Music to remember a man by

It’s now six weeks since my dear friend John died. That six weeks apparently has magical powers. Sometimes it shortens so much as to feel like it was just yesterday when he died; and at other times it expands so much as to feel like it has become another, parallel world.

One of the ways I try to make sense of – and cope with – the world is through music. There are so many great artists out there who have just the right words, just the right sound, provoke just the right memory, and I find comfort in their art.

During one of my “dips” a couple of weekends back, I decided it was time to do A John F Playlist. Because there are songs that remind me of him; there are songs he loved; there are songs that say something appropriate. Of course, the 34-track long-list has had to be honed down so that it could fit on a CD. There were some great “almost but not quite” tracks that didn’t survive the cull: PJ Harvey’s Silence, Tim Minchin’s Not Perfect, Depeche Mode’s Personal Jesus amongst others. But I like what has survived and wanted to share.

1. The Flaming Lips Do You Realize?? (Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots)

This is the gut-punching reality hitter:

Do You Realize - that you have the most beautiful face
Do You Realize - we're floating in space -
Do You Realize - that happiness makes you cry
Do You Realize - that everyone you know someday will die

Yup. FPOS or what? And yet, it is a beautiful song, managing a strong thread through its fragility.

2. Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds The Weeping Song (The Good Son)

This one just captures the sadness that has pervaded John’s circle of family, friends and acquaintances.

This is a weeping song
A song in which to weep
While we rock ourselves to sleep.

There is always – seemingly – enough sadness for one more cry. I don’t know if John knew Cave’s music, but I do know he laughed at some of the outrageous selective quotes I told from The Death Of Bunny Munro as I read it at Long Beach one summer.

3. Eels It’s A Motherfucker (Daisies Of The Galaxy)

Another simple, beautiful, reality checker:

It's a motherfucker
Being here without you
Thinking 'bout the good times
Thinking 'bout the bad
And I won't ever be the same

Mark Everett knows loss, and knows sometimes it just can’t be dressed up, be smoothed out, be varnished. It just is, and that can be a motherfucker alright.

4. Gong The Pot Head Pixies (Flying Teapot (Radio Gnome Invisible Part I))

This makes me laugh, and remember another side of times with John. Nuff said.

5. Bob Dylan Political World (Oh Mercy)

As Bob sings:

We live in a political world   

and I miss John in my political world. Hardly a political day goes by without my wondering “What would John have thought?” and sometimes having a good idea of the answer, but often not. I watched a bit of the UK House of Lords debate on the equal marriage proposals and remembered John’s delight at getting dinner at the Lords and a tour of parliament a good few years back. He loved the over-the-top pomp and glitz, and the ludicrous history there (the Queen’s robing room had him in stitches). And he would have found Lord Tebbit’s ludicrous speech (with its fear of a “lesbian Queen on the throne”) as hysterically laughable and nastily vitriolic in pretty equal measure.

6. Frank Zappa Half A Dozen Provocative Squats (200 Motels)  

John’s favourite Zappa lyric which he would sing out loud as he danced around the apartment:

Out of the shower she squeezes her spots

Brushes her teeth

Shoots a deoderant spray up her twot

It made him laugh, and made me laugh too.

7. Bomb The Bass Bug Powder Dust (Clear)

Extolling the world of William Burroughs

I think it’s time to discuss your philosophy of drug use as it relates to artistic endeavour

I just remember John through this. He knew more about medication than anyone else I've known, and shared his expertise with great care and thoughtfulness. His ability to research possible treatments for whatever was ailing those he loved, and to explain what might be going on in ways that were at once understandable is something I miss. Oh, and he would have liked the references to

            Mugwump jism

8. Original Stage Cast Frank Mills (Hair!)

Simply John’s favourite song from Hair!, and his favourite version.

9. Julian Cope The Black Sheep’s Song (Black Sheep)

I don’t know that John ever heard this, but it reminds me of him, and of me and him.

I am the black sheep of this flock
And I can answer to no one.
I see you are the black sheep of your flock, too,
Methinks it takes one to know one.

 I loved my conversations with John when we were both seemingly thinking and believing the same things about the world, black sheep in the flock together.

10. Peter Gabriel Don’t Give Up (So)

This captures the loving group of friends that surrounded John. He cultivated good friends, partly because of his loyalty, honesty and utter commitment to others, and partly because he engendered the same in his friends. It reminds me that John’s intense self-sufficiency was bolstered by his knowledge that there were many who he could turn to, if push came to shove.

11. Tom Waits I Don’t Wanna Grow Up (Bone Machine)

Whilst I don’t remember ever seeing John dancing around singing this, I picture him doing just that when I hear it! And I think it captures something of the spirit of John who, in meeting Kenneth, actually did “grow up”, as he reflected on it.

12. The Proclaimers Letter From America (This Is The Story)

John loved Scotland. I treasure a holiday we did with him and Kenneth, remembering climbing the top road above Tarbert and looking down on the harbour and how relaxing it was for John. And me and him going to get chips on a Hogmanay evening in Glasgow. And his love of the “hairy coos”!

13. Original Stage Cast The Flesh Failures (Let The Sunshine In) (Hair!)

Okay, so one of my own desert island discs, this, but somehow Hair! needed a second representation.

Singing our space songs on a spider web sitar
Life is around you and in you

 The joy and sadness this brings me every time I hear it mirrors the joy and sadness I feel when thinking of John.

14. E.S.T. Believe, Beleft, Below (Seven Days Of Falling)

Another one of my desert island ones, this is just about the most perfect four and bit minutes of lush jazz imaginable. Esbjörn Svensson, the pianist who led this trio, also died far too early. But in this piece I feel he found the elusive link between pure music and the soul.

15. David Bowie Heroes (Heroes)

This is one of those tracks I recently heard and immediately thought “That’s John”.

We can be heroes, just for one day

I don’t think it is an overstatement to call him a hero. The changes he made in the lives of so many were heroic. The way in which he lived his no compromise life was heroic. His capacity to care was heroic. His thinking was heroic.

16. Pink Floyd Wish You Were Here (Wish You Were Here (Experience edition))

How, how I wish you were here

That sums it up. The version (as John would indulge me in this) has, of course, to be the right one. Not the one from the special edition half-speed mastered vinyl album I bought in a now-defunct New York store. Not the standard album version. But the one sought after for decades by Floyd-heads and finally released as part of the Experience edition. This has the legendary Stephane Grappelli violin improvisations in it, and they bring another layer of poignancy to an already perfect track.

So that’s my John F Playlist. I think he would have liked it as a compilation album, though would not have agreed with all my rationales for the choices. But I know he would have known how much love had gone into pulling it together, and would have (quietly) enjoyed that.

Some reflections on a friend

Flying to New York because of the death of a dear friend is the worst reason to come here. And here I am. Because dear John Falkenberg has died.

Having spent the last 24 hours with his husband, Kenneth, and a wonderful group of John’s closest friends and John’s parents and siblings, I am struck by the absolute privilege it has been to have had John in my life, and to have been a part of his.

John F was the man who introduced me to “FPOS”. His personal acronym for “fucking piece of shit” – a phrase that never loses the satisfaction of its utterance, however many times it is repeated and in whatever context. Traffic. Politics. Airlines. Customer service. Weather. Food. People. Software. It can all be a fucking piece of shit. I find it cathartic.

John F is the only person I have known who actually did throw pieces of mis-functioning hardware at walls. Whether phones or printers, those fucking pieces of shit did get thrown. It’s what they deserved.

John F was my favourite person to talk politics with. Whether UK or US politics, the man knew his stuff; he could read political runes well, and understood economic impact on domestic and international politics in a way I would just listen and learn from. And he hated fucking idiot, fucking hypocrite, fucking racist, fucking homophobic, fucking gun-toting, fucking idiot politicians with a delicious zeal. Cross-Atlantic phone-calls in the midst of election campaigns were particularly important. We’d share our elation, disgust or utter outrage as results came through. John’s pre-election night State-by-State analysis of the second Obama election (yes, there was a spreadsheet of scenarios and tallies) helped my engagement with, and understanding of, what turned out to be one of the elation nights. And his level of disbelief at the disgrace of the UK coalition being formed and somehow surviving was great fun. One of the last politics conversations I had with him was about the coalition tax and benefit changes that kicked in in April. He could not understand why there was no rioting on UK streets. “No, seriously, why isn’t it happening?”

I loved John’s music collection. I proudly have and play a number of original US sleeve vinyl albums of his. He introduced me to the Grateful Dead. He loved Hair! as much as I do. And he was a Frank Zappa fan. What’s not to like about all that? Seeing Hair! in the open air theatre in Central Park was a shared highlight. As was he and me seeing Dweezil Zappa’s Zappa Plays Zappa show on Long Island. And he queued for 90 minutes with me outside New York’s Beacon Theatre in 2006 to get front row seats for a PJ Harvey solo set – an example of his love of me perhaps more than his love of PJ.

John laughed at my jokes, which can never be a bad thing in my book. I have an email trail with him as the new pope was being elected and there was some earnest discussion of the possible name he might take. My suggestion of “Popus Cuntiflex” tickled John greatly.

The days, months and years ahead will be less rich without John F. In particular, the debut UK performance of 200 Motels in October which he was so looking forward to coming to will now be a sad memorial. But somehow, in the midst of the grief, I was reminded of Lawrence M Krauss’ quote that “Every atom in your body came from a star that exploded….was created in the nuclear furnaces of stars”. I have a deep sense of sadness that another nuclear furnace of a star has been lost.

And yes, John F’s death is a fucking piece of shit.

Music is moonlight in the gloomy night of life. - Jean Paul Richter

I’ve been listening to a lot of music recently and found myself reflecting on the range of artists who I had also seen live at some point over the last 34 years. Here’s a list of all the ones I can remember. (I’m sure there are more, and certainly there are some festival performers I – and the musical world – have forgotten totally.) I’ve star-rated them; where I’ve seen the act more the once the ratings are in order of appearances. It’s too big an ask to identify dates for them all, though I do have a fair few programmes, ticket stubs and other memorabilia relating to lots of the gigs.

As a result of this retrospective on live music, I feel privileged to have seen many of the acts. Quite a few no longer perform or have disbanded. A number of performers have died.

The three big live music regrets I have are:

1. Not going to see Led Zeppelin at Knebworth in 1979

2. Not seeing Bob Marley on his Uprising tour in 1980

3. Choosing to see Teardrop Explodes instead of Stiff Little Fingers in 1983 (Julian Cope hated the rest of the band, was touring only for contractual reasons, wouldn’t play his hits, and Stiff Little Fingers split that year)

There’s a clear rock leaning in this list, with very little that might be called punk or pop.  And there are many gigs that I remember as being just fantastic nights of entertainment, hence so many four- and five-star ratings. And one or two turkeys.

Here’s the list – if anyone reading it can remember any I’ve forgotten, let me know!

Daevid Allen ****

Tori Amos ****

Joan Armatrading ***

Jeff Beck ***

Big Country ***

Black Sabbath ** (Ian Gillan on vocals – awful)

Carla Bley ****

Blue Oyster Cult ***

David Bowie *****

Billy Bragg ****

Chris de Burgh ***; ** (I know, I know)

Camel ****

Eric Clapton ***

Alice Cooper *****; *****

Julian Cope *****; ****; ****

The Cramps *****

Deep Freeze Mice ****

Divine ** (Lots of miming, but somehow fitted)

Bob Dylan ** (Had his back to the audience for most of the show)

Eels *****; ***; *****; ****

The Enid ****

Eurythmics ***** (Small venue just after they’d hit stardom)

David Gilmour *****

Gong *****; ****

Steve Hackett ***

Roy Harper ****; ****

PJ Harvey *****; *****; *****; *****; *****

Hawkwind *****

The Housemartins ***

Neil Innes ****

Jethro Tull *****; *****; ****; ***;

Elton John ***

Kerfuffle *****

Lindisfarne ****; ***

Little Steven & The Disciples Of Soul *****

Marillion *; ***

Ralph McTell ***

Liza Minnelli ***; *****; *****

Van Morrison ***

Dolly Parton ****

Pendragon ***

Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers ***

Pink Floyd *****; *****; ****; *****

Pretenders ***

Prince ***; *****

Q-Tips *

Suzi Quatro ***

Eddi Reader *****; *****; ****; ****

John Schofield ** (I didn’t ‘get’ jazz at the time)

Andy Sheppard ****

Jane Siberry ** (Only performed one song from the half a dozen albums I have)

Siouxsie & The Banshees *****

Sky ***

Jimmy Somerville ***

Spiritualised ***

Bruce Springsteen *****

Steel Pulse **

The Stranglers ***; *****; ****

System 7 ***

Teardrop Explodes ****; *

Thin Lizzy ***

Tina C *****; ****

U2 ** (Tedious)

UFO ** (More Spinal Tap than Spinal Tap)

Stevie Ray Vaughan **

Tom Waits *****

The Waterboys ***

Roger Waters *****; *****; ***

Wishbone Ash **

Neil Young *****

The Who ****

Dweezil Zappa ****

Frank Zappa *****

Reflections on Terry Pratchett's Choosing to die

Today has been a little strange re assisted death.

Last night the BBC showed Sir Terry Pratchett’s documentary about assisted death, which included him being present at the death of one man (Peter) at the Dignitas clinic in Switzerland, and having a final conversation with another who chose to end his life there.

However, today’s first couple of hours for me included listening to Radio 4’s Today programme and a debate between a woman with cancer, Christine Jackson, and The Right Reverend Michael Nazir-Ali, ex-Bishop of Rochester. This included the pious Nazir-Ali patronizingly telling Ms Jackson that she shouldn’t worry about her death, as medicine means she can feel no pain at the end – one of many answers to a question other than that he was asked that he gave. The Right Reverend managed to ignore the debate about the individual to reflect observations about family – including a bold statement that the impact of an assisted death has a greater impact on those left behind than any other death might, with no evidence to support this ludicrous claim – then, when the discussion was about family took it to a bland, Christian version of society, and his perceived negative impact of assisted death upon its construct. And the Right Reverend’s snidey dismissal of Pratchett’s emotional acknowledgement of Peter being a “brave man” (by comparing his bravery with that of Iraq veterans) was, frankly, beneath a so-called man of the cloth.

Alongside his patronizing of Ms Jackson, which ignored her concerns about the quality of her life, as she experiences it (rather than others might, niaively, observe it), Nazir-Ali also criticised the BBC for not taking the opportunity to present a “balanced programme” on assisted death. Basically, he castigated them for the programme not being a different one: it did not fully present the views of family members; it did not present the “other side” of the argument – as if all BBC programmes should be similarly balanced.

I look forward to Songs of Praise coming from a Satanist coven next weekend.

This evening I watched the programme Sir Terry had made, and it was profound.

I come at this as someone who is not a stranger to death, nor to others’ thoughts and desires for control over the end of their life:

- I remember my maternal grandfather dying of “complications” following abdominal surgery – to this day I believe that, had he been 20 years younger, there would have been a very different approach to the pain he articulated as he died a horrible death from internal bleeding following a botched operation;

- I remember my maternal grandmother dying with acute Alzheimer’s disease (the same disease Pratchett has) that left her unable to recognise her only daughter and in a daily state of panic and fear about a world she did not understand;

- I remember my father living and breathing artificially whilst waiting for me to make a 24-hour journey from deep in Eastern Europe to say my goodbye. And, 30 minutes after I arrived, him pulling at the oxygen mask that had kept him alive for the previous 12 hours saying, “I’m ready”, then having the mask replaced by hospital staff. And I remember me helping him remove it in response to his gestured request, and keeping it from his airways as he once again implored to have the mask taken from his face. Then he died;

- And I have experienced someone collapsing on me, having total renal failure and – literally – dying in my arms; a virtual stranger with whom I shared his last living breath.

I have known over 20 friends and acquaintances who have died.

And I have friends with terminal illnesses, and with severe disability for whom a good day is a day when the physical pain is manageable enough to be able to forget about it long enough to read a few pages of a book.

For me, the crux of the programme was about the need for a legal, moral, safe way for an individual to be helped end her or his life at a time of their own choosing if, in their opinion, their life was no longer worth living. A framework for well-managed assisted death, so as to avoid a much worse death in the future.

Dignity in Dying has long campaigned for a change in the law, and I support that change. Theirs is for a careful legal development to enable someone terminally ill (yes, there are clear ways in which to determine such a diagnosis) and of sound mind to decide to have their life ended with professional assistance. I fully support such a change in the law, and, seeing Pratchett’s programme, feel all the stronger in this conviction.

Let’s be clear – such a law may have helped Peter, given his condition. It would not have helped Andrew and, whilst I feel personally conflicted about that, I nevertheless recognise the need for the safeguards that a law focused on the terminal ill would give.

It is an outrage that I could, if I needed to, have a vet come and administer drugs that would kill one of my cats if she or he was terminally ill and in suffering. I would be able to feed them their favourite fish or treats one last time and hold them how they like to be held as they breathed their last, knowing they had a less painful death than they would otherwise have had. And yet, my friend with an eventually life-taking disease, or another friend with incremental disability can currently be afforded no such professionally supported and dignified death in the UK.

If you have not seen Terry Pratchett: Choosing to die, I urge you to take whatever fortification you need and watch. At the end, I hope you would – through your tears - choose to join Dignity in Dying (http://www.dignityindying.org.uk/) and support their campaign for a change in the law in the UK.

O'Brien's enemy?

Cardinal Keith O’Brien, head of the Catholic church in Scotland, thinks I am his “enemy” and accuses me, and like-minded people, of trying to “destroy” Christian heritage and “take God from the public square”.

Christian denominations need no help from atheists, secularists or believers in other theistic models to reduce the reach of their faith. Church attendance in the UK – surely a good barometer of people’s active adherence to the Christian faith – is declining, has been so for many years, and is predicted as continuing to decline.  In particular, younger generations are rejecting the belief system the Cardinal and his ilk peddle, with 75% of 15-29 year olds and 80% of under-15s not being “in the church” (http://www.christiantoday.com/article/researcher.anticipates.further.church.decline.in.2010s/25949.htm).

As with the many other theistic systems that have fallen by the way over the millennia, more and more people are seeing the myths of Christianity for the, at best, “nice parables and stories” that they are, and are no longer accepting the hypocrisies of organisations that claim to have the only moral framework for humanity whilst perpetrating systematic abuse (e.g. the papal directive that condoms should not be used in response to HIV – an example of an occasion when a church leader could have single-handedly enabled generations to avoid infection, but chose not to), and shielding multiple numbers of paedophiles who used their positions of “moral authority” to demolish the very innocence they preached whilst often leaving the abused feeling somehow responsible for their abuser’s actions. And Pope John Paul II who was instrumental in both these examples is now up for beatification!

Yet, at the very same time that Cardinal O’Brien is claiming religion is being marginalised, we have a Prime Minister endorsing the “enormous contribution” of Christian values to Britain (as the ink is barely dry on his oh-so-Christian attack on immigration) and inviting senior church officials to Downing Street whilst his Minister of Hate, Baroness Warsi, takes a break from her belief-excused homophobia to remind us that the coalition do indeed “do God”. And we have a Deputy Prime Minister who, before the election, told us rather sheepishly that he is “not a believer”, but has now conceded that it is somehow okay for 26 senior Bishops to continue to legislate in a reformed House of Lords. (These Lords Spiritual have been especially disgraceful in their attacks on proposed legislation towards assisted death and their opposition to equality legislation, particularly that which hammers at some of their entrenched doctrines of discrimination on the grounds of gender and sexual orientation.) Is such political influence really evidence of marginalisation in society?

The Easter messages of Christian tolerance have also included the Catholic Archbishop of Westminster, Vincent Nichols, suggesting that atheists such as myself are more likely to see “killing oneself or a loved one” as a “beguiling temptation”. He then claimed “We [people of faith] know better because we live these truths of faith”! The arrogance and vitriol in this speech are all the worse for them coming from someone who is claimed as a moral leader. And when over two thirds of religious people support a change in the law (British Attitudes Survey, 2010), for him to claim otherwise is a lie, pure and simple. Some moral leadership.

O’Brien, Nichols and other faith peddlers need to recognise the society they live in. The UK can no longer be described as “Christian”, no matter how much they inveigle themselves into our political decision-making and gain unchallenged public platforms to spout their nastiness and have it regurgitated by the conservative media that smells a good opportunity to knock equalities (the hysteria of ex-Archbishop Carey screeching “it’s political correctness gone mad” and Lord Patten, new Chairman (sic) of the BBC, pompously claiming that "some of the arguments put forward by secularists against the Pope's visit were lacking in intellectualism and were extraordinarily mean-spirited" this week are beyond satire).

If recognising and protecting the equal rights of all people in this country, and pushing to separate our legislature from those who believe in unprovable mystical beings, and seeking legislation to enable individuals who so choose, to be able to end terminal suffering with a caring medical intervention is regarded as “taking God out of the square” and the stance of an “enemy”, then O’Brien can now be content he has one in me.

 

Left-handedness. Yes, it can matter

“Imagine a truly radical party of the left….which enacted legislation saying that all scissors had to be left-handed, that writing would be from right to left, that machinery and tools of all sorts should be built only in left-handed forms. One imagines that right-handers would protest at such changes, but in that case left-handers also have a legitimate protest against the present situation.” Chris McManus in Right hand, left hand (2002, Phoenix)

Right hand, left hand explores asymmetry in the world; in chemistry, in all forms of life on earth, in particle physics, and in the modern world experience of humans. The quote above comes as McManus begins to explore some of what he terms left-handed myths, such as “Left-handers die younger than right-handers” and famous right-handers erroneously claimed as lefties (Billy the Kid, Picasso, Einstein). But he also identifies some interesting, if rather banal, lefty facts.

The muppets were mostly left-handed – had Jim Henson scored one for the lefty underdog making a left-dominated puppet world? McManus deflates this notion by explaining that, as most puppeteers were right-handed, the right hand got to do the most complicated puppetry – namely working the head – so the left-hand got to control the hand as the less complicated work. (Though The Simpsons is populated with many left-handers, including Bart and Mr Burns, reflecting Matt Groening’s own left-handedness http://simpsons.wikia.com/wiki/Left-handed)

Most right-handers I have talked to about handedness did not consider handedness as having an impact in the world until it was pointed out by a lefty. And its probably fair to say that most would still not give handedness much credence as an issue of any great importance.

So, I have an idea for a TV show.

It would take a magazine format enabling a series of regular slots appealing to different parts of the audience. It could be called More than one in ten or The left bank and definitely not anything crass like Human lefts. And it would explore the world as experienced by left-handers.

Presented by lefties (perhaps Nicole Kidman and Keanu Reeves could do the honours?), it would include:

1. Nature – such as handedness in flatfish, or the left spiraling narwhal horn

2. Science – how molecules have handedness that can make significant differences, such as how the right- and left-isomers of carvone have different smells, or that the two forms of thalidomide have different biological activities, with only the right-handed form being teratogenic and being responsible for causing birth defects.

3. The arts – whether exploring famous lefty artists (Escher, Klee), or musicians (Geldof, Lydon, Hendrix, Plant).

4. The day-to-day world – my favourite section – where famous right-handers are given simple tasks to do using left-handed equipment.  Much of this would be based on my own childhood experiences:

We could all laugh at the “stupid” person not able to neatly cut a drawn circle from a piece of paper as the left-handers scissor blades when held in the right hand push apart not together, and the right sightline of the circle edge is covered by the top blade.

We would chuckle at the slanty bread and cheese slices the righty would cut with a left handed bread- or kitchen-knife.

We’d giggle at the clumsiness of righties using left handed tin openers as their weaker hand turns the handle in the opposite direction to the best use of their thumb strength, or perhaps a waiter’s bottle opener, when the blade of the cutter is upside down, and again the turning motion contradicts the strength of the hand.

Or even getting righties using a left-handed chequebook, and finding that it makes it harder to write their signature because the hand rubs up against the stub of the book, followed by having a cup of tea from a left-handed mug where the witty homily on the side can only be read whilst drinking if you hold the mug in your left hand, rather than the usual right-handed ones.

And we could have a spot where people demonstrate how right-handed so much of the world is, by making left handed examples of common gadgets (positioning credit card pin machines for left handers, not right handers; designing DIY electric tile cutting machines or two-handed Black & Decker drills left-handed; giving everyone a left-handed computer mouse as standard).

On the first programme I’d have Christopher Seed and his left-handed piano (http://www.lefthandedpiano.com/) that enables him to play the usually more complicated, tuneful parts with his stronger left hand rather than with his right when he played a standard piano. And then get Tim Minchin to try playing it (I don’t know if he is left or right-handed, but he can play the fuck out of a standard piano).

  

Okay, handedness isn’t going to be making the list of equality issues campaigned on by the Equality and Human Rights Commission any time soon. But it could be an interesting programme nevertheless.

And it would be on the BBC. As penance for their decades of dextrism.

In 1967 the BBC test card for colour broadcasts was produced. It had a girl sitting playing naughts and crosses on a blackboard holding a piece of chalk in her right hand. Awww. Cute. Or a little eerie. But the girl was actually left-handed in real life, and the original photo had depicted her as such. A BBC executive demanded that the image was reversed as it was felt to be somehow “inappropriate” to show her as left-handed. 

Dextrist bastard.

Ottolenghi's NOPI restaurant

Vegetarian readers of the Saturday edition of The Guardian will likely have become intimately acquainted with Yotam Ottolenghi's complex recipes that reward with perfect flavour combination. And have in all likelihood bought up his collection of veggie recipes, Plenty. Well, I certainly did. It has, so far, proved capable of delivering superb food from every single recipe tried so far. The news that Ottolenghi was to open a restaurant, just north of Piccadilly in London - hence the name NOPI - led to the possibility of creative, diverse, exciting veggie food (along with meat and fish dishes) and led to a table reservation on the second weekend of March.

The first thing that greets you at NOPI (after a phone call 24 hours earlier to check you are still coming - a sign of a sold out restaurant?) is the brightness of the space it occupies. White everywhere, including lots of stylised tiling (I found this pleasingly clinical; my dinner partner felt it was a bit reminiscent of a bathroom – though the highly mirrored bathrooms themselves are something else). The whiteness is offset by huge brass light fittings and the light wood of the tables. Oh, and the big table with some massive loaves of bread and a big dish of a pinky substance.

The waiting staff seemed to embrace the relaxed atmosphere, open to chat about the restaurant, Ottolenghi and, of course, the food.

As we absorbed the menu, a complimentary dish of the pinky stuff - a beetroot and, I think, crème fraiche pate - arrived with slices of gorgeous bread, which were replaced as needed.

NOPI describes its food as sharing dishes. They are, though portions are not massive. Dishes also arrive as and when ready from the kitchen, so don’t be expecting to have it all there at once.

So, what was the food like? Honestly? It was some the best flavours I have ever tasted.

A grain-based dish combined braised artichoke and succulent broad beans with hits of tangy pickled lemon. A soft, creamy burrata was ably matched by explosions of blood orange and crushed coriander seeds. Mung beans became exciting when served with braised baby carrots and smoked labneh.

The lamb balls in a creamy sauce were evidently tender, though rich. And the beef dish was described as “possibly the best beef I’ve ever tasted” and certainly my partner’s highlight of the savoury courses.

For me, the highlight was the baked blu di bufala cheesecake. This warm cheesecake, almost soufflé-like in texture, was complemented by sharp pickled mushrooms; again, a perfect marrying of unconventional flavours.

The sweets on offer all sounded fabulous. But the chocolate, peanut brittle, mace and crème fraiche was a puzzling mix of ingredients that looked like they shouldn’t work together, but so do. And the churros served with hot chocolate sauce to dip into then coat with fennel seed sugar was both ludicrously sweet and utterly more-ish.

On the drinks side, we sampled a couple of the cocktails - the pineapple and sage martini being a particular favourite.

Downsides? In terms of the menu, I had none. The setting is relaxed and we did not feel rushed. Tables, though, are close together (which means that you can earwig in on neighbours who might, for example, include a vegetarian who eats scallops…)

I’m looking forward to my next meal there and seeing how the menu develops and changes and spending another couple of hours marvelling at Ottolenghi and his team.