I don’t own a lot of cookbooks compared to some. Some dozens, I guess. They’re tucked away, in a little Ikea cupboard and they rarely see the light of day. If I want a recipe these days, I tend to reach for my phone rather than casting my eyes over my cookbooks because it’s convenient and easy. And there are reviews. We love reviews, right? Confidence inspiring 5 star recipes only, please!
One of my neighbours, on a whim, bought me a copy of the First Nations Food Companion. It’s a really wonderful resource, full of inspiring and interesting looking recipes, and detailed information on how to source these rarer ingredients – be it by foraging, growing, or ordering online.
Tonight I had an idea, and that was to share the book with a friend. I grabbed the book off the shelf, hopped in the car, and headed over. I knew that flicking through the cookbook together would be lovely.
And it was really lovely. But something unexpected happened.
I didn’t expect all of the conversation triggers.
I’ve always said that if you want to talk to someone well, go for a walk with them. You don’t need to make eye contact, silences are natural because you’re walking and sometimes you just want to look where you’re going and focus on that, and there are things out there in the wide world that keep your mind ticking over and conversation flowing.
I need to add “or sit down with a recipe book” to my saying.
The conversation flowed and meandered effortlessly from food to childhood memories to fears, travel, loves, relationships, and more.
So, go on. Grab a cookbook, put on some music, and sit down with a friend and flick through the pages and see where you end up, what you end up learning, and what you end up sharing.
It’s coming up to two years since I decided to break up with booze. I remember my last drink very clearly. I was in Apollo Bay, in the Otways in Victoria. Staying at the hostel together with neighbours, old friends, and new friends. We were there for a big birthday bash where the whole hostel was booked out just for us. I hope to do the same next year, but that’s for another blog post, I think.
Tomorrow marks the 700th day since I stopped drinking, and I feel like reflecting on, and documenting, it somehow so I don’t forget what it’s been like.
The first thing that struck me first about the cold turkey, was that it was easy. I think because I was ready, emotionally, to cut alcohol out of my life, it wasn’t difficult. I wondered if I would have any physical withdrawals, and I worried I would. Fortunately I didn’t.
I avoided drinking situations early on, because I was worried I would be tempted to “just have one”. I, honestly, don’t think I had a drinking problem when I stopped, and it wasn’t why I decided to give it all up. I struggle with moderation. My attitude is (or was, more accurately) that everything should be taken in moderation, even moderation. So sometimes I’d go overboard. And then the anxiety with a dose of self loathing would set in the next day. I knew that cold turkey would be the way to go.
Then I started to put myself into drinking situations. Go to the pub. Hang out with my most boozehoundy friends. Just to make sure I could. And I could. It was easy, even.
My most boozehoundy friends thought it was boring that I didn’t drink. Or thought it was “extreme”. I initially thought that they were threatened by my decision, but I think in the end I think I’ve settled on that suddenly the friendship changed, because we couldn’t do the same thing we’ve done since high school together any more. But in the end, this was what I needed, and I feel good for having done it.
I feel better for not drinking. There’s no doubt about it. Emotionally, and physically.
My cardiologist thinks it’s highly unfair that I stopped drinking 2 years ago and 6 months after that had an issue with my heart, that is usually caused by drinking. It’s annoying that I developed this heart thing, but that it happened even though I’d stopped drinking doesn’t bother me. I assume it would have been much worse had I still been drinking, so, I see it as a win.
I love not having hangovers. They’re the pits and I’m super pleased I don’t have them any more. Even that dusty feeling after drinking even sensibly.
I haven’t lost weight. I hoped I would. But I must have replaced the calories with something else. Oh well.
For a while I missed the idea that you would have a few drinks to let your hair down. To relax. Unwind. Suppress those inhibitions. But since then I’ve found other ways to relax and unwind, and I quickly realised that I’m comfortable enough in myself to not need a social lubricant.
I miss the experience of trying new beers and wines. And talking to people about them.
I like that my actions are mine. At all times. Even the worse decisions.
Would I recommend cutting booze out of your life? Yes, if you think you should. Then absolutely give it a go. Don’t beat yourself up if you can’t. Society puts some weird pressure on us about alcohol. That you gave quitting a go is an achievement in itself.
I wish I could cold turkey some other things in life. I need to figure out what the exact trigger was for alcohol and see if I can apply them to something else. Like sugar.
Thanks for reading. This is a bit more rambly than I initially expected, but that’s ok. I think I’ve managed to convey what I wanted.
When someone says “English beach” you don’t really picture anything that great. Grey skies. Grey sand (at best). Grey water. A lot of people not really dressed for the beach at all. I’d been told that the Jurassic Coast was beautiful, and, along with my preconceived ideas I (internally) pffff’d and mostly dismissed the idea of swimming in the UK.
But then I remembered that I would need a July swim to complete my swim-every-month-in-2022 challenge. So, caution to the wind and those sorts of things, I decided to head to Durdle Door as early as possible to avoid the crowds. £5 to park for 4 hours – they sure know how to make it difficult for poor people to do things in the UK.
Anyway. I followed the path down, and down, and down, past the views of white chalk cliffs, down the rocky path, then down the worn wooden steps and onto the san….pebbles. They were oval, smooth pebbles. Apparently walking barefoot on pebbles is a good way of improving health (it’s called tap shek) – so consider my health improved!
There is a very striking arch in the water at Durdle Door Beach – the arch is the namesake for the beach. Durdle Door.
The water was clear and a beautiful blue. There was a slight swell, but nothing significant. No wind. The sun was out.
I dove in to the instantly deep water (the coarser the sand on the beach, the steeper the beach) and started swimming for the arch. The water was refreshing, especially after suffering through the 40℃ heatwave in London. A shower doesn’t have the same refreshing power as a swim in the ocean after a hot day.
I reached the arch, swimming through it on my back, looking up the whole time, watching the perspective change. It felt special. Magical. Like I’d gone through a portal to another land. Swimming back through the portal, I was worried I’d go back through to the place I’d come from, but I stayed in the magical place where I’d been through Durdle Door.
If you ever get to the Jurassic Coast, and the weather is Just So, I heartily recommend swimming through the portal to another land.
At the end of April (2022) there was a burn-off in Gandy’s Gully. A few weeks after, I walked through with Bear and took some photos. I was surprised to find some trees still smouldering. I heard that the burn-off got a bit hotter than expected thanks to a surprise change in wind direction during the burn-off.
The benefits of bike riding are enormous. I rely on it pretty heavily for the health and fitness benefits, along with the mental health benefits. BetterHealth, a branch of the Victorian Government, lists the following benefits to regular cycling:
For many years, I didn’t really think that there was any benefit to cycling-specific clothing, but I am absolutely a convert. But this is where the problems start.
People who ride bikes are all skinny whippety mountain goats, right? It would certainly seem that way if you look at the clothes available for bike riders. Me, a verified “big-fella” who normally wears XL clothing, has to go and hunt through the slim pickings in the XXXL section at the bike shop to find bib-shorts that fit – and I feel lucky if I find something that fits. And there are many people bigger than me out there.
The problems for bigger bike riders don’t stop there, though. Bike frames and bike wheels are designed to a weight limit. A weight limit I’ve been close to hitting, at times – which is particularly scary when it’s a carbon frame. And again, there are many people out there who are bigger than me.
The solution here is having a positive, noisy, inspiring person to advocate for us fat cyclists. Someone who can convince the bike industry that they need to start being inclusive. Bigger clothes. Stronger frames. Stronger wheels. All bodies on bikes.
This positive, noisy, and inspiring person is Ebbe Silva, and his brand XL biking.
Ebbe has been selling jerseys on his website for quite some time, but wants to expand the range to include more sizes (S-10XL). He is also going to design larger cycling bibs, a gravel collection, and a road cycling collection. But all this design takes time, and costs money. Which is why Ebbe has launched a Kickstarter campaign. Read all about it here: https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/xlbiking/xl-biking, and if you’re able to, throw some money his way.
We need Ebbe’s advocacy for an inclusive cycling industry!
I saw Fernando Gros talk about it on Twitter a while ago, and I liked the concept, and I decided I should do it as often as I remembered to. I didn’t realise that it’d be this long between rememberings. But here we are, 344 days later, and it popped into my mind again.
I’m not sure if it’s a mindfulness exercise, or just an exercise in paying attention to your surroundings, but either way I think it’s an excellent idea to spend a few minutes thinking about what your senses are doing. What they’re telling you. What you’re telling them.