Resisting Entropy - Mars Planets and the Second Law of Thermodynamics (Food Science Day 2007 Experiment #1)

Mars Planets: the atomisation of the Mars Bar. An entropic dis-integration, the tendency of all things to become more chaotic, in confectionery form. I’m trying to resist the impulse to tie this stuff up to no-such-thing-as-Society atomisation because that’s not how we do things, right? And Mars Planets are better to share than a proper big Mars Bar, after all, for reasons of ease and hygiene. Nevertheless, my friends, here’s our chance to take a brave and random stand against entropy, to roll back the ticking clock of chocolate-coated chaos.
 
Each packet of Planets is a little black pod of chocolate covered spheres: two thirds filled with a Mars Bar constituent (light Milky Way nougat, caramel) and then one odd third filled with malteser-ish wafer. The question is: can we re-integrate a Mars from these ingredients?

… read on …

Nutter-Outside-The-PubWatch

One of the reasons I kind-of-sort-of welcomed England’s recently-passed smoking ban is my largely positive experience of nipping outside for a crafty gasper while drinking in other countries. While I don’t actively seek them out, and very often the short session outside the pub is a solitary one, brief chats with fellow smokers in the US and Ireland have generally been pretty good.

Since on day one of the new UK-wide ban I met a crazy, I thought it might be worth documenting the more unusual of the conversations with my fellow martyrs.

Number 1: July 1, 2007, Franklin’s, Lordship Lane.

Setting: Franklins is as much a restaurant as a pub. It was (I understand) an eating house which was retro-fitted to be a gastropub and I really can’t recomend it highly enough. At least, I’m not going to. … read on …

Pomp and Circumnavigation

On Saturday, a crack FT team took it upon themselves to brave the wilds of North West London, in order that we could report back to you, dear reader, on the condition and facilities of the nu-Wembley stadium. We did it all for you, you ungrateful sods. … read on …

Nappies Galore!

Last weekend, I had the pleasure of a quick trip home to see my folks, and took the opportunity to pop down to Sidmouth promenade, where, I was assured by local friends, a bleddy great big ship had run aground. Had it? It had! … read on …

Pub Science Experiment #1 Pub 11: The Railway Tavern, Mare Street, Hackney London E8

Category: Railway

Blimey, this place looked forbidding from across the road. Even early on a gloomy, wet Sunday evening, when the nastiest, most hostile boozers give off a promising, golden glow, this place looked drab and unwelcoming. I wasn’t much looking forward to seeing inside, but we had a spare half an hour before we were supposed to arrive at the party and there wasn’t an obvious alternative. Besides, science dictated that I was going to have to come here sometime.

It’s not well-decorated, the Railway Tavern, with fairly standard issue pub nick-nacks around the rag-roll nicotine walls. The lady behind the bar looked distinctly unimpressed with us and grumpily served us our pints of Eagle. What you’ve read so far is the sum of all the criticisms I could find of the place. Everything else was just about right. The Eagle we drank was delicious, it was comfortable sitting down, but it seemed like it’d have been just as good to stand by the bar. The juker was playing old country hits, and I know this is a special area of interest for me but I’m sure I wasn’t the only one to be singing along to “Take Me Home, Country Roads”. My fellow singers seemed tolerant to the point of friendly and we would very happily have spent a few hours stretching out and bending our elbows.

There’s often a good moment on a Sunday evening, which I think our visit hit precisely. The match on the telly has ended and most of the watchers have gone home, leaving a handful of stragglers and boozers, those intent on continuing to celebrate their victory, or those made too miserable by defeat to think about moving on just yet. It feels like the pub is yawning and dusting itself down, it’s a little calm before we all begin the slow descent to a Sunday evening skinful. The elephant named “Work Tomorrow” has wandered into the bar room, but hasn’t yet begun to trumpet. Take a deep breath, and enjoy it. It’s your turn to go to the bar.

Overall mark: 7/10

The Red and The Black

“It’s easy to win when there are folk in the government holding back your rivals.”

So says Silvio Berlusconi to Inter Milan fans, appparently. But how would a man who had simultaneously been Prime Minister of Italy and owner of the Italian Champions know about a thing like that?

Last night, another Whispererer

Last night’s Ghost Whispererer conformed fairly closely to the formula I described yesterday, thankfully. If it hadn’t, I’d have looked like a proper Charlie.

Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve been helping to tidy up some of the FT archives, and bringing some old FT essays into the current template. Exciting stuff, yes? I bring this up because one of the pieces I did yesterday was this classic piece of vintage Ewing, musing on fandom, pop, comics and continuity. And last night’s show was all about the backstory. … read on …

Where Dead Voices Don’t Gather

Ghost Whispererer and Haunted on the telly 

So here’s how the television show The Ghost Whispererer goes:

1) Ooky spooky music box theme tune with “Sowing the Seeds of Love”-style “eerie” animation involving Jennifer Love Hewitt RIPPING HER OWN HEAD IN HALF … read on …

Pub Science Experiment #1 Pub 10: The Railway Tavern, Southend Lane, London SE26

Category: Railway
You may think having two Railway Taverns within fairly easy walking distance (like 15 minutes, including a stop-off in a Sydenham charity shop to buy a shady-looking late ’70s Glen Campbell LP with a great version of Jimmy Webb’s “Cristiaan, No” on it) would be confusing. I can see it might lead to some misunderstanding, or at least surprise. But that’s nothing. … read on …

Pub Science Experiment #1 Pub 9: The Railway Tavern, Kirkdale, Sydenham, SE26

Category: Railway

The traditional English pub: a place where blokes go to drink. On their own, with their friends. That’s it, really. Sometimes you don’t want any more. Often, no more is offered. … read on …