Is it Vegan?

I hadn’t realised that vegan living was quite as layered as it actually is.

I mean, I have a complicated enough life but hey, don’t we all, balancing kids, work, wine, but when it comes to ensuring that only the foodstuffs I want to pass my lips do, there are simple and obvious changes I can implement.

“Don’t eat meat” doesn’t take a lot of thinking about but as with my earlier post about shellac on apples and citrus fruits, who’d have thought they’d be plastered in dead bug juice?

To make my life a bit easier by taking some of the mystery out of it, I favour shopping in purely vegan venues but unfortunately, they are almost as hard to find as an honest Tory. There is, however, a cracking shop in Exeter called Seasons which takes about an hour to get to in our little electric star buggy and it is the only place I can fill up a basket without the irksome necessity of having to reach for my reading glasses.

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The Year of the Orange

Age is a funny old thing and trying to recall what you were doing at certain points in your life, can dust off some bizarre memories.

I can remember at the age of 5 being rushed off to hospital, sweating and doubled over in pain, wrapped in a red tartan car blanket with twiddly tassels around the edges (standard issue Ford Cortina boot contents). It was mid-December and the fruit bowls in the house were all bursting with tangerines. I sneaked down in the dead of night, stole as many as my tiny hands could carry in one mission and retreated to my single bed to unwrap the juicy flesh, consume, then hide the peel under the mattress.

The coincidental timing of the worlds biggest belly ache and acute appendicitis was inopportune and I tried desperately hard to curl up and go to sleep through it, believing all I’d need the next morning was a good poo to clear the orange onslaught I’d treated my guts to in the wee small hours.

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