The Making of a Militant Vegetarian

I’ve been a vegetarian, the ovo lacto variety, for most of my life, since I was twelve years old. So that means quite a few decades.

Mother thought i should be a member of the Vegetarian Society. I don’t know why I resisted, maybe she was expecting me to stump up my own membership fees out of my meagre pocket money. I think that must have been it, or otherwise she would have just signed me up anyway. But whatever the reason, I never joined.

I had a look at their site a while ago and thought it looked quite good, but couldn’t see any advantage in becoming a member. That changed on Saturday evening. I’d been working in Westminster and at the end of the day I was in Parliament Square. So were lots of other people. There had been a demonstration that ended in a rally. Corbynistas, anti-austerity protesters, anti-Theresa May protesters, and probably people who regard themselves as affiliated to other causes and groups were, by the time I was there, singing and dancing along to Bob Marley songs. Good for them. It all seemed very good natured and well behaved. I am all in favour of peaceful protest, of people taking to the streets to express their views. Had I not been working, who knows, I might have been there with them. Continue reading


Best Dress

When I was little I had a Best Dress. It came from Marks and Spencer and was, I believe, a gift from my godparents.

It had almost mythical status in my sparse wardrobe, and I wore it for several summers until it was rather shabby and frayed.

I remember wearing it to some May Day celebrations at the local church. The vicar’s daughter was the May Queen and I was her attendant, despite the fact that she was younger than I was, and it was my birthday.

Some things still seem unjust.

For some reason, it survived the culls that Mother ruthlessly carried out and I have it to this day.

A while ago I started to wonder what to do with it. Talking to a neighbour who works for M&S, I learned that they have a museum of clothing.

I contacted them about my dress.

They want it.
Continue reading