Existential Dread and Crumpets: My Guide to Sunday Brunch

Ah, the Sunday brunch. A time-honoured British tradition, a refuge from the relentless march of the week, and, let’s be honest, a potential minefield of existential dread.

We’ve all been there. You wake up late, the remnants of Saturday night’s revelry clinging to you like a cheap suit. The newspaper headlines scream of impending doom, and the bottomless pit of your empty stomach seems to echo the vast emptiness of existence.

But fear not, fellow traveller on this absurd journey called life! For within the humble embrace of the Sunday brunch lies the potential for solace, sustenance, and even a flicker of joy.

Step One: The Ritual of Tea
First things first, tea. A steaming mug of builder’s brew, strong enough to knock the existential cobwebs off your brain, is the cornerstone of any good Sunday brunch.

Steep your preferred leaves (Yorkshire Tea, for the purists) in a proper pot – none of those flimsy teabag contraptions here – and pour yourself a generous cup. Inhale the robust aroma, feel the warmth seep into your hands, and allow the gentle act of brewing to become a mini-meditation, a moment of quiet contemplation before the glorious chaos that is brunch.

Step Two: The Crumpet Conundrum
Now, the crumpet. This seemingly simple baked good is, in fact, a philosophical paradox. To toast or not to toast? That is the question. A golden, toasted crumpet offers a satisfying crunch and holds its shape admirably under the weight of your chosen toppings. But a fresh, untoasted crumpet possesses a delightful, almost doughy, texture that perfectly soaks up butter and jam.

The choice, dear reader, is yours. But choose wisely, for in this seemingly trivial decision lies a metaphor for life itself – the comfort of the familiar versus the thrill of the unknown.

Step Three: The Full English Breakfast – A Toast to Tradition
The Full English Breakfast: a veritable feast fit for a king (or, more realistically, someone who slightly overindulged the night before).

Sausage, bacon, eggs (done to your liking, of course), baked beans, mushrooms, grilled tomatoes, black pudding (for the adventurous), and a hash brown (because why not?) piled high on a warm plate. This dish is a celebration of British culinary tradition, a hearty reminder that even in the face of existential angst, there is still pleasure to be found in the simple act of consuming a good fry-up.

Step Four: The Continental Cousin
But perhaps the Full English isn’t your cup of tea (or, more accurately, mug of tea). Fear not, for the world of brunch is vast and varied.

Perhaps you fancy a lighter option, a croissant or pain au chocolat, flaky and buttery, begging to be dipped into coffee or hot chocolate. Or maybe you’re feeling a touch more adventurous, seeking a taste of the exotic with huevos rancheros or a stack of fluffy pancakes drizzled with maple syrup.

The beauty of brunch lies in its infinite possibilities. It is a canvas upon which you can paint your own culinary masterpiece, a reflection of your own unique personality and preferences.

Step Five: The Art of Conversation (and Avoiding Existential Dread)
Finally, no brunch is complete without good conversation. Engage with your fellow brunchers, be they friends, family, or even strangers at the next table. Discuss the latest episode of your favourite show, reminisce about the good old days, or simply revel in the shared experience of breaking bread (or crumpets) together. By focusing on the present moment, on the company you keep, and on the simple pleasure of good food and good company, you may just find that the existential dread melts away, replaced by a warm sense of connection and belonging.

So, there you have it. My guide to navigating the existential minefield that is Sunday brunch. Remember, it’s not just about the food (although the food is important). It’s about the ritual, the connection, and the small moments of joy that make life worth living, even when the universe seems intent on reminding you of its vast indifference.

Now, go forth, conquer your brunch, and face the coming week with a renewed sense of purpose (and a full stomach).

Adulting: Is it Just the Imposter Syndrome Manifest?

Ah, “adulting.” The term itself conjures an image of crisp shirts, packed lunches, and unwavering responsibility. But for many, the reality feels more like a bumbling performance in a play we never auditioned for. The bills pile up, the washing machine throws tantrums, and the existential dread of “am I doing this right?” hangs heavy in the air.

This pervasive feeling of inadequacy, this constant questioning of whether we’re truly “adulting” enough, has a close resemblance to something psychologists call “imposter syndrome.” Defined as a collection of beliefs that one’s success is due to luck or external factors rather than their own competence, imposter syndrome can manifest in various areas of life, including the seemingly straightforward realm of adulthood.

So, are we all simply a bunch of adulting imposters?

The answer, like most things in life, isn’t so black and white. While the challenges and uncertainties of adulting can certainly trigger feelings of inadequacy, it’s important to remember that imposter syndrome is a specific psychological phenomenon.

Here’s where the distinction lies. Adulting inherently involves navigating unfamiliar territory. We learn to manage finances, juggle work and personal commitments, and make independent decisions – all while still figuring out who we are and what we want in life. It’s natural to feel overwhelmed, unsure, and occasionally like we’re just winging it.

However, when these feelings become pervasive and paralyzing, leading to self-sabotage and a constant fear of being exposed as a fraud, it might be a sign of imposter syndrome.

So, how do we differentiate between normal “adulting jitters” and true imposter syndrome? Here are some key indicators:

Attribution of success

Do you attribute your achievements to external factors like luck or being in the right place at the right time, rather than your own skills and hard work?

Fear of exposure

Do you live in constant fear of being “found out” as someone who doesn’t actually deserve their successes or responsibilities?

Self-deprecating comparisons

Do you constantly compare yourself to others, feeling inferior and inadequate despite evidence to the contrary?

If these points resonate deeply, it’s crucial to seek assistance. Talking to a therapist or counselor can help you challenge these negative thought patterns and develop coping mechanisms to navigate the uncertainties of adulting with greater confidence.

Ultimately, “adulting” is not a performance with a set script or a clear-cut ending. It’s a continuous learning process, messy and unpredictable at times. Embracing the journey, acknowledging our vulnerabilities, and celebrating our successes, big and small, are key to navigating this often-daunting phase with a sense of self-compassion and, dare we say, adulting-worthy resilience.

Not Really Dead, Only Inside

“Cheer up, it might not happen!”

For a people person, it has surprised me how much I have lost my tolerance for the world recently, or less generally, the people in it. Or, to be really specific, the people that I categorise as my friends.

And don’t get me started on my family.

You deserve a better explanation, so here it is. And in true Dave style I shall ramble, beat about the bush, probably rant a bit, and hopefully make you grin on the way.

The reports of my death, etc.

Please allow me to take you on a short journey through my slightly damaged psyche.

I don’t know whether it is my age, or the state of my mental health, or maybe even because of both, but I have become more aware over the last few years, that one of my major triggers is the idea that my persistence in people’s minds is directly influenced by how necessary I am to their needs. Or more specifically:

Do you ever wonder how long it would take for people to notice that you were gone? Have you ever suddenly thought about somebody you haven’t thought about for a long time, only to discover that they died years ago?

Ironically, with it being this time of year, I watched It’s a Wonderful Life last week, which deals with this very idea: “What difference have I made in this world?”

Before I get to the point I’m trying to make, there is one more tale to share with you. A few months ago I was taking a shower and my phone rang. I jumped out of the shower to answer the phone only to find it was some random “friend” I hadn’t heard from for a long time, just asking me if I was driving my taxi, presumably because they were unable to get one as quickly as they would have liked.

Still covered in soap and slightly annoyed, I stepped back into the bath to continue my shower in peace. My left foot went one way and my right foot went the other, causing me to slide forward, head first into the bath, banging my head on the wall. A millisecond after the stars subsided from my vision I started to laugh, mainly because of the amusing image that was in my head. As I was hanging out of the bath arse first, I was wondering how funny it would have been (in a terrible way of course) to have been found like this – that this was, ultimately, the form of my demise.

You see, the final thing that I would really like to happen to me, is a funny death. I want people to talk about my passing and be unable to stop themselves from laughing at the method of my destruction. I remember watching a celebrity being interviewed once on TV, and if I remember correctly, they wanted to be crushed by “a giant letter O from the Hollywood sign.” They weren’t specific about which of the three Os it would be. Any would do, I suppose.

So here I am, face down, arse up in my bath, laughing to myself about being found like this after a few days, and then it struck me. How long would it actually be until I was found? How long would it take to be missed? Could I get the person that rang my phone to serve time for my manslaughter? The irony of my demise being caused by being eventually needed for something other than my sparkling personality is not lost on me.

I think all we ever really want to do is persist. It is said that when we pass, we remain (or some version of us) in the minds of the people we leave behind. And while that gives us comfort when we need it, it’s not really true is it? We live on in the neurons of maybe the few thousand people that we have interacted with, but once those people have turned to dust, where do we go then?

You see, these are the sort of thoughts that keep me awake.

• People only think about you if you can help them solve a problem
• You will only be missed if people need you for something.

I think where I am going with this, is that I’ve got this enormous sense of isolation, but I don’t really mind as much as I used to. I am at peace with it.

My Facebook account got hacked for the first time over the weekend. It was during a taxi journey in the middle of the night while I had passengers in the car. I started to get strange notifications on my phone, so I knew what was going on. By the time I dropped my passengers off, the damage had been done, I could no longer get into my account, and shortly after that the perpetrators had also used my account to get it completely disabled for doing whatever those scumbags do.

So when my Facebook account got disabled, I saw the potential for an interesting social experiment – to see how long it would take for anyone to notice, and how many, if any?

The results of this experiment surprised me.

It took around eight hours to be missed online, by a grand total of 2 people. It is over two days later now, and this total has not increased at all.

It’s a bittersweet statistic. On the one hand, I was missed fairly quickly, but on the other, only by two people. And neither of them needed a taxi.

At the time of writing I am still undecided as to whether I am going to attempt to recover my Facebook account. You see, a fair few use Messenger to contact me when they can’t get a taxi.

After my “bathmageddon” incident, my phone is pretty much permanently on Do Not Disturb. In my free time I am almost never contacted unless I am needed for something other than myself. Honestly it’s been quite liberating. Every so often I’ll look at my phone and see a few missed calls and messages, which I can contemptuously snort at, at my leisure, when I’ve got a few moments to spare.

Don’t Turn Around

My friend once said to me “Hello there!”

So I turned round and said “…hang on, where have you gone?”

He turned round and said “What – wait a minute, where have you gone?”

So I turned round and said “Why are you facing that way?”

He turned around and said “There you are! Er, what were we talking about?”

So I turned around and said “I can’t remember… hello?”

Toxic Punters (The Guilt Trip)

Slows down to let two women get by in Joiners Alley.

They try to get me to pick them up but I am private hire and I’m on my way to pick somebody else up.

Some debate ensues where I continually refuse to pick them up.

They end by shouting “Well if we get raped, it’s on you!!”

Quick as a flash I reply “Don’t flatter yourself, love!”

What horrible bastards people have become, myself included, probably 🤷

Shared Karma

I had a young man in my taxi over the weekend. I would usually refer to a young man as a gentleman, but he was not.

I immediately got the impression that he was quite unpleasant and rude, from the way he slouched into the taxi, simply barking out the part of town he wanted to go to without a please or thank you, and how he immediately started eating his kebab in the backseat without even asking my permission. Simply put, he was a horrible dickhead.

When we got to where he lived, he paid the exact fare, not a penny more, not a penny less, and slouched off to his house. Incidentally I never expect a tip, so I expect this was just par for the course for the individual in the back of my car.

I was quite relieved that the journey was over as you can imagine.

As he walked away I casually looked over my left shoulder and spotted the mayonnaise drizzled blue takeaway fork on the back seat. Once again, it was no surprise to see it there.

Image not to scale, and not including mayonnaise.

As this was my last job and I was heading to ASDA to do a bit of shopping before I went home, I just drove off with the blue fork on the backseat. I would dispose of it when I got there.

When I got to ASDA I opened the back door to remove the blue fork, and was fairly unsurprised to see the abandoned kebab on the floor beneath where my passenger had been sitting.

You can’t beat a kebab after a night out, unless you are beating it over the head of a drunk person for being a dickhead.

Muttering something under my breath expressing my opinion of my passenger, I closed the kebab box and removed it from the floor of my taxi.

It was at this point that I noticed a long, flat, oil stained, brown paper bag beneath where the kebab box had formerly been.

I observed that the paper bag was quite warm so I slid the contents out to discover a couple of rather gorgeous looking onion bhajis nestled in a polystyrene tray.

Rejoicing in the positive turnaround of events, I climbed back into the front seat of the taxi with the onion bhajis, with the intention of enjoying the fuck out of them.

The onion bhajis I found did not look as nice as this, but you get the idea.

The first onion bhaji went down a storm. Crispy and warm with just the right amount of internal moistness with a feathery texture, I was feeling quite pleased with myself.

Raising the second onion bhaji to my mouth I noticed that it looked a little different to the first one, with a slightly different colour nearer to light brown than gold, with a marginally different surface texture. Perhaps it was a different type of onion bhaji?

As I bit down I noticed how softer the second onion bhaji was. Around the same time, my tongue informed me that I had bitten into the surface of the sun, taste wise.

The second onion bhaji was fucking HOT. Like a vindaloo or a phal curry.

One of my soon-to-be-deceased taste buds.

After drinking a litre and a half of pop to extinguish the inferno in my mouth I disposed of the second kebab rather than attempting to eat it.

I can only conclude that my passenger had similarly pissed off the people in the kebab shop, so they left him a little present, in the form of a “modified” onion bhaji. Modified with the hottest curry paste on Earth.

Before I disposed of the onion bhaji I broke it in half to discover that there was quite a lot of brown curry paste mixed in with the ingredients.

Unfortunately due to the level of alcohol he’d probably consumed he had forgotten about his onion bhajis so the karma that was headed his way ended up in my mouth.

But that first onion bhaji was fit.

A Concrete Balloon

We are unheard
Like an expert mime
We could get away with crimes
A dishonest pastime
 
We are unseen
Like the perfect crime
In the shadows of the wine
Before quicklime

We are unfelt
Like we're black and blue
Totally expendable
A concrete balloon

Dave talks about his book “How to Annoy a Taxi Driver”

Dave introduces us to his book “How to Annoy a Taxi Driver”.
He talks about how the book came about, and how you can buy it.

http://www.tinyurl.com/how2annoy