The Southsea Food Festival

I couldn't think of a clever title for today's posting, but I'm so excited by the prospect of actually blogging about something that happened TODAY instead of events that took place weeks or even months ago, that I'm not going to let that stop me.

Anyone reading this who knows me will not be surprised to learn that my intention to blog always outpaces my ability to blog by at least ten to one. I go through my life taking snapshots on my pocket camera, thinking, 'A-ha, now that would make a great blog entry,' and then I come home and get sucked into the other important tasks of the day: eating, reading, sleeping, housework (OK, not much time goes on that, I admit), and general unfocused vegging-out. I haven't got into the point-and-shoot, web-on-the-move world yet, so I can only email, blog and tweet when I'm at home, or in some other wifi-friendly environment such as a Greyhound bus. (There was a time when I - when everybody - didn't need any time for emailing, blogging or tweeting. What did we do with ourselves?)

My reason for blogging today is to share some pictures of the Southsea Food Festival. Moving to Southsea was like coming home for me, in a strange way. Although I never lived in Portsmouth until 2007, it had been the central point for all major activities throughout my childhood: the cathedral, the hospital, the schools where I played in concerts and music festivals, the shops - everything happened there. And the seaside and the funfair drew me there summer after summer, sometimes with my patient Dad, who went on the rides with me even though they made him feel sick, sometimes with school friends, then later with the university friends who I proudly showed my home patch to. And Southsea was the hub of it all. My brother went to school here, and all the most important things were to be found at Knight & Lee, with its single escalator (just the one floor, just the one direction, ma'am), its elegant 50s-style staircase, and its zone of impossibly grown-up gifts. Gentleman's Relish, anyone? Bath salts? Delicate gloves in every colour, to match your handbag and shoes? Dannimac, Jaegar, Jonelle, and the mysterious 'Never knowingly undersold' discreetly displayed against a background of diagonal dark-green and white stripes. Maybe the truth is that I just had to live close to Knight & Lee - but then Marmion Road, with all its boutiques and charity shops, and Stanley Street with its pastel sash-windowed terraces, are all part of the charm. In short, when I moved back here in 2007 and then again in 2009, it felt just like the right place to be, and it still does.

So, as part of this local pride, I always get very excited about local events, and the Food Festival is a real highlight. Today it was mostly sunny, but incredibly windy, and many of the stall-holders had to weigh down the produce on their tables and even hang onto their awnings to stop them flying away down the street.

The biggest herb stall I've ever seen, with helpful explanatory signs. We bought parsley, oregano, and a 'curry herb' (looks like rosemary but smells like cumin - mmmmmm ...).

 A pig roast - one of the few things we didn't get round to trying.

I like so much about this sign: the obvious useful advice, the haste with which it was written and the poetry (not to mention the hyphen) of the explanatory A-BLAZE! I'm not mocking - I really do like it, because it communicates an important message but with enthusiasm and energy. But I do feel a bit of a prat for being so analytical. I guess I just like signs (see my last blogpost for proof).

 Lovely fat garlic from the Isle of Wight.

The most delicious goat's cheese from the Goat's Cheese Man who comes to the monthly farmer's market. We came home with an ash-rolled log, pungent but fresh-tasting. Oh, cheese...

Optimistically placed deckchairs in front of the cookery demonstration theatre, where we sat eating a chicken kebab while watching a local fishmonger show us how to gut fish. The empty deckchairs billowed noisily, like ships' sails - but at least half of the chairs were weighted down with other half-attentive browsers and munchers like us. (Sometimes I think my life is the truth behind a new book I'm working on called The British.)

Fish-gutting instruction in place - note the helpful mirror to show the technical details. Another book flashback - or flashforward, as it comes out in July - to Lunch in Paris, in which an American woman learns to gut fish with a little help from Jane Austen, while embarking on a new life in the most romantic city in the world.

So the Southsea Food Festival has allowed me to take you on a journey from childhood nostalgia to local food, shabby seaside chic, and literary fish-debowelling. I hope that partly makes up for an unimaginative title.