Donkeyshott & Xuitlacoche

Torta Cubana from Ryan's blog When I was single and didn't have time to cook and I was working in Antonio Caso Street in Mexico city, I dared to eat this sandwich on several occasions with the promise to myself that I would not have supper and the excuse that I had not eaten breakfast.  It is the equivalent not of one meal but of three.  It's hard to eat it with delicacy and you have to approach it from the right angle. Moreover, as it is usually sold in the street and so you have to be a little careful. Only real Chilangos eat this sandwich. The sandwich is hot and weighs about three quarters of a kilo.    Between two large elongated baguette-like baps place the following ingredients in succession: 2 slices of fried ham 1 wiener schnitzel  1 fried Egg  Yellow cheese  Avocado slices 1 thin steak  2 slices of tomato  Mayonaise Rashers of bacon Leaves of iceberg lettuce  Fried onion A slice of fresh, white Panela cheese 1 frankfurter sau

Words from Obama's Libya speech. Some people think the only good linguist is a descriptive linguist, but they are probably wrong. There should be an official Academy of the English Language The failure to regulate language is abdication, because to ignore what we consciously think and know about the structure of words - to ignore our attitudes to them, is wrong. We can mould language, just as we can alter our DNA. For example: Conflicted is a horrible borrowing into British English, d econstruct is a vacuous term, quantum is not understood and misapplied, doors are never alarmed , blogs sounds shitty, Shiites are actually Shias , quality time and me time are shoddy, selfish concepts, substantive is rather insubstantial and the focus group should be penned up in marketing, not left to roam free. An academy could rule out the stupid and influential jargon of the half educated young invented on the bus on the way home from school. I'm going gym. They say. The young

A chimp Language is the defining characteristic of human beings because, mainly through language, we create our representation of the world and act on it: history, art, film making, science, maths, literature, architecture, electronics, and so on, all require us to be capable of modelling the world. Modelling the world is closely linked to our feelings about the world.We develop empathy and compassion because one human can represent how another feels in their mind. I feel your pain - I really do - and I share in your hopes and wishes. In literature we live vicariously and intensely, and some of our strongest feelings may derive, not from our own experience, but from vicarious experience. This does not entitle us to greater freedom from pain and want than an animal. But humans have to be given the opportunity to fully inhabit the world of representation and imagination. People do not live by bread alone. An essential human right is a universal education, not simply the educat

William Blake, The Gates of Hell How do you rough up Wrath, Greed, Pride, Lust, Envy, Sloth and Gluttony?  What do you wallop them with? Blakean rhyme; with  ‘bows of burning gold, arrows of desire? How about self-flagellation? Equanimity and acceptance? We sit in theatres of cruelty - in our living rooms in front of screens, and then writers, actors and directors serve us up with large portions of evil, for entertainment. Assuredly, evil is better understood personified. Coppola, Tarantino and the Cohen brothers plagiarised the life of The Iceman, who killed over 200 people for the Mafia. These directors flaunt evil in quixotic, individual packages - they excuse themselves suggesting that they offer explanatory metaphors for capitalism, where Iago the killer is a City boy now, a speculator in futures who short sells country debt. He’s out for himself, for profit. He says: There are those who know the score and fake their respectability and honesty when they are just out for

I lined up outside the Western Union offices last night to send my money back home to my family. I haven't set up a regular bank transfer yet. Bilal was driving all day and I was his second to last visit of the day. Just before Id. He'll be back home at 10.30pm. I Skype home and speak to Tere and John and Carmen is packing to go to Manchester and I'm nervous and exited for her. Eve gives me a brief and cheery hello. Tere talked to his mother for three hours. They talked and eve said they talked of everything and that they would be calling on her regularly from now on. On the first day of walking on the Camino the first person to pass me was a Japanese gentleman wearing a banner, rather affectedly. He had an aura of wealth about him, a soft carapace.he wore his body like a luxury good, stepping carefully, trying not to scuff his feet. He nodded a greeting, a liminal shiver, and walked past. It really was quite like walking the North Downs way. As I walked my mind murmu

I had not prepared for this physically, I was badly overweight and felt unhealthy. I looked at the sign

Expert advice on foot care from a man called Brett The walk, for me, started in Roncesvalles . I saw the bus coming into the underground car park before anyone else and lined up at the bay. The driver, when he got off, seemed to ignore me. One by one he let everyone else on the bus and when it was my turn to get on he sent me to put my little rucksack into the luggage bay. I was the last on. There was only one seat left on the bus, next to an old man with a beard leaning against the window. I wasn't going to talk to him. Just sit. but I had problems adjusting the seat belt and so finally he reached over and pulled it out from behind the seats and said. 'You're rather large. Wouldn't you be more comfortable up front? you could swap seats.' 'No, but thanks for being so considerate.' I smiled. After a while he broke the silence again. 'I am going to give you some advice for the Camino. He said. I have done it four times. Once with my

'...Las calles están mojadas y parece que llovió, Son lágrimas de una niña, de una mujer que lloró. Triste y sola, sola se queda Fonseca triste y llorosa queda la universidad y los libros… y los libros empeñados en el monte… en el monte de piedad. No te acuerdas cuando te decía, a la pálida luz de la luna'   .... Yo no puedo querer más que a una y esa una mi vida eres tú Aileen and Philip in Santiago de Compostella in 1987 In 1987 I was sent to Santiago de Compostella to teach on an English course. I went with Aileen. An elegant Englishwoman with a small pursed mouth and short hair. She was soft spoken, in control and she knew how to teach children. I did not.  We met in the morning in the cafe next to a small green square and the rain fell softly. It was like mist. So gentle. Together we designed a summer course for the Galician children. It worked. I remember some of our students. They would be in their late twenties or early thirties now.  After work

Pam explained: 'What is a real friend? I'll tell you what a real friend is Phil. When your Mom discovered she had stage three breast cancer she phoned me up and she said.  "I want to go into shopping with you and buy some really good sheets. Egyptian cotton. I am going to be spending a lot of time in that bed, and I want some nice sheets." 'And so we went shopping for your mother's sheets.'

The corniche, photo by Abushababi. I had dinner with Andre last night. A Big Mac, fries and a coke. Andre's face wrinkles just before he says, for the hundredth time: 'There is something else I need to tell you about this place.' He's been here 14 years, so I listen attentively. The Muzzein stop singing. We walk through the streets because Andre needs the exercise and I need to get to know the town.   He shakes hands with all the shop keepers. Cracks a joke with them. Calls them all his friend. I buy four pairs of socks. Two pure cotton bed sheets, a phone top up card and a bottle of Bounty chocolate milk. The shopkeeper slips in a packet of fruit polos, which I discover when I get home. 'I used to walk a lot in Greece, in Crete, I loved walking. Tomorrow we’ll walk on the corniche. The name of the melting promontory of land we are on translates from the Arabic as 'The Brazier.' Andre is generous. He’s helped me find a flat. Explained

Pilgrims' mass in Roncesvalles, From Tauxu2000 I went to the pilgrims mass in  Roncesvalles  in 10 languages. I had a feeling the priest was showing off a little and only pretending to speak Japanese. I pride myself on my fluent Spanish and I swear he did say. All non-Catholics can join in with the mass. That must mean,  I thought,  that I finally get to eat the host, not as an ingredient of hand-crafted Mexican confectionery, with caramelized peanuts, but eat it with full symbolic force. This may help me understand the religious significance of the walk to Santiago de Compostela - as a method actor might.   I convinced myself. So I stood up, dizzy from the coach trip and altitude, and and ate the transubstantiated flesh of The Christ. Well that was very generous of them; to share a bit of their God. Then I realised I had made a mistake. In fact, I realised I was making the mistake as soon as I stood up. Of course I shouldn't be doing this! I was wrong. You ha