vegans & visitations
A couple of weeks ago, my parents paid me a visit. They stepped through the door of my student accommodation, gave my room a cursory look and said, fondly, “It’s so you.” Which is cunning parent code for: “Good Lord, look at the mess.”
Soon thereafter, it was settled that I should act as their guide through London; however, after one rather confused tour across the city (during which I exclaimed things like, “Oh, we’re in Mayfair!” in surprised tones, refused to let anybody have lunch before they’d seen my library, and attempted to break into two churches), they realised that Providence would have to assume that role instead. Providence did a far better job of it, and we had a lovely time together; at one point, I took them, along with my cousin’s elder boy child, to The British Museum, because that is what one does in Britain.
Unfortunately, I had a bad cold, and the sniffling and coughing would not let me sleep well. Rather than donning a trench coat and stalking the streets late at night like a proper insomniac, though, I spent my nights tossing and turning, with the result that I was rather overtired when I met my parents during the days. Wit you well: when I am that tired, I get a bit hyper. I skip. I sing. And then, the jazz hands! I’ve learned the hard way that jazz hands are frowned upon in the British Museum.
ME: Little cousin, let me tell you all about this book! It’s got swordfights.
LITTLE COUSIN: Can’t we look at skeletons instead?
ME: Very well, little cousin! Here, amongst the skeletons, I will teach you how to do the 1930s Charleston. (Dances!)
PEOPLE: Let us raise our eyebrows at this eccentric display and then move away before she injures us with her flailing.
LITTLE COUSIN: …I’d rather just look at the skeletons.
ME: Little cousin, I am not sure I like your attitude.
Eventually, I managed to convince him to join my band, in which he would play lead air guitar and I would play the air drums. For a short while, we enjoyed great success. Then my parents told me to sit still and drink my hot chocolate. I was only too happy to obey.
The next day, my parents and I visited a relative who’d just had a baby. Babies, I think, are nice but rather unexciting - they don’t seem to do much but sleep and dribble a little. Luckily, my relative also had a cute and very active one-year-old, who insisted on calling me Auntie.
Now, I really like children. With them, it’s always safe to yell things like, “Let’s pretend we’re all corsairs!” because you know they’re probably going to reply, “Let’s!” (Or, you know, “What is a corsair?”). The cute one-year-old was a little too young to play at boarding ships, though, so we settled for bouncing a ball back and forth. After a couple of hours, I realised that, since children very rarely tire of games they like, I was probably going to have to keep bouncing the ball until it was time to go home. It was a dark prospect that loomed before me. I needed to distract her! “Look,” I said, pointing at a bookshelf. “Books!”
“Books…?” Cute One-Year-Old repeated hesitantly. I gave her an encouraging hug, and we spent the next hour building a mighty tower of books. When I went to sit down in the living room with the grown-ups for a while, we could all hear an imperious voice calling from the kitchen.
CHILD: AUNTIE.
EVERYONE: What a strange nickname she’s chosen for you!
CHILD: Auntie?
ME: I’ll be right back, little one!
CHILD: Auntie Books?
DAD: What a…strangely apt nickname, actually.
Later, she dragged me to her bedroom and made me sit by her while she fell asleep, clutching my hand and murmuring, “Auntie Books…” I’ll not lie: I was touched.
Then, last weekend, there was a new visitor: a close friend of mine whom I hadn’t seen since September. My friend is beautiful and sophisticated, and I live in the hope that it will eventually rub off on me. (So far, no luck, alas!) She has spent her time away from school and yours truly travelling around the globe and learning languages, which is of course admirable, but I’ve missed her terribly! All in all, it was a happy reunion: we went to Oxford to see another friend, and had cherry-flavoured beer and interesting conversations. Unfortunately for her, however, she’d caught me at a bad time: towards the end of Vegan Week.
Sometimes, when I am tired or under some strain, I come up with ideas. These ideas are invariably awful. “Hello, human child,” they say to me, “we are bad ideas, please dismiss us immediately!” But I will not listen. “Hello, ideas,” I say politely. “Stay with me for all of time.”
While I was writing my latest essay, I was rather stressed; this was probably because, once again, I’d put it off until the final day. The day before I handed it in, it had reached the point where it was actually affecting my dreams.
SLEEPING ME: Lord Admiral Horatio Nelson, British naval hero! Will you help me finish my essay?
HORATIO NELSON: No, I should rather move to the countryside and live in a scandalous ménage-a-trois with my mistress, Lady Hamilton, and her husband, who is kind of okay with it.
AWAKE ME: Don’t leave me, Horatio Nelson! I’m sorry I lied and said you were the inventor of the column, I take it back! I… Oh. I’m awake. How very peculiar.
Naturally, most ideas that came to me at this time should have been ignored. For example, it was not a Good Idea to mix disgusting instant coffee with lots of sugar and milk and chocolate and chocolate powder to create the ultimate Wake Up Drink. Nor was it a Good Idea to think to myself, “Rather than write this essay, I shall sit in the sunshine and read Watchmen, for it is important that I am up-to-date when it comes to pop culture.” Comparatively, the idea that I should try to be a vegan for a week sounded sane. After all, I’ve been a vegetarian for four years; perhaps it was time to move on. Nature needs it! The animals want it! The world groans under the weight of my environmental footsteps! It all sounded great, up until a little voice told me, “But, but… You can’t cook, and cheese is practically your only source of protein!” Once I’d silenced Roommate, however, I decided to get on with the plan.
I kept a journal during my few days as a vegan, and it tells a shameful tale.
Vegan Week: The Annals
Day One
Morning:
Woke up hoping intensely that Horatio Nelson had finished essay during the night, like a kind-hearted essay-writing Rumpelstiltskin. Looked at essay. Essay said: ‘WRITE CLEVER THOUGHTS HERE’. Was not in the mood to write clever thoughts; was in the mood for a big comforting cup of milky tea.
Shuffled miserably to kitchen. Made tea. Was just about to add milk when thought struck: Vegan Week had begun! Milk strictly off-limit. Wept quietly into cup of extra strong PG Tips.
Tea tasted bitter like my tears.
Afternoon:
Had carrots for lunch. Good plan. Enjoyed eating the carrots, for they are crunchy and brightly coloured. Am Carrot Woman!
Realised fridge only contained carrots and decided to go shopping.
In store, was struck by sudden realisation: Carrot Woman could not cook. Carrot Woman has not, in fact, cooked once since she came to University. Picked up bag of mushrooms and stared uncomprehending. Put bag back. Picked up bag of spinach and stared more wistfully. Put bag back.
Left store with oatcakes, strawberries and one cucumber. Did well.
Stopped at stall to buy bananas. Man was playing ‘Should I Stay or Should I Go?’ Sang along softly, bobbing head. Man stared. Did little dance. Love being vegan!
Had carrots for dinner.
Day Two
Noon:
Am hungry. Am very hungry. Carrots not sufficient nourishment. Have purchased hummus! It is nice.
Evening:
Tea with milk. Cravings. Knew was deeply addicted to tea with milk; did not know to what extent. Slightly embarrassed by revelation. Approve of decision to go cold turkey. Break free from the shackles of addiction and tea bondage!
Hungry. Need more carrots.
Night:
Suddenly wanted a milkshake. Badly. Therefore, watched ‘Milkshake’ on youtube. Video featured lots of people shimmying sexily in sexy joy over having milkshakes. Also want to do sexy milkshake shimmy. Will have to find vegan alternative. Sexy Soya Milk Shimmy? Must pursue this line of questioning.
Day Three
Morning:
Am inured to hardship. Hardly glanced at PG Tips. Instead, had herbal tea and banana. Saw that it was not morning, but noon. Lunch coming up! Sandwich with hummus, peppers and tomatoes. Exciting.
Noon:
Was informed that Babes had eaten all of my bread and was distraught. Cornered him in hallway as he attempted to sneak out with his water polo friends. Told him loudly that he was a fool if he’d thought his brazen conduct would go unnoticed, and challenged him to pistols at dawn. Then angrily slammed door shut.
Am nibbling on oatcakes with hummus now. Very unsatisfying.
Evening:
Decided to buy dinner in attempt to escape more oatcakes - yummy vegan tofu & spinach pancake! Mocked the oatcakes. The oatcakes made no reply.
Vegan pancake made lips tingle, so decided to wash it down with chocolate-flavoured Soya Milk. Did a joyful Sexy Soya Milk Shimmy in the kitchen, but was saddened when informed that, though there was plenty of soy in my shimmy, there was no sexy. Cheered up when told that my Chocolate Soya Milk tasted nice. Exclaimed, ‘Damn right, it’s better than yours!’ and then shimmied into my room.
Will buy more tomorrow, for there is not nearly enough shimmying in my life!
Night:
Just came back from a birthday party upstairs. There was chocolate cake and baklava and ice cream. Looked at the food with undisguised longing. Then proceeded to look longingly at everyone who was eating the food. Think they were creeped out by weird behaviour. Hope they were, for they must suffer as I suffered!
Tried to drown misery in wriggly vegan vodka jelly shot. Unsuccessful, because wriggly vegan vodka jelly shot tastes like vodka and jelly, i.e. awful.
Think entire party was staged so as to torment me.
Day Four
Morning:
Shuffled down to the kitchen only to discover strange man lurking in the Smugglers’ Caves, busily unblocking the sewage drain. ‘Morning!’ man said. Moaned faintly in reply, covered nose and fled back upstairs.
Hair smells like sewage. WHY ME.
Noon:
Ahaha, what am I doing, have to read massive essay in forty minutes, can’t sit here writing, can’t EAT.
Evening:
Mm, carrots. Wonder if they will turn skin orange; think this is unlikely, but am nevertheless concerned. Probably, skin will gain a healthy glow, and hair will fall in a lustrous cascade down back. Looking forward to this development!
Day Five
Evening:
Friend came to pay me a visit. Yay! Went to Oxford on big bus and brought packed vegan lunch and chocolate (soy) milk, and there was much merry-making. In Oxford, friend bought delicious heavenly gooey chocolate cookie, and there was much jealousy. Whatever! Don’t need cookie to be complete and at peace with the world! Need not concern self with such worldly issues. Am Zen.
…then stumbled over place that sold 200 different kinds of milkshake, and very nearly cried tears of milkshake deprivation. Held them in, because did not want to be judged in the eyes of strangers and the man who was selling the milkshakes. Also, friend had camera. Still reeling from this the latest and most underhanded blow the world has dealt me in struggle to free self from dairy products &c. Bad form, world. Bad form.
Day Six
Evening:
Had vegan chocolate cake for lunch, and it was deliciously chocolate-y! Best lunch I’ve had all week. Worrying.
Everyone sitting around eating cheesecake now. Don’t feel at all left out! Had vegan chocolate cake and, besides, there is wine.
Kind of wish there was tea, though. Tea with milk.
Am hungry.
Day Seven
Evening:
Vegan Week nearly over! Will have SO MUCH TEA.
And, embarrassingly, I did.
Still, I feel Vegan Week was not in vain! I now know that, before I can become a vegan, I will have to teach myself to cook. Otherwise, I’ll end up subsisting on a diet of oatcakes, herbal tea and carrots, and the result will be a premature and possibly orange death. For now, I’ll stick to the vegetarianism. As Curly told me while I was unhappily sipping my raspberry tea: “You can’t care about everything at the same time.” And, though I didn’t hold back my instinctive cry of, “You can try!” I am now willing to admit that, just maybe, they were sage words.
Soon thereafter, it was settled that I should act as their guide through London; however, after one rather confused tour across the city (during which I exclaimed things like, “Oh, we’re in Mayfair!” in surprised tones, refused to let anybody have lunch before they’d seen my library, and attempted to break into two churches), they realised that Providence would have to assume that role instead. Providence did a far better job of it, and we had a lovely time together; at one point, I took them, along with my cousin’s elder boy child, to The British Museum, because that is what one does in Britain.
Unfortunately, I had a bad cold, and the sniffling and coughing would not let me sleep well. Rather than donning a trench coat and stalking the streets late at night like a proper insomniac, though, I spent my nights tossing and turning, with the result that I was rather overtired when I met my parents during the days. Wit you well: when I am that tired, I get a bit hyper. I skip. I sing. And then, the jazz hands! I’ve learned the hard way that jazz hands are frowned upon in the British Museum.
ME: Little cousin, let me tell you all about this book! It’s got swordfights.
LITTLE COUSIN: Can’t we look at skeletons instead?
ME: Very well, little cousin! Here, amongst the skeletons, I will teach you how to do the 1930s Charleston. (Dances!)
PEOPLE: Let us raise our eyebrows at this eccentric display and then move away before she injures us with her flailing.
LITTLE COUSIN: …I’d rather just look at the skeletons.
ME: Little cousin, I am not sure I like your attitude.
Eventually, I managed to convince him to join my band, in which he would play lead air guitar and I would play the air drums. For a short while, we enjoyed great success. Then my parents told me to sit still and drink my hot chocolate. I was only too happy to obey.
The next day, my parents and I visited a relative who’d just had a baby. Babies, I think, are nice but rather unexciting - they don’t seem to do much but sleep and dribble a little. Luckily, my relative also had a cute and very active one-year-old, who insisted on calling me Auntie.
Now, I really like children. With them, it’s always safe to yell things like, “Let’s pretend we’re all corsairs!” because you know they’re probably going to reply, “Let’s!” (Or, you know, “What is a corsair?”). The cute one-year-old was a little too young to play at boarding ships, though, so we settled for bouncing a ball back and forth. After a couple of hours, I realised that, since children very rarely tire of games they like, I was probably going to have to keep bouncing the ball until it was time to go home. It was a dark prospect that loomed before me. I needed to distract her! “Look,” I said, pointing at a bookshelf. “Books!”
“Books…?” Cute One-Year-Old repeated hesitantly. I gave her an encouraging hug, and we spent the next hour building a mighty tower of books. When I went to sit down in the living room with the grown-ups for a while, we could all hear an imperious voice calling from the kitchen.
CHILD: AUNTIE.
EVERYONE: What a strange nickname she’s chosen for you!
CHILD: Auntie?
ME: I’ll be right back, little one!
CHILD: Auntie Books?
DAD: What a…strangely apt nickname, actually.
Later, she dragged me to her bedroom and made me sit by her while she fell asleep, clutching my hand and murmuring, “Auntie Books…” I’ll not lie: I was touched.
Then, last weekend, there was a new visitor: a close friend of mine whom I hadn’t seen since September. My friend is beautiful and sophisticated, and I live in the hope that it will eventually rub off on me. (So far, no luck, alas!) She has spent her time away from school and yours truly travelling around the globe and learning languages, which is of course admirable, but I’ve missed her terribly! All in all, it was a happy reunion: we went to Oxford to see another friend, and had cherry-flavoured beer and interesting conversations. Unfortunately for her, however, she’d caught me at a bad time: towards the end of Vegan Week.
Sometimes, when I am tired or under some strain, I come up with ideas. These ideas are invariably awful. “Hello, human child,” they say to me, “we are bad ideas, please dismiss us immediately!” But I will not listen. “Hello, ideas,” I say politely. “Stay with me for all of time.”
While I was writing my latest essay, I was rather stressed; this was probably because, once again, I’d put it off until the final day. The day before I handed it in, it had reached the point where it was actually affecting my dreams.
SLEEPING ME: Lord Admiral Horatio Nelson, British naval hero! Will you help me finish my essay?
HORATIO NELSON: No, I should rather move to the countryside and live in a scandalous ménage-a-trois with my mistress, Lady Hamilton, and her husband, who is kind of okay with it.
AWAKE ME: Don’t leave me, Horatio Nelson! I’m sorry I lied and said you were the inventor of the column, I take it back! I… Oh. I’m awake. How very peculiar.
Naturally, most ideas that came to me at this time should have been ignored. For example, it was not a Good Idea to mix disgusting instant coffee with lots of sugar and milk and chocolate and chocolate powder to create the ultimate Wake Up Drink. Nor was it a Good Idea to think to myself, “Rather than write this essay, I shall sit in the sunshine and read Watchmen, for it is important that I am up-to-date when it comes to pop culture.” Comparatively, the idea that I should try to be a vegan for a week sounded sane. After all, I’ve been a vegetarian for four years; perhaps it was time to move on. Nature needs it! The animals want it! The world groans under the weight of my environmental footsteps! It all sounded great, up until a little voice told me, “But, but… You can’t cook, and cheese is practically your only source of protein!” Once I’d silenced Roommate, however, I decided to get on with the plan.
I kept a journal during my few days as a vegan, and it tells a shameful tale.
Vegan Week: The Annals
Day One
Morning:
Woke up hoping intensely that Horatio Nelson had finished essay during the night, like a kind-hearted essay-writing Rumpelstiltskin. Looked at essay. Essay said: ‘WRITE CLEVER THOUGHTS HERE’. Was not in the mood to write clever thoughts; was in the mood for a big comforting cup of milky tea.
Shuffled miserably to kitchen. Made tea. Was just about to add milk when thought struck: Vegan Week had begun! Milk strictly off-limit. Wept quietly into cup of extra strong PG Tips.
Tea tasted bitter like my tears.
Afternoon:
Had carrots for lunch. Good plan. Enjoyed eating the carrots, for they are crunchy and brightly coloured. Am Carrot Woman!
Realised fridge only contained carrots and decided to go shopping.
In store, was struck by sudden realisation: Carrot Woman could not cook. Carrot Woman has not, in fact, cooked once since she came to University. Picked up bag of mushrooms and stared uncomprehending. Put bag back. Picked up bag of spinach and stared more wistfully. Put bag back.
Left store with oatcakes, strawberries and one cucumber. Did well.
Stopped at stall to buy bananas. Man was playing ‘Should I Stay or Should I Go?’ Sang along softly, bobbing head. Man stared. Did little dance. Love being vegan!
Had carrots for dinner.
Day Two
Noon:
Am hungry. Am very hungry. Carrots not sufficient nourishment. Have purchased hummus! It is nice.
Evening:
Tea with milk. Cravings. Knew was deeply addicted to tea with milk; did not know to what extent. Slightly embarrassed by revelation. Approve of decision to go cold turkey. Break free from the shackles of addiction and tea bondage!
Hungry. Need more carrots.
Night:
Suddenly wanted a milkshake. Badly. Therefore, watched ‘Milkshake’ on youtube. Video featured lots of people shimmying sexily in sexy joy over having milkshakes. Also want to do sexy milkshake shimmy. Will have to find vegan alternative. Sexy Soya Milk Shimmy? Must pursue this line of questioning.
Day Three
Morning:
Am inured to hardship. Hardly glanced at PG Tips. Instead, had herbal tea and banana. Saw that it was not morning, but noon. Lunch coming up! Sandwich with hummus, peppers and tomatoes. Exciting.
Noon:
Was informed that Babes had eaten all of my bread and was distraught. Cornered him in hallway as he attempted to sneak out with his water polo friends. Told him loudly that he was a fool if he’d thought his brazen conduct would go unnoticed, and challenged him to pistols at dawn. Then angrily slammed door shut.
Am nibbling on oatcakes with hummus now. Very unsatisfying.
Evening:
Decided to buy dinner in attempt to escape more oatcakes - yummy vegan tofu & spinach pancake! Mocked the oatcakes. The oatcakes made no reply.
Vegan pancake made lips tingle, so decided to wash it down with chocolate-flavoured Soya Milk. Did a joyful Sexy Soya Milk Shimmy in the kitchen, but was saddened when informed that, though there was plenty of soy in my shimmy, there was no sexy. Cheered up when told that my Chocolate Soya Milk tasted nice. Exclaimed, ‘Damn right, it’s better than yours!’ and then shimmied into my room.
Will buy more tomorrow, for there is not nearly enough shimmying in my life!
Night:
Just came back from a birthday party upstairs. There was chocolate cake and baklava and ice cream. Looked at the food with undisguised longing. Then proceeded to look longingly at everyone who was eating the food. Think they were creeped out by weird behaviour. Hope they were, for they must suffer as I suffered!
Tried to drown misery in wriggly vegan vodka jelly shot. Unsuccessful, because wriggly vegan vodka jelly shot tastes like vodka and jelly, i.e. awful.
Think entire party was staged so as to torment me.
Day Four
Morning:
Shuffled down to the kitchen only to discover strange man lurking in the Smugglers’ Caves, busily unblocking the sewage drain. ‘Morning!’ man said. Moaned faintly in reply, covered nose and fled back upstairs.
Hair smells like sewage. WHY ME.
Noon:
Ahaha, what am I doing, have to read massive essay in forty minutes, can’t sit here writing, can’t EAT.
Evening:
Mm, carrots. Wonder if they will turn skin orange; think this is unlikely, but am nevertheless concerned. Probably, skin will gain a healthy glow, and hair will fall in a lustrous cascade down back. Looking forward to this development!
Day Five
Evening:
Friend came to pay me a visit. Yay! Went to Oxford on big bus and brought packed vegan lunch and chocolate (soy) milk, and there was much merry-making. In Oxford, friend bought delicious heavenly gooey chocolate cookie, and there was much jealousy. Whatever! Don’t need cookie to be complete and at peace with the world! Need not concern self with such worldly issues. Am Zen.
…then stumbled over place that sold 200 different kinds of milkshake, and very nearly cried tears of milkshake deprivation. Held them in, because did not want to be judged in the eyes of strangers and the man who was selling the milkshakes. Also, friend had camera. Still reeling from this the latest and most underhanded blow the world has dealt me in struggle to free self from dairy products &c. Bad form, world. Bad form.
Day Six
Evening:
Had vegan chocolate cake for lunch, and it was deliciously chocolate-y! Best lunch I’ve had all week. Worrying.
Everyone sitting around eating cheesecake now. Don’t feel at all left out! Had vegan chocolate cake and, besides, there is wine.
Kind of wish there was tea, though. Tea with milk.
Am hungry.
Day Seven
Evening:
Vegan Week nearly over! Will have SO MUCH TEA.
And, embarrassingly, I did.
Still, I feel Vegan Week was not in vain! I now know that, before I can become a vegan, I will have to teach myself to cook. Otherwise, I’ll end up subsisting on a diet of oatcakes, herbal tea and carrots, and the result will be a premature and possibly orange death. For now, I’ll stick to the vegetarianism. As Curly told me while I was unhappily sipping my raspberry tea: “You can’t care about everything at the same time.” And, though I didn’t hold back my instinctive cry of, “You can try!” I am now willing to admit that, just maybe, they were sage words.