greenness, soundsystems and love

It’s been a great week for treehouses. I broke a story last week about Nick Weston’s Essex treehouse and every Tom, Dick and Harry from every newsroom in the South East wanted a piece of the Crusoesque action. I had a message full of gratitude from Nick and a promise of a dinner in the woods. Report back I shall. I’m so jealous of his life amongst the elements, surrounded by nature and with nothing but books and a fire for company… Green with envy? I’m glowing like the very incandescent  and oh so un-eco nugget of plutonium Bart Simpson catches as he rides past Burns’ factory.

Happy August! Tis the month of the Carnival. Coincidental etymology of the pleasure-inducing word: carnage + festival = carnival. I read a slightly odd reference to the wondrous NHC in ES mag this weekend. Something along the lines of “get down to Notting Hill for soca beats, shimmying bottoms and buckets of jerk chicken”. The first bit was made up - but “buckets”??? It’s not a KFC hootenanny, love. No, the chicken bursting from the blackened oil drums along Kilburn Road is served on high piles of dry rice and anyone who’s ever balanced a Red Stripe, a wobbly paper plate of jerk and their dwindling sobriety whilst surging through the sweaty, grinding masses knows, really knows that there are no buckets of chicken at Carnival. Prepare to suck bones, drain cans and get messy.

And finally. This is the last month of singledom for my lovely Ro. Only one month today until the knot is tied, double-knotted, triple blessed and left to tighten in the ever-changing rain, sun, snow, drought, storms, deep blue skies and shifting winds…

gower

David and I have just spent a blissful weekend in the West… Bristol for a night then camping on the Gower peninsular, a tent caked with crumbling Bestival mud and a truly world-class, spectacular view.

We scrambled over rocks, got lost in woods, squashed jellyfish under our franchement ill-prepared city footwear on windy beaches and got sunburnt. We found a load of amazing wild garlic and cooked a perfect lemon and wild garlic risotto with young local asparagus over our pathetic camp stove.

We drank red wine, hot chocolate and a lot of tea and slept like babies.

Back in London and I hear my first two eco blogs for work are too libellous to publish. Oops. Reigning in my slandering enthusiasm, I shall focus on my weekend for some zen-like inspiration and see where that takes me, legality-wise.

I’ll mull it over in the kitchen where I’ll need some challenges what with electricity and 0mph winds making cooking seem dull tonight. I’m going to make some wild garlic pesto with the remaining crop – it’d be good to tempura the flowers but sadly that’s too fancy for lonesome dining.

Alas, the whining churn of the food whizzer is not quite so sweet as the crashing of nearby waves.

me, on telly: odd

A little bit of a silence from me lately.

I have been busy, just not here. I’ve been writing for the Independent, the National, the Evening Standard and the London Lite and have also been starring in CNN news videos.

Don’t ask me why – they just came in and got nosey.

I’m also about to start blogging on all things environmental and green for standard.co.uk.

Please forgive the sporadic entries of late and ahead… and don’t laugh too hard at my mention of ‘Twitter’ – it always sounds ridiculous in an English accent. I promise.