Three Stripes On My Sleeves

I love Adidas. It's a complete and utterly blissful affair. You can shove your E's, coke and ket because Adidas is where it's at.

Not just any old Adidas you understand though. Vintage is the name of the game. The classic designs of the 60s, 70s, 80s. I've got loads of it, almost to the point of obsessive behaviour. I like to think that I fall short of 'trainspotter' status, you know - the people who collect so much of the stuff that they end up opening a shop. No, that's not what I'm about at all, I just love wearing it, and always have done. It started when I was about 10 or 11 and, despite a couple of dodgy 'Goth' years during my mid-teens, it's always been in my wardrobe. Adidas is proper skill.

What you see on this page is exactly what I am wearing today.

Doner Kebabs... An Unmitigated Evil

A Doner Kebab, yesterday...

Just what is it that drives us to consume this ungodly creation, spawned from the scrapings from the abbatoir floor? Why are we compelled to find the nearest kebab shop and utter the immortal words "Large Doner please mate" after a night on the lash?

The answer, of course, is beer. It's beer that fuels our desire for this demonic piece of work. After all, what sort of social deviant purchases one of these when stone cold sober? You are clearly in a dark place if you fancy a kebab without alcohol streaming heavily through your system.

I have to confess that I myself have been a 'heavy user' of the Doner Kebab in the past, I simply could not leave them alone after a few sherbets. "Yeah, all the salad mate, and loads of chilli sauce". Is there any help out there for people like us? Any helplines, any counselling on offer? No. We are left completely at the mercy of the Kebab pushers.

Of course we can fool ourselves. We can tell ourselves that what we are getting is tomatoes, cucmber, lettuce, onions, and weird cabbagey bits in some nice healthy pitta bread. We are fulfilling our '5-a-day' requirements, with a litle bit of meat thrown in for good measure. It's self delusion of the highest order.

What we are actually subscribing to is dirty, filthy, unpleasant degradation. I'm making my stand. My will power may well be put to the test at about eleven o'clock tonight, but I intend to stand firm...

Ressala Is A Winner

The Chicken Ressala in all its magnificent glory...

It's always the same when you get the old Indian take-away, do you plump for the Madras or the Jalfrezi? Chicken or Lamb? Everything else is easy - Poppadums with the pickles and chutney, a side dish of Bombay Potato, a portion of Pilau rice and Nan bread. The works.

Well, I've discovered an alternative to the old Madras/Jalfrezi debate. Ressala. A Bhuna flavoured dish, spiced and cooked with freshly spiced capsicum, onions, green chillies and tomatoes. It looks and tastes very much like a Jalfrezi - and definitely carries the same heat - but clearly there is a subtle difference, and, perhaps more importantly, it's a new piece of kit for your armoury. Be the envy of your mates, impress the ladies, The Ressala is a winner.

Of course there is always the question of availability - the Ressala is not yet a staple of the Take-away menu, therefore some investigation of your local restaurants is imperative, but believe me it is well worth your time and effort.

And here's some more curry porn...