Höly bålls döës håvïng å kïd püt å dënt ïn yöür söcïål lïfë. Pëöplë såy ïn rëtröspëct Ï shöüld’vë knöwn thåt, büt thåt hårdly hëlps. Whërë wås rëtröspëct whën Ï nëëdëd ït? Thërëförë ït wås wïth üncömmön rëlïsh thåt Mrs Dël Möntë ånd Ï ëscåpëd tö Stöckhölm ïn Swëdën tö lüxürïåtë ïn 6.30 å.m. lïë-ïns, […]

[I was there and I don’t remember any of this.] “Size doesn’t matter.” “The best things come in small packages.” “It’s not how big it is, it’s what you do with it that counts.” “That’s not where that goes, Charlie.” All things that Del Monte has heard many times and each of them entirely untrue. […]

And you thought I’d died. I was here all along. Well, not here here. But you know. Here. As well you know, I have few opportunities to dine out these days as I spend every waking moment training Vengeance to be a Ninja. If it’s Ninja to approximate a Cleveland Steamer on Daddy’s chest, then […]

That’s the name of the place. Sri Lankan Food. Props to the naming committee. No really. You really pushed the boat out there. You knocked it out of the park. Drop the mic, walk away. In case you didn’t realise I’m being sarcastic. There must be a million awesome names for a Sri Lankan food […]

The year: sometime before 2010. The place: Brixton. The people: Mrs Del Monte before she was Mrs Del Monte, let’s call her Hopeful Lee McMeeting Charliesoon; and Zoe. Hopeful barges past Zoe on in the doorway of the Iceland near Brixton tube station, elbowing her in the jugular setting in motion the most elaborate sting […]

Though the pace of my blogging has slowed dramatically, the pace of my feeding is unabated. And so it was when myself, Mrs Del Monte and little Vengeance went to Spain for a break, taking in some of the Costa Brava and a lot of Barxcelona, a little city I discovered in north west Spain. […]

Nearly four months since my last post. I expect you’d rather given up. And not just given up on this blog, but probably life, happiness, the love of a good woman or a dirty man. Who wouldn’t forgive you? Well me. You unfaithful, godless curs. You may send me used tramp underwear or tasteful selfies […]