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THE VERY BEST OF THE OTHER SIDE I’m composing this message as I sit on the “134...to...Tottenham court road.” Thanks for reminding me kind computerised lady voice.

Buses are annoying enough: there are the beeping doors, the seats with less leg room than a ryanair flight and there’s the lady voice who tells us where we are every forty seconds, or that “this bus is being held here for a moment to regulate the service”...

I didn’t think my service needed regulating. I haven’t even started on the hoodlums busting out rap on their Sony Ericssons.

So what am I getting at here?

To be honest not much. I’m just picking out the stuff that most begets me about London’s transport system. I could talk to the people I regularly commute with, but then they would label me as ‘mad’ and we don’t want that.

Last week two women in front of me started shouting at each other. Lady one screamed “Why did you push me?” Lady two replies with “I didn’t you nutter”, then exclaiming again, this time to the rest of the bus, that lady one is in fact “a crazy nutter”. Isn’t that a double negative? Anyway, turns out the bloke next to me is none too amused with the happenings and shouts at the pair: “shut the f*ck up, nobody wants to listen to your f*cking bickering!” Au contraire monsiuer, I thought, before being advised by computerised lady voice that the 134 had...reached my destination. I love the bus.

Ed.x

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WEE HERE

with you. Handy mag rails offer hundreds of items laid on for you. Peruse at your leisure and take one to the bathroom with you. But be sure to return anything you borrow – we don’t want to promote thieves now do we.

We’ve all been there, the tube pulls into Tottenham Court Road and you’re busting for a wizz. It’s still at best, a four minute walk to the exits. Then it’s decision time; where to go, is it that desperate that you resort to the McDonalds bog or can you hold your bladder long enough to make it to the tranquillity of the Oxford Street department store WCs. Well you no longer need to worry as we’ve drunk our weight in Capri Sun and come up with London’s ultimate toilet guide.

Selfridges – Oxford Street

Selfridges toilets are clean. There is plenty of space inside and there’s always a guy checking everything is OK. No e-coli, no bird flu just a simple toilet. However, that said – any department store will do, although I might add that House of Fraser is very hot and is an unpleasant experience.

Pret a Manger – Long Acre, Covent Garden / Leicester Square

Liberty’s – Nearest Tube, Oxford Circus… for the boys

Hidden away downstairs in big Pret is a small metallic lavvy. It’s not particularly nice but it does the job. I liked the futuristic feel it had.

Corrugated metal doors and horrifically designed entry. But it’s times like these that design features are the least of your worries.

Once you’ve navigated your way past the world’s most expensive t-shirt and jackets that would make Stone Cold Steve Austin look camp, you’ll find yourself in among the Art. Walk through glancing as you pass as if you might just might purchase a water colour. Don’t, because they’re all rubbish.

Instead sneak left into the none-too-shabby toilets.

That Shopping Centre by Neal’s Yard (you know the one) - Covent Garden

Ray’s Jazz Café at Foyles – Charing Cross Road

Despite being a dumping ground for some distinctly rubbish clothes shops, it boasts a coffee stand and comfy seats and a decent atmosphere. Better yet, there are some piss-soaked free bogs to use. They’re one up from going up against a wall at the very least.

Bookshops are a great place to take a leak, mainly because nobody tells you toilets are for customers only. Ray’s has a male and a female lav and is situated on the second floor of Foyles bookshop. Treat yourself to a toasted rye bread sandwich after, they are really great.

Borders – Charing Cross Road / Oxford Street

The great thing about Borders is the array of ephemera that you can take into the toilets

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Have you drunk too much Ribena on the tube recently? Had to make a dash for a pit stop?

Where did you go and what did you think.

Share you bog experiences with us at www.theothersidemag.co.uk

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editor@theothersidemag.co.uk

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cardorowski

for the

THE YANKS ALWAYS INTERFERE WITH OUR NATIONAL TREASURES, BUT THIS TIME THEY’VE gONE TOO FAR. Cardorowski DEFENDS THE HONOUR OF THIS PROUD ISLE

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love of tink

ave you called the speaking clock recently? I did. Not so long ago in fact. We had a power surge in NW Lunnun, everything flashed on/off/black/white and the clocks went ape (sat on their hands and ate bananas).

So I picks up the boneo and dialled the ol’123… I’m serenaded by the dulcet tones of that rather posh bint that told the time sponsored by the accurate wrist. Reassuring and clear, job done. But then the clocks went back (not all by themselves, y’unnerstand), and there’s that simple manoeuvre you can do, but I made an error and kept getting my kids to school too early and they began to get increasingly pissed off. So I dialled the posh bint again and awaited the… some bloody fairy from under the wing of the newly elected Barack Obama! Calling herself ‘Tinkerbell’ of all bloody things.

I’m well aware that, in the C21st UK, it might seem a trifle redundant to be told the time by a posh bint with cut-glass vowels and super-duper consonants but, why-oh-why do we need some cross pond Yank screeching down the dog to tell us what time it will be when she’s rung her bloody bell thrice? I’d wring her bloody neck, ring her sodding bell and spawn a coven of sprites, if it didn’t conjure images of a thrashing, flailing Julia Roberts on her death bed.

This latest encroachment into our hallowed heritage is surely but a triple jumper’s toe over the line of cultural exchanges that must bring about an immediate cessation to all familiarities.

I mean are we so irrevocably entwined with that Behemoth that we cannot even hold on to our 04

own beloved cultural icons without yielding to them the whining tone of the Eternal Complainers? Did Mr Barrie not habituate Hyde and not Central Park? Did the Darling family not live over the Bayswater Road, rather than over an Ocean? What possible connection does Neverland have with the Disunited States of America beyond attempts at Marketing, Commerce and Imperialism?

And yeah, obviously, it is but a book that has travelled and any reader has the right to interpret the story as they see fit, equally obviously, over there, that theme park perve had his own (muchloved) Neverland, that has since gloriously fallen into disrepute and disrepair, and yes Johnny Depp made a fantastic and beguiling Barrie, BUT… are ye not fed up with the preponderance of the Yank tones all over our waves, appropriating our tongue, our written word and our consciousness?

The use of those cadences to lend gravitas to stories that bear NO relation to that distant land mass? That belligerently pleading voice demanding that we spend whatever we can borrow? One sits watching kid’s TV and the tsunami of ads fronted by the bleating voices of the Empire winds one beyond any reasonable limit of self-control. It’s the voice of the Oppressor smugly reminding us that we’ve been had; that we surely are the 51st State and that they can do whatever the bollox they want with our tongue, our culture and our history.

The greatest pity is that

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while they persist in urinating and defecating all over the same, we applaud and ape them while eating their junk, watching their crap and obsessing about their bloody elections. (All the while our democracy is being sold down the Swannee in slavish dependence to the mighty dollar). Weapons of Mass Distraction indeed! They dropped one right in our midst, way, way back, and we cradled it into our emaciated and weary bosoms in the hope of succour. But now its stuck there and we’re too frightened to rip it off and start again... and we’re the Suckers.

So then you put your investigative boots on and trawl the wwweb for a little insider info on The Tinker Bell and hey nonny nonny… first up? Those world wide purveyors of Yankee Dreaming, the Disney Corp, are about to present us with an animated piece of tripe that further removes us from the intended idea that Tinkerbell was in fact a rather mean tinker fairy, good with pots and pans, and not much else and was but one of a band of sprites bonded by the love of Pete at that. And a frightmare looms, those of us who’ve fallen under the narcoleptic spell of the Dream of Acquisition are about to be overwhelmed by the glories of a super-cheeky sprite who keens away in that irritating tone, akin to nothing so much as the nail and blackboard, all over the Festive Period.

And then the realisation dawns… we here, upon this Sceptered Isle, have become naught but a bright shiny billboard flashing at the world

flogging the wares of a civilisation that cares not two hoots, as long as the billboard is operational and unobstructed.

Time for a little obfuscation methinks, at least a complaint or two. Better still, a suggestion. How about we ask for the ribald tones of Ian Dury on the talking clock? What would he rhyme with clock? Hard I know from the grave, but modern technology and all that... Or some crazed loon like Miranda Richardson to give us a definitive and very English Tinker-sprite! Even bloody Bjork with her mad Icelandic/ Bristol accent would be truer to the ideal. But some air-brushed squeak with opalescent graphix? Puh-leeze! Let us agree now, those of us who might be tempted or tugged in the direction of a cinema by recalcitrant children, that we will NOT invoke contamination by this invasion of the Septic Ideal.

Instead I invoke in you the spirit of Peter Finch in the fillum Network. Are we gonna be ‘Mad as hell and not take it anymore’? Are we? Or are we just gonna roll over and take it any way that Uncle Sam feels like rendering it unto us. As he maintains and wipes clean his billboards/screens/ broadsheets/advertising opportunities. No! Let us further agree that we will appropriate the surfaces that are used to lie, cheat, steal, and deceive and make humorous the walk to work, the moments of idle waiting, the escalator creep; with messages of hope and wit, integrity and joy!

Come on! Y’know it makes sense. All that acreage being used to part you from the cash you’ve only borrowed anyway. Why not borrow a corner to pass on the message of love? Or take the whole bloody thing and dispel confusion with a simple slogan: EAT LESS or GIVE MORE THAN YOU THINK YOU CAN? Tink would be proud of you! Tinker that she was before Walt’s Wankers coated her in their saccharine. There’s a whole bunch of kids gonna grow up thinking that that wicked/anarchic sprite was sweet and positive, a helping hand in times of trouble. Read the bloody source material! Tink was a right pain in the arse and should stay that way. Certainly shouldn’t be trusted to tell us the time!

Get more Cardorowski madness at www.theothersidemag.co.uk/cardorowski

POP-UP sHOPs

by

op up shops have been puzzling me. For a while the words rested at the edge of my consciousness, the meaning unformed. In my mind a pop-up shop was like a pop-up book, colourful and made of paper, a Jolly christmas Postman for the over 12s.

Imagine my disappointment when I saw the brick-and-mortar reality – from Flash (the restaurant in the Royal Academy) to monthly

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vintage sales in Truman brewery to Dr Martens’ pop-up in spittalfields – pop-up shops sell fast, and they sell temporary.

The fashion crowd love them, because as soon as the hoi polloi find out about them, they disappear, leaving a whiff of organic asparagus wraps and vintage gina shoes in their wake.

Pop-up shops are so of the now: people are into them because other people are into them. And I can no longer ignore them. If you are a band you should generally

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chloe

george

have performed in one (The Dead Weather to name but one). If you are an artist you’ll mostly be showing your work there by night, as cocktails and cupcakes cooked by a pseudo-feminist with a quiff and a vintage Hermes scarf are served to a knowing crowd.

Perhaps it should be celebrated, this inclusive approach to using space, this inventive embrace of the alternative, this mixing of function. Play a gig in an Oxfam shop; knit in a pop-up shop; wear your shoes on your head; open a restaurant in your living room.

In capitalist reality they are just another way to sell things to people with the concentration

“pop-ups provide a perfect way to keep things edgy and off the Primark scum’s radar”

span of ... oooh, something shiny.

They pressure us to act now before everything sells out. Often they sell vintage and second hand, or it used to be naff but now it’s cool (barbour, Dr Martens), the explosion in popularity of which appeals to people’s need to keep their tastes exclusive. What with t’internet breaking and spreading new fashions far and wide the mainstream can hop on the leggings bandwagon before you can say Agnes Deyn is a twat. As people thrive on feeling like they have found something special that others aren’t ‘in the know’ enough to find out about pop-ups provide a perfect way to keep things edgy

and off the Primark scum’s radar.

It’s a race to find out information first, and protect your alternative material from mainstream cooptation.

It’s understandable why people want to protect their knowledge: it is property that’s fiercely guarded, which makes us what we are. because the problem is, as soon as something gets too trendy, we lose interest. bandwaggoning gets tiresome pretty quickly in a world where everything is tweeted and retweeted and shelf lives get shorter and shorter.

Once they reach a tipping point, and enough people are into the latest thing, people like me won’t like these things (or won’t want to

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like them). When enough people have decided that the intimate setting of Union chapel is a good place to see a gig, that festivals are fun because you get to drink and listen to bands in fields, that broadway Market has an amazing array of cheap second hand clothes … they kind of lose their edge.

And heaven forfend that happen.

What’s a scenester to do? so we buy more, but more of a different type of thing, in yet another try-hard attempt to distinguish us from the crowd.

And we always need to buy more, and buy new (even if new is old), because we’re convinced these things make us what we are, that our identities are anchored in spending (both time and money).

And it goes back round again, as things ‘have their day’ once more – the pencil skirt, the jumble sale, the floral tea set, which are not new but have been in hibernation long enough to feel shiny and ready for us to devour.

Like everyone else, I will seek out the new until I have convinced myself that I was there first. I feel put out when people out-know me and triumphant when I out-know them. Maybe I’ll grow up one day… but I doubt it when it feels so warm and wrong to trump an acquaintance’s ‘I saw Florence and the Machine in Union chapel’ story with my own. To be fair, my story was better – smaller venue, less people knew about her, she was actually good then – and I saw her first, OK?

To write for the magazine vist www.theothersidemag.co.uk

MATT McLeAN RIfLES ThROUgh hIS POckETS fOR SOmE mEANINg IN hIS LIfE

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MATT McLeAN RIfLES s anyone who has ever ThROUgh hIS POckETS fOR attempted to smuggle end a weapon into LIfE prison SOmE mEANINg IN hIS there.

will tell you, the human The body is remarkably s anyone who has everpocket is such lowattempted on adequate to smuggle an egalitarian device; end storage space.into It isprison a weapon it will not prioritise or beyond us you, to carry will tell the humangivethere. preference to any item The more than four bags of shopping about our body is remarkably that has been entrapped in its cottony lair. pocket is such person without stoppinglow every minutes on two adequate To the pocket, £50 note is the equal an egalitarianthe device; to examine the deep redstorage furrowsspace. that have It is of the snotty tissue, theorgig ticket is the it will not prioritise been branded across ourbeyond palms by taut us the to carry same aspreference the shop receipt.

Meaning that give to any item plastic, and although the body contains more than four bags of shopping about our the chances of you removing youlair. that has been entrapped inthe its thing cottony many natural crevices and alcoves, many of person without stopping every two minutes need from your pocket, as opposed to the pocket, the £50 note is the equal these are only the capable housing a small to examine deepofred furrows that have theTo from packetisof ofinstruction the snottybooklet tissue, the giga ticket the quantity of fluff without severe discomfort. been branded across our palms by the taut condoms, isthe an shop exercise in sheer probability. same as receipt.

Meaning that I am talking specifically of the belly button plastic, and although the body contains I find constantly apologising myyou themyself chances of you removing thefor thing here, which seems to meand perfectly placed many natural crevices alcoves, many of pockets, if I am asked for the correct change need from your pocket, as opposed to to these function a small purse document areasonly capable of or housing a small for something, and Ia have notof thepaying instruction booklet from packet holder, and of yetfluff it will struggle to house more while quantity without severe discomfort. planned aheadis and removedinthe money in condoms, an exercise sheer probability. than a five-pence piece without giving up the I am talking specifically of the belly button anticipation of the transaction taking place, I find myself constantly apologising for my ghost, lessseems if you to have ‘outie’. placed here,even which mean perfectly I am forced iftoI do impromptu trawl change pockets, am an asked for the correct to function as a small purse or document through my trousers, blindly grasping at the while paying for something, and I have not Inholder, orderand to rectify thisstruggle chronic to lack of more yet it will house contents ofahead my pockets and muttering sorrys planned and removed the money in available carry space for the many tools than a five-pence piece without giving up theas the queue builds up. anticipation of the transaction taking place, andghost, appendages that we have become even less if you have an ‘outie’.

I am forced to do an impromptu trawl accustomed to, Man invented the pocket, Now, I ammywilling to accept through trousers, blindlythat grasping at the and many years Alanis Morisette would In order tolater rectify this chronic lack of I may be partly to pockets blame here; Imuttering sorrys contents of my and putavailable one hand in hers, and use the other carry space for the many tools have as no thepocket queue discipline. builds up. to and generate a three-minute nugget of pop appendages that we have become Any item removed from irritation.

The crimes of the pocket do not accustomed to, Man invented the pocket, Now, I am willing to accept that 20 and many years later Alanis Morisette would I may be partly to blame here; I put one hand in hers, and use the other

a wallet or pocket could conceivably go Both of these carry with them a weight of back into another pocket selected on a awkwardness and unintended snootyness, whim, with no thought for when I might so I simply continued into the shop, acting as next need to find said item. This fly-by-night though I hadn’t noticed, the sound of coins attitude to compartmentalising my slacks hitting the gravel forecourt still ringing in my reached a head recently and resulted in me ears. But then, I think to myself, why does causing offence to a homeless person. While this homeless man care? He has his £1.35, entering the convenience store section of surely he is not a stickler for the heirs and a petrol station, with an appetite of pastrygraces that we in employed society hold so based goods, my mobile phone went off. dear, he probably just shoved the money into Unlike the domestic dog, my ears lack his pocket as soon as my back was turned the sensitivity to pin-point exactly and didn’t bat an eyelid a the potential where the ringing was coming from, offence caused. however, once the phone was located I, unlike the dog, was able to answer Here I am dwelling and deliberating on the call using my opposable thumb whether I am a bad person, and paying for and fore-finger. Canine pointa mushroom slice on a debit card. Well, scoring aside, this tyranny of politeness must ENd. I am the point going to go back is that it out there and say, I AM WILLInG TO took some ‘Look, I dropped AccEPT THAT I MAY some money on degree of rummaging to BE PARTLY TO BLAME the floor here and locate the phone I would like it back, HERE; I HAVE nO and remove it from and I know you’re my tightly packed having a tough time POcKET DIScIPLInE pockets. During of it but I worked this process I disturbed receipts, chocolate for that money and wrappers and a £1.35 in coins, which fell it is not yours to keep simply because you directly at the feet of the homeless man sat are starving and destitute, that is not how it on the floor outside the petrol station. works, OK?’ So I leave the petrol station and I walk It is at this point that I reached a up the homeless man and I know that I am crossroads, a moral fork in the road. My going to sound cruel but it doesn’t matter options going forward appeared to be twonow because I am taking a stand, and as I fold: Bend down and pick the money up, approach he holds out his hand and says: returning it to the pocket and giving the ‘Here, you dropped some money mate”, and young fellow of no-fixed-abode a polite nod without even flinching for one second, I say to neutralise any bad feeling; or ‘Hey, Keep it’.

Act as though this was a genuine donation, and risk I must remember to start putting my him thinking that I consider change in my wallet. him of such low worth that I would toss coins mockingly at his feet and Want to read more off kilter watch him scrabble in the dirt musings? Visit for them while I gloat and glower in www.theothersidemag.co.uk his shabby little face.

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M T S

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m p t b p m t q I h t h t g

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walk of life by adam richmond

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*Money’s tight, it’s getting hot and you can’t remember the last time you had a moment to reflect. On the tube I can only hang my head; buried in the dirty words of a tabloid hack; fingerprint smudges of the day, boring and sliding among the valleys of my skin, to remain a thick black smudge of lies caking my skin and weighing me down in an abrasive seat. There must be something else, a world outside of the dull rocking of the tube or the vague threat of the bus, free from awkward silence and the faces buried in the free papers.

A world outside…

The Angel

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alk out of Angel tube and don’t even consider walking up the becushioned swank of Upper Street or near the standard fare shopping mall. Sure there is plenty to do up the Angel, but this is supposed to be invigorating and refreshing, so do yourself a favour, and stick a left.

Straight across the road and you can nip into one of London’s finest pubs, The Old Red Lion.

Boasting a theatre upstairs that showcases an impressive array of plays, the pub itself has character and warmth in spades.

Back out, continue left down St John’s Street, veering right down Rosebery Avenue. Sadler’s Wells theatre and trees dappled with fairy lights greet you. Saunter along and Exmouth Market hails into view. This unassuming hub of activity boasts a solid set of kebab shops, various cafes, top of the class restaurant Moro and a smattering of ale houses, the best being The Wilmington Arms. Have something fancy. Or stick a Subway in your gob and get going.

At bottom of Rosebery Avenue you can choose to enjoy the artistic and cerebral delights of Magma, or the pound-in-a-pint glass strip joint The Griffin. Or maybe sample both – bury your face in a lush art magazine and then bury your face into the crotch of a traffiked sex worker (that nagging feeling might be guilt, arousal... or perhaps disgust). Suitably informed and dirtied it’s time to move on. Turn right up Theobald’s

The Sou The SouThbAnk

›› Road and the rush of traffic and smog may sting your eyes, but you’re outside damn you. Feel free to nip right down Lambs Conduit Street (half way along Theobald’s) for a charming array of off-beat shops and The Perseverance pub, but if you want to get cracking stay the course and damn the consequences.

As you near Holborn you’ll walk past Fryer’s Delight, a top draw fish and chip shop and no mistake. Stay for a sit down fish supper, mushy peas and cup of builder’s tea, or just grab a bag of chips and battered sausage for the walk.

Hit Holborn and you may falter. The bottle neck by the tube is packed with the dragging mass of London’s worst – people going to and from work – take the edge off in the Princess Louise, a Samuel Smith’s pub – which means you can drink for under 2 quid a pint – and in some of the finest surroundings around.

Down the solid greys of Kingsway, the towering buildings may seem oppressive, but follow their lines to the blue sky and soon you’ll be at Aldwych and the Strand. Feel free to take in a show at this point, but if you have any sense you’ll keep going onto Waterloo Bridge (the best bridge in London – go on, tell me I’m wrong). To the right the government shenanigans, Big Ben and the Millennium Wheel all hove into view. Left the Oxo Tower and the Southbank.

Cross the river and hang your hat at the BFI, NFT, or even the Tate Modern. If you’re lucky the secondhand book fair will be on under the bridge. Wander down the river, pick a pub and drink to the dirty blue Thames.

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hAckney

by nathan shoreditch may

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s that butter advert rightly suggests, Saturday is breakfast day, so start things off down at the The Corner Deli on Mare Street in Hackney. Here you can find a fry-up fit for a king – a king with a massive hangover – or any number of brunch alternatives, try the French toast with bacon and banana for something a little different. From there, head to London Fields with your paddle for a spot of alfresco table tennis. Bit random yes, but heaps of fun. Once you have been hustled for the court, wander down Broadway Market and cheer yourself up with some freshly squeezed apple juice from the fruit stall. If you fancy trying something a bit different, stop by at F. Cooke, the local eel importer, for a plate of mash and steaming hot eels. Carry on down to Hackney City Farm to feed the chickens and enjoy a little bit of countryside nestled away in east London.

On a Sunday, cross Hackney Road and stroll down Colombia Road when the flower market is on. They are some great buys to be had for those with green fingers, and even if the chaos of bargaining for a pot of parsley is too much, you can keep to the side of the market where some great boutique shops offer respite and birthday present ideas for your mum. Head south from Shoreditch and stop into Commercial Tavern for an afternoon drink in the most opulent of surroundings. This will stand you in good stead for the slightly more edgy Brick Lane, where you can spend hours going through other peoples stuff as the market spills out onto the street at the weekend. Alternatively, head to Café 1001 for the ever-present bbq or a quiet drink. It is only a short walk back through Spitalfields, where you can grab a nice evening meal from Canteen for around a tenner and as if by magic you’re back at Liverpool Street to get the bus home.

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kentish town

by chloe g e o r g e

fitzroviA

entish Town station is your start point, which sits at the north end of the bustling, multi-faceted Kentish Town Road. Packed with independent shops including the delightful Owl Bookshop and the pricey but fragrant Earth Foods, all walks of life roam up and down the main road, while expensive Victorian and Georgian houses nestle in relative peace on both sides.

If you need pepping up after your so far arduous journey, nip into Kentish Town’s finest pub, Leverton Street’s The Pineapple. Stacked with talkative but committed soaks, former rock stars and tempting board games, you can while away a pleasant pint of ale while counting the pineapple-based memorabilia or enjoying the pub¹s excellent Thai food.

Thus refreshed, head back out onto Kentish Town road and head south. On your right you¹ll see the Bull and Gate pub, early hosts for artists like PJ Harvey, Blur, Ash and the Manic Street Preachers. No less rock and roll a little further down is one of London¹s most famous nudist public baths, classily named Rio’s.

By the time you pass the reasonably priced bring your own booze Bin Tang you’ll nearly have crossed the canal bridge and hit the bottom of Kentish Town Road. Hang a right onto Parkway, Camden’s hive of eateries, including the upmarket Market and veggie-restaurant-cumfolk-joint The Green Note Cafe. Cross over two

sets of traffic lights and the road will veer left, and you¹ll reach the edge of Regent’s Park.

Enter the park and take a left, strolling south across grassy plains and the formal pleasures of the English Gardens. After ten minutes or so you’ll hit the bottom of the park, near Great Portland Street tube station. The Queen’s Head and Artichoke is a gastro-pub at the bottom of Albany Street, which runs round the edge of Regent’s Park.

Back on Great Portland Street itself, the tube station on your left, head south and take a left down New Cavendish Street. Heading across the road onto Howland Street, the BT Tower will be just a couple of streets away.

You can look at it and say “Oh look, there’s the BT Tower, why is it so fucking ugly?”. Take a right and you’ve reached the hub of Fitzrovia, Charlotte Street.

Fitzrovia is formally the area bounded by Euston Rd (north), Oxford Street (south) and Tottenham Court Road (east). If you want to rub shoulders with Russian aristocrats and business men have a cocktail in the famous Charlotte Street Hotel. However, you can’t dally around the area like a bohemian Fitzrovia dandy without visiting the Fitzroy Tavern. Enjoy a Samuel Smiths pint and, as you suffer the muggy, but cheap brew, ruminate on Quentin Crisp, Dylan Thomas and George Orwell, who supped ale in the very same spot.

For more of London visit www.theothersidemag.co.uk

film

little films that

By AdAm richmond

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or all its success, and it does deserve it, Slumdog Millionaire is also rather depressing in that it’s just another in a long line of those plucky little gems that through a combination of publicity, word of mouth, gushing reviews and awards galore tickling the public’s perineum to such a state of arousal that the film explodes in a perfect sales cum-shot bonanza, hitting the flickering eyes of our collective psyche, and making everyone suitably ashamed soon after when we realise we shouldn’t have been swept away. Again.

And of course, there’s only one film to blame – The Shawshank Redemption.

A studio film sure, and not even a box office success, but what Shawshank showed Hollwood was that slow-burning, word-of-mouth films sure can rake in the dough. And the audience learnt a ››

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film valuable lesson too, that they could all too easily let their favourite film (for Shawshank is what your average punter will include in their top films, fact) slip them by if they weren’t careful.

So, while I couldn’t possibly prove the connection (it seems right dammit), for the past 10 years the surprise film of the year has been feelgood in nature. Breaking through with their kooky casts, hip soundtracks, star making turns and off-beat spins of predicatable genres, at a steady and boring pace of one a year.

Good Will Hunting really kicked the trend off, with hip songs from Elliot Smith, an attentiongrabbing straight role from Robin Williams, and two handsome leads who just had happened to write the darn thing and one of whom would go onto bigger and Bourner things, while the other one would go on to do Jennifer Lopez (but then later go on to direct the simply marvelous Gone Baby Gone – another little film that should not of been ignored and yet was).

Little Miss Sunshine boasted a bevy of kooky characters on a that hoariest of tropes, the road trip, where everyone learned a little something about themselves and joined together for a cathartic dance at the end. Garden State cemented the hip soundtrack as a standard indie feature, going so far as having Natalie Portman’s character’s namecheck The Shins as a band that “would change your life”. It also a prime example of a film who’s unexpected sweetness initially wins you over, but on repeat viewings make you physically sick.

Sideways still stands up today, lacking the trite trimmings of soundtrack or oddball characters.

It’s dark, underplayed and frequently hilarious.

Who could tire of Paul Giamatti after all? Juno was the last film to pull the trick and had razor sharp dialogue to fall back on, but ticks all the other indie cliches and again, fails to sustain.

At least it’s hip though, the best the UK can offer by way of surprise hit is dreary upbeat shite like The Full Monty or Billy Elliot, both boasting a hook (working class strippers/boy ballet dancer overcoming the odds) and a cast of familiar character actors plodding through uninspired dialogue and familiar situations.

So, while most of these films are all fine indie fare – though what that really means is debatable as most of them have studio money dirtying up their hip credentials – they are all dirty attention

4

hoggers. Given the short attention span of the media and its inability to convey more than the most basic of concepts to an ever wearying public all they can do is serve up and get behind one of these little films a year and they are more often than not feelgood in nature.

Go back to the early 90s and the first little film that could that broke through to mass culture was Steven Soderbergh’s Sex, Lies and Videotape, a dark, awkward look at relationships. With James Spader.

Pulp Fiction would did the same for Tarantino, though he had already warmed up the expectant crowd with Resevoir Dogs. Sure, Pulp Fiction has dated badly, but it is one of the most important films of the 90s, not least because it ushered a new wave of young, exciting directors and writers (and woeful copiers).

The big Brit surprise of the 90s was Danny Boyle’s Trainspotting, which introduced an exiciting young cast and drew on geniunely edgy and groundbreaking material. Explosive French drama La Haine would pull a similar trick, focusing on urban violence instead of drugs, but equally impressive.

These surprise hits boasted casual drug use and arse rape, now the best we get is teenage pregnancy or boys who ballet dance – take that society! Spare them a thought and they all fit the little film that could criteria. Better than that, they’re all dark as fuck. In retrospect these films look like no-brainer successes, so much so that it seems stupid to even mention them, but that they’re taken for granted now perhaps explains why those films that arrived this past decade with verve, ingenuity, wit and dark humour didn’t become the awards or mass audience successes they should have – I’m thinking Before The Devil Knows You’re Dead, Before Sunset, A Scanner Darkly, The Science of Sleep, Pi...

All of which is a long way of badgering you into letting more than one little film that can into your heart this year. Slumdog has already hogged all the love and attention going, and while it’s visually arresting and tackles some weighty themes, it’s very, very average. Can you spare a thought for something else now?

Read more film reviews and articles theothersidemag.co.uk

These surprise hits boasted casual drug use and arse rape, now the best we get is teenage pregnancy or boys who ballet dance

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5

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Processed beats.

whITE dEnIm

22

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irilityear ullandrem et in zion) hERmAn dunE (next niatuerit la facilis alit

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ALEXIS TAYLOR

magnis nosting enisi.

San ulla am, quipsustio consecte dolut ipit The band comprised of heniam, Parisian sequatio duo Davidnullaor sequatis in hendrercin Ivar Herman Dune and Néman Herman Dune, eugiam elit la autem nis alit wisissi tet lute who play guitar and drums respectively. On this min eumthey irit, have quam,collaborated quam ad tat.with Rillathe coreetu release, John msandre faciliscil utpat. nsequisit Natchez Bourbon HornObortio Players, who shot loreet to lut luptat. fame on Arcade Fire’s bandwagon, along with Nullutpatie volobor percidui bla feu Dave Tattersallmagnim of the Wave Pictures to bolster facidunt la conse diam dolore their already compelling sound.dolore dipsum enitThe augueraestie faccum quis nimtwelve quis result is a magna consistently enjoyable track album which fluctuates between comical alit esto consectem quissectem zzril dipiscidunt and melancholic, yet utpat. alwaysDuipis remains engaging. lore modolobor alit nonsent erosto The opening two tracks My Home Is Nowhere eugiat at. Ut ut inibh eros– augait la conumsan Withoutiriurer You and Try Tofacin Thinkhenis About Me enisisit, (Don’t henisit sendre alisci Worry A Bit) set down a benchmark of things to cor siscidu iscilla ad magna autpat volut accum come, and leave you humming like crazy for the nullutat ad minim dolobor eetuero dolorer rest of the day. ipsusto exerinterested ilis ea faciright? tem vel et,why quatem You are Well not ipis check adiat.

Ut wiscinis nonsed dolent lobortis alisisim out the new album and then you can see them ilit si enismod on doloborer the 17th December at oloborer Scala. sectem et at. Duis nis am iure min utatuer iuscidunt ut dolendiamet veleniamet, qui tin henis accum nim veliquis nonum dolor autat, sed et velit, sis nullutpatue tem ad diamcon sequissecte del ing et lutpat. Ut laorem nim adionsed modolortio dolobore do do conulla conulputet lutatum autet ipit utate feugiam volobor peraesectet, quis eum veniam esectem iniam dolum velisit irilit, vercipis autpat ad dunt wis ex exeraesent inibh ea feum dolendigna feum non eum quatincin volent am dunt laortie faciduis atum do eummolore dolesectet pratuer ad dolore the first dolore half is the stronger, with a re-working magna feumsan henit nibh ex eaof McCartney’s Coming Up being thebla highlight, butte facip ex ex essim zzrillam ea faci feuguerci throughout Rubbed there areeugait somelortiniam absolute magna faccum incillaOut orerit adip gems that feeldion likeexero the more stripped-down, and iril erostrud consequisi ea feugiam arguablyquisissit much better, tracks from tatio Hot Chip’s dipsum ad eugue dionsed ex ex Coming Onnostionulput Strong and The et, sequis ad Warning. er sum vent lortin

(rubbed out) Somewhere in between a hugeex tio do deliquisi sell-out aliquam tour and estinim the release their consecte feuoffacipisi. third studio Mincili ssiscipalbum, ercilit Made In The Dark, vullut dolorti ssequisl Hot Chip’s front eu faccummy nos man ad tisAlexis dit lorTaylor summy (yes, thevolore one with nullum minim those outrageous somehow found verciliscip essit ut specs) ulla feuhas facinci ex eugiam init the time to compile a 15-track solo effort of his velit nonsenis alis non utpat nostrud moloreet own.

Rubbed Out, byfaccum Taylor’svelit owniriure admission, vel eugue dolobore faci copies of hassim been Garage Band during er velassembled eu faccum on nisisi tie consequi bla any spare moments the ipsusci last year.

The eui songs augiatu eraessimover zzriusc liscipis bla by ‘exclusively tailored in places, hotel feuissequam, ver suscipit, quatplanes, adio commolobor to be rooms and at home’. in vel utpatin ciniam dio estrud dunt lor ing go to: It is exactly velisl that raw, under-produced eummoloreet, ero del iriure modigna con www.theothersidemag.co.uk association that the listener can haveutwith this henit, velit atem exeratu msandreet ing eugue /music album that really makes it work. Undoubtedly 03

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the other side

Rubbed out Alexis

Taylor

won!

MUsIc

PLANET EARTH

have been spotted sharing stages with Laura Marling, soko, Peter and the Wolf (the Texan version) and Johnny Flynn. In Autumn 2008 they supported Noah and the Whale on their UK tour. In March 2009 their first single, ‘bergman Movies’, was released on the Young and Lost club. They’ve even got a blog! so how do they spend their ideal day in London town?

food courtesy of the extremely zenerous Krishna folk. There is such a thing as a free lunch.

Road for some awesome southeast Asian food at the bintang.

And it’s bring your own.

3pm – stop by the beautiful gordon square gardens, once home to E.M. Forster and virginia Woolf.

8pm - Where better to while away your evening that at a sammy smith’s pub? The Fitzroy near Tottenham court Road is a particular favourite.

4pm – Head back south for an afternoon hot chocolate on Old compton street.

10 am – where better to start your day than with an early coffee at Monmouth, tucked away behind borough Market. Mmm, perfect for a brisk winter’s day!

11am – stroll down to the southbank. From borough Market you can walk west along the river, past the Tate Modern and coin street to the southbank, one of our favourite parts of the city.

Maybe stop and browse the second hand book stalls under Waterloo bridge?

12.30pm – From Embankment it’s a short walk to the Mall and st James’ Park, where you can admire the swans (TOs will tell you that it’s treason to kill a swan and one of the only remaining crimes you can still be hanged for in England), or have a wander through the lovely IcA gallery.

1pm – a short walk up to Leicester square, where you can watch an early bird movie at the Prince charles cinema for only £1.50. bargain!

2.30pm – catch the tube up to Russell square, walk to outside sOAs and get some delicious free

From here you can do some all important record shopping too, at sister Ray or the soul Jazz shop.

Or you can enjoy the local shops, like the authentic Italian food at I camisa. If you are feeling daring, browse the sex shops. It’s up to you.

6pm – It’s time for more food.

Head north to the Kentish Town

20

the other side | december 2009

10pm – If you fancy some further boogying, the Night slugs funky and grime nights are always fun.

A DAY OUT WITH sUNDERbANs

some of these at the Zoo.

10.00: start the day at Mess café on Amhurst Road. Here American diner meets English greasy spoon, served by Turkish wives. Order a full English with chunky fried potatoes or a sweet maple-syrupsoaked American breakfast with hash browns and ham.

13.45: After your healthy dose of the weird and the wonderful take the bus back to camden Road Overground station and ride the train to Hampstead Heath. being raised above the city, this stretch of the journey casts a wonderful panoramic view.

10.30: Once done, visit the pet shop next door to prepare for the day ahead. Meet the kittens, snakes, lizards, parrots, siamese fighting fish…the list goes on.

14.15 Hampstead Heath is vast and beautiful and makes London the best city in the world. You’ll feel free from the smog and squalor of the city despite being circled by it!

It’s an urban oasis. Have a picnic. sleep in the reeds. Run between the trees. climb inside the Magic tree.

Play hide and seek. To freshen off dive into the ponds, meander the ducks and flirt with the moor hens. (n.b. nutters, lifeguards break the ice in the winter so you can swim all year round).

10.45: cross the road to Hackney central station and get the train above ground to camden Road and then the 274 to London Zoo. 11.15: sunderbans is an Indian National Park so London Zoo is our closest alternative. The network of tributaries is home to the bengal Tiger as well as an array of other species. The Estuarine crocodile, Fishing cat, common Otter, Water Monitor lizard, gangetic Dolphin, snubfin Dolphin, River Terrapin, green sea Turtle, King cobra, Wild boar, spotted Deer and Porcupine. Keep a look out for

17.30: bar 23 opposite barden‘s boudoir on stoke Newington Road. This hidden gem sits beside our practice room and is our favourite bar in London. You’ll feel like you’re on a Mediterranean holiday as soon as you walk in. Even better, it’s open till the early hours.

We’ll be hosting the sunderbans christmas Party here on saturday 19h December.

19.30: Next door is a Turkish Restaurant called Tava. Don’t let appearances deceive, the food here’s amazing - fresh and wholesome. Everything is good, but try the daily stew with rice, bread and strange pickles that look like pieces of brain for a fiver. This will fill two people, especially if you start with Lamachun.

21.00: When the sun is set walk back to where we began, through Hackney Downs to The Pembury Tavern on Amhurst Road.

Aesthetically it’s a mix between a methodist church and a youth club. Warhammer enthusiasts with pointy beards serve strange stouts and really cheap, good food.

Rack up the billiards table and get medievally pissed.

1.00: stumble back to our flat for wrestling matches and table jumping to Pulp and Eels.

Hear more about new music @ www.theothersidemag.co.uk

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the other side | december 2009

sun, sea and... something different LET ME GUESS, yoU’vE GoT 20 dayS of hoLiday a yEar. SoMEhoW onLy fivE LEfT ‘TiL JanUary. and no MonEy...

holiday

provincial towns – to jog around SELF-COnFESSED nORTHERn MOnKEY RACHEL SEXTON REPORTS What’s that? You sheffield thought Sheffield was all steel and snooker? Oh, goodness me no.

Offbeat, a night at Raynor Lounge, is the perfect place to kick off your weekend in style, serving up some alternative indie, or take it easy in The Porter Cottage near Hunters Bar – a relaxed hangout for a few pints and some tunes on the jukebox.

It offers those weary of London’s trials plenty of great stuff to do for a weekend. And with the good people at East Midlands Trains doing a sterling job, you can be there after work on a Friday having had to sacrifice only two hours of your time eating Golden Wonder crisps and watching Britain go by.

saturday Start Saturday with some

retail therapy in the Devonshire Quarter, a trendy part of the town developed on a 19th century street grid. Division Street prides itself on its independent boutique shops including a lovely little antique shop opposite the green and Jacks Records.

Heading into the heart of Sheffield along Division Street, the Winter Gardens act as a centrepiece to the city where a jungle of exotic plants are housed in a giant glasshouse. It is a

friday If a packet of prawn cocktail wasn’t enough, when you arrive into Sheffield head to London Road where you will find loads of great places to eat. The Turkish delight – Zeugma, Yama Sushi – very reasonably priced, and Jabu – a Chinese hot pot restaurant, are all well recommended.

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or two after dinner, or alternatively The Grapes is a pub nearby that also serves as a music venue. Other options include The Devonshire Cat offering the best range of beers in the city, Bungalows and Bears, The Green Room and The Forum to name but a few.

wonderfully tranquil place, great to spend some time relaxing in with a book. The millennium gallery is part of the gardens, featuring a number of permanent and temporary exhibitions. The metalwork gallery and the Ruskin gallery are permanent and always worth a look.

For lunch, The Blue Moon Cafe is a wonderful hippy veggie eatery near the Cathedral or Twenty Two A is a pleasant cafe located just off the high street. If you fancy the pictures in the afternoon/evening, The Showroom is an independent cinema near the train station and boasts a charming atmosphere. It also has a bar/ restaurant that very often holds mellow live music performances in the evenings.

After that, Cubana is a good choice for dinner, although you may get roped into some Salsa dancing. Trippets wine bar is opposite for a drink

sunday Sunday brings a jaunt down

Eccelsall Road towards Hunters Bar. There are lots of small cafes for coffee and breakfast. The Botanical Gardens are along the way and are certainly worth a visit after a heavy Saturday night, there are plenty of Birch trees that will happily accommodate an afternoon snooze too.

For a nice lunch in Hunters Bar before your train leaves, the Greedy Greek Deli will not let you down or the Thyme Cafe on Glossop Road is perfect for a delicious sit down meal.

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I’ve been reading a lot of Nigel Slater recently, his book Toast is aIwonderful recollection of hi ’ve been reading a lot of Ni N

e Part One — Barbeque

food and his Observer column always get my juices going. I love the simplicity of his books and food and his Observer colum from telling us about cooking and what he cooks right down to a love for washing up. It also m from telling us about cookin neglect food in this mag. People love to cook and eat, and if we can get your mouth watering pr neglect food in this mag. Peo you get home and make dinner. Over the next few issues we’ve created tear and share dinner p you get home and make dinn page and distribute the recipes around your chums. We’ll start nice and easy... page and distribute the recip

la

Beef Burgers with Buffalo Mozzarella in Ciabatta.

Get some quality minced beef (no messin decent

you know what the cow’s name was beef) and throw it in a bowl with salt, pepper and a finely chopped chilli. Mix and pat into burgers. When it’s time stick them on the grill and watch them char – throw on some halved ciabatta and place a slice of the mozzarella on top of the burger. Put them inside the ciabatta and pour on the home made

tomato salsa.

Raita

Potato Cob

Feeling ambitious? Put the slice of mozzarella in the middle of the burger before you cook it!

Easy as this. Dice a cucumber and finely chop some mint.

Pour over some yoghurt and put in the fridge to cool.

Salad

ones friend you knowand Quarter ill try boiland some new adypotatoes made skin e CO-OP. on until they are soft. Leave hose!

to cool. In a big bowl make the dressing, 1 part crème freche to 2 parts

mayonnaise.

Add sea salt and pepper. Mix

it all together.

Feeling ambitious?

Add some crispy pancetta / spring onion / dill / wholegrain mustard (not all at once though).

Corn on the Cob

Raita

Easy as this. Dice a cu and finely chop some Pour over some yoghu and put in the fridge t

Get your lazy bones friend to supply these, you know the ones who will try and turn up with ready made burgers from the CO-OP. Nobody wants those!

Tomato Salsa Chicken Kebab Tandoori

Finely slice a red onion, a garlic and paste, lemon Mix some yoghurt, curry a chilli and throw into a hot oliveand oiledcoriander in a juice, ginger, garlic frying pan, addand a spoonful of sugar bowl add your diced chicken (thighs and a dash balsamic vinegartoturning areofmy fave) leave marinade upto the heat right down Stab until the everything 24 hours. chicken onto some has caramelised. Add a tin of decent skewers and escape to the back yard. tomatoes or some skinned chopped Place them on the barbie turning often fresh ones. Leave to cook until the get antoeven cook. Serve in pita bread salsa hasto reduced a sumptuous with fresh raita red sauce.

T

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bo b ar 24 sk Pl P to w

eap. Here’s ten top notch recipes to cut out and float around your friends.

A BBQ is a great way to entertain the masses on the cheap. Here’s ten top notch recipes arty? Visit www.theothersidemag.co.uk/food. 02 Want to see more recipes or got an idea for a dinner party? Visit www.theothersidemag

4

the other side

Part One — Barbeque

Nigel Slater recently, his book Toast is a wonderful recollection of his childhood growing up around mn always get my juices going. I love the simplicity of his books and the joy that he seems to get ng and what he cooks right down to a love for washing up. It also made me think that we often ople love to cook and eat, and if we can get your mouth watering pre 9am imagine the joy when ner. Over the next few issues we’ve created tear and share dinner parties. All you do is cut up the Beef Burgers with Buffalo Mozzarella pes around your chums. We’ll start nice and easy...

in Ciabatta.

Get some quality minced beef (no messin decent you know what the cow’s name was beef) and Remember your childhood throw it in a bowl with salt, pepper and Banana a finely from Marine Ices. Well if I chopped chilli.Splits Mix and pat into burgers.

When remember rightly arethem easy as it’s time stick them on the grill andthey watch make.ciabatta Slice a banana and a char – throw on ABC someto halved and place put two scoops of of vanilla ice cream slice of the mozzarella on top the burger.

Put on top. Squirt over and made then them inside the ciabatta and pour oncream the home tomato salsa.decorate with chocolate flakes, toasted almonds, hundreds and Feeling ambitious?

Put the slice of mozzarella in the thousands and strawberry sauce. middle of the burger before you cook it!

Banana Split.

Chorizo and Rocket Ciabatta

Just like the ones in Borough Market. Grill the chorizo, stick it inside the ciabatta with the rocket.

Douse in semi decent olive oil. Done. ucumber e mint.

urt

to cool.

Potato Salad

Corn on the Co

Get your lazy bones to supply these, you the ones who will t turn up with ready burgers from the CO Nobody wants thos

Quarter and boil some new potatoes skin Smash up the mint, sugar and on until they limes in the glass add crushed ice are soft. Leave a shot of good rum and pour over to cool. In a some soda water.big Squeeze a bit bowl make more lime juice and serve it up! the dressing,

Mojitos

1 part crème freche to 2 parts mayonnaise.

Add sea salt and pepper. Mix Mix some yoghurt, curry paste, lemon

Tandoori Chicken Kebab

Tomato Salsa

Finely slice a red onion, a garlic and a chilli and throw into a hot olive oiled frying pan, add a spoonful of sugar it all uice, ginger, garlic and coriander in a together. and a dash of balsamic vinegar turning bowl and add your diced chicken (thighs Feeling ambitious? the heat right down until everything re my fave) leave to marinade upto Add some crispy has Slice caramelised.

Add anice tin of decent an aubergine and thick 4 hours. Stab the chicken onto somepancetta / spring tomatoes skinned chopped portobello add itortosome a bowl with some onion / dill / kewers and escape to the back yard.wholegrain fresh ones. Leave to some cook until the Pour mushrooms and haloumi.

Place them on the barbie turning often mustard (not all at salsa hasolive reduced to a sumptuous over oil, crushed garlic, sea salt, once though). o get an even cook. Serve in pita bread red sauce. pepper and some lemon juice . Leave for with fresh raita an hour or so. Put the aubergine on the grill and turn it occasionally, after ten minutes add the mushrooms and after a further five add the haloumi. Cook it all and get some nice criss cross action A BBQ is a great way togoing. entertain the masses on inside the cheap Build them into a tower s to cut out and float around your friends.

Want to see03more recipes orcrispy got an idea for aover dinner party your bun and pour some of g.co.uk/food.

4 the other side the salsa.

5

Vegi Burger

food

picnic time NOTHING SAYS ENGlISH SuMMER’S EvE lIkE A HAMPER, PlASTIC PlATES AND SOME HOuMOuS AND CRISPS. HERE’S HOW TO GO ONE STEP FuRTHER THAN SOMERFIElD’S ExTRA SPECIAl TARAMOSAlATA…

D

on’t overdo this, remember less is more, especially if you’re trying to impress. Nobody wants to walk home with a complaining bloated so and so.

Sicilian Tomato Salad On a recent trip to Trapani this salad was a staple at lunch. It’s so easy to make and as long as you use proper bo tomatoes it’s a winner every time.

You need: 10 top of the range tomatoes (a mixed bag) 1 red onion roughly chopped 1 green chilli sliced 1 lemon Olive oil – the good shit Sea salt.

Throw the lot into a big bowl, squeeze the lemon, douse on the olive oil and sprinkle with salt. Shake, mix and stir before decanting into your finest Tupperware.

Bust out some home made olives We’re not talking growing your own, but here’s a bit of a money saving tip too. Pick up a gigantic jar of olives and drain them. Now pour on some squeezed lemon juice, olive oil, sea salt and pepper.

This is your base. You can now mess about with these as you please. Add Feta cheese, chopped chilli and garlic, jalepenos, thyme … sometimes it’s pretty slick to stuff each olive with a roasted almond.

Pea, Broad Bean and Edamame salad You can cheat and get the peas and broad beans frozen, but fresh these are amazing this time of year and it’s fun to pop them out of their skins.

Try Japanese stores for the edamame or you can find soya beans in the frozen section of most supermarkets.

28

the other side

Steam or boil all the ingredients still in their skins. Remove from the heat and allow to cool.

When they are cooled pop all the insides out into a big bowl, pour over a little olive oil, fresh mint and some salt. You can edit this as you like… it’s nice with green beans and some chopped chilli, throw in an Asian twist by adding some sesame oil and sesame seeds.

If it’s really hot put the pizza in the sun for ten minutes and watch the mozzarella warm up a little (this is England after all).

Make your own Houmous Yet more olive oil and lemon juice!

Blend a tin of chick peas, the olive oil, garlic, lemon juice, salt and watch as it turns into perfect houmous. Officially you should add some tahini paste, but it’s nicer without, sprinkle over some paprika.

Soft Bread Fresh Pizza I just thought this up; I guess it’s like a sandwich but better, because it’s called a pizza.

And for dessert?

Depending on where you are you’ll want an ice cream. Those in Regents Park or Hampstead Heath could make the short walk to Marine Ices

by Chalk Farm Station, there’s also Marine Ices supplied Ice Cream in the Highgate Wood cafe. If you are sitting in Hyde Park or Green Park then try the newly opened Argentinian Ice Cream bar, Freggo on Swallow Street just off Regent’s Street or really splash out at Fortnum and Mason where Ice Cream is truly great.

Otherwise grab a Mr Whippy from the dodgy bloke outside the tube station.

Enjoy!

Get your hands on a decent amount of fresh bread Some buffalo mozzarella Parma ham Rocket Basil Slice the bread and press down around the crusts creating a ridge around your pizza. Place some of the tomato salad as your base and then rip up your mozzarella. It’s a perfect pizza base – all you need to do now is add your toppings and drizzle over some of the tomato salad dressing.

illustration by kayleigh Ann Witt kawcandraw@hotmail.com

29

the other side

Stir Away

don’t use spoons. I’ve never used spoons. And yet I find myself forever washing up spoons. Her used fucking spoons. Out of nowhere there’s a pile of them, yoghurt encrusted, cereal pieces hardened on every other side. They don’t even pick off.

I

And the more I leave them, the more they pile up, the more it looks like I’m deliberately ignoring the spoons while washing everything else up. Of course, it looks small and petty so I end up washing them all... and so it goes on.

You don’t eat soup?

I don’t eat soup.

Or cereal?

Or cereal.

But you must do.

No... I don’t take sugar in my tea either.

How do you take the teabag out?

With my fingers.

Your fingers? How do you squeeze the rest of the goodness from the bag.

I get all the goodness I need with my fingers.

All so you can claim the spoon-free moral high ground?

2

by adam richmond

Exactly.

I’m not trying to say I’m special...

I’m just saying, why should I have to wash up her fucking spoons.

To submit your own short short stories go to www.theothersidemag.co.uk and we'll print the best ones

3

story

h

e puts the sweet in his mouth. It must be a red one. For this to work. A red sweet from a silver foiled wrapper, ensconced in green. The memory of shape, fading away and hanging loose, the paper and foil limp and free of purpose. Holding nothing in place, the tear curling back towards a point where it regains cylindrical form.

It has to be a red sweet.

He puts it under his tongue. A fruit pastille communion wafer. Dissolving ever so slowly.

Sticky glycerine. It would hang there. It just would.

There’s no getting around that. The wafer would disappear, as it always does. It becomes something else. Seemingly firm, like the body, but gives itself to become something else – the body – as the saliva dissolves it. Matter into meaning or meaning into matter. Either way. This sweet though, this red sweet, it would take longer. It would sit in his mouth. Stay there uncomfortably. Unnaturally.

Resist the urge to bite or chew. So it sticks to the teeth. Devouring the body of Christ just isn’t the same. It’s not a gift received, it’s sustenance taken. So for it to sit there, under his tongue, it would take a real will. Commitment to the metaphor. But that’s okay. It would slowly melt.

Sweets always do. Eventually. The sugary blood of Christ. No. The sugared blood of Christ. Those sandpaper granules of sweetness, softening, dissolving. The sugared blood of Christ. Seeping beneath the tongue, up, and inevitably down… that’s why it must have been a red one. The black blood of Christ a needless profanity, confusing the message perhaps.

Which is?

A child’s sweet. A communion wafer.

The latter transubstantiates into something. Bread into body. The former… into what?

The religion of this is almost immaterial. I mean, the man, his wife, they weren’t even Catholic. But this is just in the car, and they would have had travel sweets, driving to those cliffs. So the image, it stands to reason that it would work. Sacrifice, blood, death… and that it’s a child’s sweet… well, it stands to reason. Even if he didn’t put

the red sweet under his tongue, even if it wasn’t red, well, he would have eaten something, so it’s not too much of a leap to make. And what it means, the ceremony, gives that journey down to Beachy Head, their pilgrimage, much more weight.

Otherwise what? Silence?

No. He places the red sweet under his tongue. A fruit pastille communion wafer. The sugared blood of Christ dripping thick down his throat. His wife.

Silent. Looks at the map. They must turn off at junction 12 or they’ll bound to be caught in traffic.

She doesn’t even need to say, they both know.

But maybe she does say.

“We need to turn off at junction 12.”

Is he short with her? Do her words shatter the solemnity of this ritual?

Are there words or aren’t there? Which is more banal and which is more revealing?

He looks in his rear view mirror, the metronomelike tock of the signal serving as nothing else other than a function of what it is. Sound and action, and the banality of objects as trite a contrast as always, so the green blinking arrow (maybe the pastille could be green then?) and the tock are just that. Merged into lane the tock is clicked silent. She squeezes his hand. Their bodies would hum. Vibrate and warp. Thick throats – not with sugared sweets, but with loss. Just loss. Their eyes strained and hearts empty. He can’t squeeze back because he’s driving, but he wants to, and she knows he would squeeze back if he could so it doesn’t matter. She feels all the love seeping out of his chest, oozing, collecting and drying in the blast of the air conditioner. If she could kiss it better, if she could muster the will to stanch the flow… but she can’t because it is the same with her. Same staccato dribble of self, away to nothing.

Drying or evaporating. Or gone completely.

The boy’s body is on the back seat, folded and wedged in a soft rucksack. Carefully? His solid,

drive

by adam richmond

unforgiving limbs would suggest not. A sustained love that could bend and break and twist stiff limbs and sallow skin into that space in case someone stops them on the drive down. Or sees the body when they stop to fill up for petrol.

A nylon farewell is just as good as a wood and what’s the difference anyway, with where they’re all going, where they will all end up?

She did it. Like she put him to rest each night and kissed his forehead and squeezed him tight so the bed bugs wouldn’t bite; so she squeezed him tight into the rucksack. After they’d decided what they would do. After their boy had died. The ceremony and care speak for themselves. Surely. Just like the drive. A funeral procession of two, the practicalities of the drive as pressing as reaching that final moment of release. His limbs were folded, were bent and broken, just as a bottle of water was filled in case they got thirsty. Perhaps two. Because that’s what you do when you go for a drive. They carried the rucksack to the car, their fresh baby boy’s corpse curled up on dad’s back, just like when they went to the park - did he falter and did she catch him? Did they share a smile?

In this absurd farce, the comedy and tragedy sickeningly intermingle, imbuing everything with a hard to swallow irony or underscoring the sick joke of it all. Is the cloying dance of life outside a reminder of all that they were giving up on, or of everything that deserved to be forgotten?

However it happened, whether the sweet was red, whether they missed the junction, whether they bought a bottle of water… they reached the cliffs. Sweets finished, or melting in the glove box.

The wind would have whipped their hair, pushed their tears to one side, and then a final embrace, lasting a moment or forever, united in action, love, emptiness, and despair.

Did they throw the rucksack first, or hold it close?

It’s no good.

Either a running jump or letting go, slip sliding away off the land, down and down, back to the land. Smashed to pieces of rock, united, broken, beaten, defiant. Either way. It ended the same.

to submit your own stories visit t h e o t h e r s i d e m a g . c o . u k

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