Syllabub

I sometimes wonder if the cafe here in Highgate isn’t filled with lonely people. So many men and women come in here to read a book or do a crossword, or just sit silently in front of a little pastry. Some of them spend hours sitting in the same spot, occasionally looking up and trying to catch someone’s eye across the room. Sometimes I find it heartbreaking. I wonder what goes on in their lives and whether they’ve always been alone or whether coming here gives them a much needed opportunity to interact with another human being, even if it’s only a weak smile from the other side of the room. I’m sure many of them come to the cafe to escape the mayhem of their regular worlds. A trip here gives them a few moments respite; an hour of golden silence away from the barking dogs and the screaming grandchildren. I hope that’s how it is for everyone, but somehow I doubt it...

London’s a lonely place and Londoners aren’t very good at acknowledging this fact. Sometimes I feel someone trying to catch my eye but worry it’s going to lead to an unnecessary conversation and often I’m too busy for small talk. Worse still, if someone smiles in London, the assumption is hey’re mad... I’m sure we all miss out on so much...


On Saturday 7th April 1660, Pepys suffered his first dose of seasickness. The Nazeby was anchored in shallow water and there was something of a gale. Pepys described the sensation as feeling “dizzy and squeamish”. To make matters worse he'd eaten a shed-load of oysters. To prevent himself from vomiting frogspawn he walked back and forth on the deck all afternoon before retiring to bed at 5pm with a caudle* which fortunately made him sleep soundly.

I was once on a cross channel ferry when the sea got choppy. I was thirteen, un-cool and on a school trip. I was feeling really smug. I was the only kid in my class who hadn’t vomited. Surely this was going to increase my popularity. They’d think I was tough and cool... but it’s not easy trying not to throw up when everyone around you is a grey-green colour and the boat is wobbling like a Weeble.

I went out on deck for some air and stood next to a strange lad from another school whilst the wind massaged my face. A few seconds later it started to rain. The droplets hit my face, and rolled soothingly down my cheeks. But the rain smelt a bit weird and tasted even weirder. The lad next to me suddenly apologised. I looked at him in horror to discover that he was projectile vomiting in the style of someone from the Witches of Eastwick. There’s a phrase my Mother taught me about not peeing into the wind and at that moment I realised it’s the same with vomit, except for some reason vomit's more likely to hit someone else. I was literally dripping in sick.

I rushed to the loo to wipe my face. Every sink was filled with chunder, the plugs were blocked and there was no water in the taps. Utterly disgusted, I turned to rush out again, but as I ran across the lino floor the boat tilted, and I skidded on a pile of vomit so slippery it could have been used chip fat. I landed with my arse in what can only be described as pumpkin soup. I then knelt in something which looked like syllabub and smelt like offal.

I remained the only person in my class not to vomit on that crossing but I became the only person who kept the class waiting whilst all the suitcases were unloaded from the boot of the school bus so that I could change my trousers.

*a medicinal drink in this instance, not a fancy walking stick