Who'd have thought?

So anyhow, just in case the news had slipped your attention, as it turns out the two young men whose untimely deaths sparked the whole oh no surely the mephedrone will kill us all farrago's autopsy reports came in last week (meant to post before, too busy etc). No mephedrone in their systems. At all. Not a tiny drug-shaped sausage. Mystifyingly this wasn't widely reported. Cannot for the life of me think why.

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Creepy old men

I note, somewhat wearily, that creepy old men are back in the news, being creepy. Creepy old men, and their apologists and enablers, who argue that their creepiness is somehow the natural order of things. Old men would have you believe that it is difficult to not be a creepy old man. That it is a task of epic proportions. It is not that difficult. It is a matter of intention. As yet more of the grimness of Epstein unfolds, creepy old men are, sadly, a flaccid topic once again. Whether it be pursuing students thirty years their junior, or simply not asking too many questions about the background of the probably legal young woman who you've just been introduced to by your good pal Jeff. To be clear, I am not referring to criminal creepy old men, the ones who actually committed statutory rape, the ones who fucked trafficked hirls. That is not something which is allowed to get away merely with the contempt of the observer. That deserves prison. No , I'm referring to the hinterla...

Inedible

"He says it's inedible" said my front of house manager, as she laid the half-eaten fish and chips in front of me, and instantly I relaxed. Clearly, I observed, it was edible to some degree. I comped it, because I can't be arsed arguing the toss, and I want to make my front of house's lives as simple as possible. The haddock had been delivered that morning. The fryers had been cleaned that morning. The batter had been made that morning (and it's very good batter, ask me nicely and I'll give you the recipe some time). The fish and chips was identical to the other 27 portions I'd sent out on that lunch service, all of which had come back more or less hoovered up, we have have a (justified, if I do say so myself) very good reputation for our chips. But it was, apparently, "inedible". When it comes to complaints, less is more. If you use a hyperbolic word like that, I'll switch off, you've marked yourself as a rube, a chump, I'm not g...

The five best things I ate in Newcastle

I have had a brief holiday. This isn't an entirely remarkable turn of events, it happens from time to time. Not as often as the happy, gilded folk who occupy my Insta feed, it would appear, or the University acquaintances whose lives would seem to be one long roundelay of chic European mini-breaks but, nevertheless, holidays occur though, perhaps not quite with the frequency with which, in an ideal world, I would wish In this instance, in an even rarer turn of events we were sans offspring. Oh yes. Sorry lads. Thus is because Mrs Coastalblog and I went away to celebrate our twentieth wedding anniversary (Miracles, etc, less for murder, etc, if you could just dump all the jokes within these parentheses and then we could all get on with our lives) and because we're the sort of perverts that like going to places by train, and going to places we're not overly familiar with, we wound up in Newcastle. A fine, handsome city with much to recommend it, but what I wish to consid...

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