meditationsinausterity

[meditationsinausterity]

September Reading Roundup

Will Self, The Book of Dave.

So after my August of almost exclusively lady books, I've kicked off with a Geezer. Not just a male writer, an actual fucking Geezer. I love Will Self, and would highly recommend The Quantum Theory of Insanity, and The Butt, works of his I've previously enjoyed. I'd have picked this up from the free books box outside of Stella's Voice in North end based on my previous enjoyment alone, but a friend of mine, Tim who was one of my favourite regulars in The Whippet, the first pub I helped manage and therefore always my first love, once recommended it to me on a snowy Sunday, when he and I were the only people in the bar and I was line-cleaning and chomping at the bit for handover so he and I could go drinking.

 I had several friendships in that pub where I'd give out, and receive books in that pub (blame it on the Bloomsbury postcode I guess), and take and give recommendations. Tim, on this Sunday, was waxing absolutely lyrical about this one, and the concept, the idea of a future society finding a book written by a London cab driver and forming a religion and a society surrounding it, really appealed to me.

I wasn't disappointed, but the novel was definitely different to my expectations, as is often the case when you come to a book with preconceptions (I see you Wuthering Heights, I fucking see you). It's part Ridley Walker, part an 'It's all a load of Fackin' Bollocks MAAAATE' yowl into the abyss. It hops between a post-disaster pastoral society with a rigid hierarchy and cockney-rooted chaucerian dialect, and a despicably unlikeable but sympathetic North London pleb of a taxi driver experiencing an inarticulate masculine fury at his distinctly class struggle related breakdown, which he channels through the only set of rules that make sense to him; The Knowledge (for the uninitiated, The Knowledge is the test London cab drivers undergo in order to qualify).

I'm still a sucker for a London novel of any description, but I fall very much in love with those that described the tired, angry thoughts of its underclasses, because reader, I was one. Despite my education and self awareness, I've felt that snarling, visceral 'FFFFUUUUUCK YOUUUU' that can only rise in your gut in a city that thanklessly grinds you down and through it for the benefit of others until you're basically used up. I'm not as exciting a prospect to read as Dave Rudman because university and therapy have made me too irritatingly self-aware, and too keyed into the emotional jargon of our times. I'm dull because I can talk about hierarchies of needs and hegemonic struggle and how they impact my mental health as a member of the working class. I can voice discontent in safe terms that you already know. The beauty of Dave Rudman is he knows his life is bullshit, and he's surrounded by cunts, but he struggles with the articulation of why and how this is unfair. As his psychiatrist puts it:

'For, while many of the patients who shuffled into his consulting room were emotional malingerers - unwilling to turn up for any of life's feelings - this big, raw boned fellow was reeling. He doesn't have either the wit or the imagination to know what's happening.'

There's a beautiful symmetry in the novel. Dave's 'we're fucked and if everyone would just listen to me i'd sort it ahhhht' working class masculinity (my late stepdad was a real one for that, I'm so familiar with it I could cry), contrasted with the society that takes his unlistened-to working class voice as gospel but ultimately is just as unfair, taking his disenfranchisement-born misogyny to drastic conclusions, is powerful, and grabs your gut. We feel bad when nobody is listening to our Dave, but we're simultaneously confronted with the horrific reality of what happens when his rage at women, born of what contemporary life is doing to his masculinity and sense of self, is taken seriously.

It's not a happy book, staring directly into the face of the impossibility of self expression, or at least the lack of access to it that the majority of society has. it directly looks to the ways in which we fuck up and get angry at the wrong things when our core identity is assaulted on every side, and how unfair and misguided that really is if you logically played out the redressings of those imagined balances. The modern world is presented as fragmented and irredeemable, the future a feudal dystopia of racial divide, illiteracy, and poverty.

There's no shred of hope in this book, even in Dave's regret-fuelled about face, and the insurrection it could cause in the future were it listened to. But it definitely has laughs, as all darkness does. And much like the kind of much-maligned working class character Self breathes life beyond trope-dom into, it tells it like it is. This bleak realtalks made me oddly nostalgic; for the peculiarly London form of contempt you can only feel when you've racked up a sixteen hour day for little-to-no-money, and have to look at all the moneyed visitors and suburb-dwellers pumping their cash into tourist bottlenecks. It's a weird sense of superiority and knowledge you cling to to stop yourself feeling like as much of a mug as the people at the other end of the economic scale. In reality, you're all equally mugs, because the city always wins; but you feel like you really belong there and they're just visiting. Likewise, in reality, as we see in Dave's inability to transcend any of his social constraints in anyway, there's no joy in this small victory you give yourself, because if you do really belong there, there's nowhere else to go.

 Shirley Jackson, Dark Tales.

A present from my friend Zachery, on a visit to Portsmouth on a sunny Monday that feels like forever ago now. Don't you just love it when someone slings you a book to read? Tells you not just about them, but about what they know of, or think of, you, too. I'm totally including this in September's books, as I did start it then, despite finishing it in October. It's been a slow month for reading while I try and figure out a work-life balance, so I'm being kind to myself. It was passed my way because, in an accurate educated guess, it was determined to be my kind of thing.

Oh BOY is it. I love anything creepy and dark, to the point where when people get to know me better, the witch jokes come thick and fast. I'm particularly obsessed with women who are obsessed with death (Lana del Rey, Florence Welch, Sylvia Plath, American Horror Story Coven, I'm looking at you here), and Shirley Jackson is one dark motherfucker. I particularly love a good slab of American gothic, and having read all these stories I'd undoubtedly say that these are Jackson's strength. There were stories in there about getting lost in the woods, and ghosts and so on, but I could decidedly have taken or left them, particularly as I find ghost stories inevitably have the same quasi-Victorian conclusions.

Her strongest efforts, if you ask me, are the ones about malcontent simmering under the surface of classically American tropes, small-town life, country summer idylls, young marrieds in the big city, that kind of thing. The lapsed literature student in me wants to point out that these stories could be used as fantastic allegorical examples of the rotten core lurking within the American dream, which let's face it, is a fair shout, but more simply put, that workaday surface is a fundamental part of what makes the stories so deeply disconcerting. In the same way that the workaday rhythms and relatability of a Bruce Springsteen song or a Raymond Carver short are so emotionally powerful because their narratives could be and are, playing themselves out time after time in towns across America, so Jackson's are terrifying because we, the readers think to ourselves, probably so are hers.

We tell ourselves 'it's just a story', but it's harder to do when the characters are so intricately and cleverly made real by their intentional stock quality. And we're so fascinated with her characters for the same reason we're still fascinated with Ted Bundy; because he was innocuous and unnoticeable enough to have gotten away with it for so long. It's far less scary to have our demons look like demons that to imagine them buying milk from the same grocers as us.

I usually treat short stories as small dose thought-provokers to read over a morning coffee, consuming them in tandem with whatever else I have on the go, but a combination of me having less attention to pay, and these commanding it so strongly meant that wasn't really the case this time, and I'd highly recommend getting these under your belt. I wouldn't say I could think of another writer who has made me feel genuinely disconcerted in a long time, and given that horror is a genre in which most of the tropes have been played out in every which way they figuratively can, Jackson still manages to generate a sense of the unexpected in her tales that I haven't encountered elsewhere in a long time.

#meditations in austerity #september reading #personal blog #will self #Shirley jackson #books #literature #reading #currently reading #literature blog #now reading #horror stories #American writers #English writers

[meditationsinausterity]

Self Care on a Shoestring: Hair

Let's talk hair. It is no secret to those who know me, or hell, even just follow me on Instagram, that my hair is essentially my pride and joy. I am at my happiest when washing and brushing my hair; I find the ritual of it relaxing and when I'm at my most low, sometimes even doing this can be enough to change my mindset and make me feel more motivated and like getting on with things and being part of the real world.

I grew up absolutely hating the naturally curly texture of my hair; I flat ironed the crap out of it from the age of about fifteen to, ooh, about 20. I cut it into a blunt fringed lego bob, and I dyed it black for almost all of my teens. Blame the goth phase, followed by the electroclash/bloghouse phase. Think all black lace slowly morphing into metallic American Apparel spandex and charity shop handbags. I should cringe at my younger wardrobe, but actually I looked pretty on point, especially as the Big Girl in my group of mates. The only thing I cringe about is the hour of my life I lost on the regular GHDing my way to split ends and a fringe that never quite lay flat, not to mention the endless tenners spent on box dye with stupid names, and the endless damage to perfectly innocent bath towels. Don't even get me started on the roots. The absolute state of the roots.

 I did also go through a redheaded phase after my masters, when I found grey hairs and panicked that my life of village pub employment and being in a serious relationship with a primary school teacher were making me boring, so I reached for the box dye. I moved to London a redhead, and stayed that way until my late twenties, but by that point I'd embraced my natural curl and texture. The redhead phase meant I commanded attention immediately, which naturally I loved, and my natural pallor meant I pulled it off. I took it so light I almost touched blonde at one point. But again: age, laziness, and self acceptance kicked in, and I started growing it out around about the time I could get away with it looking like an intentional ombre job. The last vestiges of the red disappeared when I worked at the Blues Kitchen in Camden; our Halloween fancy dress theme was the 27 club, and I bandaged my tits with the top of a pair of nude tights, lopped my hair off at the shoulder, and shirtlessly bartended as Jim Morrison. Great night for tips, that one.

Since then I've done nothing to my hair, dye, or styling wise. I have some greys, but I let it airdry into its natural curl, and let the colour change with the sunlight. I don't need the alert of that flash of red anymore, being confident enough to command whatever attention I need by myself, and I decided a long time ago that my time could be better spent than swearing at a mirror and burning my ears while attempting to defy nature. I think the initial decision was made to extend drinking time, now I just want more time in bed or to cook./ In some respects, My hair regime is incredibly low maintenance as a result, but in the washing, and inevitable wet brushing that comes with my hair type, there is a certain element of ritual and technique, that is both beneficial and incredibly relaxing. And specialist curly hair products can be pricey, so I thought I'd delineate how I manage to keep my hair in good nick while spending basically fuck all. Let's do this:

(My hair in it's full natural textured glory at the beach - I do let it get maybe a little too long in the summer but this is proof if it be needed that there's no need to mess with nature)

Cut

I have had some amazing hairdressers in the past. My favourite was Rosie, at Brooks and Brooks in Holborn, who used to cut my hair, ostensibly as a freebie (I tipped majorly though, I value skill, and think it should be rewarded) and do a bang up job of getting the bounce into my curls. Sadly, I no longer live in London, nor do I earn London bank these days. Also sadly, I do not trust most hairdressers with my curls, because most of them do not know enough about the hair type to do anything beyond butcher it. So I cut my own hair. I wear it long, in long, loose layers, and the curly wavy texture means a less-than-perfect line is pretty well forgiven when all's said and done. I have a pair of hair scissors I've owned for about five years, bought from Sally's Beauty Supply, sharpened regularly on a steel I use for kitchen knives, and used for Nothing Else, Ever.

My cutting technique is ridiculously simple. I wash and brush my hair, then turn my head upside down and brush my hair straight. all I do is cut along the bottom in a straight line, then hold the scissors vertically and chop a little bit into the line to thin out the ends (probably about a half centimetre). I always cut at least an inch less than I need to, because I know as my hair dries the curls will bounce up, unlike a lot of hairdressers I have had in my life. I aim to do this about every six weeks, but I'll confess in summer I get lax, because I want long mermaid hair, and always regret it come about September, when I have to cut off 2 1/2 inches or so in order to get rid of the sun-damaged, ratty ends due to my neglect and love of sunbathing. I will learn, next year, I promise (every year).

My hair thus stays as tame and breakage free as it's going to get. I'm fortunate in that I'm happy with the natural texture of my hair and therefore don't need a complicated cut. I do follow fashion, and am interested in style, but I don't slave to trends, and my long hair has become something of a calling card,but I'd recommend this as an easy money-saving maintenance trick for pretty much anyone who has any natural texture to their hair. It looks better, at any rate, than wispy, crazy lady ends.

(They can't all be winners - if I don't use enough oil on my hair in summer the humidity makes it go pretty major)

Wash

You wouldn't think washing your hair would be anything other than simple, would you? I'll lend you mine for a week and we'll see how you go with that attitude, eh?

I can only brush my hair when it's wet or I literally ruin all my definition and look like Hermione Granger. But I can't wash it every day because it dries out so quickly. So I operate on an every other day basis, sometimes skipping a day if my schedule is a bit much, but if I leave it any longer than that, the brushing is a task in itself, so I try not to.

I don't choose my shampoo amazingly carefully. Basically whatever is on 3 for 2 and says 'dry', 'damaged', 'curly', that kind of thing. I'm currently using L'oreal extraordinary oil, and it's just fine. Most shampoos basically do the same job anyway. The key with shampooing is all in the technique. I only ever apply it to my scalp, as you eliminate overwashing and breakages that way. I do however lather for at least ten minutes; the reasons for this are manifold: one being that I read somewhere as a teenager that actually shampooing for an extended amount of time will actually allow the active ingredients in your shampoo to work, which just makes sense, no? The other reason is that it stimulates circulation to the scalp, keeping it healthy and promoting growth. Not to mention, it is really relaxing, and as somebody who is not good at mindfulness for it's own sake, really concentrating on using the pads of my fingers and thumbs on my scalp and breathing in the scent of my shampoo allows me some time in my day to just be. A more direct plus point to this is that it relieves the tension I very much carry in my temples from constantly grinding my jaw. I really wish I could learn my way out of that, but until then I'll compensate for it in my beauty regime.

A further note, is it's worth mentioning clarifying shampoo. I do love a clarifying shampoo, used at least once a month, to remove build up and restore bounce. Sadly it's only the pricier brands that seem to make them, so I mostly hack one by adding a couple of tablespoons of baking soda to my shampoo and massaging as usual. It does create a pleasant tingling sensation, and really removes any buildup from the roots of the hair, but can be drying, so is best used sparingly.

(I do actually literally zen out after my hair is freshly washed. It's not even fully dry in this picture.)

Condition

Conditioner, to the thick-haired, is the holy, holy,hail mary mother-of-holy grail of products. If somebody told me I could only have one beauty product for the rest of my life, I'd be clinging to my conditioner bottle before they'd even finished their sentence. My hair would structurally be NOTHING without it. I go through a bottle at three times the rate I do shampoo. This is where the exploitation of the great 3 for 2 comes in handy; you can stockpile products you know you are going to pace through. Almost every time I buy hair products there'll be at least two bottles of conditioner in my basket.

The technique is essentially the opposite of shampooing. Almost totally ignore the roots, concentrating on the ends and shafts. In my case, particularly the point at my crown that inevitably snarls due to my work topknot being a near-permanent fixture. Leave on for at least ten minutes, usually longer in my case as I crack on with leg shaving, exfoliating, and so on. The wash-out process should involve only gentle combing motions to remove tangled hair, of which, if your hair is only able to be brushed when wet, there will be a lot, as you naturally shed what you would when brushing. I probably don't rinse my conditioner out that thoroughly, because my hair is basically the equivalent of aubergine, in that it will soak up any oil you throw at it, indefinitely.

I'm an advocate of the cold-water rinse. Freezing cold, to seal the cuticles. You can tell me it's a myth if you like, but I have a friend called Joe who has the glossiest long hair I've ever seen in my life, and he swears by it, so I'm going with what I can see. I notice the difference in shine when I may be feeling delicate on a December morning and skip it. It's a good way to jolt yourself awake, especially if you've zenned yourself out with a head massage, and in that department I need literally every helping hand I can get. It costs literally fuck-all but the difference is noticeable. 

(The ever-present work top-knot. It does actually cause almost all my tangle problems, but it's the only way I can keep it out of the way of everything for hygiene reasons at work)

Brush/Style

This is the mastery section. I have absolutely nailed brushing curly hair over the past thirty years. To the point where when I was staying with my friends at the beginning of this year, their little girl would seek me out to brush her incredibly cute curly blonde locks because I applied the Kirsty method, and used my magic products. And this was a girl who previously threw a hurricane-force tantrum at the sight of a hairbrush. No judgement from me; my earliest childhood memory is fighting back the tears at the futility of my mother snapping at me to keep my head still while she yanked at clumpy knots with a paddle brush.

You do need the right kit for this. I'll improvise with a hospital comb if needs be, but i'll suffer for it, and so will my hair, and let's not even talk about how fucking long it takes. I had a Tangle Teezer for ages, but lost it somewhere along my path in life. I would, previously, have sworn by it, and proffered no alternatives, but that was because I hadn't tried anything comparable , and it worked so well. I'd still say that for a tenner it's relatively good shout for curl maintenance when you break it down to cost-per-use, but I also have a mini WetBrush that I carry in my bag for dirty stopouts, and despite being smaller than my hand, it works a treat. Not to mention I recently replaced my Tangle Teezer with a clone from WIlkinson, that cost me under two quid and works just as well, is just as washable, and let me re-state, COST ME JUST UNDER TWO QUID.

Why all this faff over a brush? well, because tearing your hair is going to damage it and cause breakages. It's also going to cause a world of pain, and given how much of a meditative state I put myself into in the shower, the swearing, eye-watering, slap in the face that is attempting to tackle clumpy tangles with a rigid-bristle brush is entirely counterproductive. They do say you're supposed to use a wide toothed comb, but in my case, that would be like trying to rake Hyde Park with a fork. I rarely have that kind of time. I NEVER have that kind of patience.

Let's also take a minute to sing the praises of spray conditioner. I do tend to favour the Aussie hair care one, a pioneer in it's genre, and therefore readily available (much like the early craft brewers' wares these days), but I will use whatever's to hand, and cheap. I section my hair, starting to brush at the ends and working my way up. If I encounter a particularly large knot i'll gently brush it from the bottom and work up, too. Starting at the root and dragging it through the knot will be painful, rip out a load of hair, and probably not actually be any faster. It does take time, but I usually use it as an opportunity to put on music that's been in my head over a few days and sing along while I work. Because I'm cool. Once all the tangles have been worked out, a good brush from root to tip all over is pretty fundamental to catch any missed bits, and work over the scalp once again.

To finish, I apply a cream product. Anything that says for curly, dry, or damaged hair will do. I'm currently using L'oreal's Extraordinary Oil-In-Cream, but I've previously had success with a lot of other brands, Frizz ease and Schwarzkopf,and Toni and Guy are some relatively affordable 3-for-2 stalwarts that spring to mind. Just look for something that doesn't specify it's for heat styling, and prioritise looking for curly hair products. I section my hair and apply it from maybe just above the ears downwards, then use the leftover product on my palms and hands to gloss over the surface from the roots down.

I also always apply an oil product to the ends of my hair, to stop splits, and again, I'm not brand loyal, currently using L'oreal extraordinary oil, but I've used everything, from Argan oil from the 99p shop, to a bulk bottle of jojoba oil, to my beloved coconut oil. As the driest part of my hair, especially in not weather, the ends tend to benefit from a little extra TLC. Not to mention that this kind of treatment prolongs the lifespan between cuts. I section my hair into roughly four parts then apply to the ends, from about three/four inches up.

Then let it air dry. Simple.

(I literally do take pictures if I have a good hair day. I have literally always been about gratitude for the little things in this life)

 Additional notes

The multiple uses of hair oil

So I've mentioned hair oil in passing. it is the most versatile product ever. I use it to massage my scalp before a shower sometimes if I'm feeling particularly tense, or if my scalp is dry. I chuck a shot into my conditioner occasionally if my hair is feeling particularly dull and rough. I apply it to my dry hair to minimize frizz. I used to use all manner of serums and whatnot, but when one product does so much, I cease to see the point of buying so many single-purpose products. If you're using a natural oil like jojoba or coconut, you can also use it on your skin, and your cuticles and lips as well, so for versatility, oil really does cut it.

Masks

I do love a hair mask, and I am not massively brand-loyal. At the moment the one I'm really digging is for Afro-Carribean hair, and is by Free Your Mane. It's a curl enhancer, and I use it maybe every two weeks. I tend to either use masks that I'm given as samples, have snagged as part of a 3-for-2, or bought on the cheap at Sally's. I wouldn't say Masks are a vital part of proceedings, but my hair will literally take any oil thrown at it, so the extra moisture shot is amazing, and taking the time to do one makes me feel like i'm looking after myself, so if I have one in the cupboard it counts as a freebie.

 Finally, a little slutty trick

Spray a bit of your perfume on the roots of your hair at the nape of your neck. This place naturally gets warm so the fragrance will rise everytime you move, plus if you play with your hair as much as I do, the scent will naturally release when you're flirting. Thank me later.

#meditations in austerity #haircare #self care #self care on a shoestring #budget haircare #curly hair #curly hair maintenance #beauty #beauty realtalks #personal blog

[meditationsinausterity]

Holy Fuck, It's Wednesday.

I thought I'd better make it apparent before I commence that I know full well it's not Monday. I wasn't really in any fit state to post things I was happy and grateful for on Monday; my mental health hasn't been fantastic lately so after I'd spent all day on the phone to the government trying to sort out my right-to-work ID (how is it easier to claim citizenship to be on the dole than to take a service industry job? HOW?), I spent the rest of the time catatonically staring into space, crying, and specifically avoiding all adult responsibilities (including such fundamentals as showering and laundry). As you can imagine, not an ideal breeding ground for blogging about positivity and gratitude.

I did actually um and ahh about posting this, even late, but I came to two conclusions. Firstly that letting myself off the hook and not posting it might mean I would get out of the habit of it, and realistically, the habit is a good one to have formed. Secondly, and not on an unrelated note, the habit is something I need even more when I'm feeling as bleak and isolated as I have beenthis week. In my sessions, Layla and I talked extensively about practicing things I would need in crisis, while I was ostensibly fine. So, for example, reaching out and connecting with friends when I felt alright, instead of leaving it until I was in a blind panic and really needed someone. It's about getting the bare bones of the support mechanisms in place so that they're pretty much half established when they become crucial; a kind of emotional fire drill, if you will. T

he honesty part aside (i feel if I pretended to be fine all the time in writing this I'd be putting a pressure on myself, and lying to everyone else); even though I have been feeling at my lowest for a long while, there have still been bright spots and things to be grateful for over the course of the week, and those are the things worth clinging on to:

(A pretty picture of a cuttlefish sprayed up near the city museum. I see this guy on my walks to work all the time and he makes me smile)

+Knowing I'm in the right industry

Went for a shattered, post-work, can't be arsed to cook dinner on Sunday night after work at Koh Thai in southsea. i actually expected to be underwhelmed after working with Thai chefs for so long, but the food was on point as fuck. Our waitress was lovely, and my companion and I both decided to just trust our food choices to her; I ended up in a pretty intense chat about wine-tasting with her after choosing the Albarinho, and after she'd mentioned her colleagues thinking she was odd during wine tasting for saying things they weren't getting I pointed out that the flavours she'd said were typical of the wines she was talking about and she obviously had a good palate and was using the training sessions properly by trusting her gut and venturing an opinion. Over the course of the meal we had a couple more talks about the industry and I told her I thought she was great after I left cash and card tips (I'd had a tiring day and felt like re-dressing the karmic service industry balance) - on the way home my dinner companion mentioned that I'd probably made her day and I thought, good.

So much can hang in the balance of a service industry worker's day, one or two customers can really make the difference between wanting to get out of bed and tackle it again the next day, so if I did make a difference, then I'm pleased. Not because it makes me a good person, but because that girl was really excellent at her job, and obviously took a pride in it, and that should be nurtured. I realized talking with my friend, that for better or worse, I am passionate about the hospitality industry and the people in it, and I can't change that. There was a point at the beginning of this year when I thought about re-training and doing something else, that I seriously considered doing something different and maybe easier on my fragile spirit. But this encounter, and other thoughts I've had recently have made me realize that my experiences and mental makeup are necessary to the industry; we can't all be leather-skinned, relentlessly cheerful machines. In fact, most of us aren't. The industry needs people in it with empathy, a humanistic bent, and the ability to see the people behind the policy. Me being emotional is a weakness, but it's a strength too; I care too much and that makes certain things land harder, but it also makes me push harder and be more passionate about other things, and about the people around me. A lot of my former colleagues have thanked me for sharing knowledge with them, or seeing their strengths and championing them, and I know I can get back to being that person. i know that person is the person i am good at being, and who I naturally am when I'm at my best. i know i'd be making a mistake to walk away from an opportunity to be that person again.

(I bought myself the Isabel Marant X L'oreal lipstick. Things do not make you feel better, but it's still nice to buy them sometimes)

+My support network

Nobody has a support network in place when things come crashing down in a heap. At least, not a functional and useful one. it takes time, and thought, to know how to talk to people about things, and who to talk to about what. I am getting better at reaching out and being vulnerable to people, but also at figuring out who to reach out to and be vulnerable to. I've had some difficult moments where I've had to turn around to certain individuals and tell them when they weren't listening, or that I don't much talk to them about how I feel any more because it's actually more hurtful than the subsequent argument, and weirdly, that's opened up the conversations to them asking what they can actually do, in some cases.

Don't get me wrong, in a lot of cases I do still draw the magic salt circle of my personality around myself when I'm vulnerable, in order to feel safe. i don't need to tell everybody what's going on, and constantly being energetic and cracking jokes is a good way to get through a day when there aren't people I can productively talk to about things available. But I used to do this with LITERALLY EVERYONE, and it's exhausting. Now, I'm very much more open with the people I need to rely on than I used to be, and it makes that holding it together when I need to much easier. I'm still making headway on it, but this week there have been plenty of tearful admissions and they haven't fallen upon deaf ears, which has given me the emotional beathing space I've needed.

(Being tired in a borrowed jumper and a new lipstick before work. I'm still waiting for my gold medal in turd polishing)

+Honourable Mentions

Going and buying new makeup - a coworker telling me they always notice what perfume I'm wearing because it's always distinctive - borrowed jumpers - not beating myself up for eating chocolate for the first time in years - managing to get through a whole double shift when I felt like I was coming apart at the seams - my little chats with the KP at work brightening my day - washing my hair and brushing it to calm myself down - the first huge scarf of the year - ice cold eye cream after a tearful fit - the headspace of walking to work - a little wave from a baby every time i passed the table at work this weekend - Neil Young and black coffee on a quiet morning alone - the simplicity of making an omelette when not much else makes sense - allowing myself to not feel pressure about things that don't take priority rather than just letting the anxiety pile up

#meditations in austerity #personal blog #thank fuck it's monday #gratitude #positivity #mental health

[meditationsinausterity]

A Little Goes a Long Way: SO MANY MUSHROOMS

Here we are at mid-week with what seems to be becoming a regular round-up of what I've been cooking to make sure I use literally everything in the fridge. As per my last post I have decided that the best way to structure the way I note my week in the kitchen is to start with a master list of the foods i bought home from the trash cafe, so as to avoid continually repeating myself in the smaller run-downs at the beginning of each dish, and make plain the cyclical nature of my cooking week and how I play around with different combinations of the same produce.

I have to say, the trash cafe has yielded a lot of fresh produce recently, so my hauls have been very heavily canted in favour of that. Great for me because I do prioritise cramming in as many nutrients as I can when I cook, but it does put a stricter deadline on what I make and when. I think writing this master list is actually going to be useful in terms of documenting the varying trash cafe hauls, as well; as I've worked with the project I've been fascinated to see the ebbs and flows of what we get through the doors, depending on what businesses we're working with and what they've had an excess of.

I'm also noticing my week changing as I work more. I'm on about 50 hours a week on average at the moment, so I have less time to be in the kitchen, but also, I have to think about bulk cooking things I can take to work with me when I'm on a double shift. I do have the option of a free sandwich and chips when I work a double (I usually rack up two of these a week), but I don't often take the chefs up on it, which my coworkers think I'm crazy for. I'd rather just have it as a backup for if I've forgotten to bring food, or not been staying at mine, because I don't like being too carbed out at work, and lately, where I've been taking in leaner, more vegetable driven food and fresh fruit, I've been really feeling the difference in my body after my long days and walks to and from work.

To kick things off then, let's start with that big old list:

Things I got from the Trash Cafe:

a packet of six chicken thighs (These had been defrosted to use in the kitchen, but I got through four packs during service and still had leftover stew to send to another cafe, so I bought these home)

2 1/2 punnets of chestnut mushrooms

2 punnets of plum tomatoes

1 bag of lemons

1 bag of limes

1/2 pat of salted butter

A block of mild goats cheese (it behaved similarly to a sharp cheddar in texture and flavour)

A packet of mint

Rye bread with sunflower seeds

A bag of red onions

A bag of broccoli florets

A bunch of asparagus

A white cabbage

Half a bag of mixed salad leaves

2 pots of prepped pineapple chunks (I tend to just eat these as they come, with breakfast or at work, so they don't get photographed)

2 pots prepped mango chunks (likewise with these)

Now onto what I made with my bounty:

Mushrooms on toast a couple of ways

Way One:

Items purchased for this meal:

None

Items already had for this meal:

Eggs, from the previous week's trash cafe haul

Ciabatta bread, likewise, and I keep my bread frozen, as I always eat it toasted, so it keeps indefinitely

Garlic, always in my storecupboard

So I am not going to patronize you, this was literally just mushrooms, panfried in garlic and butter, with scrambled eggs. I do not need to tell you how to do any of that. i do need to emphasize, however, a belief I hold that cooking does not have to be overtly technically skilled to be good. granted, I know some amazingly creative and talented chefs, and what they do is mindblowing, but by the same token I know if they came over for breakfast, they wouldn't turn their nose up at this because it's still good food. one of my pet peeves in this life is the attention seeking cook, who only ever makes masterchef-esque showstoppers for the drama and attention of it. Sometimes life is literally just a low key breakfast while chilling with a magazine before work, and sometimes that low key breakfast may be the best thing you could eat in that possible moment. A true love of the kitchen and feeding yourself involves care and attention applied to even the quotidien dishes.

Way Two

Items purchased for this meal:

None

Items already had for this meal:

Marmite; an absolute store cupboard necessity for me. This yeasty little umami bomb is one of the very few things that will make me misty eyed and patriotic (the other two are Barbara Windsor and Kate Moss, in case you were wondering)

So this was perhaps a slightly more elaborate take. Inspired by a breakfast dish I had at The Garage Lounge in Southsea, which was mushrooms in a white wine cream sauce, on marmite toast, with a poached egg, and was amazing, I decided to work with what I had (SO MANY MUSHROOMS) to channel similar vibes.

I pan-fried the mushrooms with garlic, and parsley, and finished with creme fraiche, piling onto rye and sunflower toast with marmite, and added some bagged salad dressed in oil and lemon to mop up the juices,because I like raw food with my meal, and i do like something acidic to cut through a rich dish. This was incredibly satisfying in the eating, and felt far more indulgent than the small amount of creme fraiche I added would have suggested it would be.

Leftovers from these meals:

None

Baked lemon and oregano chicken with goats cheese and tomato couscous

Items purchased for this meal:

None

Items already had:

Pesto: there's almost always an open jar of pesto in my fridge. Like any ex-student I've done my time eating pasta with pesto at least once a week, but now I use it as quick flavour for grains and dishes when i don't necessarily have fresh herbs.

Couscous: another storecupboard stalwart. Really good for quick, cheap, light dinners and salads. Also, call it the Ottolenghi effect, but I'm never averse to any form of grain salad at lunchtime, so having enough of a grain to bulk batch them is always good.

Oregano: From last week's trash café haul 

This was a doddle to make. I put the chicken thighs in a pan with a handful of whole, unpeeled garlic cloves, squeezed the juice of two quartered lemons over them and chucked in the lemon pieces themselves. I added a handful of oregano stems, some oil, salt, and pepper, tossed it all to coat, and left to marinade for a few hours, before baking in a gas mark 6 oven for about 45 minutes-1 hour, turning occasionally.

The couscous itself was easy, I diced onions, mint, tomatoes, and goats cheese, and tossed it together with a huge bowl of couscous i'd made up with boiling water and a glug of olive oil. lemon juice, salt, and pepper to dress.

The pesto cream was easy, I think I got this idea from one of those little booklets you get with cooking magazines, a little '30 low carb recipes for January' thing. it's just one parts pesto to two parts creme fraiche, and it's a pretty good, lazy way to perk up chicken. it's banging in sandwiches with leftover chicken as well.

A nice light meal, that was, I grant you, a bit late 90's housewife, but nonetheless, I'm always here for dishes that fill you up without bloating, and this was up there. Not to mention the flavours involved aided me in my current project to deny the fact that the weather is getting colder and winter is coming (other allies involved in this are the crisp blue skies Portsmouth is giving me, and largely being inside most of the time).

Leftovers from this meal:

4 x chicken thighs: Taken to work on two days to get me through double shifts.

About 4 portions of couscous: Taken to work alongside the chicken and some fresh fruit, because it does feel good to be smashing out your five a day even when you're working 13 or so hours of it. Also eaten upon returns home, in a bowl, in bed, while reading in my pyjamas. I guess most people have the luxury of being able to not eat late at night, but consider the humble bartender, doing a physical job until the witching hour, coming home shattered and grabbing the first thing they can find before they collapse. At least, in this instance it actually had some nutritional content. Back in my early twenties it would have been fried chicken, or spinach pastries from the 24 hour turkish supermarket at the bottom of seven sisters road (shout out to the lads at Akhdeniz, absolute fucking legends)

Tomato and mint Bruschetta with goats cheese:

Items purchased for this meal:

None

Items already had:

Salt, pepper, oil

I know, I know, another 'things on toast' moment. it probably looks like I eat far more things on toast than your average bear. I don't think I do, but actually,as a nocturnal worker, I tend to have more time in the morning to take care over what I eat and cook something from fresh.

This was a straightforward chopping of tomatoes, red onions, and mint, and tossing it with oil, lemon juice, salt and pepper, allowing to steep for a little while to draw out the juices of the tomato. then just piled onto crisp rounds of toast and topped with thinkly shaved goats cheese.

Another breakfast that allowed me to stave off the winter sads, whilst also getting the nutritional benefit of raw vegetables (I do, really, find any excuse to pack raw fruit and veg into my diet). Also, given how many tomatoes I actually had to power through this week, a raw dish of them was somewhat inevitable.

Leftovers from this meal:

Enough tomato mixture to fridge and repeat the exact same breakfast the next day before work. It was actually better the next day after the tomato mixture had time to mellow and marry.

Sweet Potato and Mushroom Frittata with chilli and soy green salad

Items purchased for this meal:

None

Items already had:

Sweet potato: from a previous trash cafe haul

Romaine lettuce leaves: from a previous trash cafe haul

Eggs: from a previous trash cafe haul

Birds eye chillies: from a previous trash cafe haul

Garlic, paprika, salt, pepper, soy.

The salad for this was simple. I snapped the asparagus tips at their natural bending point (the best way to make sure you're not eating them stringy, which is what puts most people off asparagus) and steamed them with the broccoli florets for a few minutes. I sliced white cabbage and red onion, and tossed the lot in a mixture of oil, soy, diced chilli, and lime juice, leaving to chill out in the dressing.

For the frittata I roasted diced sweet potato in oil and paprika until soft, before frying the mushrooms in garlic and oil, and adding the sweet potato to the pan. I added five beaten eggs to the hot pan and swirled over the heat to cook the base, before using a plate to flip the frittata,as I would with a spanish omelette, and cooking the other side. I left it to sit on a plate for about fifteen minutes to set fully, and then sliced it and served it with the salad, served on romaine lettuce leaves.

An odd jumble of flavours here, but it worked really nicely, and left me feeling really full up without any carbs to speak of. i ate it as a kind of hybrid breakfast/lunch situation, which is a pretty key mealtime on my days off where I don't have a strict deadline on my time.

Leftovers from this meal:

2/3 frittata: Taken to work with me to eat cold. Ideal take-to work food because you actually don't want it fridge-cold, so you can leave it in tupperware in your bag, as I did, and it's at room temperature come your break.

2 portions of salad: again, boxed up and taken to work. I find spicy food on my break means I don't so much get that just-eaten, sleepy bear feeling when I have to return to shift. That plus filling up on food that isn't carb driven means when it's time to go back on shift I've got a spring in my step.

Another week then, another series of purchase-free meals. This was the week before my first set of wages landed as well, so the purchase-free thing was still pretty key. I have, since, been buying spices and seasonings and storecupboard things, which will probably change the face of my cooking even more, but I think I'm really getting into the swing of making diverse meals over the course of a week that fill me up, are tasty, and are nutritionally pretty sound. I'm equally pleased that I'm managing to fit it around work, and that I'm also, despite being much busier these days, NOT THROWING ANYTHING AWAY. I thought for sure that being at work would mean I'd be busy, and neglecting the fridge, and ending up wasting food, but I've actually been so organized and on top of my shit that I've used up every last scrap of what I have, and I'm feeling super proud of that.

#meditations in austerity #a little goes a long way #cooking #food #chicken #mushrooms #couscous #zero waste #frugal cooking #using leftovers #love food hate waste #trash cafe #portsmouth #food diary

[meditationsinausterity]

Thank Fuck It's Monday 24/9/18

Another Monday, another chock-full week to review! I'm in such a good mood today; I feel like every week when I sit down to reflect, I actually realize how much I've managed to pack in to my days and I feel satisfied. My dad always used to say he could tell I was busy because I wouldn't have such an online presence, and I do honestly feel like he had a point, as I've been around far less this week, and am struggling to find time to keep on top of online things, but I'm still feeling super productive alongside that.

At the moment there's a convenience to the fact I seem to be regularly getting Monday off after the busy work weekend, which allows for a good mindset for taking stock of the days prior. I've been super tired as well, so it's nice to have the time to catch up on sleep before I think hard about the things I've found really enjoyable about my week. I'm sure I'd struggle to be as optimistic if I was tired and cranky. Here we go then; this is what's what's been keeping the smile on my face this week:

(A block I spotted on my sunny walk home from Southsea that reminded me a little of Mondrian - the blue on the blue sky really made me smile)

+Being receptive to appreciating the little things

I really feel like making an effort to embrace the bright side publicly every week has gotten me really tuned in to looking for the best in my days in a more active way. I obviously have days where I struggle, it would be unrealistic to say I didn't, but this week I could really feel the mood-boosting power of small incidents, like getting a couple of bunches of flowers at the trash cafe when I was feeling miserable, or serving the manager of a nearby restaurant who I'd met on my first day who said he was continuously impressed by my service style. I've really been allowing these bite-size brighteners to sink in and I think my general outlook is significantly improved as a result.

(I love art nouveau as it is, but these Alphonse Mucha mirrors in the toilet at the Wave Maiden reminded me of being in my auntie's house as a little kid, which was an odd little nostalgia fix)

+Finally feeling a sense of my own space

I'd been sofa surfing for such a long time before I moved here that actually, I think it's taken a while to realize I have, in Virginia Woolf's terms, a room of one's own. I've really been feeling the benefit of it this week; just small things like coming home and getting into freshly washed pyjamas to read a book after work, or burning incense and writing of an afternoon. Even something trivial like being able to cook to my custom youtube playlist (SO MUCH PRINCE), or listen to Huey Morgan's radio show on saturday morning lie-ins before work, has felt significant, and boosting. I think having a space where I can quietly be by myself and gather my thoughts or do things that are important to me is really starting to be beneficial to my mental wellbeing. I'm starting to feel really at home in North End as well, frequenting the local chinese and indian grocers, and buying things with my tips from a local charity shop. My neighbourhood is getting more familiar and friendly to me on the daily.

(I'm feeling really body confident at the moment, my walks and constant working seem to be giving me a much needed tone-up, but I'm also feeling really sexy and confident in myself, so I decided to show the world my sunny side)

+Getting my fucking finances sorted

Let's be real for a second here. I'm lucky to do a job in an industry I enjoy and am super passionate about. I'm lucky to have found a place in Portsmouth that has space for and values a career-oriented bartender. But at the end of the day, we all have jobs because we need money to live. I'm finally out of my bloody overdraft, which is the hugest relief, you really have no idea. I've managed to get a debit card, but I'm still waiting on a pin, which is not ideal, but it's progress. I've started chipping away at my arrears with my landlord, and will, if I keep working at the rate I am, be in the clear again in about a fortnight. I had to buy some jeans for work, and some underwear, and was able to. This all sounds like small beer I guess, but actually, alleviating the constant grind of financial anxiety is a huge weight off, and has freed up my mental energy to focus on my day-to-day challenges a lot more. it's nice to have that energy back, and to know I'm getting back to the self-sufficiency I've valued and prided myself on for my entire adult life.

(I love flowers so when we got loads at the trash cafe I picked myself two bunches of the brightest and most beautiful to take home and have on my windowsill and I smile every time I see them)

+Honourable mentions

A fun little present my landlord got me from bath - Turning ready meals into something delicious at the trash cafe - U got the Look by prince - Jasmine scented everything - Catching the sun on my nose in September - The sheer intimacy of good sex - bumping into a pal while buying fags in the 24 hour shop on the way home from work and having a catch up - learning how to work in the restaurant at work as well - buying and using indian spices again - showing my city to someone new - wine and pizza on the sofa after work - being helpful to obviously junior hospitality members while out and about on my day off - the lady in the bank recognising me while out and about - the sheer usefulness and affordability of wilkinson's - a present of a book that was so on point i didn't know what to say - feeling beautiful and at home in my body - staying up late listening to youtube and talking - finding a new fucking JAM - matching underwear - shooting the breeze over red wine in the pub - being really fucking HONEST about what I will and won't put up with - the luxury of having my opinion corroborated by somebody and feeling less fucking crazy about everything - taking healthy home-cooked food to work rather than feeling overcarbed and bloated - a catch up phonecall with mama bear - the excitement of meeting interesting new people - completely obliterating my laundry pile - the fact the cat has stopped avoiding me now that I've been in charge of feeding her a couple of times - getting closer every day to mastering latte art (I'm so nearly there) - old portsmouth in the sunshine

#meditations in austerity #thank fuck it's monday #postivity #gratitude #personal blog #portsmouth

[meditationsinausterity]

A Little Goes A Long Way: donated green tomatoes and a cheeky bit of chicken.

So initially I'd envisaged these zero-waste food posts as neat little triptychs of three meals that succinctly used up primarily one product, as that's how it's worked before. But leftovers and cooking with them is never that neat and tidy, especially if you're only really using enough for one person every time, as things get carried over to different days of the week to avoid repetition, and you tend to be working with different combinations of the same ingredients a lot of the time, as most things aren't readily available in the small portions necessary for those of us extending our early twenties living situations indefinitely (and we are legion, just as a heads up).

This juggling the same combinations of ingredients is increasingly the case of what is now becoming a typical cooking week for me, in which I bring home surplus produce from the trash cafe, often in larger amounts than i would need for one meal, and have to think of creative ways to use it. I'm not sure I actually purchased a single ingredient for this particular set of meals, because I didn't need to, most of it coming from my volunteering stints. As I'm employed now, I'm sure purchases will start to pop up here and there in the form of storecupboard ingredients and so on, but actually, I'm rather enjoying the challenge of my ingredients choosing me rather than vice versa, and it feels pretty good to be feeding myself on food that would otherwise have been going to waste (probably landfill as well, which it doesn't bear thinking about).

Meal 1: Cumin-fried Green tomatoes and cream cheese on toast.

Purchased for this meal:

Nothing

Items I already had:

Green tomatoes: Donated to me by my lovely friend Lou, after a fry up and a catch up about work, art, the universe and everything. She'd bought the plants from her son's school and had a glut, so it was really sweet of her to share them with me.

Cream cheese: Surplus from cooking pasta at the trash cafe

Bread: last few bits from a loaf kicking about in the freezer

Gram Flour: the bedfellow is having a major Push Toward Adulthood as well at the moment, and it's manifesting itself in him clearing out the kitchen cupboards at his. He had loads of bag ends of flour that he wanted rid of and I shotgunned them rather than letting them get chucked out.

Cumin, ghost pepper garlic salt.

Pretty straightforward this one. I actually really love fried green tomatoes, I can still remember the first time I ate them, in bed with the American head waiter from the bar across the road from mine, still pretty buzzed from the night before, idly talking about theatre and drinking coffee. I usually dust mine in cornmeal, but I didn't have any, so I went down more of a pakora route with cumin and gram flour, and just shallow fried them in batches until crispy, before turning them out onto kitchen roll and absolutely dusting them with chilli salt. Then you just pile them onto toast spread with cream cheese and dig in.

I can't really recommend this enough; it's basically like a socially acceptable version of jalapeno poppers, which are the deep fried, ruthlessly chavvy, junk food of the gods. I would eat an order of them right now, or any time in fact, stone cold sober, i don't even care. It was a most excellent breakfast, to the point where I was actually tempted by a repeat the next day.

Leftovers from this meal:

None

Meal two: Salami and Mushroom scrambled eggs on toast with green tomato 'salsa'

Purchased for this meal:

Nothing

Items I already had:

Green tomatoes: half a bag left from Lou's donation

Rye bread: from the trash cafe

Salami with black truffle: We had diced this in the kitchen in preparation for a spicy tomato pasta, but then we got delivered a load of defrosted chicken from a famously 'cheeky' peri peri franchise, so a change of plan resulted in me bringing what we'd already diced home.

Eggs: we got delivered loads of eggs mid-service at the trash cafe so had no time to put them out that day because we have to check the dates and for breakages. I made scrambled eggs on toast for another volunteer's little boy, because he was poorly, so I put the rest of the box with the things I was gonna take home.

Mushrooms: had half a pack left after making lemongrass and coconut chicken at the trash cafe, so true to my 'open it, use the whole thing' policy they came home with me

Parsley: half a bag left from use in the kitchen at the trash cafe. Onion (left over from my last food shop which was aeons ago now) Lime juice (bottled, blech, but needed using),

Ghost pepper garlic salt.

I am not going to insult you by telling you how to fry things off and scramble them with eggs. And if I ever have to explain to somebody how to toast bread then I've gone wrong somewhere in life, or had children; neither of which are scenarios I'm holding out for.

I will have a word about my salsa though; obviously my default salsa recipe is diced onion, chopped tomato, lime, salt, and coriander. I had fresh parsley, and honestly, while it may not be 'authentic', and may be a slightly different flavour profile, I'm a 'love the one you're with' girl in the kitchen. I don't need my food to be by the book, I need it to be tasty. And this so-called-salsa managed that just fine. It was spicy as fuck as well, which is how I like pretty much everything. This was a definite breakfast of champions, and made me glad I didn't just lazily repeat the previous day's efforts, tempting though it was.

Leftovers from this meal:

Half a jar of salsa: fridged and kept to use on something else (with the hope of it becoming more spicy as the flavours melded).

Meal three: Chicken noodle soup

Items purchased for this meal:

None

Items already had for this meal:

1/2 precooked chicken, bone in: A leftover from cooking at the trash cafe, I shredded and stir fried 2 half-chickens, and ended up bringing home one half-chicken on the bone and some leftover shredded meat, because it had already been frozen and defrosted, therefore and needed using up. onions, carrots, garlic

Parsley: leftover from use in the kitchen at the trash cafe

Tub of mixed, chopped, stir fry vegetables: From the kitchen of the trash cafe, We had several packs of these that needed to be used on that Wednesday or they would have to be chucked. I think I got through about eight packs and took two home with me,but there were still, sadly, loads left. If I had more freezer space I'd have bought more home, but there's no sense in me taking what I can't use.

Birdseye chillies: leftover from a packet opened in the kitchen at trash cafe.

Noodles: I always have noodles. Still on those Aldi straight to wok badboys.

Soy: requisitioned from my mother's cupboard on my last visit cos she had two bottles.

So my shift at the trash cafe on this week involved the surprise curveball of several alarmingly big-titted (I speak from envy) half-chickens, pre-cooked, and frozen, from a well known peri peri chain. I merrily defrosted and shredded them and served them stir fried in a chilli coconut lemongrass sauce with insane amounts of stir fry veg. Sadly, during service, I didn't get through as much of the chicken as I would have liked, so I ended up bringing home half a bird on the bone, and probably about half a bird's worth of shredded meat. If I'd have been really thinking, I'd have saved the bones from the birds I shredded during service, because I knew I was going to make stock with what I bought home; in true zero waste style. But I wasn't thinking, in true Kirsty Mitchell style. 

So first thing in the morning I diced onion and carrot, smashed a few garlic cloves, and lopped the stalks off the parsley, gently frying it without colouring on a low heat. I stripped the white meat off the half chicken, not too intensely, as I wanted the dark meat to help flavour the stock. I lobbed in the bones and topped the pan up with water, then once bought to the boil I left it to simmer away for the whole morning, skimming off any scum and occasionally topping up with water so that the bones were covered, before straining.

The actual assembly of the soup took literally minutes. I fried off a sliced chilli with as much stir fry veg as I could fit in a pan with a block of noodles, before topping up with the stock, chucking in a handful of shredded chicken meat, and letting boil until the noodles were just done. chucked it in a bowl, topped it with a splish of soy and loosely chopped parsley and that was literally it.

Is it beginning to be obvious how into noodle soup i actually am? I honestly eat enough of it in different guises to really notice how much BETTER it is with homemade stock. I was so impressed with the quality of the stock i managed to get out of these pre-cooked chain restaurant chickens. As I mentioned, they were incredibly top heavy birds, and often you find birds bred for their meat aren't much in the bone department, but actually this was one of the better chicken stocks I've made in a long time. I know that a lot of what I cook isn't very complicated, at least I don't think I'm using any skills that could be considered above and beyond the average home cook, but it's the taking the time to make every last ingredient count, as in the case of making stock, that I find really makes the difference between an alright meal and a deeply satisfying one. This was a perfect example of that.

Leftovers from this meal:

2x portions of stock: I will own up to the fact I liked this so much I had it three times over the course of the week. Good job and all because I had a glut of stir fry vegetables and shredded chicken meat to use, but it definitely undermines my 'I don't like to eat the same thing all the time' protests. I guess there should be a noodle soup get out clause on that, cos I really do eat it all the fucking time, and it doesn't irritate me one little bit. I think it's because I can be quite remiss at eating carbs as I don't like the soporific effect of them, but in a soup they tend to slip into my system unnoticed.

Meal Four: Herbed chicken and Green Tomato open sandwiches

Purchased for this meal:

Nothing

Items I already had:

Rye bread (from the trash cafe)

Shredded pre-cooked chicken (from the trash cafe)

Creme fraiche (From the trash cafe)

Parsley (from the trash cafe)

Green tomato salsa (leftover from previous cook)

Black pepper (storecupboard)

So this was a really simple, not-really-cooking-whatsoever thrown together number that I whipped up after I'd got home from my interview and accepted the job offer. I was absolutely starving, and the pressure I've been under had lifted, so my body seemed to finally let me feel tired, all at once, meaning i was also absolutely aching for a nap.

I had the tomato salsa leftover from my scrambled eggs the other morning, but also a whole world of chicken, so I decided to be lazy and make sandwiches. I try, as previously mentioned, not to overcarb, so I went the open route to minimize that, toasting the rye bread as it was frozen due to being a trash cafe, due-to-expire rescue. all I really did was toss a load of the chicken in creme fraiche, black pepper, and shredded parsley, mainly to combat any dryness that might be going on because the chicken had been pre-shredded and fridged.

I just piled it on the toast, whacked the salsa on top, and ate it curled up in bed with my book before nodding off to sleep. By no means complicated, but it doesn't always have to be, does it? Delicious nonetheless, especially since the salsa had been allowed to sit and get spicier in the fridge.

Leftovers from this meal:

None.

Meal Five: Spaghetti with Salami, chilli, and Tomato

Items purchased for this meal:

Nothing

Items I already had:

Diced Salami with black truffle (i by no means used all I had at breakfast the other day)

Cherry tomatoes (A handful not used in the salads at the trash cafe kitchen)

Parsley (the last handful from my trash cafe kitchen leftovers)

Oregano (trash cafe leftovers)

Spaghetti

Birds eye chilli (from my neverending stash from the trash cafe kitchen leftovers)

Onions, garlic. Black pepper

An exercise, pretty much, in clearing the fridge before another shift at the trash cafe, combined with a need for some quick fuel for a writing burst on a day off.

 Really simple, as most of my pasta dishes tend to be. I put the spaghetti on to boil, and sliced some garlic and onion, which I softened in some oil without colouring. I threw in the salami, sliced chilli and oregano leaves, and turned up the heat to let the meat give up it's oil in the pan and crisp. at the last minute i put the cherry tomatoes, untouched as they were so small, into the pan, and lightly crushed them as they softened to let them give up their juice to the mix.

When the pasta was done, all I did was toss it through the mix with a few spoonfuls of the pan water, until thoroughly coated, before adding black pepper liberally and chucking some shredded parsley over the top.

So spicy, and satisfying, eaten while typing furiously and, therefore; shamefully, not necessarily given the attention food should deserve. Modern life is rubbish, and so on. At least in my hasty multitasking I'm eating something satisfying and homemade, I suppose. My days off these days seem to be either stuck in a whirlwind of inspiration at keyboard, or furiously swearing at tumblr's html formatting - it's odd how quickly i've gone from oceans of time to write, to having to force it into my schedule around shifts, and I need to make sure I don't slip into bad habits of procrastinating around the house. A quick, twenty minute burst of cooking like this, followed by a kitchen clean, is a good way to take a breather before going back to re-edit, without getting myself lost in a meditative kitchen session. Don't get me wrong, those are handy sometimes, but the best way to be a writer is to write, and if I'm constantly at stove, that's not happening, is it?

 Anyway this was another dish that felt more than the sum of its hastily thrown together parts; it's great when things that really need to be used up come together in a way that doesn't feel like deprivation, no?

Leftovers from this meal:

None. I was obviously on another cold-snap carb rampage.

Another week of not feeling in any way hard done by in my quest to use up every last bit of food that comes into the house. Amazingly, purchase-free, as well. I'm pretty sure the only edible I bought this week was a jar of instant coffee, because, well, remember that episode of the simpsons where Barney gives up alcohol and becomes a tweaked out caffeine addict? That's basically what's happening at Mitchell towers. And don't say shit, yeah? until caffeine ruins my emotional health the way alchohol did, I'll be using it as a crutch. Especially since nicotine is rapidly becoming less and less of a viable option. The fact that adulthood seems to mean slowly relinquishing things I love makes me revise my previous pride to have made it through the 27 club.

I think with my next one of these posts, what I might do is begin with a run-down of what I bought back with me from the trash cafe, and take it from there. Just because then I'll avoid repeating myself too much, and it will also, I feel, be more coherent in the reading. When you have a fridge literally teeming with things begging to be used up, you have to get somewhat creative in the order you use them in, so I feel like this week's meals skipped around a little bit, since I was trying to mix it up so I didn't get bored of the same thing day after day, not to mention trying to get various different food groups included in my diet. i feel like starting with a 'master list' of sorts will help everything make more sense.

Still, I'm pleased with how this is shaping up and evolving; it's giving you a far more accurate and coherent picture of how I cook and eat day to day in order to avoid wasting anything; and I'm also looking forward to seeing how patterns emerge as I get more time-poor due to full time work. I'm gonna have to get more savvy on prep and re-use of leftovers in order to feed myself at, and after work, which I feel might make my writing more relatable to more people, who don't have all day to potter. It's all welland good being unemployed and having all the time in the world to let things sit on the stove while you get on with things around the house, but with only two days off a week to fit in all that and the other things that keep an adult life ticking over like laundry, volunteering, and let's face it, in my case, getting laid, I'll be interested to see what directions my cooking develops in.

#meditations in austerity #personal blog #food #cooking #using leftovers #zero waste #a little goes a long way #love food hate waste #chicken #noodles #green tomatoes

[meditationsinausterity]

Thank Fuck It's Monday 17/9/18

This week has been CRAZY BUSY, honestly, I am so tired. But in a really good way; I feel like I've actually been doing productive things with my time, and it's really nice to come home after a day of mental and physical productivity -one of the things about being unemployed that got to me was the desperate fervour I had to not be wasting my time. No danger of that anymore. I'm currently struggling to keep my eyes open as I type this, but I'm up early cos I've a busy day ahead and I desperately want to get this out on time (I normally try and write it over the course of the week, but busy busy busy). I've got lots to be thankful for this week, and honestly I'm glad I have created this point of recollection and focus, because otherwise I'm not sure I'd have time to stop and smell the roses, so to speak:

+Settling in at work.

Honestly I feel like I've been at work far longer already than a week. Everyone's been really friendly and welcoming, and it's amazing to get to know a whole new crew of people. It's a bigger team than I've ever worked on outside of London, but I like that, cos there's more opportunity for diversity. I also feel like I've already learned so much in the space of this week, and it's been nice that people are starting to respond to the product knowledge and experience that I have; new responses to it always remind me how much I've actually achieved in my career. There were leaving drinks last night, and I popped along for what's now becoming my signature 'one glass of wine then disappear' move, but it was really nice to feel like part of the group, not just like the new kid.

(Saw this pasteup on the way to work yesterday - I definitely think that the tension between these two states has been pretty vital to me at the moment; I'm really enjoying the thrill of moving forward. It's worth the fear.)

+Walking around my city.

I think when I was unemployed I mentioned the joys of the slightly aimless stroll and the time to notice everything and take in things you wouldn't normally have time for. That's all well and good but there's also something to be said for the purposeful stride to somewhere you need to be. I walk from North end to Gunwharf and back nearly every day, and when I want to go out and do things I also walk everywhere. It makes me feel independent and powerful to not be reliant on any external factors to get from A to B, and I also, even when I'm really tired, can feel the good that the regular exercise does my body. We've had some beautiful sunny days recently, which has made it even more of a joy; and I'm obsessed with, and getting good at, finding little shortcuts to shave time off my journeys.

+Feeling really good in my body

Having suffered with my body image for most of my adult life, I'd definitely say I'm in a relatively good place with it these days. However, it's hard, sometimes, to stay grounded, and where I've had a huge period of inactivity, or less activity than usual, I have struggled not to feel a little bit anxious about weight gain. I think I told the bedfellow that i felt 'a bit squishy' recently, which he promptly, and probably quite accurately refuted. it has only been a week of work so far, a relatively long one including a hefty dose of double shifts, but where I'm constantly standing, moving, lifting, and using energy, I feel more positive about my body and how it looks, and how I feel in it. I can actually take a satisfaction in it's strength and resilience, and even at night when my legs are tired, i run my fingers idly over the muscles i can feel and I'm happy with the work I can do.

(Another graffiti spotted while I was walking yesterday - I'm not sure if I wholeheartedly agree with this one, but I'm certainly more tuned in to the internal negotiations that go on in order to maintain it)

+Honourable mentions

Wow by 3rdeyegirl - Somebody cooking me a dish from their childhood - A huge catch up with my mum on Wednesday night - celebrating my new job with prosecco - getting back into the swing of clowning around at work - realizing i'm doing at least five alchohol free days without thinking about it - being cooked for when I'm sleepy - a great kitchen shift at the trash cafe - Getting my five a day without thinking too much about it - making the guy on the phone at the job centre laugh by making up my own phonetic alphabet - avon lipstick in peach flatters - my super cosy quilted men's jacket - long showers - a nice lady seeing me trying to roll a cigarette in classic pompey high winds and insisting i take a real one - moisturiser in all it's forms - listening to the Huey Morgan show in bed and eating bruschetta before work

#meditations in austerity #personal blog #positivity #gratitude #thank fuck it's monday

[meditationsinausterity]

A Little Goes A Long Way - It started with salmon

Here I am with another in my 'A little goes a long way' series about the ways in which I try not to waste food while cooking for one. This time, it'll be more true to how I ordinarily cook for myself, in the kitchen I currently work in, because these are all dishes I've made for myself at home.

I have a small amount of storecupboard ingredients here, some purchased, others gleaned or reclaimed from my Mum's house on the Isle of Wight, so I'll be probably even more thorough in the provenance of the ingredients I'm using, both as a means for me to monitor my spending habits, and as a way for you guys to see how I build up a storecupboard as I go. I'm trying to be transparent here because I find that on a limited or nonexistent income, those articles you read that outline what you should already have in your cupboard tend to imply a not very viable initial financial outlay. Plus what I use regularly may differ from you, because if we all liked the same things, life's rich tapestry would be more like life's cheap carpet. This is an exercise in me documenting how I work with what I've got, not an exhortation to any readers to immediately go and stock up their cupboards with a load of things at once, some of which they may not use.

Day one: Chilli salt salmon, Massaman curry, and boiled rice.

Purchased for this meal:

Tin of coconut milk (picked up on the way back from the job centre at Tesco, so probably about a quid)

Items I already had:

2 x salmon fillets, acquired volunteering in the kitchen at the trash cafe

Massaman curry paste (Morrisons I think, hauled back from the Isle of Wight as mum had hundreds of curry pastes languishing in her cupboard, and while I like to make my own, going out for ingredients to do so at the moment is not doable)

Basmati rice (something I almost always have in the cupboard)

Onions, White cabbage, Carrots, Potato (had done a minor food shop a while ago; my policy on veg is to buy whatever's cheap and let it dictate what I make)

Seasonings: fish sauce, garlic chilli salt.

I don't imagine many people need to be told how to make a curry from paste, or boil rice, or pan fry salmon, so I'm probably not going to go into the nitty gritty of that. Feel free to pipe up from the back if you'd rather I went into detail, but I don't want to appear like I'm talking down to the people who are so kind as to read this. A pretty simple meal all-in-all, but the kind of thing I like to eat when I'm by myself, as I'm not a fan of overdoing it on rich and heavy food, and I'd had a weekend of red meat at Mum's, and a few rather indulgent breakfasts and evenings with the bedfellow upon my return.

Leftovers from this meal:

A salmon fillet: I pan fried both, knowing I had plans for the spare. I'll often do this with fish, as it usually comes in packs of two or more. Even when I portion it out to freeze or use frozen fish, I'll normally cook 2 pieces with something in mind for the following day; it's a pretty good piece of time economics that I got into the habit of during my first managerial job in London. If you know you're going to be busy the next day, having a protein ready to build something around cuts out some time and thought.

Approx 2x portions of massaman: Fridged, with only vague ideas. Even if just reheated with rice or noodles, I was pretty convinced I'd figure out a way to avoid making its reappearance feel like the dinner equivalent of Groundhog Day.

1 portion of rice: I will always cook too much rice. I pretty much get more excited for fried rice than for whatever I'm cooking to have the original rice with in the first place. Sometimes my instagram literally reads as though I live on fried rice. The passion I have for it is honestly not normal. I actually order it when I get takeaway too. And will eat it cold if I make or order too much, which is one of the more grim things I've publicly declared recently. So there's something you probably wish you didn't know about me, enjoy that one on the house.

  Day 2: Spaghetti with salmon, tomato and garlic cream sauce.

Purchased for this meal:

Literally nothing. How's that for the Holy grail of leftovers cooking??

Things I already had: 1 x pan fried salmon fillet (from previous meal)

2 x tomatoes (leftover from aformentioned food shop)

Onions, garlic

1/2 tub of creme fraiche (I used the other half to make a sauce at Trash Cafe, and when I cook there, if I don't use all of a product I bring the rest home. He who opened it is responsible for not wasting it)

Some chives (also used to make sauce during my voluntary shift, and therefore adopted and taken home to finish life completely used instead of binned)

Dried spaghetti (there is almost always pasta in my cupboard, I do prefer lighter sauces so more than likely a kind that requires a thin coating of a light sauce - spaghetti or linguine are good all rounders for this)

So the method behind this was simple and quick in the extreme. Put the spaghetti to boil in bubbling salty water, and soften garlic and chopped onions on a low heat without browning. add diced tomatoes and allow to gently break down a little - we're not going for total demolition here, just a light yield and a goldeny gloss to the mixture from the juice. let it putter really gently while the pasta cooks.

Just before the pasta's ready, take the pan off the heat, flake in the salmon, and add the creme fraiche and some black pepper, gently stirring to mix without obliterating the texture of the ingredients. toss with the drained spaghetti in the hot pasta pan, with perhaps a spoonful of the pan water. Plate, and scissor the chives over, and maybe (definitely) some more black pepper.

Pretty pleased with this one to be honest; I fall in and out of love with pasta dishes but the weather is getting colder, so carbs are on the agenda; not to mention this one wasn't too stodgy (I'm not much of a one for soporific dinners). The acid in the tomatoes and the creme fraiche kind of cut through the fats to create balance. It was radically different from the previous day's meal, which is a blessing when you're alone but trying to use up ingredients, and it was an excuse for me to eat fish (I welcome any excuse, it is my preferred protein because it's so light, and is good for all the things I'm vain about like my hair and nails).

Leftovers from this meal:

None. Which is astonishing given how much pasta I cooked. But reader, I ate the whole thing. Unapologetically. And then told you about it. Punk truly isn't dead.

Day Three: Noodles in Massaman Lamb Broth with pickled cabbage.

Purchased for this meal:

Absolutely nothing again. I am ON IT with the leftover skills here.

Items I already had for this meal:

Lamb leg bone with a substantial amount of roast meat still clinging to it. Donated to me by my landlord, who had roasted the lamb the day previous. This kind of thing happens to me more often than you'd reckon. When I was staying with my friends prior to this, if a chicken was roasted, Aaron would leave me the carcass to crack on with stock and I'd churn out at least a soup from it for people to dig at. I think it's a sign that really, nobody likes the idea of food going to waste, so if they can pass it to somebody with the inclination and ability to use it, they will. It's very encouraging.

Carrots, Onions   & Garlic

Noodles (I always have noodles kicking about, currently some Aldi straight-to wok ones, but even if it's just own brand instant ramen, I consider them key to instant meals out of basically nothing)

2 x portions massaman curry (leftover from previous cook)

1/4 white cabbage (unused in previous cook)

Salt, white wine vinegar, pepper.

So, this is a bit of a curveball at the end here, I'm aware of that. Adam mentioned to me that there was leftover lamb on the bone and so my mind turned to stock and what to do with it.

There's an unwritten rule that if you work in enough North London pubs, you'll eventually work in one with a franchised Thai kitchen*, and your long-in-the-tooth seasoned North Londoner host has definitely racked up enough gastropub miles to have found herself in exactly such a place. On the menu at said pub, we had a dish of the highest order of fusion food fuckery: a massaman lamb shank. Eventually giving in to my curiosity, piqued by the popularity of the dish, and my confidence in the chefs, I braved it one day and unexpectedly didn't regret it whatsoever. The kind of Franken-dish that shouldn't have worked, but did. It was harmoniously rich, sweet, and spicy, and at least a change-ringer from red wine jus and mash. The combo obviously lodged somewhere in my brain, because it's what I decided to harness here.

I don't have all the aromatics I'd really like to make a stock in the cupboard yet, but onions, garlic, salt, pepper, and carrots will make a passable one with meat and bones, so I whacked that on while I was making breakfast, to putter on the stove all afternoon.

After straining, shredding the meat and re-adding it, I tipped in the leftover massaman curry and left to simmer gently so the flavours could marry.

Lightly pickling veggies is easy. mix boiling water with some white wine vinegar and add a little salt and sugar, and leave veggies (in this case shredded cabbage) to sit for 30 mins to an hour.

To finish this I just lightly fried the noodles, as straight to wok ones are usually misted with a fine coating of oil and it pays to get rid of some of that or it'll just rise to the surface of your broth and make slurping them vaguely unpleasant (trust me on this, my fervour for making noodle soups is almost on par with that for fried rice). I then topped them with some of the broth, meat and vegetables, and simmered for a few minutes, before dumping it in a bowl and topping with the pickled cabbage.

A ridiculously good meal, rich and spicy and sweet and filling, with a good amount of acidity to cut through it from the pickled cabbage. And yet again, radically different in flavour from the previous days efforts. I'm convinced if I wasn't heavily emphasizing the shared parentage of these dishes, the casual observer mightn't notice it, because it certainly wasn't apparent in the eating.

Leftovers from this meal:

2 x portions of Lamb massaman broth. I made an exact re-run the day after, as I'd a busy day ahead of me (job centre and a stint in the kitchen at the trash cafe) and therefore didn't have to think too hard about what to eat before I headed out. the other portion got frozen for either the same use at a time when the repetition wouldn't fatigue my palate, or to be further cooked down and eaten with rice.

So that's a surprisingly purchase-free series of meals; I've actually impressed myself writing it all down, frankly. not to mention all the meals have been hugely different from each other, which makes using up leftovers feel less like a thing of deprivation and more like an exercise in creativity.

*Unrelated note: This brings to mind a discussion had over a drinking bender with a former boss of mine who moved in just down the road from me when I was in my Finsbury Park flat. He was very good at hospitality, and seemed to both reckon I was AND value my opinion on it, so our boozy N4 nights would often devolve into talks about the industry, and his future businesses, and would be thoroughly enjoyable. He mused one night, 'I wonder if it's too soon to make Thai food in a pub A Thing again?' and I said 'Not yet, they're only just getting over pulled pork'. I still think not yet, let the current Mexican zeitgeist (seriously, went out for dinner on albert rd with bedfellow the other week and it was sub-par burritos EVERYWHERE) pass, wait for the next one to emerge and subside, and then perhaps it'll be retro enough can be revived. Hi, Dan, if you're reading, by the way.

#food #cooking #meditations in austerity #love food hate waste #budget cooking #using leftovers #salmon #curry #lamb #noodles #home economics #personal blog #food diary #cooking for one #dinner #recipe

[meditationsinausterity]

Thank Fuck It's Monday - 10/9/18

Monday again, and time to take stock of the week that was. A change of pace perhaps from my previous round-ups, as I've been much busier, and it's been more action-packed as a result. I'm slowly getting back to what I consider to being a normal participant in society, rather than existing in the margins of unemployment, and it feels really good. It's like using muscles you've not flexed in a while; you remember your own strengths and capabilities, and it's a real reminder of not just being the sum of your parts. Without further ado then, here's all the things that have been rocking my world this week:

+GETTING A JOB

(My interview outfit - New look sunglasses and a shirtdress picked up from a car boot for a quid. Beautiful.)

I had an interview for a supervisor job on Friday morning, which went really well. I was nervous, because despite my experience I've only been applying for entry-level positions, as I can honestly say that my confidence and self belief are still not where they should be since I left the capital. I've been anxious that I don't want to spread myself too thin while I'm in therapy and still existing on a precarious foundation, but the manager who interviewed me immediately saw my capability and snapped me up so fast I barely had time to catch my breath. I started on Saturday and have done two double shifts over the course of the weekend, and I'm loving it. It's busy enough to be what I'm used to in terms of activity, and everyone who works there has been really friendly and welcoming. It's nice to be back to what I'm good at, and to come home feeling like I've actually achieved something of a day. I'm physically tired, but mentally stimulated, and I'm already being encouraged to focus on promotion and progress; my boss has really responded to my desire to settle down and build myself a life, which is really heartening. I'm waking up excited to go and see what my day holds again, rather than having to spur myself on to try and force things to happen all the time.

+Really feeling on top of my alcohol game.

(A neon sign spotted on my post-work wind-down. Still always glued to kitsch)

This week I have literally only racked up one glass of wine, and that was on Saturday night, with my coworkers. I didn't even really feel like I needed another one, which is impressive to me because I could have been a ball of anxiety in a crew of new people to impress and just absoutely gone for it. When you do bar, kitchen, or restaurant work, you come home with a really bizarre feeling of being physically drained and mentally alert, that would usually have me reaching for the wine bottle, but actually this week I have not even given it a second thought, getting into bed slathered in coconut oil with a book instead, and that's felt really good. I'm not, and am ideally never, aiming for total abstinence, but I can honestly say I feel like this week of changes not making me feel like I wanted a drink whatsoever feels really good. It might seem like a trivial victory to an outsider, but the fact I'm managing significant change in my life with a clear head, and not feeling even remotely like doing otherwise makes me feel strong, and like the work I've put in to avoid binging is really paying off.

+Volunteering at the Trash Café

(The beautiful produce I had to work with on Wednesday night: It's sheer insanity that this would have found it's way to the bin, I felt like a lucky chef to have it)

I know I mentioned it last week, but just because something was positive before doesn't mean it's not still a huge plus going forward. I love my time at Buckland Community centre, cooking up pay-as-you-feel meals with food that would have gone to waste. Turning up and being given ingredients that need to be used is a really exciting creative challenge (this week was a spicy sweet potato and green bean stew and stir fried coconut chicken) that I love rising to. I'm loving getting to know the crew that work there, I already feel like I'm making some friends outside of my normal social circle, which I have always liked doing. I can't help but feel good about doing something good, providing meals for people who may not necessarily have loads of cash, or just want to support the elimination of food waste. I clean down the kitchen and feel like I've done something worthwhile, it's a really different glow to the one I normally get after work of just feeling like I've done the best I can. It's also different from my workaday life; I'm in the kitchen sending the tickets, rather than front of house, and I laugh everytime the girls call me chef. It satisfies my love of cooking, which is well and truly rekindled. It's also cool to come home with food that would otherwise be chucked, as it encourages me to be creative in the kitchen rather than getting into a rut of cooking the same things week-in week-out; I've never enjoyed my life when I've seen food as fuel, it's too reminiscent of when I was trying to live on the barest minimum calories possible. Far better to approach the kitchen and cooking as a creative project, and a source of joy and stress relief, which is definitely my current approach. I've made sure work already know how important my volunteering stints are to my peace of mind, so I'll be continuing to rock the kitchen on weekly basis.

+Honourable Mentions

Talking to someone who really and truly GETS having a complex relationship with alcohol and feeling amazing about being able to be totally honest about it - Girlfriend by Christine and the Queens - Walking across a deserted Guildhall square on Sunday night and being seized with a wave of nostalgia for the youth I spent in this city - The surprising quality of chicken stock from pre-cooked Nando's surplus - The Book of Dave by Will Self - rediscovering Dusty Springfield of a morning - a customer asking me what my perfume was (Issey Miyake sport pour homme at the moment, if you're wondering) because he wanted it for himself - Getting my 5 a day - Black coffee allll the time - Feeling the strength in my legs as I walk everywhere - Being referred to as a natural leader - The familiar joy of surplus yorkshire puddings and roast potatoes in a hidden corner

#personal blog #meditations in austerity #thank fuck it's monday #positivity #gratitude #volunteering #work #cooking #hospitality #list

[meditationsinausterity]

Self Care on a Shoestring: Skincare

I can't help but be annoyed that the phrase 'self-care' these days means little more than an excuse to instagram yourself in the bath or buy a new nail varnish, when to those actively participating in any kind of therapy it means so much more. It's the endless chronicling of activity to notice patterns, the developing of coping strategies and systems to break them, the non-stop monitoring of behaviours that take you away from or towards your goal. Not to mention reminding yourself to eat, to get fresh air, to spend time around the people that make you feel like you can truly be yourself. Sometimes it's as simple as opening the curtains; sometimes it's as intense as having a conversation with someone about the fact that the social behaviours they expect of you are in direct conflict with your best interests.

Still, it is what it is, and self-care has become tied up very much with the idea of personal grooming, so it's the term I'll go with. I'm not going to deny that there is an element of wellbeing maintenance in taking care of your appearance. i know for a fact that if i get anxious, the way i look is often the first noticeable sign of slippage. And conversely, that sometimes standing under the shower methodically shampooing my hair can feel like the most infinitely head-clearing, mindful experience.

In an appearance-obsessed culture it's a dangerous gambit to propose that you have to look good to feel good, and it's not one I'm prepared to set my stock in as a way to live. For one thing, I don't have any beauty products to sell you when you get the subsequent fear. For another, everybody's mileage varies on what 'best' means, and that is fine. i get bored of adverts telling me I'm not enough, and i don't really want to add to that noise.

I am, however, incredibly vain, or rather, incredibly honest about it. I have been reflecting lately on a lot of my flaws; impatience, stubbornness, etc. and realizing that I'm not much more so than a lot of people I know, i just admit to it openly, but more on that another time. I'm also very interested in fashion, and by extension, beauty. When I have money, I do splurge on products for my appearance, but when I don't, I'm also pretty good at improvising solutions to take time for the beauty rituals that make me feel put together, pretty and stylish, without spending. The beauty industry thrives on the thrill of the new, of the purchase, of the sale, and it's pretty easy to get caught up in that product-lust, and feel all the consumer envy and anxiety that comes with not having enough spending power to participate. My approach to it all is a lot more laid back than it used to be; I focus less on the purchase, more on techniques and ritual that are of benefit and feel relaxing and luxurious.

So I thought I'd talk about how I keep myself feeling and looking on point with fuck all in the bank. And given a discussion with my friend Lou and I had over breakfast the other day in which I announced that I prioritise skincare over makeup because 'I can wash off a drawn on face, I only get one real one', I thought i would start with skincare. I mean, it's the building blocks of anything else you do to your face, and you do it every day, so it's important, right? I'm only going into what I do here, because it's all I'm qualified to talk about, so if you're happy with soap and water, or you want a full ten step k-beauty style regime, go you. But if I can teach anyone how to save a quid or try something they didn't know about in their grooming, then I'm doing what I set out to do.

(I didn't want this to be a product picture heavy post as that goes against what I'm trying to tell you, so I dug out a load of makeup free pictures of myself to illustrate that I have quite a good point when it comes to skincare)

Buying skincare

Okay, I know I said this wasn't about the purchase power angle, but obviously there are certain things you will regularly buy. So this is my hustler's advice to get them for the cheapest you physically can.

The first thing I'll say here is, HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO BRAND LOYALTY. If a beauty brand wants you to ship them, you shouldn't have to pay for your shit. Sure, if you find something you love, and wanna carry on using it, and it's within your means, go ahead, but these products are not essentials, or must haves. They are jars of goo. Mostly very similar ones. Most products that claim to do similar things will, indeed, do very similar things, at radically different price points. I love fragrance and packaging as much as the next person, but they don't make me feel ten times more beautiful, so I'm not paying ten times what I would for them.

On a related note; buying a more expensive product and skimping on application is a fool's errand. Get the cheaper one and use it as it was intended. Active ingredients have a job to do, and if you're not using enough of them, you may as well not be, so buying something that you feel is 'better' because it costs more and then applying it as though it were irreplaceable unicorn tears is a ridiculous waste of your time. Plus, it's not very self-caring to treat your face as if it's only worthy of half measures now, is it? you're gonna need the full whack for proper facial massage and shit anyway. Be realistic.

And back to brand loyalty. Don't be loyal where you shop, either. Everywhere needs your business these days, we're in recession. Anywhere that sells skincare will have countless promos on it, and you can use this to your advantage to stretch your buck as far as possible. I will admit, i do gravitate back to superdrug regularly, because they do court my business in such a way: they almost always have 3 for 2's combined with freebies and great introductory offers, but I also consider: supermarkets, health food stores, ethnic groceries, poundland wholesalers, and the fronts of magazines I'd be buying anyway (or that work out cheaper than buying the product); when I'm looking for what I need. By the same token, I'll warn you off blindly buying at the supermarket. Unless we're talking about the two teutonic loves of my life, Lidl and Aldi, it's not a given that what you chuck in with your fruit and veg will actually be a better bargain than you get elsewhere. Sometimes it really can be (it's worth keeping your eyes peeled for reductions because of packaging changes, for example), but oftentimes they rely on the fact that you are being economical with your time to charge you more for what's probably a pretty basic product.

And lastly; the more you know about your skin, the better you can treat it. When I talk about what I do, I'll be focusing pretty intensely on what works for my skin type, knowledge of which comes from years of having lived with my skin, reading about skincare wherever I can, listening to people who know what they're on about (but not always buying what they were selling), and some trial and error. having some basic knowledge of what active ingredients work for you and what to look for is your ally in avoiding unnecessary spends.

By the same token, if you try something and it doesn't work, give it to a mate. It's better than it sitting on a shelf unloved, and it'll probably make your mate's day, as it's an unexpected little treat. My friends and I have been doing this for years, and it's an excellent way to both give and receive a little mood lift, and make sure nothing goes to waste.

(even as a heavy smoker my skin hasn't aged that much, so there must be method in my madness)

Cleanse

This step is so key. When I slack with it the difference in my skin texture is noticeable almost immediately. This may be because i have savagely oily skin so my pores block up at the drop of a hat, but getting into a proper cleansing routine has drastically improved this. I favour an old school, oil based cleanser and facecloth route, so that I can incorporate facial massage, because I clench my jaw in my sleep and when I'm stressed. I am currently using superdrug's own B. range micellar cleansing oil, but i dot about buying whatever is cheapest or on best offer. I've been known to use coconut oil (that holy grail of versatile beauty products, I've got a cracked lip and am applying it as lipbalm as we speak), or in a pinch, whatever oil is in my kitchen cupboard, the important thing is the technique.

Apply it liberally to your face and neck (I use about a 50p sized amount to start and add more if i've not got significant lubrication). use small upward, circular motions to massage the skin. If you have large pores like me you may actually be able to feel some physical extraction and unclogging of your pores. Gross, but satisfying. I take the time to do some tension relieving massage as well; using my ring fingers i apply pressure in outward streaking strokes along my eye sockets and browbones, then I rest the cups of my palms under my cheekbones firmly, and slowly open my mouth (you'll feel real muscle resistance and then release as you do this - it's amazing for if you grind your teeth in your sleep or when you're stressed). Lastly I use the bent knuckles of my index and ring fingers to firmly work outwards from my chin along my jawbone in small, tight circles (again, if you have any points of tension you'll feel them and be able to concentrate on those areas). These massage techniques are awesome for puffiness in the morning and your facial muscles feel super relaxed after; they are also effective with a foam based facewash if that's your bag.

To take off the cleanser off I soak a lightly textured facecloth or flannel in hot (not too hot, let's not get any broken veins here) water, hold the whole thing over my face for a brief steam and a few deep breaths, then in brisk upward circular strokes, set about removal, focusing on problem areas (for me, my nose and chin). Squeaky clean, and relaxed.

As a footnote, I will say that I can't always be arsed if I've been up late, or I've got better things to do like get laid, I used to rely on facewipes to save the day. I still currently have a pack in my bag for when I stay at he who I shall call the bedfellow's house (I knew I'd cave to a moniker for convenience's sake eventually), but I'll actually vouch that Micellar water and a cotton wool pad is far better value for money per use. not my preferred method, and for me, not sustainable for any lengthy period of time, because my pores suffer, but far better than no cleanse at all.

Tone

I tend to fuck toner off a lot of the time. It's actually not a beauty industry secret that most of them don't do an awful lot, and counter girls the world over, if asked to sacrifice one step of a three-step program, will axe toner without blinking. It's not on your skin for as long as anything else, so it's not as crucial. Its job is to remove any last vestiges of cleanser, and tighten the pores, and you know what else does that? Freezing cold water. I can't remember the last time I bought a commercial toner. If I'm having a particularly breakout-y vibe I'll either buy a bottle of witch hazel, or brew some green tea and have it in the fridge to swipe over my face. but mostly, icy cold water does me beautifully, especially since my face is already wet given my cleansing method.

(unless you count the glitter smeared on me here by a three year old, the no makeup vibe here is strong, I don't think I'd be as confident in my skin if I didn't take care of it)

Moisturise

The most vital step. And the thing you should spend most money on, as it is actually absorbed into your skin. Having said that, I can't remember the last time I spent more than a fiver on one, and the almighty coconut oil can step in here again if needs be (If you take nothing else from this, take the fact that one jar of coconut oil can do everything you need, and it costs 2.99 at Lidl, and considerably less in most Indian and Caribbean groceries). I'm currently using B. for Superdrug's B. radiant day cream (are you feeling that 3 for 2 vibe yet?) but I have a bag of bog standard Boots own fragrance free moisturiser in my bag for bedtimes and mornings when I am not in my bed. I also have a half a tube of Soap and Glory's The Fab Pore on my dressing table, that I use sparingly because it's got some aggressive AHA's (alpha hydroxy acids - they basically kick skin debris in the dick, it's like sandblasting your face), which my skin occasionally needs if I'm suffering dullness, but if I use it regularly I get irrritated skin.

Moisturiser is probably where you most need to look for key active ingredients for your skin type, which is where that basic awareness of your skin comes in. Bear in mind, though, that the industry thrives on the new, so these ingredients will trend and then be superseded by something new in order to sell more shit. There'll always be new breakthroughs because there'll always be more product to sell that way. My age, and my oiliness taken into consideration, I tend to look for vitamin C, anything that says brightening or radiance boosting, and hyaluronic acid, an ingredient that locks water into the skin cells . But as i said, I'll take anything, as long as I can apply it liberally, in upward strokes, and always to the neck as well. never forget your neck.

(Fresh out of the shower and freshly moisturised, I actually often wish I could preserve this glow all day, which is what products that contain hyaluronic acid strive to do)

Additional products

Now, that's enough, really, if kept up regularly. And the routines and techniques performed day and night do feel luxurious, and like you're looking after yourself. You don't necessarily need all the serums, primers, masks, and targeted creams that you're told you do, but they can feel like a nice extra treat for you on a shitty day, and they do get results, so I'll run through what I must regularly indulge in.

Masks.

Oh masks. If you believe Instagram, we've reached peak face mask. There are so many different kinds that there aren't enough weeks in the year to try them all, and still they come. I acquire most of mine through three-for-twos, or as samples. I try and do at least one a week, usually two. One a deep cleansing clay-based one (at the moment i've got Soap and Glory's The Fab Pore, which also has glycolic acid, another great skin-resurfacing enzyme, but I've had that jar since Christmas and it's showing no signs of quitting on me yet), and the other a glycolic peel (B. by superdrug's at the moment). Because of my skin type, constantly clearing surface debris is really good for the condition of my skin, and anything that deep cleanses is always a good shout. I can also be tempted by thermal clay masks in winter, to boost my circulation, I seem to remember the most afforable one I found was by Sanctuary, and not more than a fiver in boots.

If I do not have time or access to such products, however, I do not cry about it. Life goes on, and I doubt anyone really notices but me, it's so much more a ritualistic thing that I do to feel like I am taking time for myself.

Eye Creams.

About the only sign I have of aging bar the odd grey hair is little crinkles around my eyes (I smile a lot). I don't really like them. I also get puffy eyes a lot (it's easy to make me cry, which is not a challenge by the way). I am not fussy about what I use, mine's from Aldi's Lacura range, and cost me about three quid, but kept in the fridge, and patted on when my eyes feel tired or sore, it is the most soothing thing. I can't honestly say if it makes a difference or not, but it feels so good that when I can make it part of my routine I do.

Spot treatments.

Fuck them. a bottle of tea tree oil is much cheaper, does the same thing, and has multiple other uses. Likewise TCP if we're being real here.

So concludes my initial skincare on the cheap outline. I imagine it'll be one of the more in depth pieces I write on self care, because I don't mind admitting that I am pretty lazy in a lot of other areas, and somehow manage to spend even less. I'm a sucker for a good beauty tip, especially a budget one, so I'd be really interested to hear everybody else's.

#personal blog #meditations in austerity #self care on a shoestring #skincare #cleanse #tone #moisturise #skin #beauty #self care

[meditationsinausterity]

A little goes a long way

I know I mentioned in my introduction that I used to have a collaborative food blog with an ex. i remember in one of my posts I wryly described my cooking style as 'old testament', in that cooking one dish begets another, which begets another, which begets another. There's a day-to-day continuity to the things I make, and that's down to the fact I have an overabiding loathing of food waste.

You don't need me to tell you the environmental consequences of food waste, or the sheer disrespect inherent in the act of wantonly binning things that could have been eaten in a country where shitloads of people are using food banks or feeding themselves on £3.50 per adult, per day. You don't need me to tell you, because there are people more qualified and adept at doing so, but I still think those reasons should be your very first port of call in motivating you to absolutely use everything you buy. And they're certainly the reasons that were at the forefront of my mind in my decision to volunteer at the South Coast Real Junk Food Project, where we recycle surplus food from large and local businesses by putting it into pay-as-you-feel hampers, drop in shops, and cafes.

To be pragmatic for a minute, though, the main reason for my food waste loathing is probably economic. One of the people that made the earliest impression on me in terms of cooking and food was my great grandmother. Having lived through two wars, she really knew how to eke the most out of food, but it was a genuine something out of nothing situation, in that her meals always felt more about excess than deprivation, and there was always enough on the table to generate leftovers. I'm not gonna do much to dispel any stereotypes here, but she was Irish, and a lot of those leftovers were in potato format, so I learned pretty early on the joys of refried potatoes at breakfast, or bubble and squeak, or potato bread. I'm still always guilty of making too much mash, and I'm still always grateful the next day to have it to play with in building another meal.

The second formative experience in my gastronomic narrative was university. The vast freedom of being able to cook whatever you felt like, on a student budget, with one cupboard and fridge shelf in an awfully equipped student kitchen shared with six other people? Some freedom, eh lads? it was all the freedom I fucking needed though. armed with seemingly more cooking experience under my belt already than my peers and a desire to really learn and understand more, I hit that ground running, and that first year of being in charge of my own grocery shopping set the precedent for my 'use what you have to guide you in what to cook' approach in a massive way. I mastered fishcakes, banana bread, fried rice, the fine art of making stock from bones, and countless other things I regularly make and love now, just from a desire to make every last ingredient and leftover in my kitchen count. That way I saved money, and nicely skirted the game of 'I can squeeze one last thing in that bin, the next person can take it out' that gets played in every student flatshare in the world, ever. I also learned that I hate big batch cooked, re-pinged meals day after day; but I don't mind a big bowl of rice salad or couscous hanging out in the fridge to be picked at over the week, and other such lessons in adjustment to cooking for one. It was an exciting year of discovering things and creating my own routines, and all my flatmates in halls used to bring their parents to just come and watch me in action in the kitchen so they'd be reassured there was a sensible flatmate (most of these parents never met my shot-swilling, spandex-clad nocturnal self, fortunately).

I've only recently come back to cooking, what with the eating disorder and all, but I really havent lost my groove on using up every last bit of everything, so I thought I'd try and share some of the ways I do that on a regular basis, by showing you the logical progression of leftovers created and what I then spin them into. I'll be really candid about where the food comes from, too, so you'll know if it was a purchase, an item I got through volunteering, or if I already had it in the cupboard or whatever. The reason I'll try and make this apparent is so that it's completely transparent what kind of budget I'm working with. I don't want my writing to read as preachy at the best of times, I'm not telling you how to live your life, I'm just talking about how I live mine; but to my mind there's nothing worse than somebody purporting to write about frugality and then casually advocating something pricey or brand specific in the same breath (I'm looking at you Jamie, you jerk rice wasteman). Let's keep it real talks over here.

So for my first string of 'things I made that became a series of other things' I'm starting on an interesting note, because I wasn't working in my kitchen; I was visiting my mother on the Isle of Wight. This means there was a far more established store cupboard at my disposal, and more kitchen equipment and facilities than I have where I live. The budget for our shopping was joint, because we were using money we made from the absolute onslaught of car boot sales the bank holiday afforded us, and we did, pretty much, pop in to buy the fresh ingredients on the day they were used, so it was easy enough to keep track. So here's three days worth of food begetting other food:

Day 1: Sausage and mustard plait, mash, and green beans finished in brown butter.

Items purchased (all from Aldi, so no brands):

6pk lincolnshire sausages

1 ready to roll puff pastry (I can and do make my own, but time was a factor)

Pat of butter

3pk onions

Packet of green beans

4pk garlic cloves

Bottle of cab shiraz

Items we already had:

Mustard, jalapeno ketchup, worcester sauce, dried sage (worth mentioning how many different seasonings I used because I definitely don't have this many in my cupboard at home at the moment)

Plain flour, stock cube, cumin (again, important to factor in that these are already in the cupboard)

Potatoes (mum got a huge bag from work because the suppliers delivered the wrong kind so they couldn't go on the shop floor)

Milk

So the basic method for this is to soften and fry a diced onion in butter with a sprinkling of salt, pepper, and dried sage, and leave it to cool.

In the meantime, get a start on the gravy by softening another seasoned onion and some slivered garlic in about 25g butter, over a low heat. when the onions start to go a little golden, dust them in flour and cumin, until coated, and stir over the heat to keep from sticking while you cook the flouriness out, before splashing in a glass worth of red wine (a small glass, before anyone asks) and stirring constantly. It'll thicken a disturbing amount, but top it up with about 500ml beef stock (a cube is fine, really it is), stirring constantly and adding in parts to avoid lumps. leave to bubble gently, adding maybe some mustard and worcester if you see fit (I do). It will thicken and gloss on its own, but keep it low and slow or you'll keep getting a skin on it, and that's just grim, friends.

Roll out your pastry into a 30cm long, 20cm wide oblong. Brush with a mix of melted butter and mustard.

Go back to your cooled onions, pop them in a bowl, and then start the oddly satisfying task of smooshing your sausage meat out of the skin into the same bowl. I like to add some worcester sauce to the mix, and I also add some kind of hot sauce, this time using a jalapeno ketchup from House of Chilli that is favourite of mine. Squish it all together with your hands.

Assemble in a cylinder running the length of the pastry rectangle, positioned in the centre. Slit the pastry either side into thin strips and braid over your meat mixture, before baking (you can egg wash for gloss if you like, but me and ma don't stand on ceremony particularly). Bake for about 25 minutes on 180 degrees.

I'm not telling you how to make mashed potato, because I'd feel faintly ridiculous if I did. What I will tell you is that while I do prefer to use cream in mine, if there's perfectly good milk in the fridge I'll use that rather than buy another dairy product to sit around needing to be used. Sure, the result might not be quite as hedonistic, but it's still bloody good, and I think using up what you have shows more of an instinct and feeling for food than robotically going and buying what you always do (because you always do) and constantly having to clear out your fridge and fill up your bin. Likewis

e i'm not telling you how to griddle beans, or make brown butter. I don't want to patronise here, merely to record.

Leftovers from this meal:

Enough sausage plait for 2 lunches/midnight snacks/whenever. It's funny, cold pastry products are always welcome. Certain things I don't even want to see a second time, never mind a third or fourth, but pies, tarts, bakes? bring them on for a week.

At least 400g mashed potato. Fridged and kept for re-purposing.

Day Two: Roast Beef with yorkshire puddings, roast potatoes and parsnips, cauliflower cheese, and savoy cabbage.

Items purchased:

1.2kg topside fillet of beef

pk parsnips

1 x savoy cabbage block lard (yep, take that clean eating brigade, it's got a high as fuck smoke point so for starting my yorkshires, I don't want anything else)

Items we already had:

Potatoes (again from mum's huge freebie bag)

Frozen cauliflower (not my preference texturally, but in the spirit of using things up I deferred to Mum on this one)

Eggs (something Mum always has in the house)

Milk

Onions

Garlic

Butter (from previous meal)

Seasonings: black pepper, salt, mustard, thyme, rosemary

I  really cannot being myself to be so patronizing as to talk you through a roast dinner; I feel very much like that would be taking the piss.

Leftovers from this meal:

Over half a beef joint: left to cool and fridged for later use.

Half a cauliflower cheese: ordinarily I would make this in two dishes and freeze one to reheat at a later meal: a habit picked up from student-dom, and useful for any manner of gratin-y dishes that are best off made in larger batches due to time/effort/ingredients involved; such as dauphinoise or fish pie. This time, however, I had plans with a capital P for this, so I fridged it for later use.

A few yorkshires: No hardship this. a lifetime of working the sunday lunch onslaught in pubs and being number one buddy to the chefs (A lot of my Great Loves have been chefs, therefore I speak fluent kitchen) means an acquired taste for leftover yorkshires, usually consumed with a glass of something red at the end of an exhausting shift. At regular evening intervals a creep into the kitchen to grab one happened, and none therefore went to waste, although I am revealing more about my solitary gluttony than I'd care to, here.

Leftover gravy: again, usually no hardship, serving as lubricant for aforementioned yorskhires, but I had plans for this, so cooled and fridged it.

Day Three: Cottage pie with cauliflower cheese mash, buttered cabbage.

Purchased for this meal (Aldi again, all brand-free):

Packet of mushrooms

Bottle of cab shiraz

Items we already had:

Leftover beef from roast

Leftover mash from Friday

Leftover cauliflower cheese from roast

Leftover gravy from roast

Flour

Onions

Garlic

Tinned tomatoes

Half a savoy cabbage

Seasonings (chilli garlic salt, mustard, stock cube, salt, pepper, thyme)

Cottage pie is something I play a lot faster and looser with than most; I know it can be made from scratch with mince and some prefer it this way, but I think it's infinitely better crafted with leftovers, and I'll usually let the leftovers and what I have in the fridge or what looks good in the shops dictate how I make it, rather than having a fixed recipe I work from. I started the base for it at 6am, before a day of two car boot sales, softening off onions, garlic and mushrooms in butter, thyme, salt and pepper, before coating with flour, and adding leftover gravy, a keith floyd glug of cab shiraz, and a tin of tomatoes, stirring to avoid dreaded lumpiness, then chucking in the diced leftover roast to bubble along.

I left that to simmer away while i went about my numerous morning vanities and caffeine and nicotine pitstops, before switching the stove off and going and selling god knows how much at a very windy clifftop car boot sale. Came back home mid-afternoon and whacked the pot back on to simmer for a few more hours, adding a little beef stock to loosen. Had a much needed nap and chill with my crochet before off went the hob as we packed off for sale number two.

Homecoming was probably about 8pm, and all that was left for me to do was preheat the oven to 180 degrees, mash together the leftover mash with the leftover cauliflower cheese (a task eased by the limpid texture of frozen cauliflower, much as it pains me to admit it). Layered the beef mixture and the mash into single serve earthenware, dotted with butter and pepper, and popped in to the oven.

About five minutes before serving, I dunked the cabbage in some boiling water, drained, buttered, and seasoned it with chilli garlic salt (from my pals at House of Chilli, I have the full range from when I temporarily ran a nearby tea room and I love their products).

Et voila, a meal made almost entirely from leftovers, that felt like far more than the sum of its parts. And just to note, the beef was meltingly tender, so that 6am wakeup was worth it.

Leftovers from this meal:

None. I don't think it needs saying that leftover cab shiraz was consumed by the chef during cooking, consumption, and post-meal coma in front of Made in Chelsea.

 As I said before, this is slightly different to how I imagine these posts will eventually grow to be, because I was cooking for two, in someone else's kitchen with a more established store cupboard, and due to our sales-heavy weekend, had a little more purchasing clout. I like to think that despite that stroke of luck, I managed to keep waste minimal. It would have been easy to buy and cook different things every night, but would have made little economic sense in terms of cash, time, and endeavour.

It's also worth noting that I've glossed over talking about how I did things that I feel to be basic knowledge, or too boring to go into detail on, but if anyone feels it would be useful to have my methodology in full, let me know and i'll make sure and be more thorough next time.

#personal blog #meditations in austerity #food #cooking #love food hate waste #home cooking #using leftovers #frugal cooking #budget cooking #beef #cottage pie #pastry

[meditationsinausterity]

Thank Fuck It's Monday 03/09/18

Let's all take a moment to acknowledge I'm finally on track with getting this posted on the right day! Another week, another Monday of running through all the ways in which I've enjoyed it, and all the things that make me grateful to be living the life I am. It feels like this one's gone by in a whirlwind too, hoofing it here there and everywhere across the city in order to get things done. There haven't been any more interviews, but I'm not letting that dishearten me, I have to keep pushing forward, and I've occupied my time in other ways anyway.

+Coming back to Portsmouth with a clear head.

(A huge roast dinner I made for Mum during my stay. I used her yorkshire pudding recipe and was so pleased with how they turned out)

I spent last weekend on the Isle of Wight with my mother, selling at craft fairs and helping her to clear out my late stepdad's possessions and sell them at car boot sales. A quiet weekend of cooking in the kitchen with a moderate amount of red wine, time to write before bed, and starting to crochet a squishy, soft cream jumper for the cold weather was exactly the mental reset I needed. Stepping off the hovercraft on Tuesday, to a gratefully received lift home that meant I could bring some of my heavier possessions like cookbooks back with me, I felt calm, and collected, and like I'd been gone for weeks. It helped that I returned home to a friend who'd missed me, who I spent all day pottering round the house, cooking and talking to like I'd been gone for as long as I felt I had. A break, of making sure my mum was eating right, and just taking a few breaths and some time to remind myself of the things I want, was just what I needed.

+Volunteering at the Trash Café

(A meal I made with salmon fillets I received in payment for my work - Massaman curry with chilli salt and citrus salmon and rice)

I've had my eye on this project for a long time, a Gosport based not-for-profit that takes donations of unwanted food and operates pay-as-you-feel cafe's and supermarkets across Portsmouth to get it used, and to the people who need it. it ticks my environmental boxes, and my community minded boxes too. They operate every Wednesday at Buckland community centre and I, being both broke and bored at the moment, volunteered my services should they need them. This wednesday I dashed down after my appointment at the job centre, scraped my hair back, and got stuck in cooking pasta for the people. It was a great way to feel like I was doing something with my time, to use the skills I've gained working in bars, restaurants and kitchens, and I was paid in food for my time, so it's a good way to stop the cupboard running bare as well. I met some lovely people and had a really good time despite getting myself a few minor chef's burns (par for the course seeing as how chefs are basically all pirates). I also got told my food skills were right up there, and my kitchen clean was ridiculously thorough. Level 2 food hygiene in action, YEAH BOIII. Even when I'm working this volunteering something I plan to keep up, just as a way to try and add some purpose to my life, and I'll hopefully be writing about my experiences there and the things I create with surplus food as it all unfolds.

  +Finding satisfaction in quiet

(My current crochet project, a cream aran jumper with a pleasingly textural slipstitch and double treble pattern, which has proved perfect for relaxing with)

I have definitely had some downtime this week, as interviews have been thin on the ground and there's not always pressing things to do to fill the time. If I was still struggling with processing my anxiety I would have been so restless with it, needing to be out of the house, and distracted, and around other people. Because I'm getting better at stepping back and looking at my anxiety for what it is, I'm learning much better how to be peaceful doing next to nothing. My time this week has been filled with doing just that; reading, writing, doing my laundry. I've been at my happiest sat, crocheting a simple and repetitive jumper for the winter and idly chatting to a friend while they played videogames, where previously we probably would have been out and about, racking back drinks and getting more and more nonsensical, talking over each other and probably not remembering it anyway. Keeping it low key and drifting off into silence occasionally is much more pleasant and feels more connected somehow. I'm finding my thoughts easier to process as I spend my afternoons doing dishes and listening to old playlists, or sorting through my clothes to organize them properly into the wardrobe, or just reading a few chapters of my book in the quiet. The undemanding nature of the tasks gives me a point of focus, as I can't do the whole mindfulness for it's own sake thing, no matter how guided into it I am. Actually getting on with things around the house in my own time also removes a layer of anxiety that I'm not doing things I should be doing, as well, which is always helpful.

+Honorary mentions

Finally getting the ball rolling at the job centre - Phonecalls to my mum - Toast in its many glorious forms - Sharpness by Jamie Woon - Getting stuck in to a weird as fuck Will Self book - Deciding sex and wine was an acceptable dinner - Walking across Guildhall square in the sunshine - having someone be concerned for my health and whether i'm eating enough and realizing that actually they might care - Having access to more of my cold weather clothes - getting my outfit complimented by one of the greeters at the job centre and ending up in a chat about George Michael for ages - The possible idea of a shift in career - A homeless man stopping me to tell me my skirt was the most beautiful he'd ever seen- Offers to be part of a talented friend's podcast community - Any form of oily fish - The nostalgia of sitting over breakfast together - Sheer blouses - A pyjama day when i was feeling poorly - Having the kind of mum who despite having a hard time goes down to a burned down hotel to donate clothes to holidaymakers - Avon gel effect nail polish in mudslide - Hoop earrings and trainers with everything - Free green tomatoes from Lou's garden - Every day getting to know my neighbourhood better - Watching somebody else cook while perched on the side in the kitchen - The quiet rhythm of a repetitive crochet project - Getting more interviews lined up.

#meditations in austerity #personal blog #thank fuck it's monday #gratitude #crochet #cooking #volunteering #portsmouth #food waste

[meditationsinausterity]

August Reading Roundup

Even despite being out of higher education for nearly ten years now, literature still informs and enriches my life in quite a meaningful way. One of the things I've found about reducing my alcohol consumption is I'm now possessed of significantly more clarity of mind to enjoy it and process it. I carry a book with me everywhere, always have; the difference is now I don't feel too headachey or morose to contemplate picking it up. My reading tastes are somewhat diverse, given that I buy all my books secondhand they don't always follow a prescribed order of informing each other. I also do a lot of re-reading in what I call my austerity periods; there's often something interesting about revisiting books as a later version of yourself, and taking different things from them. In this spirit I thought I'd present a reading round-up at the end of every month in order to track what I'm getting from my books, and hopefully to spark some discussion about them (my life never has enough conversation about books to keep me satisfied).

Stendhal - Cures for Love.

  'Perhaps the wisest thing is to confide in oneself'

A re-read, clutched from my bookshelf in a fit of emotion after a breakup that, while expected, hit me right in the gut. I first bought this after a mention of Notes on Love in London Fields by Martin Amis. I am a huge Amis fan and if my degree has taught me anything it is that if an author you admire considers a text noteworthy, it's valuable to read it, because it gets you closer to the thought processes of theirs that fascinate you.

 This edition is selected parts of Notes on Love; a pocket sized Penguin Great Loves edition that I bought in the amazing Babushka books in Shanklin last year. It's not a book i sit down and re-read cover to cover, preferring to dip into it here and there over morning cigarettes, in queues, any time I want to snatch a few minutes of thought.

The beauty of this book is its mutability - how you're feeling when your eyes hit the page impacts how you receive Stendhal's maxims. Heartbroken? it feels like a de-mythologising of love and talks some sense into you about your temporary loss of control. Falling? It elevates the process of beginning to love somebody into what feels like the most noble cause in the universe. As somebody who usually reads in order to improve and expand my understanding, it is certainly a nice mental break to pick something up and feel agreed with rather than explained to, whatever mood I'm in. Love is the most complicated and ridiculous subject there is, and Stendhal feels like a friend nodding along with me while I read him and try to untangle my heartstrings.

The Summer Before the Dark - Doris Lessing

'That was not how people changed: they didn't change themselves; you got changed by being made to live through something and then you found yourself changed.'

No one scares the shit out of me and soothes me so simultaneously as Doris Lessing. This novel, the story of a wife and mother who is pulled away from those defining female roles and struggles to find an alternate self, is both terrifying in its indictment that women are defined by how others see them, and reassuring on the same note - if you've ever had a moment of wondering if it's just you that feels like you're more than what the people who depend on you see you as, Doris Lessing's here to tell you that it's not just you, we're all in the same boat.

The thing that always sticks with me from this book is Kate's interactions with her own appearance and how they impact the way she is treated by wider society. When she loses too much weight and stops dying her hair, she becomes invisible; to men, to service industry workers, to even her own next door neighbour. When she dyes her hair and wears couture, she's perceived as younger, more attractive, and pursued by a much younger man. She realizes this throughout the novel and uses it as though it were a joke, or a fact finding exercise; but who's laughing? and who really wants to sit down and swallow the facts? (Not me) Lessing is amazing, because we'd all like to stare things in the face the way she does. I suppose the best we can settle for as readers is recognition, acknowledgement like waking up in a bed that you know and nodding along with a morning routine. Her writing is the mental equivalent of agitating a loose tooth, the process of knowing the pain's there and you'll make it worse if you apply any pressure,but also knowing it won't get any better if you don't do shit. The agony of the squeeze and it's subsequent analysis is woman's burden; and Lessing is here to unflinchingly engage with it. You can tell she got her sea legs in South Africa, the fearless bitch. the impatience with and direct address to the things that cause that peculiarly isolating feminine dissatisfaction it is so perfect and brave.

The book seems, in itself, to mimic its own message with the addition of Maureen, a young bohemian who tries to use Kate as a template for how not to live, but only ends up conforming to a rigid feminine archetype of her own, a lesson perhaps in the idea that reacting directly against archetypes of the feminine only begets further archetypes? I did find myself drawn to Maureen, a costumey Camden pseud trying on secondhand identitites with her clothes, not convinced she has any kind of spiritual or intellectual core, borrowing her life ideas and then getting angry that she's a facsimile. It's Maureen and her initial flamboyancy that settles Kate back down into a dynamic she is used to; maternal, useful,the one who is needed to sort things out, and brings about the conclusion of the events of the summer, and the 'Dark' of age alluded to in the title.

Lady Oracle - Margaret Atwood.

'It was on these bus trips that I first discovered there was something missing in me. This lack came from having been fat; it was like being without a sense of pain, and pain and fear are protective, up to a point. I'd never developed the usual female fears: fear of intruders, fear of the dark, fear of gasping noises over the phone, fear of bus stops and slowing cars, fear of anyone or anything outside whatever magic circle defines safety.'

I cannot begin to tell you how much I love Margaret Atwood. I did a module dedicated to her at undergrad, and I re-read at least two of her books a year, because I genuinely believe she speaks contemporary female truth better than any living author.

This novel is actually a really good companion piece to the Summer Before the Dark, in that it addresses the ways in which women are defined externally. Joan gets so overwhelmed by the multiple identities she builds in different areas of her life that she fakes her own death to try and kill them all. The difference between Joan and Kate is that, rather than peeling back the multiple layers of identity and being confronted with an anxiety that underneath it all lies nothingness, Joan's core self is very much concrete and angry, she remains very conflicted and unsatisfied with the options offered to her down each of her avenues of potential, and convinced that there must be some self she can become that is the 'right' one.

Therefore our girl spins selves to pursue them all simultaneously, justifying herself via her narrative, also manufactured in-house. None of these selves; constructed for the scenario she finds herself in, are enough to satisfy her with any longevity, she needs all of them in order to move through the world without the anxiety that comes with fracture. The problem is they conflict and contradict, and she wonders how she can want to have it all, when it all is often so directly in opposition with itself.

As a chronic people pleaser who is currently trying to liberate herself via the medium of honesty and authenticity these are the kind of mental circles I talk myself round in bed at night. The beauty of Margaret Atwood's women is they see the funny side and the irony of their situations, no matter how unsatisfying or bleak, even if occasionally the tears break through, so they feel wonderfully lifelike.

I'm also fixated very much on Atwood's skill at conveying the mental tussles women go through about being with men, about the urge to give in and become a half of a whole being so seductive, and about the breaking point when you realise the erosion of your own identity in doing so. Joan's men are fantastic for this, because none of them are quite emphatically enough the man she requires them to be, so she never fully achieves the union she desires.

On a more prosaic level, I'm gonna be real with you here, I was an incredibly fat teenager. I could not have nice clothes, I did not like my body, and I was an incredibly late sexual developer as a result (not gonna fuckin' lie, I've made up for lost time on that front). And this book so perfectly emphasizes the painful coming into the consciousness of being bigger than everybody else and the development of shame and self loathing that arise from that. It also perfectly encapsulates the feelings that never go away, the strange dysmorphic blind spot you have about yourself and the space you take up, the ignorance of what other people see after you've lost the weight. Joan fabricates a past for herself in order to be rid of the fat phantom of her past, and while I've never gone that far, I can probably attribute my previous eating disorder and low self esteem to the same ghosts. It's an odd feeling to look at photos of your adolescence and think 'I am not that person', but it's potent, and real, and Atwood has absolutely crystallized those feelings in this book. It's refreshing to read about that fracture of the self, about an adult who cannot connect who she is now with who she was then, despite being haunted and stunted by it in equal measure.

Invitation to the Waltz - Rosamond Lehmann

'She's got more vitality than half a dozen ordinary people. She just leaves it in the air around her, wherever she's been.'

It was quite true. It was the secret of Marigold, that one had never been able to define. She agreed, pleased, surprised. It was an unusual thing to say.

'It's a marvellous possession,' he said. 'the only gift I'd trouble a fairy godmother for. if you've got it, you can't be beaten. What's more, you make other people imagine they can't be...'

A book picked up purely on the merit of it being published by Virago, while I idly browsed Babushka books on a day off from my two jobs last summer. I actually expected to be amused but underwhelmed by this little number; the blurb made it sound like a perhaps twee coming of age about a slightly fallen from status middle class family in early twentieth century England.

Still, you can always be surprised, and I was. The writing backbone of the novel has more in common with Virginia Woolf (I'm thinking To the Lighthouse, here), with a constantly shifting collective consciousness that allows us inside every characters head; exploring the attempts we make to understand one another and the fragile impossibility of ever totally being able to do so. It's a great device for picking up the tiny flickers in dialogue and communication that alter the mood of a room or event in its entirety.

The timescale also is reminiscent of Woolf to me, in that tiny minutes can be pored over extensively, before whole days disappear in a page turn. I studied the process of trying to replicate memory and remembering things in writing quite extensively at university, and a text that mimics the obsessive detail in which we can re-access certain days while strings of others disappear into obscurity is always fascinating. It always feels like a writerly attempt to engage with what shapes us into our adult selves, something I, obviously, am fascinated with on a personal level.

What I love overall about this book is the glorious anticlimax at its core; I'm sure all of us can remember our first tentative adolescent social endeavours; the hours getting ready and agonizing about who would be there, the comparison of how we look with others, the often disappointing interactions with the opposite sex. Granted, mine was not in a red ballgown at a country house, it was more fishnets and illicitly bought cigarettes and lambrini at the racehorse pub in Northampton, but I can still remember the self-interrogation of 'Is this it?' Was I really supposed to be interested in what boys with long hair and guitars said even when it was dull? Would I ever look as good as the girl who wore the real corset and seemed to know everybody? Was I really having a good time? Were they? Reading this book reminded me that these feelings are pretty much timeless, and made me sit and reflect heavily on how they've impacted my less fluid, less uncertain, adult self. More, perhaps, than I would like to admit. I don't know that you stop asking those questions, you just lose the sense of alarm at the answers that appear. It turns out Lehmann's book is an interesting way to mentally try and access the point where that cynicism that crystallizes the adult self happened.

#meditations in austerity #books #literature #reading #august reads #personal blog #Margaret atwood #doris lessing #stendhal #rosamond lehmann #women writers #female writers #philosophy #lady oracle #notes on love #the summer before the dark #invitation to the waltz

[meditationsinausterity]

Monday; One Day

So it's been another week, and I'm not sure where the time's gone to the point where I am posting this on a Thursday when really it ought to have been posted on a Monday. I'm really good at blogging, did, anyone tell you? I don't know how I manage to feel so busy while I'm unemployed, but I've definitely travelled the length and breadth of the city multiple times this week on my adventures, and it does tire a body out. So here's a list of the things I'm feeling grateful to have in my life right now, and not a jot (okay, so three days) too late..

+Interviews

So I had an interview for a position at Lush this week, and while I wasn't successful, the fact my CV is getting seen and noticed is a good thing, and all interviews are good practice, even if you're not successful. It was quite a fun group interview atmosphere, and I did make a bubble bath bar which I got to keep, so not a wasted evening. I have asked them for feedback though, as it's always worth noting what I could be doing better (I've not often been unsuccessful at interview, but I've given enough of them in my time and I always feel like feedback is a valuable part of the experience.

Went out flyering for Crafts in the Tower, a local artists collective, this week. It was nice to get out and about for some fresh air, to do something to help local artists who are trying to make a living. Plus, while I was doing it I got to chat to loads of local business owners in Southsea, and snoop around in shops, bars, and cafes I perhaps wouldn't ordinarily visit. Where I'm not working at the moment, I worry that I'm not active enough to keep myself in shape, so picking up work that involves putting some serious miles under my belt is always a bit of a result.

+ Freebies

There's a charity shop at the end of my road that has a box outside full of free books. A lot of the offering is truly horrendous, but this week I have scored an amazing craft book from 1973, and The Book of Dave by Will Self (I love how funny and weird and caustic Will Self's books are, he's a man i'd buy a drink for in a pub, even if i was working. Sometimes I dream he'd do the same for me). I spent last summer shopping a lot in that charity shop, and getting the things I liked very cheaply. I'm beginning to think that perhaps the people of North End and I have differing tastes, as I feel like the things I like maybe don't sell. I'm not going to complain though, if it means I get a book I'm sure I'm going to enjoy, and one I can learn from, for literally nothing, then getting angry at the people around me for what they don't appreciate seems inherently counterproductive.

Honorary mentions

BBC 6music's all day rave on Thursday - Facial massage when moisturising - Giving myself a haircut - Oversized full English breakfast in a cafe you used to visit ten years ago - Invitation to the Waltz by Rosamond Lehmann - A day of domesticated boredom making me more chipper than i would previously have thought - My job centre advisor telling me I looked nice - Handmade dresses made by my mum - Listening to old albums remembered from childhood and realizing you still know all the words - lots and lots of strong instant coffee - Red Wine gravy of champions - L'oreal's extraordinary oil haircare range (especially the oil, and oil-in-cream) - visits to the Isle of Wight - cooking, in a kitchen, and being able to go out and source ingredients - 'What do you want from me?' by Monaco - Being kissed on the forehead by somebody who would never admit to doing that.

#thankfuckitsmonday #its not monday #i'mlazyasfuck #poortimemanagement #sorrynotsorry

[meditationsinausterity]

So who woke up in your bed????

No one. I woke up in theirs.

I'm not deliberately being coy by omitting a name here, I just don't think it's fair to expose other people to the kind of public scrutiny that I am putting myself up for here.

it's good to know that people are still interested in the sexy bits though - I'm not quite so prolific as I was in my hurricanes era, and I was worried I'd gotten boring as a result

[meditationsinausterity]

Imagine I'd managed to upload this yesterday

When I had a blog in previous incarnations i'd always include a feature where I'd do a weekly roundup of things i was grateful for in my life. I believe it was due to a brief fixation with Gala Darling before she went full lifecoach and I mentally called closing time on it (I have so much to say on the cult of lifestyle and its wilful economic blindness and self-servitude, but that's for another day), but I have found that consciously thinking about what things in my life I am grateful for does allow me to carry on, even when things are bleak, so I've been doing it in my diary ever since. It's since been bought to my attention in my support sessions that actually, cultivating the practice of actively looking for the good things does build that mental muscle significantly, and makes it much easier to channel it in the dark times. I'd go so far as to say that was true - i'm not exactly super-ripped positivity wise, but I definitely have a strong enough bright-side seeking instinct to keep it up in the face of the dark longer than most. And the more I do it, and the more often I do it, the stronger that will be.

Even focusing on tiny things can help; it reminds me of Pollyanna, that classic children's novel (and amazing film to watch at christmas when you're comatose on stuffing and ill-advised liqueurs). She gets crutches instead of a doll for christmas from the mission, and her response is to thank God that she doesn't need them. Even when that bitch does need them she keeps her head up and looks on the bright side. True optimism in the face of life kicking you in the dick. as a paid up atheist I personally would thank Fuck, because I can see, believe, and feel a fuck; so in that spirit, I present to you 'Thank Fuck It's Monday', my way of starting each week on a note of positive review of the previous one.

Enough preamble; this is what I have loved this week:

+Getting back into my city

I may have previously mentioned that my life was torn between being overworked through choice, and comatosely drinking wine on the sofa i slept on? Not so much right now. I've had a lot of appointments for this week, none of them particularly exciting or appealing, since they were all job centre and finance related, but I have walked a great deal, and seen a great deal. It reminds me very much of when I first moved to London and i started to get to grips with the geography of the city, but I lived in Portsmouth ten years ago, so a lot of my wanders have the superimposition of nostalgia stamped on them. There is also something about being poor enough to not be an active consumer, and therefore participant, in a city, that makes you stop to take notice of all the things that are visually beautiful, or even just distinctive, about a place as you walk through it. It's all a bit Baudelaire, the whole man of, but apart from, the crowd vibe.  I had a moment while I was waiting for everything to open on Friday morning, where I sat reading my book in a sun-soaked Guildhall square, and I remembered, simultaneously: graduating on the steps and having a picture with my best friend Dan; but also, wandering through it looking for my first linguistic techniques lecture; and also, having my first argument with my then-boyfriend by the modernist steps up to the council office. All this early twenties nostalgia was all superimposed with how lovely the sun looked hitting the square, and how quiet and beautiful it all was at half past eight in the morning. It's not quite the same as the beauty of initial discovery (which is always tinged with anxiety, if my memory serves me correctly), but I am learning to appreciate the beauty of rediscovery for what it is, and realize I've lived a rich and characterful life that i should appreciate against the backdrop of my rich and characterful city.

+Early mornings

I am not a devotee of the early morning rise. I used to say so very plainly at work when I was running pubs in London, and yet I was always the favourite of cleaners and delivery drivers because I'd be bright and enthusiastic when they came in to see me on an opening shift. I had a florist when I worked in Highgate who would give me the clippings from what he'd done in the bar because I was alert enough to chat to him and ask questions about the beautiful blooms every morning, and I never really thought much of it. When I quit that job he had to be reassured there was no funny business before he'd continue to florally arrange.

It's because I've been so used to being a sluggish, puffy faced witch in the morning that I'd allow myself an hour to get ready, plus another hour for travel, plus any leftover time at work to drink coffee and smoke fags, and get ahead. All to pre-empt any lateness anxieties (I get them big-time) and any curveballs that might come my way that could put a crimp in me bossing it for the day. I no longer have that structure to my day of needing to be somewhere and do something at a certain time, but I'm finding that with or without the need to, I am getting up early in the morning, making my bed, tidying shit up, and then cracking on with a self-imposed routine . I realized it, the other day when I was in bed with someone else, on their day off, and was taking one myself; I woke up alert and thoughtful and ready, and promptly moved myself to the kitchen where I mainlined coffee, wrote fuckloads in my journal and read Rosamond Lehmann until I was lethargic enough to not be an annoyance in the bed. I'm starting to ponder if actually I've only ever not been a morning person before because i am a late-shift worker with a tendency toward anxiety insomnia, since waking up and cracking on with things is making me feel far better about my day than I thought it ever would.

+The surprising efficiency and politeness of British bureaucracy

Now, I've mentioned my previous tabloid and 'glorious working class' related shame around job centre visits. Industrial revolution level refusal of charity plus a dominant nature of outrage and shame is powerful, make no mistake. Not to mention, so many people I know have told me horror stories about their personal experiences, or other applicants (I can't say I necessarily condone this technique, it smacks of trying to create shame). I was nervous, and I was led to expect the worst of my experience in the buildup. I channelled my inner Pollyanna to get there (while musing on shame and guilt as we've read) and sat in the queue scribbling on my copy of Cures For Love by Stendhal. I have to admit I was a little disheartened initially when I saw a nervously friendly German man in front of me get absolutely shut down by the greeting staff who refused to respond to his attempts to humanize his experience by saying things like 'I don't know if you remember me' into a wall of efficient silence. It made me really unhappy that he was attempting to be seen and recognized as a human and was met with a response of 'you're on the list yeah, go here'. But i ended up sat next to him on a functional yet cheerful sofa,and we had a conversation about philosophy as a whole and why I liked Stendhal as opposed to Kant (I will take what i can get, alright?). He remembered everybody's name and was as visibly nervous and uncomfortable with the whole experience as me. I'm sorry I never got his name before he chipped off to his appointment but it was a relief to feel like somebody else like there was like me; not comfortable despite years of tax and working, but also determined to be seen as a person because otherwise how do you exist? My fears were alleviated when I met my advisor, and she helped me with identification protocol, processed my claim, and spoke to me about clothes and fashion after an indepth conversation about retail. She was wearing a stunning victorian blouse and I asked her where it was from, and when she said the h&m sale I knew she was my girl. I went back the next day to see her with the supporting documents she'd asked me for and it was literally like we were mates, not like she'd bent over backwards for me to get my documents processed super quickly, which she absolutely had. I'm calling fie on stories about the job centre; you may not like to have to be there very much but there are people there who are on the level and see who you are. I have left there feeling very lifted even when I arrived home rain soaked and frozen.

Honorary mentions:

Hearing songs I forgot I loved everywhere and it making me remember all the times that were good in my life - kissing someone briefly in a lift to say bye and thinking i might have been too bold but hearing them toot me on their way to work and nearly bursting - instant coffee - oranges in all their forms - seeing a thereapeutic technique (reaching out to people when you're not down to make you more adept at it when you are) pay off to give you a richer life - dalston drinks cherryade - listening to the radio again and remembering how much I genuinely love music - being able to cut my own hair and look good - tinned fish in all its forms - honest and frank conversations that needed to be had - being somewhat horrendous at video games but overcompensating by being a prick - getting slowly back to a skincare regime - the phrase 'you ate the same amount as me' - remembering I can make gravy the way I used to - getting my birth certificate - discovering things I want to see and do in my hood - having and maintaing excellent nails - hair oil in any form - Dan who works for LG and his hilarious service style - sleeping like a dead person and waking up feeling good.

#thank fuck it's monday #it's not monday #personal blog #gratitude #portsmouth

[meditationsinausterity]

Losing Shame and Using Guilt

Anyone who knows me well enough will know i'm fascinated by the specificity of language. I had a lecturer tell me once that the more precisely you can express yourself, the better you'll be understood. Granted, he was talking about getting to grips with Derrida, but the underpinning sentiment of being understood caught at my very core. As a result, I'll often, mid-sentence, correct myself if the word is not exactly what I mean, particularly in terms of expressing emotion. I get frustrated if I can't make the exact clarification I want to express my point, but in the process of correcting myself I usually arrive at the point I'm driving at. I'm sure we all do this to a certain extent, or the qualifier 'Do you know what I mean?' wouldn't be so prevalent in everyday speech.

I do it in my support sessions all the time when I'm asked how I feel - I take the approach that I need to get as much out of these sessions as possible to progress with my week, my general recovery. If I'm not making every effort to understand and be understood, I don't see the point, do you know what I mean? One such time was after a particularly horrific binge, that saw me physically injured and put the nail in the coffin of my short-lived but long-suffering relationship at the time, where I was asked how I was feeling about it. I said: 'Guilty. But I think it's normal to feel guilty. I don't mean the kind of guilt that paralyzes you and stops you doing anything. I mean the kind of guilt that makes you ask the questions, tell the truth to yourself, and try to learn. There should be another word for it.'

I thought about this conversation while I was walking to the job centre this week, anxious as fuck, and trying to talk myself out of feeling guilty. 'There should be another word for it' kept rolling over my brain, and I scrabbled to think of something until I realized I'd been wrong in the session. What I was feeling after that binge, WAS guilt. what I was feeling on the walk to the job centre, the 'I shouldn't be doing this' breathlessness that made me want to just go home to bed, was shame. And the penny started to drop as to why they were different feelings when I examined the two situations.

On the way to the job centre, my feelings of shame weren't directly coming from anything I did, am, or genuinely believe. Shame can only exist in the light of other people. As a society we're pretty good at shame. There's body-shame, slut-shame, poverty-shame, and probably loads more ways other people make people feel like shit. Shame is a tool used to police others according to the norms of, usually a majority. As a society, the fact these terms exist for different ways in which certain majorities enact this policing shows we're slowly growing into that realization. Shame, and its younger, less crippling cousin, embarassment, can't exist, without other people. If you have a shameful secret, it doesn't technically become shameful until you speak it to anybody else. More prosaically, if you fart in a lift alone there's no shame until someone gets in at the next floor.

I felt ashamed of going to apply for jobseeker's allowance because of how it would have looked to someone on the outside: I'm young, able bodied, adept with people, energetic, and have a work ethic; so what fucking right have I got to ask for help when it ought to be easy for me to get a job? I could hear the imaginary 'you should be ashamed of yourself' in my head, stopping my little trainers in their tracks. Because shame creates paralysis. Shame is what's going to stop you doing something you maybe really need to do, or even just want to do.

There's no arguing with shame if you treat it as something that springs directly from the inside of you. I realized the key to stopping shame from stopping me lies directly in that voice, that 'You should be ashamed of yourself'. For a start, I can tell it's not my own convictions at play here, because I don't call myself 'You' - other people do, when they're not mispronouncing my name. So if it's not me, who the fuck is talking? Once you've asked that question you've already created an access to whatever the external narrative is that's influencing the shame. In the case of me and the job centre, we can cite tabloid hysteria, my working class upbringing, and coming from a long line of proud women who struggle to accept help from anybody; a real tasty blend.

The other key disarming tool here is 'should' - the singlemost efficient way to convey obligation that i know. Think about the amount of times you've bailed on something and explained yourself to someone else by saying 'I should go, but...' That 'should' is the point of tension between what people expect of you and your desires and intentions. Asking 'WHY SHOULD I?' a la an angry teenager, as I did on my walk, may be the fastest and most explosive way to deal with external shaming narratives from stopping me in my tracks. The answers to 'why should I?' are never convincing to the person who questions the power of 'should', which is why the last resort is always 'Because I said so', which, let's face it, never convinced anyone ever. Asking 'why should I?' is a fast and powerful way of undermining all the reasons you are being shamed.

So shame, once you unpick what it is, is simple to counteract. Which is good, because it's the thing that stops people doing what they need to in order to get help. Guilt, however, is more complicated. And I'm going to posit a theory, in no doubt a stupidly long-winded way, that guilt is not there to stop you from doing things, but is in fact a motivational emotion.

I was wrong in my session. There was no better word for what I should have been feeling than guilt. Because guilt is directly related to your inner self, to something you did or didn't do, or say. Guilt was absolutely the right word for how I felt after that binge, because I had done things I knew were wrong. And I knew them to be wrong in accordance with what I genuinely and fundamentally believe in myself, for the simple reason that if i didn't believe I shouldn't be resorting to drinking to blot out anxiety and pain, then why was i engaging in therapy to break that pattern? or, put more plainly and simply, despite all my endeavours to do the right thing lately, I had massively fucked it up, by myself, and guilt is the way in which my mind was holding me accountable for what I had done wrong, by holding it at the forefront of my mind and not allowing me to concentrate on anything else.

And, to go back to what I said earlier about shame being an external process that can't exist without other people, you can be perfecty capable of feeling guilty all alone. To go back to my fart in a lift metaphor, If you fart in a lift alone, and then get out, you'll feel guilty about leaving that fart in that space to fester because you know you did it. You feel guilt because you're to blame. Guilt without culpability already has a name: paranoia. To apply this to my situation; even if nobody had known about my binge and it hadn't affected anybody else (which was emphatically not the case), even if I hadn't sat in a room telling somebody else all about it, I would still have felt guilty. Because I would have known I'd done wrong. But it would have been a kind of double guilt; the guilt of my own culpability, underneath the the guilt of not revealing it, which i'm going to rename 'concealment anxiety' for clarity.

I once read somewhere that 'we're only as sick as our secrets', and in terms of this kind of double-layered guilt, I genuinely believe it to be true. When I sat in the office talking about the binge, there was a definite sense of pressure relief, like the first door of an airlock opening. But the removal of the concealment anxiety is only the first door; it doesn't free you, it just lets you breathe and focus. Concealment anxiety is why problem pages everywhere are crowded with letters asking if people should reveal their adultery to their partners - the uncertainty stems from the knowing it would provide that rush of relief vs. the fact it won't remove the guilt that comes from the actual culpability. Telling the truth about what you did can only remove the concealment anxiety, it can't remove the guilt of culpability.

The reason I use the metaphor of breathing space and an airlock is because until you untangle concealment anxiety and guilt, you can spend a long time in that pressure zone, confusing the two. My therapy, this blog, the practices I'm putting into place to reach out to more people and to be honest about everything, they're all ways in which I've realized i was existing in this dead, hidden zone where all the things i was doing to harm myself were hidden. And that environment was slowly making me sicker, and more isolated, and withdrawn. I wasn't admitting to my actions, which meant I was stuck alone in this space, at eye level with my guilt at all times, and unable to address any of it because I couldn't focus.

Breaking that first seal by gritting my teeth hard and admitting to all the things I was guilty of to people (professionals and loved ones alike) provided me the breathing space I needed to look at the real guilt in a more focused way. The guilt that, as I put it, 'makes you ask questions, tell the truth to yourself, and try to learn.' And it was chronic, in this situation. I say chronic because guilt is visceral, it's a physical emotion. You feel sick, your heart pounds, you sweat, and if you're me, your posture goes totally insular and you can't look anyone in the eye (I'm pretty sure this is also what dogs do). Guilt is your mind's equivalent of putting a huge billboard in front of all your other emotions saying 'YOU FUCKED UP. YEAH, YOU. WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO ABOUT IT?'

And that, I think, is the key function of guilt. On first glance it seems like an unfair emotion - you can't undo what you did wrong, because what's done is done, so the 'what are you gonna do about it?' can seem overwhelming. But guilt's 'what are you gonna do about it?' doesn't have to be interpreted as a threat; it's your mind's way, at least I think, of saying, 'you did something horribly wrong, and now we need to focus on ways to make sure you don't do it again.'

((DISCLAIMER: I'm not, here, disregarding the fact that if you did something to hurt somebody else, you should say sorry, or try to make amends, but I am not dwelling on that, because a sorry can't fix anything, and sometimes the amends aren't possible. That's not to say they're not a necessary part of facing up to what you're guilty of, as I certainly said my sorry to the concerned party, meaning every single word of it (as I'm sure he was fully aware), but knowing in the pit of my stomach that no matter how heartfelt the sorry was, it wouldn't fix the damage I'd done. No matter how fundamentally important it is to say and mean, never has any sorry I've ever said had any more power than words ever have over actions.))

But back to that 'what are you gonna do about it?' - That's what's made me see that guilt can be a motivational emotion. For a start, there's the fact that it's so sick-making and anxiety-inducing that you would, in its throes, probably do whatever it takes never to feel it again. And I think that's no coincidence; warning signs are eye-burningly bright, sirens are ear-splittingly loud, because urgent messages need urgent attention. But the process of guilt, the constant reminders; I am finding, the more I notice and interrogate my thoughts; often take the form of ways in which you could have done things differently. I used to think that this was just my brain compounding things by telling what a fucking idiot I was, but now I'm starting to realize that actually, these alternate-plays are not nasty mind tricks, they're useful tools for me to interrogate, using direct example, why I didn't do things differently. I'm using guilt as a motivational tool, by letting these replays provoke questions, and therefore answers, that inform my future decisions. I'm still working on it, but it's very effective. It is literally the emotional equivalent of 'learn from your mistakes'. Guilt isn't your enemy, guilt is your teacher. It's just that it's the teacher you thought was really savage at school who you only grew to respect when you realized that they got shit done (not unrelated: Hi Mrs. Pearman, hope you're well!)

That was probably more long winded than anyone needed it to be, but we all have these negative emotions, and I'm starting to learn that engaging with them is both practical (because they're not fucking going anywhere unless I get lobotomized), and useful (because they have more to tell me than that I currently don't feel very good). So I'm going to become shameless (or more so, as anyone who has encountered how chill I am with being seen naked will attest), I'm going to be as honest as I can to stop that concealment anxiety airlock from closing me in and stopping me breathing again (a decision I've already committed to), and when I am to blame for something, I am going to let my guilt guide me into examining why the hell I did it in the first place, to stop me doing it again.

#personal blog #recovery #guilt #shame #anxiety #emotion #tl;dr #musings