carbon for every pilfered traffic calming device.
It doesn’t take a brain doctor to work out that since, on last count, he had stolen 124 cones, James “Greener Than Algae” Strawbridge has a carbon footprint bigger than a family of yetis. Yes James; “We must take care of our home”.
Congratulations to The St Austell Brewery, their Tribute bitter has won the South West's most prestigious prize, for beer. Tribute is my favorite bitter, but its not a beer to get drunk on as it leaves a residual sluggishness on the corners of one's evening. Unlike premium expert/export larger such as Stella or Kroni which imbues one with an energy and clarity of drunkenness not available to bitter drinkers. I have more to say on beer here.
Well done Tribute. We Salute YouWhen they make a TV show they film much more footage than they use in the show, and Scrap Heap Challenge is no different. If you have the contacts you can get access to this “backroom” and “greenroom” footage. I got this access and from the digital cutting room floor from the 2003 Series I found the Rosetta stone; an informal off (but on) camera chat between Lisa “3-2-1” Rodgers and Dick Strawbridge. We have transcribed the pertinent aspects or you can watch the entire footage on YouTube:
LR: So, what will you do if you leave the show?
DS: Ah divvent knaa. Mebeez I’ll get mesel’ some kind o’ show like that gadgie from Eastenders, like. Ye knaa, deein’ gangs or summick, like. With me military trainin an’ that, Ah should be canny good for it, like.
LR: Yeah, not a bad idea. He gets a packet for that show, and all the travel as well.
DS: Aye, pet, travellin’s always a bonus, like. Aah’ve been aall ower, me: Aisa, America, even New Zealand, like.
LR: I saw a show on Five where they filmed recruits for the SAS or something…he looked really hard.
DS: Whey aye, pet. Ye have to be hard and tough, like. Aah didn’t knaa there was already a show like that, mind. Bit of a shitta yes’ve dropped on us.
LR: It’s hard to find new formats, Dick. That’s the game, innit. And even when you have a new format, you’ve got the uphill slog of persuading people to make it.
DS: Aye, yer not wrang there, pet.
LR: I’ll tell you what’s getting a lot of interest at the moment. Shows about the environment, sustainability and stuff.
DS: Aboot what, pet?
LR: Environmental issues.
DS: Aye aye, Aah knaa. Whales and dolphins and aall that shite like?
LR: Well yeah, kind of I guess.
8DS: Champion! Cheers for the tip, bonny lass! Aah’ll be havin’ some o’ that mesell. Belter!
LR: Gotta go Dick, Richard just texted.
DS: Aye, nee sweat. Had on though: is it reet there’s an aald diff forra jeep in the tip, like?
LR: Dicky, if there was one in Pile F you know I wouldn’t tell you….
And there it is: irrefutable evidence of the moment Dick became green, caught forever, without question. It’s not easy being green, but it’s a lot harder befriending the gangs of Sao Paulo and being treated as kin and kindred while the bullets and the screams of the dying fill the air.
